Merlin at War

by Mark Ellis

  Tomlinson waved a sedentary greeting from the table as Sidney Fleming walked over to the policemen. “Do you like our boardroom, Chief Inspector?”

  Merlin turned his attention to the dapper, bow-tied man who was now extending a hand to him. “I certainly do. Mr Fleming, I presume? Beautiful pictures you have here and I see the German bombers have been kind enough to avoid ruining your fine view.”

  “Yes, we have been lucky to avoid damage ourselves, as have the buildings you can see going down to the river. The story is different in other directions.”

  Philip Arbuthnot slid up behind Fleming. “Chief Inspector.”

  “I thought it appropriate to invite Philip to join us, Mr Merlin, as the leading family member.”

  “No Mrs Cavendish?”

  “My aunt was taken poorly yesterday. She has a touch of summer flu. Nothing serious.”

  Fleming led Merlin and Bridges to the table. “She had been keen to attend but unfortunately wasn’t up to the trip down from Northamptonshire.”

  “That’s a pity.”

  After everyone was seated, Tomlinson was the first to speak. “I do hope Mr Merlin that, despite Mrs Cavendish’s absence, you will feel it within your powers to share the details of the box contents with us. I am, after all, solicitor to the late Mr Arbuthnot’s estate, to Philip here, to Mrs Cavendish and, of course, to the bank. In the circumstances…”

  Merlin raised his hand. “Thank you, Mr Tomlinson. I am not going to hand the contents over to you but am prepared to disclose broadly what they are. Given how and where we found the box, it will be no surprise to you to hear that Mrs Cavendish was the intended recipient of her brother’s letter and of the box contents. You should be aware that the correspondence in the box references criminal activity that will, of course, have to be investigated.”

  Fleming, Tomlinson and Arbuthnot exchanged nervous glances.

  At a nod from Merlin, Bridges opened his briefcase and set out Simon Arbuthnot’s three envelopes. Merlin picked up one of them. “In this we have Simon Arbuthnot’s final will. In it he leaves pretty much everything to his sister, Lucinda Cavendish.”

  Philip Arbuthnot blanched and raised his hands in the air. “That… that can’t be right. He wouldn’t…”

  “Bear with me please, Mr Arbuthnot. Let me lay the full story before you.” He picked up another, thicker envelope. “This contains 10 bearer-share certificates for a total of 100 shares in Enterprisas Simal in Argentina.” Tomlinson and Fleming were suddenly galvanised. “We understand this represents the entire share capital of that company.” Fleming nodded.

  Merlin held up the third, smaller envelope. “And here we have Simon Arbuthnot’s last letter to his sister.” He paused to withdraw the five sheets of paper, then looked up at the anxious faces opposite him. “I’ll summarise.

  “One – in recent years, Simon Arbuthnot built up very large personal debts through reckless gambling.

  “Two – while he managed to clear some of those debts, substantial ones remain, a large proportion of which are owed to a man called Peregrine Beecham.

  “Three – in order to meet his debts, he ran through his liquid assets, borrowed against illiquid assets and ultimately resorted to fraud.” Merlin looked at Fleming. “This fraud, he tells us, was perpetrated on clients of the bank, principally through illegal diversion of funds placed under the management of the bank. This was, of course, also a fraud perpetrated on the bank itself.

  “Four – aside from his personal assets, and his partnership in the bank, which it was not easy to liquidate, the most valuable asset in Mr Arbuthnot’s possession was the ownership of Enterprisas Simal as represented by the bearer shares. He mentions that these certificates were originally acquired in dubious circumstances from someone called Franzi Meyer.

  “Five – there are parties outside the family with claims on these certificates. A son of Meyer’s has mounted a legal suit in Argentina to recover the certificates, although Simon Arbuthnot expressed his confidence that the suit would come to nothing. Also, he says that Peregrine Beecham has become aware of the certificates’ existence and their potential as a source of repayment of Arbuthnot’s gambling debts to him.

