The Connicle Curse

by Gregory Harris

  I could see at once that it was not the answer Captain Dorchester had been hoping for. Nevertheless, after only the barest hesitation he spurred his men into action and within a handful of minutes we were ensconced in a small meeting room just off the rear of the bridge. It held one long, unusually tall table with clips scattered at its four edges and nary a chair to be seen. Cubbyholes ran along the far wall and each was stuffed with a rolled document. This, I realized, had to be the map room.

  Our page blasted over the loudspeaker while we settled ourselves. Colin ordered me to plant myself by the porthole with a view down onto the dock. It was imperative, he repeated yet again, that I keep an eye out for Varcoe and Sergeant Evans.

  We did not wait more than a minute before Wynn Tessler was shown in, and though I could tell he was trying to restrain it, I could see the shock behind his eyes. “Mr. Pendragon . . . Mr. Pruitt . . . how unexpected,” he said quite smoothly, his voice tight and controlled as a gracious smile shifted his lips.

  Colin stepped forward and shook his hand, bringing him farther into the small room with what I recognized as singular purpose. “You must forgive our rousting you just as you’re about to leave on vacation—”

  “Business,” he corrected at once. “I have business in Zurich.”

  “Ah yes, so you said.” Colin tossed a perfunctory grin.

  Mr. Tessler glanced at his pocket watch and frowned at Colin. “What is this about? The ferry is set to leave in a few minutes and I cannot afford to be delayed.”

  “Of course,” Colin responded without conviction as he took up a position on the far side of the table, leaning against it rakishly. “Our visit is about several things, really. Some of which have very much to do with you. Things I suspect you will be most grateful to learn.”

  “And what might those be?” he sallied back, his tone tinged with wariness.

  “I’m afraid you will find the first of the news most distressing. Scotland Yard has found the remains of William Hutton.”

  “Oh no . . .” Mr. Tessler’s shoulders drooped with practiced care as he shook his head. “That poor boy. What a sorrowful end to a tragic life.”

  “Tragic, was it?”

  Mr. Tessler’s brow quivered minutely as he looked back at Colin, a seed of something unsettled behind his eyes. “The boy was never right. You don’t know how hard that was for the Huttons. The endless worry and concern . . .”

  “There certainly was great cost attendant with the boy’s care. The last time we spoke with Mrs. Hutton she mentioned her husband was trying to find a permanent place for the lad. Certainly a prohibitively expensive proposition.”

  “Really, Mr. Pendragon.” Wynn Tessler scowled with distaste. “Your sentiment is crude. Were you a father you might understand that such concerns pale when talking about the care and well-being of your child.”

  The whisper of a smile brushed across Colin’s lips and I suspected Wynn Tessler was heading right where he intended him to. “I am certain you are right about that. But I have since come to realize that the Huttons had no such sums of money to afford that sort of care. In fact, I have learned they were on the verge of losing their home.”

  “I should think I understand the nature of their finances a good deal better than you,” Mr. Tessler shot back. “Mrs. Hutton does not have the means they once did, but she is hardly destitute.”

  “I should think not,” Colin agreed as he idly tugged at his chin. “And yet, do you know what I find most disconcerting? Scotland Yard has been unable to find Mrs. Hutton in the last fifteen hours to give her the tragic news about her son. They sent a telegram round to the address she left in Paris and it has been returned undeliverable. It seems there is no such address. They even dispatched a gendarme to knock on other doors in the neighborhood, but no one has seen a woman and daughter fitting the descriptions of Mrs. Hutton and Anna. Now what do you make of that?”

  Had I not been watching Mr. Tessler I might have missed the slight bristling of his brow that vaulted so quickly across his face. He cleared his voice as a feigned expression of indifference settled over him. “I make very little of it, Mr. Pendragon, other than the fact that you and your Yard have made a blunder in capturing her whereabouts. You may get the correct address from my office. We most certainly have it.”

  “And so we did.” Colin nodded. “But your office proved to have the same incorrect information.” He turned to me and I caught a spark of exhilaration coiled behind his gaze. “So Mr. Pruitt went down to the Foreign Services Ministry to check the passenger manifests of the ships that left our fair shores for Calais the day after Mrs. Hutton and Anna spent their night at Claridge’s. And do you know what he found?” Colin’s face was a veil of innocence. “Nothing.”

