David Dickinson - Death and the Jubilee

‘I am going to find a private investigator to look into matters,’ said Frederick Harrison. ‘Of course the police must continue what they are doing, plodding about the countryside no doubt, frightening the servants at Blackwater, writing things down in their little notebooks. But I am going to find somebody better qualified for the post. I shall go to my clubs and make inquiries. In fact,’ and he moved away from the fire towards the stand which held his coat and umbrella, ‘I am going to start right away.’

Frederick Harrison asked three people he trusted to search for his investigator. One was a well-known banker with political connections. One was a landowner and MP in the Conservative interest. One – the most surprising choice – was the editor of a weekly newspaper whom he had known as a young man.

They, in their turn, made their inquiries. By the time they all reported, exactly one week later, an extraordinary variety of people had been consulted: two retired generals, one former Prime Minister, four Cabinet Ministers and a number of senior civil servants with connections in the world of law and order right across the country. The most original consultations were made by the newspaper editor. As well as two Cabinet Ministers he had asked the governors of two prisons, known to be packed with the most serious criminals, to take discreet soundings of their inmates.

Frederick Harrison summarized their findings in a memorandum which he gave to his two colleagues in a special partners’ meeting at the bank.

‘You will see that we have three candidates to choose from,’ he said, sounding as if they were discussing a prospective new partner for the bank.

‘Candidate A – I have left the names until later in case any of you has heard of any of these people – operates mainly in the North of England. He has been involved in a number of cases involving commercial fraud and has saved his clients considerable sums of money. There is no suggestion that he has made any investigations involving murder but he is very well spoken of, a man who knows business and commerce well, even if he has seen them with a jaundiced eye.’

He looked up at his two colleagues. Williamson, the former senior clerk, was scratching his nose, a sure sign that he was concentrating hard.

‘Candidate B,’ Frederick Harrison went on, ‘has been involved in the investigation of a number of serious crimes, including robbery and murder. He has usually managed to secure the return of stolen jewellery or paintings to their rightful owners. My informants believe that he has been involved with one murder, if not more. But he is said to be eager to publicize his successes to advertise for more business in the future.’

‘Is he a full-time investigator who earns his crust through the payments made by his clients?’ asked Williamson incredulously.

‘He is, Williamson. Such is the proliferation of crime in these times that it is apparently perfectly possible for a man to make a very respectable living in this field.’

‘Who would have thought it,’ said Williamson, shaking his head, ‘who would have thought it?’

‘Candidate C is a former officer in Army Intelligence in India. He has been involved in a number of murders and serious crimes in London and the Home Counties. He has friends in high places. He is said to be a man of great discretion and very considerable professional ability. But he has no knowledge of banking.’

The discussion took its course. Williamson was very firmly against Candidate B.

‘If we are going to employ a man who will trumpet his mission about the place, it would never do. Discretion, we must have discretion.’

Charles Harrison was equally firmly against Candidate A.

‘This fellow may know his way around the mills of Yorkshire and the cotton towns of Lancashire,’ he said dismissively, ‘but surely he would never do in the City.’

‘We do not know, or at least we do not know until somebody begins their investigations, that the murder had anything to do with the City,’ said his uncle, browsing through the letters of his informants.

‘If we employ Candidate C, won’t we have to spend our time explaining our business to him?’ said Williamson, who seemed to favour hiring nobody at all. ‘That could waste a lot of the bank’s valuable time.’

‘Let me tell you what I think,’ said Frederick Harrison, eager to sum up before the meeting degenerated into discussions about trivia. I believe Candidate A lacks the right experience for our purposes. I believe Candidate B may be a competent investigator, but his love of publicity makes him totally unsuitable. I believe we must choose Candidate C – and that, I should tell you, is also the verdict of the vast majority of opinions canvassed.’

Frederick Harrison did not say that the hardened criminals in Her Majesty’s prisons, to a man, had said that the investigator they would most fear was Candidate C. Frederick Harrison did throw one name into the ring: ‘Lord Rosebery says he is the best man in the kingdom for this sort of work.’

The name of a former Prime Minister, a man connected through marriage with some of the great princes of the City, a man known to have very considerable investments of his own, had great influence with Williamson.

‘Rosebery said so, did he now,’ he muttered to himself ‘Rosebery.’

Frederick Harrison chose his moment.

‘Could I ask you, gentlemen, to concur with me in the choice of Candidate C?’

All agreed, Williamson nodding furiously, Charles Harrison looking suddenly apprehensive.

‘Might I ask, Uncle,’ he said quietly, ‘if we could now know the name of Candidate C?’

‘Of course,’ Frederick Harrison smiled. ‘I am going to write to him directly. I shall ask him to call on us at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. Candidate C, gentlemen, is Lord Francis Powerscourt.’

At half-past ten that evening Lord Francis Powerscourt was taking tea with his sister Mary in Berkeley Square.

‘William will be back any moment, Francis,’ she said. ‘You must be very anxious to see him tonight.’ She peered at her brother as if she suspected he might be in some sort of money trouble. You could never tell with Francis. ‘Lucy and the children are well?’

‘Splendid, splendid, thank you,’ said Powerscourt. ‘I should tell you,’ he smiled broadly at his sister as if he had been reading her mind, ‘I need to consult William on a matter of business, something to do with my work.’

Mary looked slightly disappointed. There was a banging of the front door, sounds of a coat and hat being hung up and a William Burke in evening dress burst into the room.

‘Good evening, my dear. Francis, how nice to see you. Even at this hour. I think I know why you have called. Mary, will you excuse us?’

Safely ensconced in his comfortable study, William Burke helped himself to a large cigar.

‘People have been asking about you, Francis, all over the City and elsewhere too, I believe.’ He began the lengthy process of lighting his cigar.

‘Did you discover who they were, William?’

‘I did not. But I can make a pretty good guess. Have you recently had any dealings with Harrison’s Bank?’

‘I think you are in the wrong profession, William,’ said Powerscourt, laughing. ‘This very evening I received a note asking me to call on Harrison’s Bank at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. I came to ask you for a quick description of the bank, the nature of its business and what you know of the partners in the house.’

Burke paused and took a long draw on his cigar, looking directly at Powerscourt as he did so. Above the fireplace portraits of Mary and his children stared down from their frames, reminding him even in here of his family obligations.