Trouble Brewing

by Dolores Gordon-Smith

  Bill shook his head. ‘That’s the point. No one did. Her allowance to Mark was her one extravagance. She lived at the rate of six hundred a year, paid her bills promptly and gave everyone the impression her income had declined over the years. All the time her capital was building up at compound interest.’

  ‘Wow! And again, wow! But now Mark’s out of the picture, who gets it?’

  Bill frowned. ‘That’s just it, you see. After Mark vanished his grandmother made another will. That was after her first heart attack. She probably knew she didn’t have long left. When – she firmly believed it was when and not if, apparently – Mark turned up again, the terms of the original will would stand, but in the meantime, the whole amount was to be put into a trust for him. Patricia and her husband could draw upon the income, but they couldn’t touch the capital until it was proved that Mark was dead.’

  ‘Hang on. If that’s invested nice and safely at three per cent, say, that’s about . . .’ Jack closed his eyes and did some mental gymnastics. ‘I’d say that was six thousand a year.’

  ‘Not bad. There’s actually a bit more than that, because of a block of shares she had that pay about nine per cent. The total income amounts to around eight thousand a year.’

  ‘You told me no one benefited,’ said Jack reprovingly. ‘You may think those sort of dibs aren’t worth having, but I bet Patricia – as was Helston – Jaggard thinks it’s well worth knowing about. I bet Gregory Jaggard does too.’

  ‘But she didn’t know it existed,’ said Bill plaintively. ‘Nobody did. It was split up into so many different holdings even the lawyer didn’t have a clue how rich she was.’

  Jack drew in a long mouthful of smoke. ‘That does alter things, I agree. Damn! There’s another thing, too. If that was the reason, it’d make more sense to first see off grandma, then bump off Mark. It’s a bit obvious, but it’d work. Doing it this way leaves an awful lot to chance. There’d be no guarantee that the will would be altered. If Mark were a properly attested corpse then his grandmother would presumably alter her will in favour of Patricia. Having him vanish like this leaves everything open. It’s no end of a powerful argument against your idea that he’s slung his hook, though. He’d hardly stay vanished knowing there’s two hundred thousand for the taking.’

  ‘It depends why he went,’ said Bill, dryly. ‘You’re assuming, along with Mr Hunt, that Mark had no reason to disappear. What if he’s committed a crime?’

  ‘What sort of crime?’

  ‘Theft, perhaps? He might have murdered someone for all I know.’

  A slow smile twitched Jack’s mouth. ‘That’s something I wouldn’t suggest to Mr Hunt. Have you got many murderees in want of a murderer? No? Because you see, don’t you, that idea implies that not only has Mark Helston managed to successfully conceal himself since January, he also contrived a murder of such brilliance that nobody knows it’s occurred.’

  Bill grinned in return. ‘Okay, strike that one from the record. I’d love to know what the devil’s happened to him, though.’

  ‘Me too. This case is growing on me, Bill.’

  He stopped as the red-headed man who had been talking to Gregory Jaggard stood up and, seeing Jack, started in pleased surprise and came across the room.

  ‘It’s Meredith Smith,’ said Jack in a low voice. ‘He’s an old pal.’

  Meredith Smith greeted Jack warmly. ‘I haven’t seen you in absolutely ages, Jack. The funny thing is, I was going to look you up.’

  Jack bowed to the inevitable. ‘Take a pew, Merry. This is William Rackham of Scotland Yard and this, Bill, is Captain Meredith Smith.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Smith, tidying his gangly limbs into a chair. ‘Excuse me butting in, won’t you? I’m at a bit of a loose end. Scotland Yard, eh? My guv’nor was in the police over in Hong Kong.’ He looked at Jack, steepling his fingers together. ‘I can do the Sherlock Holmes stunt as well, you know. And I deduce, my dear Watson, that you had a letter today inviting you to a certain house in Belgravia to investigate the disappearance of one Mark Helston.’

  Jack and Bill stared at Meredith Smith in astonishment.

  ‘How on earth d’you know that?’ asked Jack.

  ‘You know my methods,’ said Smith with a laugh. ‘To come clean, I wrote the letter. How d’you get on in your audience with H.R.H.?’

  ‘With the King?’

  ‘Idiot! Harold Rushton Hunt, commonly referred to as H.R.H., also known to minions, such as myself, as The Boss. Nice old boy, isn’t he?’

