Surfeit of Suspects

by George Bellairs

  ‘The lease will not have much longer to run now.’

  ‘No. Three or four years more. But there was an option for Excelsior to purchase the property outright for £5,000, if they wished to do so before the lease expired.’

  So that was it!

  It seemed very much as if, at the time he met his death, Dodd was discussing with his co-directors the taking up of the option and the purchase of the Excelsior buildings.

  But why? The company was played out and purchase of the buildings would do it no good. Unless the works could be resold to someone who was eager to buy them. Someone who would buy the lease and make use of the option to acquire the works and offices for another purpose. What purpose?

  ‘Do you mind if I use your telephone, Miss Eva? I must speak to Scotland Yard on an important matter.’

  Miss Eva, already greatly thrilled by the presence of a famous detective, was almost overcome by the mention of Scotland Yard. She and her sister were great crime readers and the idea of the Mecca of detectives being in connection, even by telephone for a few minutes, with their home, gave her a topic of proud conversation for the rest of her life.

  Littlejohn spoke again to Newell, of the Fraud Squad, and told him briefly most of the information so willingly given by the Misses Jonas.

  ‘I’ll get on to it right away. I’ve never heard of the Deliverance. With a name like that, I’d not have forgotten it if it had crossed my path. It’s probably a private limited company, and, as I said before, information about such concerns is a bit harder to come by. However, we have our ways of getting what we want. I’ve a rough idea what’s been going on, though. It sounds like the old trick.’

  ‘Trick? Be a little more forthcoming, Newell.’

  ‘The trick of having a string of companies, in which one company owns another. It’s a way of concealing the immediate ownership of the company, although if you go far enough back and patiently ferret, the rabbits are bound to bolt into the open sooner or later.’

  ‘Sounds double-Dutch to me.’

  ‘That’s because you’re more interested in murders than in other forms of human jiggery-pokery.’

  ‘What about the lease? Can you add to my confusion by explaining that?’

  ‘I can’t be sure of anything until I’ve looked into matters properly. We might be chasing a red herring. However, the fact that Evingden is a new town is quite a good lead.’

  ‘Still talking in riddles?’

  ‘Not at all. Hasn’t it dawned on you, Superintendent, that as soon as the matter of a new town was mooted, land values would rise like mad. And, as the new town spreads, land farther afield round the town begins to rise, too. Let’s say, the borough of Evingden decides to build a new town hall and the Excelsior site looks to be the very place. The £5,000 option would be mere chicken feed. Buy the site for £5,000 and sell it for £25,000. See what I’m getting at?’

  ‘I’m beginning to see.’

  ‘And, if you were in the inner counsels of the borough authorities, you’d get the news in advance, confidentially. You could hardly go off right away and buy the site in your own name and sell it later at a huge profit, could you? But if you had a company and had carefully hidden your connection with it, well… Bob’s your uncle…’

  ‘Have another cigar, Superintendent,’ said Miss Eva when he returned from the telephone.

  He’d much have preferred his pipe, but when a lady has given you the key to what might be the last door of an investigation, how can you refuse?

  ‘Have you had a recent offer to purchase the lease and option of the Evingden property, Miss Eva?’

  ‘To tell you the truth, we have. Mr. Roper, the bank manager, telephoned the other day about it.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He said that he had had a tentative approach by a client who wished to purchase the property with a view to commencing another business in it. He added that, as far as he knew, the Excelsior company was not making profits and might be disposed to sell their lease together with the option to purchase the buildings for £5,000. Would we be prepared to agree to that? You see, Superintendent, according to the lease, if Excelsior wished to sell or transfer it in any way, our consent was necessary.’

  ‘What did you tell Mr. Roper, if I may ask?’

  ‘I consulted my sister and we agreed. We have had no rent for some years and thought that the capital sum of £5,000 would be a very favourable change.’

  ‘Thank you very much for all your help, Miss Eva and Miss Agnes.’

