21
‘DETECTIVE INSPECTOR BLAKEMORE, sir,’ said Miss Potts, then stood aside to allow the policeman to enter the managing director’s office.
Hugo Barrington studied the inspector carefully as he entered the room. He couldn’t have been much more than the regulation minimum height of five feet nine inches, and he was a few pounds overweight, but still looked fit. He was carrying a raincoat that had probably been bought when he was still a constable, and wore a brown felt hat of a more recent vintage, indicating that he hadn’t been an inspector all that long.
The two men shook hands, and once he was seated, Blake-more took a notebook and pen out of an inside jacket pocket. ‘As you know, sir, I am following up enquiries concerning an alleged theft that took place on these premises last night.’ Barrington didn’t like the word ‘alleged’. ‘Could I begin by asking when you first discovered that the money was missing?’
‘Yes, of course, inspector,’ said Barrington, trying to sound as helpful as possible. ‘I arrived at the docks around seven o’clock this morning and drove straight to the sheds to check how the night shift had got on.’
‘Is that something you do every morning?’
‘No, only from time to time,’ said Hugo, puzzled by the question.
‘And how long did you spend there?’
‘Twenty, perhaps thirty minutes. Then I came up to my office.’
‘So you would have been in your office at around seven twenty, seven thirty at the latest.’
‘Yes, that sounds about right.’
‘And was your secretary already here by then?’
‘Yes, she was. I rarely manage to get in before her. She’s a formidable lady,’ he added with a smile.
‘Quite,’ said the detective inspector. ‘So it was Miss Potts who told you the safe had been broken into?’
‘Yes. She said that when she came in this morning, she’d found the safe door open and some of its contents scattered on the floor, so she immediately rang the police.’
‘She didn’t ring you first, sir?’
‘No, inspector. I would have been in my car on the way to work at that time.’
‘So, you say your secretary arrived before you this morning. And did you leave before her last night, sir?’
‘I don’t recall,’ said Barrington. ‘But it would be most unusual for me to leave after her.’
‘Yes, Miss Potts has confirmed that,’ said the detective inspector. ‘But she also said - ‘ he glanced down at his notebook - ‘“I left before Mr Barrington last night, as a problem had arisen which needed his attention.”’ Blakemore looked up. ‘Are you able to tell me what that problem was, sir?’
‘When you run a company as large as this,’ said Hugo, ‘problems arise all the time.’
‘So you don’t remember what particular problem arose yesterday evening?’
‘No, inspector, I do not.’
‘When you arrived in your office this morning and found the safe door open, what was the first thing you did?’
‘I checked to see what was missing.’
‘And what did you discover?’
‘All my cash had been taken.’
‘How can you be sure it had all been taken?’
‘Because I found this open envelope on my desk,’ Hugo said, handing it over.
‘And how much should there have been in the envelope, sir?’
‘Sixty-eight pounds and ten shillings.’
‘You seem very certain of that.’
‘Yes, I am,’ said Hugo. ‘Why should that surprise you?’
‘It’s simply that Miss Potts told me there was only sixty pounds in the safe, all in five-pound notes. Perhaps you could tell me, sir, where the other eight pounds and ten shillings came from?’
Hugo didn’t answer immediately. ‘I do sometimes keep a little loose change in my desk drawer, inspector,’ he said finally.
‘That’s quite a large sum to describe as “a little loose change”. However, allow me to return to the safe for a moment. When you entered your office this morning, the first thing you noticed was that the safe door was open.’
‘That is correct, inspector.’
‘Do you have a key for the safe?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Are you the only person who knows the code and is in possession of a key, sir?’
‘No, Miss Potts also has access to the safe.’
‘Can you confirm that the safe was locked when you went home last night?’
‘Yes, it always is.’
‘Then we must assume that the burglary was carried out by a professional.’
‘What makes you say that, inspector?’ asked Barrington.
‘But if he was a professional,’ said Blakemore, ignoring the question, ‘what puzzles me is why he left the safe door open.’
‘I’m not sure I’m following you, inspector.’
