“Wait a moment,” said Benson. “The importance of your question has not escaped me. But I would ask you to remember that I can see no way that Lamont could have taken the croton oil from the chest while it has been in my possession, and if he had extracted some of it earlier, why then he wouldn’t have needed to buy the chest.”
“The point has not escaped me, Mr Benson. Now we’ll leave you to finish your breakfast.”
“He’s right, you know,” said Green when they were once more in the street.
“Of course he is. I knew that before we came. If Lamont had really wanted that chest for the croton oil it contained, he would not have dropped out at twenty pounds. But if he had wanted it for the sake of making money, then he would have known that to go too high would mean that all chances of making profit would disappear. So he had to put a limit beyond which he could not go. He told Bert to go to twenty and not a penny more.”
“So we’re eliminating Lamont?”
“We’re eliminating him. But we’ve got to see him just as soon as possible.”
*
Masters finished telling his assembled team about locating the croton oil.
“Quite honestly,” said Wally Frimley, “I don’t know how you lot manage it.”
“Neither do we,” replied Green, “and if we did we wouldn’t be able to tell you.”
“So what’s the form?” asked Hoame. “We looked for the croton oil and couldn’t find it. You looked for the gimmel flask and couldn’t find it, but you did find the oil. What do we look for now in the hope of finding something different?”
“Sir,” said Berger solemnly, looking at Hoame, “you’re off net. We at the Yard . . .” he glanced across at Green to see how he would take this claim from an understrapper who had not yet been forty-eight hours in this particular team, “. . . we at the Yard, never look for just one thing at a time, particularly in the early stages of an inquiry. We may state a pin-point objective, but we advance on a broad front: a sweep which gathers in everything in its path. One has to be prepared to do that. Look at the information that has been netted while we have been making enquiries about gimmel flasks. And to be fair to yourself, we even got on the track of that while you were present.”
Hoame stared at the constable. He could hardly deny what had been said, but he didn’t look as if he much cared for even such obvious truths being pointed out to him by a junior officer. Green, however, appeared to like it. “Couldn’t have put it better myself,” he said. “Never close your mind to possibilities or opportunities, Colin.”
Hoame nodded. “So what will be our pin-point objective today?”
Masters stepped in. “You’ve got the names of the people who have called on Benson since he bought the chest. I want them checked out, to see if they interest us. The way I would like it done is to find out if they have alibis for between twelve and two last Sunday. If they have, they’re out of the reckoning for obvious reasons. If they haven’t, I want to know something about them which, so far, we have not paid any attention to. It is this. For somebody to use croton oil as a poison would argue some knowledge of the medical, pharmaceutical or biological sciences in general. Try to find out—indirectly if needs be—whether any of these people who have no alibis for Sunday lunchtime have such a knowledge.”
“Are you in on this, George?” asked Frimley.
“Not until a little later. Greeny and I have had a call from the Yard. . . .”
“You’re not going back, I hope?”
“No. But there’s something we must see to. It will take an hour at least. That may not be too bad a thing as it turns out. You and Colin are locals, and you’ll be able to deal with Benson’s visitors more quickly than we could. So if you, Wally, will take Reed and my car, while Colin takes Berger in his car, you may be able to break the back of it by the time we’re ready to join you. Divide the list up how you like, Wally, and ring in here, both of you, at eleven, to see if we’re ready to join you.”
“Right.” Frimley sounded pleased to be given a job to do on his own. “We’ll get off straight away.”
“Okay,” said Green when they were alone, “you didn’t get a call from the Yard. You wanted to get rid of that lot.”
“Yes, I did,” said Masters petulantly. “I can’t work with them tied to my tail. I can’t think, either, with them wanting to know every tick my brain makes and why. In the old days, we seemed to sense what each other was about and accepted that whatever any other member of the team was doing was part of an overall plan of investigation that never had to be spelled out once it was on the move.”
“So you want to think. Where do I come in?”