  I took another quick look out the porthole for Inspector Varcoe or Sergeant Evans before I turned my attentions to Mr. Tessler. “Not only was there no Charlotte or Anna Hutton on any ship that left that day,” I said, “but as you might imagine, there were very few women traveling alone, and even fewer traveling with a young girl. Not one of them headed to France.”

  For the first time a thin flush rose to Mr. Tessler’s cheeks and his eyebrows knit perceptibly as he flicked his eyes between me and Colin. It was almost as if I could see Mr. Tessler’s brain working: weighing, sifting, considering our words. Even so, I could discern little from his eyes in spite of the distrust that appeared to have settled there. “That isn’t so,” he finally said, making it sound more like a challenge than a statement.

  “In fact,” I added, still leaning against the porthole, my arms folded across my chest, “of the women traveling alone with a single girl, one was bound for Copenhagen, one for Leith, and one for Warnemünde.”

  “You must think me a fool.” Mr. Tessler suddenly laughed. “Charging aboard this ship to tell me things I have no way of verifying. And what does any of it have to do with me?” A corner of his mouth drew up in an expression so cocksure I found myself doubting Colin’s conjecture. But when I turned my eyes back to him I found that he’d stepped away from the table and was leaning against the wall with utter tranquility. If I was harboring doubts, he most assuredly was not.

  “If I tell you I think you a fool,” Colin began languidly, “it will not be for the reason you suppose. For there is more, Mr. Tessler. I suspect it will not come as a surprise to you that sums of money have been funneling through your personal accounts to Banque de Candolle Mallet and Cie in Geneva over the past two weeks. Sums that are guaranteed by your Columbia Financial.”

  “That’s all perfectly legitimate. . . .” he started to protest as Colin held up a single hand.

  “Yes. I suppose it is. But what if I told you that far greater sums were also being moved out of your personal accounts to Deutsche Bank? Sums backed not only by Columbia Financial, but also by the Connicle estate. An estate you now solely control, given Mr. Tolliver’s terrible accident months ago.”

  “What?!” And now there was no subterfuge to his reaction. No hooded façade meant to belie some hidden truth. “That’s impossible.”

  “Is it?” Colin remained just as he was, looking content and calm as though we were discussing banalities. “You gave her access to your accounts, didn’t you? That was the plan. That she would use a bit of money to go first and set herself up, and you would join her a few days later. The two of you bilking both the Connicle fortune and Columbia Financial into an untraceable account in Geneva. And then what? You disappear together somewhere on the Continent? I dread to imagine what your plans were for Anna, given how mercilessly you dispatched the others who stood in your way.”

  “Yours is an astounding imagination, Mr. Pendragon”—Wynn Tessler’s voice rumbled with strain—“but I have nothing to say to such drivel.”

  “You will,” Colin replied simply. “For I have an inspector from Scotland Yard on his way over this very minute and he will be bringing a great many documents that I am sure you will find of interest.”

  “I don’t know how
that could be,” he answered with bluster, pulling out his pocket watch again and checking it. “We are about to set off and I should hardly think any grandstanding by you or some rogue from the Yard will interfere with that.”

  “Then you will be pleased to learn that the captain has agreed to allow us a spot more time here. Which could impugn your schedule, given that your continuing train ticket is actually to Paris, not Zurich. And that could quickly become an impossible connection for you to make.”

  Mr. Tessler stiffened. Even beneath his cloak I could see his shoulders rise and his spine stiffen as though he had been prodded in the kidneys by something hot or sharp. “If you must know,” he abruptly snapped, “I have a meeting in Paris tonight and will be heading for Zurich tomorrow!”

  Colin flashed a patient smile. “I don’t believe I asked. And none of it makes any difference anyway, because whether you realize it or not, your business in Zurich has ceased. The rogue from Scotland Yard, as you so astutely refer to him, will be bringing copies of your accounts from the Bank of England. You will see that Columbia Financial and the Connicles have been quite gutted, just as you and Charlotte Hutton planned. But you will also see that the final move in this rogue’s game, Mr. Tessler, has been played against you. For not only are your personal accounts thoroughly pilfered, but I’d wager you’ll not find Mrs. Hutton awaiting you in Paris. She has disappeared to Berlin and already siphoned off all but a pocketful of change. I’m afraid that is all you’re likely to find when you check your account in Geneva. But then I cannot prove that bit to you. You know how clandestine those Swiss are.”