  ‘Very. But look here, Merry, old fruit, I thought you worked for the Chicago and Mid-Western Bank.’

  ‘You’re behind the times. They wanted me to move to Detroit or somewhere equally foul, and I wasn’t having it at any price. Things were said on both sides and we came to a parting of the ways. After a couple of months of wondering where the next three squares were coming from, I was beginning to think Detroit might not be such a bad notion after all, when, like an angel from heaven, I received an invitation from H.R.H. to pop round and see him. I duly popped, with such satisfactory results that you are now, I’m glad to say, looking at the chief financial wizard and general factotum of Hunt Coffee Limited.’

  ‘Well done. Er . . . what on earth made him pick you?’

  Meredith Smith’s eyebrows rose. ‘You could find a more flattering way to phrase that.’ He laughed. ‘Actually, I wondered as much myself when I got the letter. Believe it or not, I’m related to him.’

  ‘Good grief! Are you?’

  Smith nodded. ‘Yes. There was always a sort of cloud over it at home, so I never knew the ins and outs of it, but my grandmother was H.R.H.’s sister, Enid. She married my grandfather, who was also called Meredith Smith, but she abandoned the family and ran off with Jonathan Burbage, the actor-manager chap. Having seen a photo of Grandfather Smith, I don’t know if I blame her. He seems to be all beard and whiskers. Jonathan Burbage owned a string of theatres and was quite disgustingly rich. It was their daughter who was Mark’s mother. I didn’t have a clue about any of this. I thought my grandmother had died long before I was born.’

  He laughed. ‘The funny thing is, that as far as H.R.H. is concerned, it could have happened yesterday. He pumped my hand, and asked me to overlook the grave injury his family had caused mine and all that. Well, what with not knowing the first thing about it, and having to go and fight the Great War and being rather more concerned with finding some way of keeping body and soul together, I hadn’t done a frightful amount of brooding on the flighty goings-on of my grandmother in 1880 or thereabouts. After I worked out what he was talking about, I said not to worry, it was all water under the bridge and all that. H.R.H. brightened up and told me he was glad to see I’d taken it in such a sporting manner, or words to that effect. Poor old Enid had come in for some heavy Victorian disapproval and been barred for years, as far as I can make out. It was only when her daughter died that she got accepted back into the family fold once more, bringing with her Mark and Patricia.’

  ‘When did all this happen, Merry? Mr Hunt offering you the job, I mean.’

  ‘Just over a month ago. Mark’s sliding off left an enormous gap in the firm, and H.R.H. wanted someone in the family to fill it. Fortunately I’ve always had a head for figures and although I’m only accidentally in the family, it was close enough to count. Between the three of us, I rather think H.R.H. had been upset by his sister’s will. You know she only died a few weeks ago? She left everything to Mark, and nothing to me. As I’d never heard of the woman before H.R.H. told me about her, I can’t say it bothered me much, but H.R.H. obviously thought she should have done something for Grandpa Smith’s family. Anyway, he offered me a job at a corking salary, so here we are.’

  Jack sat back and looked at Meredith reflectively. ‘You say Mr Hunt was keen to have someone in the family. Why? Is it just sentiment or is there another reason?’

  Smith gave an impatient little wriggle. ‘You do ask some damn searching questions, Jack. I don
’t want to say too much, but I must say it had occurred to me, too.’ He paused. ‘Although we’re doing fine at the moment, it’s not where I would put my money, if you see what I mean.’

  Bill sat up sharply. ‘Why’s that?’

  Smith looked acutely uncomfortable. ‘I can’t tell you. I don’t mean I don’t want to, I mean I don’t know. However, I can’t help feeling something’s been going on that’s not right. There’s nothing I can put my finger on, but I do wonder if Mark was quite the shining light his family thought him.’

  ‘And if you find out, with you being part of the family . . .’ said Jack.

  ‘I’ll keep quiet. Yes. I have wondered if that’s the size of it. If there is anything dodgy, though, I’m sure H.R.H. isn’t in on it. He’s unhappy about the firm. He’s asked me a couple of times if everything’s as it should be and given me a sort of between-the-lines warning to keep my eyes peeled. The trouble is, if I do find anything amiss, I can’t keep quiet, family or no family. Even accountants have a rudimentary sense of ethics. I don’t want anything to go wrong because it’s such a nailing good job, but . . .’