“I’ve been thinking, or trying to, along lines suggested by something you said last night.”
“What, for instance?”
“As near as I can remember them, your words were: I thought you were going to come up with some bright idea about some other source of this croton muck? Remember?”
“I remember. But I wasn’t saying there was another source. I was saying I hoped to hell there wasn’t.”
“I can’t argue with you, but earlier you had made some remark about the possibility of there being two gimmel flasks. Now you may say that both remarks were just unconnected comments on the chit-chat that was going on at the time they were made, but they could just be an indication that you were toying with the idea—subliminally, perhaps—that certain aspects of this case might be duplicated.”
“You reckon? If I was, I need my head examined.”
“All right, examine it. Or rather the facts stored away in it, and tell me what you come up with.”
Green scowled, took out a new packet of Kensitas and broke it open without saying a word. Masters strolled to the window and stood looking out over the station yard as he charged his pipe. The silence reigned for two or three minutes before Green growled: “This isn’t fair, George, You’ve sown an idea, and I can’t get it out of my mind so’s to make an unbiased assessment. And there’s something missing. It’s incomplete. What I mean is, I can think up several things, or I would be able to if . . . no, it’s like trying to make something without several parts, one of which is vital if the structure is to stand up.”
“What part?”
“That’s the trouble. I don’t damned well know, do I? If I did I might be able to do something about it.” Green glowered and crushed out his cigarette. “It’s like trying to build a boat without having a keel to lay down. You can’t begin. But if it was only the mast missing, well you could get a hell of a long way before you had to go looking for a pole.”
Masters sat down opposite him. “Would this help?” He took the March sale catalogue out of his inside pocket and put it on the table so that Green could read its cover.
“This? How could this help, unless . . . hey, don’t tell me there were two medicine chests for sale that day and you stopped looking after you discovered what you did about the first one?”
“No. Try again.”
Green contemplated the catalogue which by now was becoming a bit dog-eared. He read the cover. He flicked through the pages. “Two!” he muttered. “You said I’d put the idea of two into your head, and you’ve found two of something here. What? Okay, I’ll buy it. I suppose it’s staring me in the face and I can’t see it.”
“On the cover,” said Masters. “Hardy, Williams and Lamont, Estate Agents and Surveyors. Valuations carried out. Property handled, et cetera, et cetera, 17 Market Hill, Limpid and. . . .”
“Three, High Street, Coleford” whooped Green. “Two addresses.” He suddenly sobered and looked across at Masters. “This was why you said you were going to see Lamont.”
“It opens up possibilities, doesn’t it?”
Green selected another cigarette. As he lit it he asked: “When do we go? Now?”
*
Lamont was in his office and alone when Masters and Green were shown in.
“I understand from our chief clerk that you took certain documents f
rom this office without giving a receipt,” he said, clearly under the impression that attack was the best form of defence on this occasion.
“Rubbish,” said Green. “They were given to Constable Berger by your staff. And what’s more, we’re keeping them. If you want to stand on principle, I’ll have the Chief Constable send you an official receipt. But as they’re stuff you’ve finished with—or should have—as they all referred to the last fiscal year, what’s your interest in them?”
“They’re needed for tax purposes.”
“Rubbish again. You don’t list every single item sold in your returns. They go into the book as a total for the day. And don’t try to tell me your Chief Clerk hasn’t got the totals. So I’ll ask again. What’s your great personal interest in those invoice books?”
“None. They are part of the firm’s documents.”
Masters pulled a chair up and sat down. “You know they’ll be safe with us. If the Inland Revenue has any queries concerning them, you can always refer them to the police Documents Squad.”
“Who the hell are they?”
“They’re a part of what you would refer to as the fraud squad.”
Lamont looked sullen. “What do they want them for? There’s no fraud there. They’re quite straightforward.”
“In which case, Mr Lamont, you have no worries. Either you or Mr Williams.”