  “They’re here,” I said from my vantage point at the porthole as I watched Varcoe and Sergeant Evans come racing up the gangplank. “Inspector Varcoe has a handful of papers with him,” I added for Mr. Tessler’s benefit, and so he did. For once it felt good to be working with the Yard. I glanced back and recoiled when I saw the gun. How foolish we had been.

  “You will both ease your coats to the floor,” Mr. Tessler seethed as he pointed the revolver at Colin’s head while moving closer to him. We did as he demanded and I lamented that Colin had not chosen to secrete one of his own guns. Mr. Tessler kicked our coats aside and quickly patted Colin’s waist and forearms before doing the same to me. With his gun hovering at my temple he snarled in my ear, “I’ll not have those two on this ship. You get what they’ve brought and bring it in here. And get them off this ferry!” he blasted at me, my knees buckling as his breath lashed the side of my face. “I’ll see the two of them on the docks or when I shoot Mr. Pendragon this time it won’t be in the thigh.”

  Colin’s face was grim and taut, though he remained by the far wall as though watching a scene that did not involve him. I could not claim the same level of detachment, as my heart had leapt into my throat and felt like it might cut off my air supply if I could not swallow it back down. It skittered like a jackrabbit in my ears and left my legs so feeble that I had to reach for the wall behind me to steady myself. “Don’t do anything foolish,” I heard myself mumble.

  “Then get to it!” Mr. Tessler snapped.

  As I fled the room, carefully closing the door behind myself, I realized I wasn’t really certain whether my statement had been for Mr. Tessler or Colin. I didn’t trust either of them, which left me even more afraid for Colin’s life.

  “You gentlemen about done?” the captain asked, startling me as I came around the corner and back onto the bridge.

  “I need to get the documents from the inspector,” I prattled, my voice catching precariously at the back of my throat.

  The captain’s shoulders sagged as he pawed for his pocket watch, but I kept moving and so gave no quarter to his time constraints. “I’ll not give you much longer!” he shouted after me, to which I did not bother to reply.

  I found Inspector Varcoe and Sergeant Evans on the main deck near the stairs to the bridge. Varcoe was already red faced and agitated, and when I told them they would have to wait on the dock where Wynn Tessler could see them he grew even redder. “The hell I will,” he fired back. “How do I know you and Pendragon aren’t just up to your usual bollocks? Trying to usurp the good name and hard work of the Yard?”

  Without an instant’s hesitation I grabbed his lapels and dragged him inches from my face. “The man has a gun pointed at Colin’s head, Emmett. Do I look like I’m buggering around?!”

  His color drained and he shook himself from my grip, yanking his coat back down. “Yes . . .” he muttered, “. . . of course. We’ve got to be careful. You take the documents and Evans and I will determine what to do.”

  “You will get your ruddy asses off this ship and stand on that dock where Mr. Tessler can see you,” I demanded without a shred of patience as I pulled the sheaf of papers from his hand. “I already watched this man shoot and kill that Prussian in the alley without a second thought. And he shot and grazed Colin that very same night, so you will not do something stupid. Now get the hell out of here.” I headed back for the metal staircase but not before turning back to ensure that they were following my directions.

  I rushed back to the bridge and managed to avoid the captain before rapping on the door of the map room and calling out my name. As I let myself in I found that Mr. Tessler had moved to the porthole I’d been standing at earlier, his gun still trained on Colin, who was just as I had left him. Once again I carefully shut the door before stepping forward and laying the myriad papers across the map table.

  “Where’s your inspector and his man?” Mr. Tessler barked.

  “They sh-sh-should be there,” I stammered. “I gave them specific instructions just as you said.” Without thinking I stepped toward the porthole to search across the docks until I felt the gun swing around toward me. My eyes locked on the cavernous hole at the end of the round, jet-black cylinder that promised to be the last thing I would ever see.

  “Don’t . . .” I heard Colin say, but it sounded ridiculous and irrational.