  “Six – his bequest of his estate to his sister is not intended as a slight to his son. In light of the dire circumstances outlined in the letter, he decided that his sister was better placed to conserve and protect Philip’s inheritance. He advises Philip to go to Argentina to take hold of the South American businesses.”

  Merlin returned the letter to its envelope and Bridges put it and the other two packages in his briefcase. There followed several seconds of shell-shocked silence. A very shaken Philip Arbuthnot was first to speak. “Where exactly does this leave us? I understand now why there was all this John Buchan stuff to get the certificates, the will and the advice secretly to my aunt. But here we are. We – or rather you – have the documents, and my father’s secret advice to my aunt is secret no longer. What happens, now? What does it mean in practical terms?”

  Fleming stared grimly at the young man. “What it means, Philip, is that your father’s bank is in very serious trouble.”

  “Were you aware of your partner’s fraud, Mr Fleming?”

  “My partner? More my employer than my partner, Mr Merlin. And the answer is no, I wasn’t aware.” Fleming looked pointedly at his solicitor.

  Tomlinson had gone even paler than Philip. “The information you have given us erm… Chief Inspector is erm… very shocking. Very shocking, indeed. I really must have some time with my clients erm… to consider the legal ramifications of it all.”

  “Very well, Mr Tomlinson. Give Mr Fleming your legal advice. He is going to need your very best. Naturally, we shall have to pass our information on Mr Arbuthnot’s fraud to the appropriate section of the City of London police. They will no doubt…”

  Fleming suddenly brought a hand down loudly on the table. “Dammit, Merlin, you must understand…” His voiced cracked with emotion. “This is a most delicate matter that must be handled most carefully. There are the depositors’ interests to be considered as well as the people who have put funds under management. There are also the numerous regulatory and market implications. Any premature leakage of…”

  “As I was about to say, Mr Fleming, the City of London fraud squad will be aware of the delicacy of the situation and no doubt will take all such factors into account. They are experienced in this sort of thing, I am not. I presume there’ll have to be some level of consultation with the Bank of England, among others, but I’ll leave all that to them.”

  Fleming stared at Philip Arbuthnot as he dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief. “I should emphasise as well that the certificates are not Simon’s – or I suppose I should now say Mrs Cavendish’s – to dispose of as she wishes. Simon held them, or 90 per cent of them at least, in trust for the bank and they are thus the property of the bank. If anyone seeks to dispute this, the bank will assert its rights most vigorously.”

  Merlin looked down at the table. It was so highly polished he could just about see his reflection in it. “Simon Arbuthnot touches on this in the letter. I think you’ll need to have a careful discussion with your auditors on the subject, Mr Fleming.”

  “What on earth do you mean by that, Chief Inspector?”

  “He says the declaration of trust never happened.”

  “But it was all sorted and verified by our auditors!”

  “That’s why you need to speak to them, sir.”

  Fleming banged a hand down on the table in frustration and started to say something but Tomlinson intervened. “I think it would probably be wise now, Chief Inspector, if you and the sergeant left us. There is much to consider and I need to have a long talk with my clients.”

  “Of course, Mr Tomlinson. We’ll leave you to it. Come on, Sergeant.”

  * * *

  Back at his desk half an hour later, Merlin found he couldn’t get Sonia’s bombshell out of his head. Was he really to be a fat
her at last? Alice had been very keen on having children but it had become impossible once she’d fallen ill. Now it was really happening with Sonia.

  Important issues would have to be resolved, principally the question of marriage. He was happy to tie the knot, but was she? Sonia gave the impression of wanting to be a free spirit. But illegitimacy was no minor thing in this day and age. Neither of them was much concerned with appearances but they would have to decide one way or another – and quickly too. Sonia wasn’t showing yet but it would only be a matter of weeks. “Weeks, only weeks,” Merlin muttered to himself.

  “Are you all right, sir?” Bridges was at the door with Goldberg and Robinson.