‘I’ll explain, sir. Professional burglars tend to leave everything just as they found it, so that their crime won’t be found out immediately. It allows them more time to dispose of the stolen goods.’
‘More time,’ repeated Hugo.
‘A professional would have closed the safe door and taken the envelope with him, making it more likely that it would be some time before you discovered anything was missing. In my experience, some people don’t open their safes for days, even weeks. Only an amateur would have left your office in such disarray.’
‘Then perhaps it was an amateur?’
‘Then how did he manage to open the safe, sir?’
‘Maybe he somehow got hold of Miss Potts’s key?’
‘And the code as well? But Miss Potts assures me that she takes her safe key home every night, as I understand you do, sir.’ Hugo said nothing. ‘May I be allowed to look inside the safe?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘What is that?’ asked the inspector, pointing to a tin box on the bottom shelf of the safe.
‘It’s my coin collection, inspector. A hobby of mine.’
‘Would you be kind enough to open it, sir?’
‘Is that really necessary?’ asked Hugo impatiently.
‘Yes, I’m afraid it is, sir.’
Hugo reluctantly opened the box, to reveal a hoard of gold coins he had collected over many years.
‘Now, here’s another mystery,’ said the inspector. ‘Our thief takes sixty pounds from the safe, and eight pounds ten shillings from your desk drawer, but leaves behind a box of gold coins that must be worth considerably more. And then there’s the problem of the envelope.’
‘The envelope?’ said Hugo.
‘Yes, sir, the envelope you say contained the money.’
‘But I found it on my desk this morning.’
‘I don’t doubt that, sir, but you will notice that it has been slit neatly open.’
‘Probably with my letter opener,’ said Hugo, holding it up triumphantly.
‘Quite possibly, sir, but in my experience, burglars have a tendency to rip open envelopes, not slit them neatly with a letter opener as if they already knew what was inside.’
‘But Miss Potts told me that you’d found the thief,’ said Hugo, trying not to sound exasperated.
‘No, sir. We have found the money, but I’m not convinced that we’ve found the guilty party.’
‘But you found some of the money in his possession?’
‘Yes, we did, sir.’
‘Then what more do you want?’
‘To be certain we’ve got the right man.’
‘And who is the man you’ve charged?’
‘I didn’t say I’d charged him, sir,’ said the inspector as he turned a page in his notebook. ‘A Mr Stanley Tancock, who turns out to be one of your stevedores. Name ring a bell, sir?’
‘Can’t say it does,’ said Hugo. ‘But if he works in the yard, he would certainly have known where my office was.’
‘I am in no doubt, sir, that Tancock knew where your office was, because he says he came t
o see you around seven yesterday evening to tell you that his brother-in-law, a Mr Arthur Clifton, was trapped in the hull of a ship being built in the yard, and if you didn’t give the order to get him out, he would die.’
‘Ah, yes, I remember now. I did go over to the yard yesterday afternoon as my ganger will confirm, but it turned out to be a false alarm and a waste of everyone’s time. Clearly he just wanted to find out where the safe was, so he could come back later and rob me.’
‘He admits that he came back to your office a second time,’ said Blakemore, turning another page of his notes, ‘when he claims you offered him sixty-eight pounds and ten shillings if he would keep his mouth shut about Clifton.’
‘I’ve never heard such an outrageous suggestion.’
‘Then let us consider the alternative for a moment, sir. Let us suppose that Tancock did come back to your office with the intention of robbing you some time between seven o’clock and seven thirty yesterday evening. Having somehow managed to get into the building unobserved he reaches the fifth floor, makes his way to your office, and with either your key or Miss Potts’s unlocks the safe, enters the code, removes the envelope, slits it neatly open and takes out the money, but doesn’t bother with a box of gold coins. He leaves the safe door open, spreads some of its contents on the floor and places the neatly opened envelope on your desk, and then, like the Scarlet Pimpernel, disappears into thin air.’
‘It needn’t have been between seven and seven thirty in the evening,’ said Hugo defiantly. ‘It could have been any time before eight this morning.’