  ‘But if there’s dirty work at the crossroads you’ll have to come clean.’

  ‘Unfortunately, yes.’ He sighed. ‘I wish I’d known Mark. It’s much easier to know if a man’s pukka if you’ve actually met him. That’s one of the reasons why I’ve taken up with Jaggard, his brother-in-law. Did you see him? I was talking to him earlier. I like the man for his own sake, but he knew Mark well. I haven’t spoken about this to anyone, as they all take the line that Mark is totally innocent of anything shady. I’m not so sure. Leaving aside the idea he’s wafting around in the fourth dimension somewhere, he’s either croaked or, seeing trouble looming, got out while the going was good.’

  Jack shook his head in a dissatisfied manner. ‘Perhaps. But you haven’t managed to find anything, have you? If there is something dodgy it must be damn well hidden and if it’s that well hidden, there’d be no reason for Helston to scoot.’ He rested his chin on his hands, staring sightlessly into the fire.

  ‘Penny for them?’ prompted Bill.

  Jack shook himself. ‘Nothing,’ he said with a grin. ‘I need to look at that blessed file of yours before I start leaping to conclusions. D’you fancy seeing if the billiard room’s free? How about you, Merry? I’m sure we could rope in a fourth if you’d like a game.’

  Meredith Smith crushed out his cigarette and, standing up, delicately stifled a yawn. ‘Not for me, thanks. We workers of the world have to get our eight hours. If you are going to act for H.R.H., Jack, you’ll probably need to come down to the factory in Southwark. Ask for me. I’ll show you around and introduce you to everyone.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll take you up on that.’

  ‘He might prove a useful way in to Hunt Coffee,’ said Bill, watching Meredith Smith’s retreating back. ‘How d’you know him?’

  ‘Merry? He was in my squadron for a time. He’s a sound bloke with an absolute genius for figures. If he thinks there’s something not quite as mother makes about the firm, then he’s probably right. I wish I knew more. If I think about it much longer without getting my hands on some cold, hard facts I’ll go cuckoo.’

  ‘Come and look at the file tomorrow,’ said Bill. ‘You can’t take it out of the building, of course, but I’m there all morning if you want to camp in my office.’

  Never, thought Bill, had Inspector Wilfred Murray’s compositions been subjected to such intense scrutiny. Twice he had asked Jack if he wanted a cup of tea; the third time had elicited a grunt of, ‘Oh, thanks.’ The cup sat, completely disregarded, at Jack’s elbow.

  Jack sat up, ran a hand through his hair, then smiled as he saw Bill’s eyes on him. ‘Sorry. I haven’t been much in the way of company, have I?’

  ‘That’s not what you’re here for. Did you find anything?’

  Jack tapped his notepad. ‘I’ve jotted down the main points. Helston had three hundred and twenty-seven pounds plus a few bob in his bank account. That’s not been touched. The very last person to see him was Carlton, his valet, who said Helston mentioned he was dining at Oddenino’s on Regent Street, but not who with, worse luck. He didn’t get a taxi as it’s only ten minutes’ walk or so, but no one from Oddenino’s remembered him being there that evening.’

  ‘So the inference is he disappeared on the way to the restaurant?’

  ‘Yes. No one enquired for him at Oddenino’s, so it sounds as if he met whoever it was he was going to have dinner with on the way there and they went off together. Who that is, I don’t know.’

  Jack frowned at his notepad. ‘I could do with getting to know the people involved. Frederick Hunt, for example, old Mr Hunt’s son, is just a name and age in here, but he was one of the last to see Helston. What does he think happened? There’s no indication of that.’ Jack picked up the cup of orange-coloured fluid and, with an expressive face, took a cautious sip.

  ‘Poor old Murray wasn’t writing a novel, you know. Look, there’s no obligation to drink that. It must be stone cold. Let me get you a fresh cup.’

  ‘No thanks,’ said Jack hastily. ‘Even scorching hot this must have been a bit above the odds.’ He put the cup to one side. ‘At ten o’ clock on the morning he disappeared, Helston had a meeting in Frederick Hunt’s office in Southwark with Frederick Hunt and the manager of Hunt’s Brazilian plantation, Ariel Valdez. Inspector Murray doesn’t seem to have made any attempt to get in touch with this Brazilian bloke, Valdez. Don’t you think he should have done?’