“I haven’t.”
“Excellent. But you must appreciate that when the senior partner of a company such as this is suddenly poisoned for no apparent reason, his business transactions must be investigated in case the motive for murder is to be found there.”
“It won’t be.”
“Oh?” said Green. “You know the motive, do you, Mr Lamont?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why be so adamant about the motive not being caused by business? You favour social causes, do you?”
“How the hell do I know?”
“You are his partner.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That you ought to be able to make as reasoned a guess as anybody as to why he was murdered.”
“Well, I can’t.”
Masters started to fill his pipe. “You don’t mind if I smoke, Mr Lamont? Thank you. Now, I’d be interested to know what you and Mr Williams have decided to do about the business.”
“How do you mean?”
“Surely my meaning is obvious.” Masters struck a match and held it to his pipe. “There are now only two of you instead of three. Are you proposing to introduce another partner—senior or junior? Or are you simply going to concentrate your work here in Limpid, and let the Coleford office go?”
“Nothing’s definite yet. Mrs Hardy will have to be consulted, for one thing.”
“Surely not! She’ll be a considerable shareholder, no doubt, but not an active business partner. You and Mr Williams must have the say in the day-to-day running of affairs. So tell me, what are the proposals you will put to Mrs Hardy?”
“It’s no secret, is it chum?” asked Green.
Lamont shrugged. “Hardy ran this office. Williams ran the Coleford office. But as this is the bigger place, I came in to help Hardy.”
“Williams didn’t need an assistant?”
“Not a partner. He’s got a male clerk and a couple of typists there. Often enough, Williams only needed to be over there in the mornings. He was here in the afternoons.”
“That sounds an admirable arrangement,” said Masters. “But what now?”
“I’m going to take over Williams’ work at Coleford while he comes and takes over here full time. I’ll be here, too, in the afternoons.”
“Any more partners?”
“No. Our chief clerk here is to be given a rise in salary to take over more of the responsibility, and we’re getting another clerk in to do some of his work.”
“Sounds eminently satisfactory,” murmured Masters. “Now tell me, Mr Lamont, does your Coleford subsidiary conduct auctions as you do here in Limpid?”
“Yes. Not as often and not as big, usually. It’s quite a simple arrangement, really. Limpid will only stand one big sale a month. So, if there’s more than enough for here, we have an auction in Coleford about every two months. We hold Coleford items for sale in Coleford if this happens. There’s no point in transporting them all here if they can be sold there.”
“Saves a few ackers, I suppose,” said Green. “I’d like to see the Coleford catalogues for a few months back.”
“Why? They’re exactly the same as those we have here.”
“Nevertheless,” said Green, “I’m interested. I suppose I can get them in the back office from Mr Williams’ typist, can’t I?”
Before Lamont could protest at this action, Green had left the office. Masters, relaxed, asked: “Do you know how Mr Hardy died?”
“Of course I do. He was poisoned.”
“How?”
“He was given something in his lunch, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, he was. But what was he given?”
Lamont frowned. “I haven’t a clue. When I saw Mrs Hardy, she said she thought it must have been the salad dressing, because the police wanted the bottle and it had gone. But they didn’t know at first what the poison was, and if they found out later, they didn’t tell her.”
“I see. Did you know what salad dressing Mr Hardy used?”
“Of course. Oil and vinegar. Out of one of those twin bottles.”
“Don’t you mean a gimmel flask, Mr Lamont?”
Lamont reddened. “Yes I do. But I didn’t think you’d know.”
“Obviously.”
“Now what are you getting at?”
“The term gimmel flask is not widely known, is it, Mr Lamont?”
“Not really, I suppose.”
“So little known, in fact, that even a collector like Mrs Horbium had not heard of it until a week or two ago when you mentioned it in her presence, and that of Mrs Wellerby.”
“What’s this got to do with Hardy’s death?”