‘I think not, sir,’ said Blakemore. ‘You see, Tancock has an alibi between eight and eleven o’clock last night.’
‘No doubt this so-called “alibi” is some mate of his,’ said Barrington.
‘Thirty-one of them, at the last count,’ said the detective inspector. ‘It seems that having stolen your money, he turned up at the Pig and Whistle public house at around eight o’clock, and not only were the drinks on him, but he also cleared his slate. He paid the landlord with a new five-pound note, which I have in my possession.’
The detective removed his wallet, took out the note and placed it on Barrington’s desk.
‘The landlord also added that Tancock left the pub at around eleven, and was so drunk that two of his friends had to accompany him to his home in Still House Lane, where we found him this morning. I am bound to say, sir, that if it was Tancock who robbed you, we have a master criminal on our hands and I’d be proud to be the man who puts him behind bars. Which I suspect is exactly what you had in mind, sir,’ he added, looking directly at Barrington, ‘when you gave him the money.’
‘And why on earth would I do that?’ said Hugo, trying to keep his voice even.
‘Because if Stanley Tancock was arrested and sent to jail, no one would take his story about Arthur Clifton seriously. Incidentally, Clifton hasn’t been seen since yesterday afternoon. So I shall be recommending to my superiors that the hull be opened up without further delay so that we can discover if it was a false alarm and Tancock was wasting everyone’s time.’
Hugo Barrington checked in the mirror and straightened his bow tie. He hadn’t told his father about the Arthur Clifton incident or the visit from Detective Inspector Blakemore. The less the old man knew the better. All he’d said was that some money had been stolen from his office and one of the stevedores had been arrested.
Once he’d put on his dinner jacket, Hugo sat on the end of the bed and waited for his wife to finish dressing. He hated being late, but he knew that no amount of badgering would make Elizabeth move any faster. He’d checked on Giles and his baby sister Emma, who were both fast asleep.
Hugo had wanted two sons, an heir and a spare. Emma was an inconvenience, which meant he’d have to try again. His father had been a second child and lost his older brother fighting the Boers in South Africa. Hugo’s older brother had been killed at Ypres, along with half his regiment. So, in time, Hugo could expect to succeed his father as chairman of the company and, when his father died, to inherit the title and the family fortune.
So he and Elizabeth would have to try again. Not that making love to his wife was a pleasure any more. In fact, he couldn’t remember if it ever had been. Recently he’d been looking for distractions elsewhere.
‘Yours is a marriage made in heaven,’ his mother used to say. His father was more practical. He had felt that bringing together his elder son and the only daughter of Lord Harvey was more of a merger than a marriage. When Hugo’s brother was killed on the Western Front, his fiancee was passed on to Hugo. No longer a merger, more of a takeover. Hugo wasn’t surprised to discover on his wedding night that Elizabeth was a virgin; his second virgin, in fact.
Elizabeth finally emerged from the dressing room, apologizing, as she always did, for keeping him waiting. The journey from the Manor House to Barrington Hall was only a couple of miles, and all the land in between the two houses belonged to the family. By the time Hugo and Elizabeth entered his parents’ drawing room at a few minutes past eight, Lord Harvey was already on his second sherry. Hugo glanced around the room at the other guests. There was only one couple he didn’t recognize.
His father immediately took him across and introduced him to Colonel Danvers, the recently appointed chief constable of the county. Hugo decided not to mention his meeting that morning with Detective Inspector Blakemore to the colonel, but just before they sat down for dinner, he took his father on one side to bring him up to date on the theft, never once mentioning the name of Arthur Clifton.
Over a dinner of game soup, succulent lamb and green beans, followed by creme brulee, the conversation ranged from the Prince of Wales’s visit to Cardiff and his less than helpful remarks about sympathizing with the mine workers, to Lloyd George’s latest import tariffs and the effect they would have on the shipping industry, and George Bernard Shaw’s Heartbreak House, which had recently opened to mixed reviews at the Old Vic Theatre, before returning to the Prince of Wales and the vexed question of how to find him a suitable wife.