  ‘Please do not hesitate to call again if we can help. Or if you are ever again in Bournemouth…’

  ‘Yes; do come again,’ added Miss Agnes.

  Back in Evingden, Littlejohn called at the Town Hall. The Town Clerk, Mr. Tipstaff, was a new and energetic official, eager to see Evingden grow into a large city. He pictured continued development. At least two Members of Parliament, a bishop, a cathedral, a Recorder, a Lord Mayor…

  ‘What can I do for you, Superintendent? I’ve only a few minutes to spare… Meeting of the General Purposes Committee…’

  He was tall and thin and had a long flushed nose and cold washed-out eyes.

  ‘I won’t keep you, sir? I just wished to ask you if the Corporation of Evingden propose to develop the site on which the Excelsior Joinery works now stands.’

  Mr. Tipstaff was seated behind a huge desk littered with documents and large books. He leapt to his feet with gestures and looks of horror.

  ‘Who has told you that, Superintendent?’

  ‘I am on the case of the explosion at the Excelsior works, sir. The information has come to light during the investigation.’

  Mr. Tipstaff’s cold eyes widened and grew suddenly bright with malice.

  ‘Then you had better put it from your mind. What the corporation plans and does not plan is in no way connected with that case.’

  ‘You must leave me to be the judge of that, sir. I can obtain confirmation of the matter elsewhere if I wish. I ask you because if the information is confidential, you may prefer to help me and tell me it hasn’t yet been made public. Then, I will keep the secret.’

  ‘What about your informant?’

  ‘My informant will do the same. I will see to that.’

  Mr. Tipstaff was not used to being forced into awkward corners. As a rule, he did the forcing. He looked very angry and undecided.

  ‘Have I your word not to repeat what I may be prepared to tell you?’

  ‘I believe you are a solicitor, sir. As such you are an officer of the court. If you are able to assist us in our enquiries it is your duty to do so. I assure you the information is of great importance in this investigation… please don’t interrupt me, sir… It is of importance in this investigation and whatever you may care to tell me will be regarded as confidential by the police. I cannot say more.’

  Mr. Tipstaff looked at his watch. It was time for the meeting.

  ‘I’ll think it over.’

  ‘This is urgent, sir. If you are not disposed to answer my question, I shall have to enquire elsewhere.’

  ‘Elsewhere! Dammit, man!!’

  And then he suddenly gave in.

  ‘Very well. I have your word. The corporation propose to purchase the land for a bus station. That information has not been made public yet. The valuers haven’t even fixed the price we propose to offer.’

  ‘It is valuable land, I presume, in view of the extending town.’

  ‘That is right.’

  ‘What might be the purchase price?’

  Mr. Tipstaff looked here and there as though seeking a place in which to hide.

  ‘Really! What has that to do with it? As I said, we haven’t made an offer yet, in any case.’

  ‘What could such an offer amount to?’

  ‘You are very persistent. What good will it do
if I tell you?’

  ‘This. Our investigations have led us to suspect there has, for some years, been a racket going on in this town. Before the new town began to be built, land was being bought by those who knew the future of Evingden, at low prices and later sold at huge profits. These land grabbers knew before anyone else what was going to happen. They cashed in on the confidential information to which they had access…’

  ‘But… Who…?’

  ‘I have now reason to believe the Excelsior works is yet another of their speculations. They can acquire it for £5,000…’

  Mr. Tipstaff almost collapsed. He spoke in a broken whisper.

  ‘My own view is that the corporation would have paid up to £15,000.’

  ‘Your confidences will not go out of this room, sir. If this case ends in the way I think it will, you, as lawyer to the council, are going to have a busy time. Thank you for your help, sir. I won’t keep you from your meeting. But not a word of this. We don’t want to scare the rabbit before we’ve loaded the gun…’

  ‘Rabbit? Gun?’

  He picked up his papers and made for the door as though about to slaughter someone in the forthcoming meeting.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘All in good time, sir.’