“Quite a lot, Mr Lamont. Tell me, when you got Bert Spooner to bid for those twenty-seven pieces of assorted glassware for you, why did you then give the lot back immediately to Bert?”
Lamont glowered. “Because what I thought was there, wasn’t.”
“Thought, Mr Lamont? Or knew?”
“What do you mean?”
“Mr Lamont, gimmel flasks aren’t considerable antiques, but they’re liked quite a lot.”
“So?”
“So when the gimmel flask you wanted had gone from among that glassware, you gave the rest away.”
Lamont nodded.
“Now look, Mr Lamont. You knew that flask was in that lot, because you had made the lots up, hadn’t you? But why didn’t you just steal it then, if you’d wanted it? It was most unlikely that anybody would miss it.”
Lamont didn’t reply.
“Or would somebody have missed it? Somebody who knew it was there and who might have remarked on its absence? Come on, Mr Lamont? Who?”
“If you must know, Williams was with me when we estimated the lots. He did that sort of thing. If he thought the day would not bring in enough he added or substituted a few better pieces.”
“Or if he thought there were too many good items for the market to stand, he withdrew a few for a later sale, in order to keep prices up?”
“It’s the usual practice. There’s nothing against the law in it.”
“Nothing at all. But Williams was interested in the gimmel flask?”
“Yes. He said he’d like it, just to be upsides with Hardy, and he’s a bit of a stickler. If I’d lifted it then, he’d have known. So I thought I’d bid for it.”
“Having taken care to hide it in a job lot of twenty-seven pieces of assorted glassware in the hope that nobody would notice its presence and you’d get the lot for a couple of bob?”
Lamont shrugged.
“Was it Mr Williams who told you it was called a gimmel flask and
suggested it might be worth a few pounds?”
“He told me it was a gimmel flask, but I didn’t know its value—only that it might be worth something as he was so keen to have it.”
“I see. So you bought the lot, through Bert, because you were on the stand at the time. But when you came to collect it at the end, the flask was missing?”
“That’s right.”
“Any idea who could have taken it?”
“It could have been anybody in that mob. Once the selling stops, the Corn Exchange becomes like the Albert Hall at the Proms.”
“Where was Mr Williams at the time?”
“Oh, he’d been on the rostrum before me and had gone to lunch.”
“You’re certain of that?”
“Of course I am. If he’d been in the Exchange, he’d have put in a bid for that flask. He didn’t—so he wasn’t there. Otherwise I wouldn’t have got it for what I paid.”
“Quite. But he returned to the sale later—before it ended?”
“Of course. He always checked the chief clerk’s figures, and it’s done on the spot. It has to be. So many things are verbal that you’d forget half of them if you waited till next morning. Besides there’s a hell of a lot of cash to be counted, bagged, and deposited in the bank night safe.”
“I see.”
“But if you’re thinking Williams would take that flask, you’re mistaken. I told you he is a stickler.”
“For honesty, square dealing, and that sort of thing?”
“Yes. As if any estate would miss the price of that flask!”
“Ah! But if the flask could go, why not other items? Perhaps big, valuable ones?”
“Nobody would do anything like that?”
“No? How much do you know about the operations of Bert Spooner and his brother Bandy?”
“Well . . . not much, but I’ve never found them nicking things.”
“Let me give you a tip for the future, Mr Lamont. Those men handle pieces of furniture. They also sell secondhand, seasoned wood. Now that wood comes from. . . .”
“Broken furniture,” said Lamont. “Stuff we can’t sell.”
“But how does it come to be broken, Mr Lamont? You see it after it arrives at your warehouse. I think quite a lot of it is broken by falling off Bert’s lorry before it gets to the warehouse. Use your head, Mr Lamont. How many houses have broken furniture littered about—the type of house with the sort of contents to merit a sale by you, I mean? One of these days, those two porters of yours are going to break up a really valuable piece for sale as second hand timber—if they haven’t already done so.”
The Gimmel Flask Page 18