  “What? Oh, Sergeant. Sorry. Just thinking about something. Hello, everyone. Sit down, please. Things are happening so quickly that I want to make sure everyone’s up to date. Let’s go case by case, although they now increasingly appear to be linked to a greater or lesser degree.” Merlin picked up the note he had made earlier.

  “Let’s start with Bridget Healy. We now know the identity of all three men who were at the hotel with her. The man who accompanied Bridget to the hotel was Peter Wilson, the chauffeur of Bridget’s sister. Mr de Metz was the abortionist, as we have known for some time. And Lieutenant Dumont was the third man, who arrived later, threatened Wilson with a gun and told him to clear off. So the question is: can we deduce from all this that Dumont was the father of Bridget’s child and that he arranged the abortion? My own view is that while a compelling case is clearly building against Dumont, we should continue to keep an open mind until we have absolutely convincing evidence.”

  “Or a confession, sir.”

  “Or a confession, Sergeant. Am I wrong in my view?”

  Bridges, Robinson and Goldberg shook their heads in unison.

  “Let’s move on to de Metz. Sergeant, where are we with the forensics on that shell casing found at his flat?”

  “I had a call this morning. They finally found the lost casing and have identified the gun it came from. They say it’s a French gun, a Modèle 1935A. Not very common apparently.”

  “A French gun? Good. Another nail in Dumont’s coffin, perhaps. The clearest circumstantial motive we have for the murder of de Metz still remains vengeance by Bridget’s partner against the negligent abortionist. Was Dumont that partner and does he own a Modèle 1935A?”

  “There’s still the MI5 story.”

  “Yes, Constable, but MI5 appear to be off the hook on the basis of what Swanton told me.”

  “We still have the possibility of others threatened by de Metz’s potential knowledge, Frank. You said Swanton couldn’t say whether de Metz had attracted the attention of MI6 or SOE.”

  “You’re right, Bernie. And now we have Devlin and his story, which in a way gives de Metz’s claims some credibility. But we’ll come to that in a minute. Next up, Eddie Powell.” A bee buzzed noisily through the office window and hovered above the desk. Bridges got up and made a couple of unsuccessful attempts to swat it before it disappeared out of the window as suddenly as it had arrived.

  “We now have Rupert Vorster’s admission that he was outside Powell’s flat on the night of the murder. He says he was going to try to get Arbuthnot’s letter off him but bottled it and left.”

  “Why was he trying to get the message, sir?”

  “Sorry, Constable. I forgot I hadn’t explained that. Beecham knew about Arbuthnot’s bearer certificates and wanted them. Vorster surmised that the message in Powell’s hands might disclose their whereabouts. He wanted Beecham to release him from his own debts and hoped to do so by getting hold of the certificates for him.”

  “He must have been pretty desperate if he’d kill for that.”

  “It appears he is in a desperate position, Constable. Owes a pile of money that his rich father won’t pay for him. And let’s not forget, the letter did ultimately lead to the certificates and other valuable information. But at present he denies the murder. Let’s take him at his word, for the moment. He says he saw someone going up to Powell’s flat and then hurrying out a while later. He can’t physically identify the man but says he smelled nice.”

  “Pardon, sir?”

  “He says, Constable, that the man in question was wearing a distinctive aftershave.”

  Two river barges outside sounded their klaxons noisily and at length. Merlin glared at the window in irritation until they stopped. “Finally, we have the new case of Mr Devlin, a private investigator badly beaten up and stabbed yesterday in Holloway, but, luckily, still with us. According to Devlin, and in line with de Metz’s apparent claims, there is a security issue at the Free French office in London. The presence of a spy is suspected. Devlin was engaged by someone at Dorset Square to keep three officers under observation. Amazingly, Dumont was one of them. What are the other names?”

  “Beaulieu and Meyer, Frank. When we went back to see Devlin this morning, he also gave us the names of the Free French officers he dealt with. They were our guys, Rougemont and Angers, under the direction of Aubertin. Devlin’s story is that there was pressure to finger Beaulieu, even though there was no evidence. He liked Dumont for the part, the officers weren’t interested so he pulled out. That was the day before yesterday. The day before he was viciously attacked.”