When the servants had cleared the table after dessert, the ladies retired to the drawing room to enjoy coffee, while the butler offered the gentlemen brandy or port.
‘Shipped by me and imported by you,’ said Sir Walter, raising a glass to Lord Harvey while the butler circled the table offering cigars to the guests. Once Lord Harvey’s Romeo y Julieta had been lit to his satisfaction, he turned to his son-in-law and said, ‘Your father tells me that some blighter broke into your office and stole a large amount of cash.’
‘Yes, that’s correct,’ Hugo replied. ‘But I’m pleased to say they’ve caught the thief. Sadly he turned out to be one of our stevedores.’
‘Is that right, Danvers?’ asked Sir Walter. ‘You’ve caught the man?’
‘I did hear something about it,’ responded the chief constable, ‘but I wasn’t told that anybody had been charged yet.’
‘Why not?’ demanded Lord Harvey.
‘Because the man is saying that I gave him the money,’ Hugo interjected. ‘In fact, when the detective inspector questioned me this morning, I began to wonder which one of us was the criminal, and which the injured party.’
‘I’m sorry to hear you feel that way,’ said Colonel Danvers. ‘May I ask who the officer in charge of the investigation was?’
‘Detective Inspector Blakemore,’ said Hugo, before adding, ‘I got the impression he might have a grudge against our family.’
‘When you employ as many people as we do,’ said Sir Walter, placing his glass back on the table, ‘there’s bound to be the odd person who bears a grudge.’
‘I must admit,’ said Danvers, ‘that Blakemore’s not known for his tact. But I’ll look into the matter, and if I feel he’s overstepped the mark I’ll assign someone else to the case.’
22
SCHOOLDAYS ARE THE happiest days of your life, claimed R.C. Sherriff, but that had not been Hugo Barrington’s experience. Although he had a feeling t
hat Giles would, as his father put it, ‘make a better fist of things’.
Hugo tried to forget what had happened on his first day at school, some twenty-four years ago. He’d been driven to St Bede’s in a hansom carriage, accompanied by his father, mother and elder brother Nicholas, who had just been appointed school captain. Hugo had burst into tears when another new bug had innocently asked, ‘Is it true your grandfather was a docker?’ Sir Walter was proud his father had ‘pulled himself up by his bootstraps’, but with eight-year-olds, first impressions stick. ‘Grandpa was a docker! Grandpa was a docker! Cry baby! Cry baby!’ chanted the rest of the dorm.
Today his son Giles would be driven to St Bede’s in Sir Walter Barrington’s Rolls-Royce. Hugo had wanted to take his son to school in his own car, but his father wouldn’t hear of it. ‘Three generations of Barringtons have been educated at St Bede’s and Eton. My heir must arrive in style.’
Hugo didn’t point out to his father that Giles hadn’t, as yet, been offered a place at Eton, and that it was even possible the boy might have ideas of his own as to where he would like to be educated. ‘Heaven forbid,’ he could hear his father saying. ‘Ideas smack of rebellion and rebellions must be put down.’
Giles hadn’t spoken since they’d left the house, although his mother hadn’t stopped fussing over her only son for the past hour. Emma had started to sob when she was told she couldn’t accompany them, while Grace - another girl; he wouldn’t bother to try again - just clung on to Nanny’s hand and waved from the top step as they drove away.
Hugo had other things than the family’s female line on his mind as the car manoeuvred its way slowly through the country lanes towards the city. Was he about to see Harry Clifton for the first time? Would he recognize him as the other son he’d wanted but would never have, or would he be left in no doubt the moment he saw the boy that he couldn’t be his kinsman?
Hugo would have to be careful to avoid Clifton’s mother. Would he even recognize her? He’d recently discovered that she was working as a waitress in the Palm Court room at the Royal Hotel, which he used to frequent whenever he had business meetings in the city. Now he would have to confine himself to the occasional visit in the evening, and then only if he was certain she’d left for the day.
Only Time Will Tell (2011) Page 16