  Mr. Tipstaff was a changed man. He seemed to want a friend. He clutched Littlejohn’s hand with his cold fingers and shook it.

  ‘I am depending on you, Superintendent… Rabbit… Gun…’

  He bared his teeth in a mirthless smile.

  ‘It will be a pleasure to see you pull the trigger… Don’t be long.’

  He pumped Littlejohn’s arm up and down again and then left him to usher himself out.

  Cromwell was waiting in the car outside the massive new town hall. He grinned.

  ‘Get what you want, sir?’

  ‘Not half!’

  Suddenly Tattersall rushed from the adjacent police station. He almost ran to the car, maintaining his dignity with difficulty.

  ‘The very man I want to see. Another victim.’

  ‘Who is it this time?’

  ‘Handel Roper. About an hour ago, he received a telephone call from Miss Eva Jonas, of Bournemouth. He at once took out his car, went down to Brighton, and threw himself off the pier. He’s dead.’

  Ten

  Pook’s Retreat

  Miss Eva Jonas sounded very surprised when Littlejohn asked her over the telephone about her conversation with Handel Roper.

  ‘But I only asked him if the sale of the lease was likely to take place. I told him you had been with us and enquiring about it and that I had mentioned that he had a client who was a likely purchaser.’

  And Roper had immediately made off to Brighton and drowned himself!

  It was just after one o’clock when the news of Roper’s suicide reached Evingden. It was at once passed on to the Home Counties Head Office in London, and before three, the bank inspectors arrived. In view of the gravity of the situation and the fact that Scotland Yard were involved, the bank’s Chief Inspector himself led the team of investigators and he was endowed with plenipotentiary authority to deal with Littlejohn. A decent little perky fellow, named Powicke, of whom all the bank staff seemed scared to death, much to his astonishment, and who said he had often heard of Littlejohn from his friend, Superintendent Flight, of the Fraud Squad. He enthusiastically assured Littlejohn of his discreet co-operation.

  First of all, the inspectors checked the cash and found it right to a penny. Then they checked all the securities, and, at one o’clock in the morning were able to retire to bed assured that they were all there.

  ‘He evidently hadn’t been fiddling the books,’ yawned the junior man who carried the official bag and was going to sleep in the bathroom of an hotel because the number of beds for strangers had not yet grown with the town.

  After the news of Roper’s death arrived, Littlejohn spent a busy afternoon.

  His first query drew a blank. It was made over the telephone to Mr. Christopher Boycott, solicitor, it seemed, to most of the influential people at Evingden. He asked him about the Polydore Trust and at once sensed that he had trodden on Mr. Boycott’s corns.

  ‘Polydore Trust. Yes, I remember it. Why?’

  ‘I was speaking to the Misses Jonas about it this morning. They told me you recommended that they should sell the shares to Deliverance Trust. Is that so, sir?’

  ‘Look here! Why this inquisition?’

  ‘Polydore has cropped up in the Excelsior explosion case which we’re investigating.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘It’s too long a tale to tell over the telephone, sir. I’ll call and explain personally later.’

  ‘In that case, I’ll wait until you call before I tell you. Look here, it’s most improper to conduct investigations of that kind over the telephone.’

  ‘Very well, sir. I was trying to save your time and mine. In any event, had Mr. Roper been available, I could have obtained the information from him, and need not have troubled you.’

  ‘Why? Is Roper out of town?’

  ‘He’s dead, sir.’

  There was an eloquent silence as Boycott recovered his breath.

  ‘Say that again.’

  ‘Mr. Roper died this morning. He was found drowned near Brighton pier.’

  ‘Suicide?’

  ‘Presumably.’

  ‘My God!’

  ‘You hadn’t heard, sir?’

  ‘I’ve been out of town, too.’

  Littlejohn wondered if Mr. Boycott had been contemplating Brighton pier as well.