  Bill put down his pen and came to stand behind Jack’s shoulder. ‘Not really. Helston didn’t disappear until half past seven that evening. Why are you interested in Valdez?’

  Jack clicked his tongue. ‘He’s a loose end. Everyone else is accounted for. Murray doesn’t say what the meeting was about.’

  Bill shrugged. ‘I don’t suppose it matters, do you? Helston saw no end of people after the meeting broke up.’ He leaned forward and ran his finger down the page. ‘Martin Crowther from United Stores for lunch at Simpson’s and the waiter who served them, his sister, Patricia, that afternoon, all the office people in Southwark and finally the porter and valet at his flat in Albemarle Street that evening. Besides that, Valdez is accounted for. He’s gone back to Brazil. Look, it says he sailed for Rio on the tenth of January.’

  ‘The day after Helston vanished.’

  ‘So what? No one knew at that stage that Helston had gone. It wasn’t until the eleventh that anyone sounded the alarm.’ He glanced at the clock on the wall above his desk. ‘I’ve got to see Sir Douglas at twelve o’clock. I should be finished in an hour or so. D’you fancy a spot of lunch afterwards?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Jack, picking up the pencil once more.

  When Bill came back into his office, Jack was perched on the corner of his desk, holding the telephone.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he said into the phone, nodding a greeting to Bill. ‘Yes, of course it’s important . . . Thanks, Merry. Yes, I will. Before very long, I should think. Goodbye.’ He put the earpiece back on its rest and folded his arms across his chest. ‘That was Meredith Smith. I hope you don’t mind me using your telephone.’

  ‘Not at all. Did you get anywhere?’

  ‘Perhaps. Hunts seem to be having an unlucky time with their managers in Brazil. They’ve appointed a new bloke, a De Oliveria. Their previous chap, an Australian, resigned without giving notice.’

  ‘Hold on. I thought that other character, Valdez, was the manager. Or is there more than one plantation?’

  Jack shook his head. ‘No, there’s only one. But Valdez arrived in London on the twenty-eighth of December, took a brief holiday, had his meeting on the ninth, and that, Bill, is the last that anyone from Hunt Coffee has seen or heard of him. He should have gone back to Brazil. I don’t think he did.’

  Bill looked at him in disbelief. ‘‘What? But why did no one from Hunt Coffee tell us, for heaven’s sake?’

  ‘Inspector Murray
had completed his investigations by the time the S.S. Montevideo, the ship Valdez should have been on, docked in Rio. I’ve been on to the shipping office and, although his passage was booked, he didn’t sail. I then tried various other shipping offices and he isn’t listed on any of the boats that were a possible. So, unless we find out anything to the contrary, it rather looks as if Valdez never sailed at all.’

  Jack shrugged. ‘It takes fifteen days to sail to Rio. Murray had everything done and dusted by then. As for afterwards – well, Hunts didn’t tell anyone about Valdez because no one asked. There’s also the point that their anxiety about Helston took first place over anyone else’s disappearance. I owe you an apology. I remember laughing last night at your idea that Mark Helston might have faded into the woodwork rather than face a murder charge. But now we know that both Helston and Valdez have gone missing . . .’

  ‘I don’t like it,’ said Bill slowly. ‘I don’t like to jump to conclusions, but the fact that no one’s seen this Valdez chap since the ninth of January has an ugly suggestiveness about it.’

  ‘It does, doesn’t it? Mark Helston could’ve murdered Valdez or Valdez could’ve murdered Helston. But if either of them did commit murder, what the dickens did they do with the body?’

  TWO

  ‘Mr Hunt’s in his office,’ said Meredith Smith. ‘He’s put off a meeting to see you.’

  Jack raised an eyebrow. ‘Has he? I hope his temper’s okay.’

  ‘So-so,’ said Smith, making a face. He knocked on the door and entered. ‘Major Haldean is here, Mr Hunt.’

  Frederick Hunt, a short, bespectacled man in his fifties with a thinning aureole of fluffy blond hair, rose to his feet and came out from behind his desk. ‘Ah, Major. My father said he had consulted you. That will be all, Captain Smith, thank you. It’s about time for afternoon tea. Can I offer you a cup, Major? Please, do take a seat.’