Alan Hunter - Gently through the Mill

His tone of genial patronage completed the picture.

‘Won’t you give Grace your coat? After your drive, a little whisky

…’

Gently allowed himself to be discommoded of his hat and coat and seated himself carefully on an inlaid Sheraton chair. The room was all of a piece, all strictly Regency. One picture was certainly a Constable, another probably a Crome…

Was it Pershore himself who somehow struck a false note?

‘You have some news for me, Inspector?’

‘There have been some developments.’

‘Ah! I am glad to hear that.’

‘You may be able to help me with some information.’

Savouring his cigar smoke, Pershore looked pleased. This was treating him as he deserved — Mahomet had come to the mountain! He gestured gracefully towards the cigar box, but Gently shook his head.

‘As you are aware, in my opinion-’

‘Do you live here alone, Mr Pershore?’

‘I? I am married, Inspector! My wife is the noted horsewoman-’

‘Is she at home at present?’

‘She is touring America with the English team.’

‘Your domestic servants?’

‘I have three — but really-!’

‘Forgive me for asking personal questions.’

The mayor-elect was not so pleased now. His watery blue eyes regarded Gently suspiciously. What was he getting at, this disrespectful fellow? From the first he had made some quite unwarrantable suggestions…

‘Some bank notes have come into our possession.’

‘Indeed?’

Pershore made the retort sound withering.

‘We have succeeded in tracing four of them. They were issued by the Lynton branch of the National Provincial. It appears that they were paid out to you, sir.’

‘That is not improbable, since I have always banked there.’

‘As part of a rather large sum.’

‘I am not a pauper, Inspector.’

‘At a recent withdrawal. In point of fact, last Thursday.’

His rage was beginning to simmer, you could see it welling up visibly. His fleshy cheeks had turned quite livid, his lips were quivering. For a moment he was at a loss to find a suitable expression for his anger.

‘In the first place, Inspector, this is none of your business-’

‘Under the circumstances, sir-’

‘Under no conceivable circumstances! What I do with my money concerns nobody but myself — I pay my tax, and there is an end of it!’

‘Nevertheless, on this occasion-’

‘On this occasion you are a fool, Inspector.’

‘I require to know to whom you paid that money.’

‘And the answer is simple — I haven’t paid it!’

If he had hoped to dumbfound Gently by this riposte he had entirely succeeded. It was the one answer which the other had not been expecting, and sheer surprise kept him momentarily silent. Pershore, glaring fiercely at him, picked up his glass and gulped down the rest of the whisky.

‘No, sir, I haven’t paid it — how does that square with your pryings and ferretings?’

‘You are positive of that?’

‘As positive as a man can be of his private affairs.’

‘The bank can hardly have made a mistake…’

‘On the contrary, Inspector, it seems to have made two — and as a net result it is losing my account!’

Gently stared uncomprehendingly at the circular period grate. This wasn’t the way it should have gone, at all! An error might have been made in checking the serial number of a single note, but four, selected from thirty-odd others… how was it possible to make mistakes of that sort?

‘You’d better have the whole story, since you’re so interested in my business!’

Pershore was ugly in his triumph and eager to rub it in.

‘No doubt you don’t have much to do with people who have large sums at their command. From your handling of this case, Inspector, I should say that you still have a great deal to learn.’

Could Pershore be lying, so stupidly certain as he seemed of himself?

‘You must know that I am the Commodore of the Lynton Yacht Club — a distinction, I may say, not entirely unearned. We hold regattas on the river — I, myself, own the flagship. But now we are thinking of extending our activities.’

‘Regarding the money-’

‘You will listen to me, Inspector! You came here with a certain question, and now you will listen to the answer.

‘We are forming a cruising section — you understand what that means? Those of us with means are purchasing yachts for sea-going…’

Underlying the bluster, couldn’t one catch the uneasiness, the lived-down fears of a nobody become somebody? That cultivated accent — what was the burr behind it? Now and then, when he was excited, it slipped out tantalizingly. You could be sure of one thing: Pershore wasn’t bred in Northshire…

‘Stanhope got in ahead of me, but he made a bad mistake. The old fool who owned the Natalie wouldn’t take a cheque for the money. Immediately I got in touch-’

‘Don’t you come from the West Country?’

‘What?’

‘Gloucestershire… perhaps Somerset way?’

Pershore froze in the posture he had adopted, his cigar raised to make a point.

‘What has that got to do with it?’

‘Nothing. I was simply curious.’

‘Why should you be curious about that?’

‘It’s a way policemen have.’

Pershore gave him several odd little glances. He seemed thrown out of his stride by this irrelevant enquiry. But finally he flicked the ash from his cigar and went on with his lecture.

‘As I was saying, I got in touch with my bank for a short-notice withdrawal of the requisite sum. In the meantime I sent this Upcher a telegram — unfortunately, he wasn’t on the telephone…’

Was it imagination, or had some of the bounce gone out of him? Occasionally, now, he fumbled for a word.

‘On Thursday I collected the money and sent a further telegram announcing my intention… I was just about to set out for Starmouth when Upcher rang me up.

‘In spite of my telegram he had sold the Natalie! It appears that a third party was interested and took him the money on Wednesday evening.

‘Thus you have your answer, Inspector. You know for what the money was intended and that it has never been out of my hands. Am I wrong in supposing that an apology from you would not be out of place?’

‘Hmn.’ Gently shrugged towards the grate. ‘And the address of this Upcher fellow?’

‘Naturally I will supply you with it. Stanhope, if you intend to persist with this enquiry, you can get in touch with at his offices in Ely Street.’

‘Where’s the money now?’

‘Here in this house. I have a built-in safe.’

‘Shouldn’t we just take a look at it?’

‘If you insist — but under protest.’

To rub in the protest he remained straddling the hearth for a few seconds. Then, without deigning to toss Gently another word, he strode magnificently towards the door.

The safe was in a book-lined study at the other end of the corridor. A false front of books was intended to conceal it, but the facetious titlings on the spines gave away the secret at once to those familiar with such contraptions. A big Chubb’s, the safe lay securely nested in concrete. It required three and a half turns of the key to free its multiple bolts.

‘You see? In this case.’

The door open, Pershore reached familiarly for a red morocco attache case with a gilt monogram which lay on one of the steel shelves. But then, holding it in his hand, his expression changed to one of almost laughable bewilderment.

‘It — it feels empty!’

‘Haven’t you got the key?’

‘Yes, but it’s too light…!’

In a sort of panic he dragged a key ring from his pocket and fumbled at the locks. Inside, the case was lined with scarlet silk. But it contained nothing except the smell of expensive leather.