  “Where are they?!” Mr. Tessler growled.

  I desperately searched the area at the bottom of the gangplank before I finally spotted the two of them stepping back onto the dock, Evans in front and Varcoe right behind with his blaze of white hair. “There. . . .” I pointed at the two of them, made conspicuous by Evans’s uniform, just as I noticed that it wasn’t Varcoe at all. It was a man very much like him in stature and coloring, but it was not he.

  “Very well.” Mr. Tessler took a step back, the gun still leveled at my face. “Tell the captain he may raise the gangplank and get under way,” he instructed Colin.

  Colin did exactly as he said, moving with a grim rigidity that only further unnerved me, and within a minute the gangplank had been stowed and the sound of the engines could be heard rumbling to life far beneath our feet.

  “Now then.” Mr. Tessler seemed to relax as he stepped away from the porthole, prodding me toward the table with his revolver. “Let us see what trifle you have brought.”

  Colin sidled across the table from us, his eyes locked on Wynn Tessler, making it impossible for me to catch his attention. I was terrified that he would try something heroic, so was not surprised to find my hands trembling as I laid out the loose documents. What made it worse was not knowing what Inspector Varcoe was up to. That fact scared me more than anything else.

  “Describe what it all is!” Mr. Tessler snapped at me. “I’ll not take my eyes off this weasel.” He leered at Colin as he fixed the revolver closer to my head.

  “You mustn’t keep pointing your gun at Mr. Pruitt.” Colin spoke with calm assurance. “Because if you shoot him, even by accident, I shall rip your bits out through your eye sockets.”

  I could not breathe. The air was thick and heavy, and I was certain the only sound that could be heard was the thunderous galloping of my heart. Neither Colin nor Mr. Tessler said anything further, so I began reading aloud the first telegram lying on the table in front of me.

  “FROM THE BANK OF ENGLAND.

  CONFIRMING INSOLVENCY O
F ALL

  ACCOUNTS BELONGING TO WYNN TESSLER.

  STOP. COLUMBIA FINANCIAL SERVICES

  NEARLY SO. STOP. STILL VERIFYING

  ADDITIONAL ACCOUNTS FROM WHICH

  BULK OF FUNDS ORIGINATED. STOP. ONE

  THOUSAND POUNDS TRANSFERRED TO

  BANQUE DE CANDOLLE, ETC., GENEVA.

  STOP. REMAINING FUNDS TO DEUTSCHE

  BANK OF BERLIN. STOP. LORD RUFUS

  SOMERSBY. GOVERNOR, BANK OF

  ENGLAND.”

  I looked up to find Wynn Tessler scowling at me, his lips taut and his brow furrowed with a hatred that made me fear the gun wavering near my head even more. “Read the next one,” he demanded.

  As I leaned forward to grab another telegram I slid slightly to my right, hoping the gun might stray more toward my shoulders than my head.

  “FROM DEUTSCHE BANK. HEREWITH VERIFY

  FUNDS MOVED FROM W. TESSLER

  ACCOUNTS AT BANK OF ENGLAND. STOP.

  2,958,010 SWISS FRANCS. STOP. ALL FUNDS

  TRANSFERRED SUCCESSFULLY. STOP.

  GERHARD VON HOFFMAN, SENIOR VICE

  PRESIDENT, DEUTSCHE BANK.”

  “The next one . . .” Wynn Tessler’s voice came out harsh and dangerous.

  Again I leaned forward, and slid myself just the slightest bit to the right. “Deutsche Bank again,” I said, clearing my throat as a wave of sweat breached my forehead. I glanced at Colin and found him glaring at Mr. Tessler, his eyes hooded and narrow, and once again I found my senses ratcheting toward panic.

  “RECIPIENT ACCOUNT OF W. TESSLER

  FUNDS FROM BANK OF ENGLAND OPENED

  BY WOMAN. STOP. MARY ELLEN WITTEN.

  STOP. MAJORITY OF FUNDS ALREADY

  TRANSFERRED TO SEVERAL NEW

  CORPORATE ACCOUNTS. STOP. WILL

  REQUIRE ADDITIONAL TIME TO DETERMINE

  FINAL STATUS. STOP. GERHARD VON