  ‘Look here, Littlejohn. Have you any idea why this has happened?’

  ‘No, sir. We will have to investigate that, too.’

  ‘Keeping you busy in Evingden, aren’t we? Look here…’

  Littlejohn was getting fed up with being told to look here, but listened patiently.

  ‘Look here… I’m sorry I was a bit brusque with you. These local tragedies are trying all our nerves. The question you asked me… about Deliverance Trust. Miss Eva Jonas enquired about them. I got the information from Roper. He’d enquired from the information office of his bank in London. That’s all I can tell you.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Any progress in the case?’

  ‘We’ve collected a lot of information, but, as yet, haven’t reached any definite conclusions.’

  ‘I wish you well.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘And look here…’

  Again!

  ‘If I can be of any help, don’t hesitate.’

  ‘I’m very grateful to you, sir.’

  Next, to the new branch of the Home Counties. Mr. Caffrey said he’d just returned from his lunch. When he gave this information, Littlejohn suddenly realised he and Cromwell hadn’t eaten since Miss Agnes had stuffed them with chocolate cake.

  ‘I won’t keep you long, Mr. Caffrey…’

  ‘Don’t worry. Always at your disposal. Poor old Roper. All this Excelsior trouble coming at a time when he was under the weather, must have been too much for him. It’s upset me. I was brought up under Handel Roper, as I said before. He was like a father to me when I was at his office.’

  ‘He wasn’t a wealthy man, I gather.’

  ‘No. His wife’s extravagant. I’d guess he lived pretty well up to his income. When I was at his branch, he was never flush with funds. He was a generous man, but couldn’t afford to be as free as he’d have liked to be.’

  ‘What about Dodd?’

  ‘Badly off. We had to watch his account to see that he didn’t overdraw. We bounced his cheques now and then. All this, of course, was nine or ten years ago, but I don’t think matters have changed much for the pair of them.’

  ‘Dodd married Alderman Vintner’s daughter, didn’t he?’r />
  ‘Yes. I’d left Roper’s branch then. The alderman’s private and business accounts were there and still are. In the old days, Vintner’s business was on its last legs, too. Too many up-to-date plumbers competing with him, and his ironmongery side was old-fashioned. Then came this new town business and Vintner’s fortunes seemed to change. He used to live over the shop. Now he has a lavish sort of house in the better part of the town. The new Evingden’s been a godsend to Vintner.’

  ‘Well, thank you, Mr. Caffrey. I won’t detain you, especially as I’ve not had my lunch yet…’

  Littlejohn hurriedly sought out Cromwell, who was busy at the police station keeping Tattersall up-to-date about their morning’s visits, and took him out to lunch at the Cat and Fiddle, a new Evingden pub, humming with life and serving a wide range of dishes and drinks of the types covered by expense accounts.

  When, later, the bank inspectors arrived at the Home Counties, Littlejohn had to wait until the amiable Powicke had deployed his men and then they got together in the dark, sad room of Mr. Roper.

  ‘Have you any information, Superintendent, which might give us a lead as to why Roper should wish to take his own life?’

  ‘He seemed depressed about his future, as far as I could gather. Also, I understand that he’d allowed Excelsior a large overdraft, albeit secured, against the wishes of his head office.’

  ‘Did he actually tell you all this?’

  ‘Not in so many words, but from the course of our conversation, I got clear impressions of his state of mind. I would, if you can divulge it, be very glad to learn certain things concerning the case. To explain some of my queries would take a long time. If you’d be patient, I’d tell you all about it later.’

  ‘There’s no harm in your asking me what you want to know.’

  ‘From local accounts, I gather that Roper wasn’t very well off. Is that so?’

  ‘In confidence, I can say that he wasn’t. He seemed to get through all his salary each month. I believe his wife was a great spender. I was afraid when I heard of his suicide that his books might be wrong. But such isn’t the case, as far as I’ve been able to gather from a cursory check.’