Джорджетт Хейер - A Blunt Instrument

"What was the misunderstanding?" asked Hannasyde.

Mr. Budd looked reproachful. "Now, Superintendent, have a heart! You don't expect a man in my position to disclose the nature of strictly confidential transactions. It wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be honourable."

"You are mistaken: I do expect just that. We shall probably save time if I tell you at once that Mr. Fletcher's private papers are at this moment in the possession of the police. Moreover, what you refuse to tell me your ledgers will no doubt show."

The look of reproach deepened. More in sorrow than in anger, Budd said gently: "Come, Superintendent, you know you can't act in that high-handed fashion. You're not a fool, I'm not a fool. Where's the sense in trying to get tough with me? Now, I ask you!"

"You will find that I have it in my power to get remarkably tough with you," replied Hannasyde brutally. "On your own showing, you visited Mr. Fletcher on the night of his murder; you admit that a quarrel took place -'

"Not a quarrel, Superintendent! Not a quarrel!"

"- between you; you can bring no evidence to prove that you left the house at the time you stated. Added to these facts, there is enough documentary evidence amongst Mr. Fletcher's papers to justify my applying for a warrant to search these premises."

Budd flung up a hand. "Don't let's have any unpleasantness! You're not treating me as you should, Superintendent. You've got nothing against me. Didn't I go round to Scotland Yard the moment I read the shocking news? Didn't I tell your Sergeant the whole truth? This isn't what I expected. No, it certainly is not what I expected. I've never been on the wrong side of the Law, never in my life. But what reward do I get for that?"

Hannasyde listened to this plaint with an unmoved countenance. Without troubling to reply to it, he said, consulting a paper he had in his hand: "On 10 June Mr. Fletcher wrote to you, instructing you to buy ten thousand shares in Huxton Industries."

"That's correct," said Budd, eyeing him with a little perturbation. "I don't deny it. Why should I?"

"It was what is known, I believe, as a dead market, was it not?"

Budd nodded.

"Did you buy those shares, Mr. Budd?"

The directness of the question startled Budd. He stared at Hannasyde for a moment, then said feebly: "That's a funny question to ask. I had my instructions, hadn't I? Perhaps I didn't approve of them; perhaps it didn't seem to me wise to invest in Huxton Industries; but was it my business to advise Mr. Fletcher?"

"Did you buy those shares?"

Budd did not answer immediately, but kept his troubled gaze on Hannasyde's face. It was plain that he was at a loss, perhaps uncertain of what Fletcher's papers might have revealed. He said uneasily: "Suppose I didn't? You know that a block like that isn't bought in the twinkling of an eye. It would look funny, wouldn't it? I know my business better than that."

"At the time when you received Mr. Fletcher's instructions to buy, Huxton Industries were not quoted?"

"Moribund company," said Budd tersely.

"The stock was, in your opinion, worthless?"

Budd shrugged.

"You were no doubt surprised at receiving instructions to buy such a large block of shares?"

"Maybe I was. It wasn't my business to be surprised. Mr. Fletcher may have had a tip."

"But your own opinion was that Mr. Fletcher had made a mistake?"

"If it was, that's neither here nor there. If Mr. Fletcher wanted the shares it wasn't anything to do with me. I bought them. Why, if you know so much you'll know that there's been considerable activity in Huxton Industries. That's me."

"Buying?"

"What else would I be doing, I should like to know?" said Budd, almost indulgently. "Now, I'm going to be frank with you, Mr. Hannasyde. There's no reason why I should be, not a ha'p'orth of reason, but I've nothing to hide, and I'm anxious to help the police in every way I can. Not that my dealings with Mr. Fletcher can help you, but I'm a reasonable man, and I realise that you want to know about this little deal. The fact is, the misunderstanding that took place between Mr. Fletcher and me occurred over these instructions. Now, it struck you as remarkable - I think we can say it was remarkable - that Mr. Fletcher should have wanted to buy ten thousand shares in a company which was dying. It struck me that way too. It would anyone, wouldn't it? I put it to you! Well, what do I do? I ask myself if there's been a mistake in the typing. Very easy to add an extra nought, isn't it? So I ring up my client, to verify. I ask him, am I to buy a thousand shares? He says yes. He's impatient: wants to know why I need to question my instructions. I don't get a chance to tell him. While I'm explaining, he rings off. Now where's the sense in trying to pull the wool over your eyes? There's none. I know that. I slipped up. Yes, Mr. Hannasyde, I slipped up. The first time in twenty years I've got to accuse myself of carelessness. I don't like admitting it. You wouldn't yourself. I ought to have got written confirmation from my client that a thousand shares was what he wanted. That's what I neglected to do. I bought a thousand shares on his behalf, in small packets. The shares rise as a result. Then I get a telephone call from my client. He's seen the record of the transactions on the ticker: he knows that's me. He rings up to know whether I've fulfilled instructions. I tell him yes. He's in a high good humour. Him and me have done business for years; I've obeyed orders, so he lets me in on the secret. That was his way: there wasn't anything mean about him. Not a thing! He tells me IPS Consolidated are taking over Huxton Industries, and if I want to buy, to buy quick, but discreetly. Get the idea? He tells me they'll go to fifteen shillings. That's the truest thing you know. Maybe they'll go higher. Then what happens? He says in his joking way, now did I think he was mad to buy ten thousand shares? Plain as I'm speaking now he said it. Ten thousand. You get it? Ten thousand, and I've got one thousand, and the shares have risen from half-acrown to seven-and-six. They aren't going to sink again, either. No sir, Huxton Industries is on the up and up. So where am I? What am I going to do? There's only one thing to be done. I do it. I go down to see Mr. Fletcher. He knows me; he trusts me; he'll believe what I say. Because it's the truth. Was he pleased? No, Mr. Hannasyde. Would you be? But he was a gentleman.. A perfect gentleman, he was. He sees it was the result of a misunderstanding. He's sore, but he's fair. We part on good terms. Forgive and forget. That's the truth in a nutshell."

Hannasyde, on whom this frank recital did not seem to have made quite the desired impression, said dampingly:

"Not quite, surely? How was it that Mr. Fletcher, who, you say, watched the records as they appeared on the ticker, failed to notice that the shares weren't rising as much as they must have done had you bought ten thousand?"

There was an uncomfortable silence. Mr. Budd pulled himself together, and said glibly: "Why, you don't suppose Mr. Fletcher had nothing better to do than to watch the ticker, do you, Superintendent? No, no, the little deal I was putting through for him was nothing more than a side-line for him."

"I should like to see your books," said Hannasyde.

For the first time a sharp note came into Budd's rather unctuous voice: "I don't show my books to anyone!"

Hannasyde looked at him under frowning brows. "Is that so?" he said.

Mr. Budd lost some of his colour. A rather sickly smile was brought into action. "Now, don't get me wrong! Be fair, Mr. Hannasyde! That's all I ask of you. Be fair! If it was to get about I'd shown my books to a soul outside this office I should lose half my clients."

"It won't," said Hannasyde.

"Ah, if I could be sure of that!"