  Bridges raised a hand. “With respect, sir, what business is it of ours whether there are spies among the French? Isn’t that something for MI5?”

  “It is indeed, Sergeant, but given Dumont’s involvement and what we have been told about de Metz, we have a strong interest in whatever has been going on. I am meeting Harold, by the way, after this. I’ll tell him Devlin’s story but he’s apparently got something for us from de Metz’s old photograph.”

  Merlin reached his hands behind his neck. “So that’s where we are. Some way further down the line but still with many issues to resolve.” He turned to Goldberg. “Are we any closer to finding Dumont?”

  “The guy’s gone completely to ground, Frank. At Carlton Gardens and Dorset Square they say he’s taken a couple of days leave, no-one knows where, and there’s no sign of him at his flat.”

  “How about the girl he was with when we picked him up the other day? Does she know anything?”

  “No sign of her either.”

  “I see. Damn it.”

  “Why don’t we get on and have a word with this Beecham fellow, sir?”

  “Absolutely, Constable. We now know from Devlin this morning that it was Beecham whom Dumont met at Euston – this prompted his suspicion of Dumont. So Beecham’s role might be critical.”

  “Maybe Dumont had gambling debts and that’s why he was meeting Beecham. He didn’t want us to know about them so that’s why he lied about knowing him.”

  “Perhaps, Sergeant. We can ask him but first we have to get hold of him.”

  “By the way, sir.”

  “Yes, Constable.”

  “The clerk at the Bedford Hotel, Noakes, called me today. He’d finally remembered the odd thing he noticed about the man who came last to the hotel. He remembered he had a slight limp.”

  Merlin smiled. “Better late than never, eh?” He got to his feet. “Right. I’ll go to my meeting now with Harold and then we can reconvene and decide exactly what our next action should be.”

  * * *

  “He’s in the back room, Frank. Through here.” Merlin followed Tony into the café-owner’s private quarters and found Harold Swanton comfortably ensconced in an armchair, sipping a hot drink, his long legs stretched out before him. “Lovely mug of Bovril your Italian friend here makes.”

  “Would you like one, Frank?”

  Merlin detested Bovril. “No thanks, Tony. I’m fine.” He took the armchair opposite Swanton and Tony left.

  “Trustworthy fellow, is he?”

  “Completely. He’d do anything for me. Solid as the Rock of Gibraltar.”

  “I’m not so sure Gibraltar’s that solid these days. Hitler would love to get hold of it and Franco might help him. Anyway,
thanks for arranging this cosy little meeting place.” Swanton set down his drink and reached into the briefcase at his feet. “Here’s the photograph you gave me. We noticed some almost invisible initials on the back. Using their magical arts, our scientists managed to make them legible. There are two sets.”

  “What are they?”

  “Here, see… The first are ADM. Armand de Metz obviously. And here, AA.”

  “AA. Doesn’t mean anything to me.”

  “You said, Frank, that de Metz showed this photograph to the French officers.”

  “They said he did so suggesting that it could do someone some harm.”

  “I guess one interpretation of that is that someone in the photograph was involved in the fishy activities de Metz was implying he knew about.”

  “Assuming there was any truth in his story, Harold, which I understood your agency thought not.”

  “I’m not an officer who is afraid to admit a mistake, Frank. Let’s proceed with an open mind. So there are two young men in the photograph and two young women. I think we can discount the women. Of the young men, one is dark-haired, one is fair-haired.”

  “The darker one is probably de Metz.”

  “And the fair-haired chap in the uniform is presumably AA. So who is he?”

  “You’ve looked through the Free French rosters for those initials?”

  “Of course. We’ve checked all the names on the military list, as well as all the staff, secretaries, kitchen workers, everyone. We found only one person with those initials.”

  Merlin realised with a start that he knew that person. “Auguste Angers?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve met the man. Not a favourite. What do you propose to do?”