“Yes. But so do you. If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have let me get as far as this.”
Mr. Harbart resettled himself slowly.
“Apart from which, this talk of leaving families out of it strikes me as one-sided. You may not be aware of it, but your friend Holloman paid me a visit in the early hours of yesterday morning. His object was to tell me that unless I ceased to interfere he would arrange for his employees to manhandle my wife – beating up of women is one of their specialities. He did not actually add – but the suggestion was there – that she was far enough pregnant for the treatment to be especially effective in her case.”
“I see,” said Mr. Harbart. His voice was under control again, but it was rough at the edges. “I notice we are dropping the third-party fiction. That’s all right. Finish your story. I’m looking forward to the moment when you come to the proof.”
“I’ve very little more to say. You held three shares in Holloman’s company. It looked innocuous, but it gave you control of what capital you had loaned him. It did more. If, in spite of all your precautions, and the roundabout way it was managed, and the fact that all payments were in cash – if, in spite of all this it should be possible to demonstrate that large sums of money had passed from Holloman to you – then you had your answer ready made. Any money you got was your share in the profits of the extremely profitable Holloman Company.”
Mr. Harbart said: “Ah.” If he had said, aloud, “So you know that too, do you?” it could not have been plainer.
“One other thing. If you were to preserve the fiction that your only connection with Holloman was that you happened to hold a few shares in his company, then plainly, you had to guard against seeing him, or even telephoning him, too frequently. You needed a further intermediary. And that is where, if I may criticise, you were a little bit too clever. You chose a creature of yours – a man called Helliby.”
“Ah,” said Mr. Harbart again.
“I believe he’s your personnel manager. Something like that. Anyway he was yours to promote or sack, yours to make or break, yours from the soles of his feet to the top set of his state-owned dentures. He would do what you told him and keep his mouth shut. Right? So he would. But what you hadn’t calculated on was this. Observing so much profitable fiddling going on all round him he started fiddling himself. Which was quite fatal. Because Holloman caught him at it. And has been blackmailing him ever since. The Kite identified Helliby last night, and he made a statement this morning.”
There was a silence.
“And is that all.”
“That’s it.”
“And do you seriously imagine you can frighten me with some statement made, under pressure, by one of my own employees. No court will listen to it.”
“I’m inclined to agree with you,” said Mr. Wetherall. “In fact, I was present this morning at a conference with the legal adviser to the Kite. He advised us that our evidence was insufficient to lead to a prosecution.”
“I see,” said Mr. Harbart, slowly. “Nice of you to tell me.”
“That was really why I’ve come to see you this afternoon. I have brought with me”—Mr. Wetherall dipped into his document case—”a full and factual account of your activities. At least, it’s as full as we’ve been able to make it in the time. It’s quite comprehensive. There’s a short bit at the end, saying that you’ve read it through and agree with it. We want you to sign it.”
There was a further instalment of silence.
“Assuming for a moment that this isn’t some elaborate sort of practical joke,” said Mr. Harbart, at last, “perhaps you wouldn’t mind explaining just why I should do anything of the kind.”
“Certainly. If you refuse, the Kite is to start publication, almost at once, of a series of articles. I wrote them myself, so I can assure you they are good, strong stuff. And most outspoken. No ‘Mr. X’ and ‘Mr. Y.’ Real names and addresses and everything. Perhaps you’d like to see my maiden effort?”
He dipped again into the case and brought out a folder. Mr. Harbart opened it.
“Where did you get that photograph?”
“Is that the one of you and your wife? I don’t know. All the big newspapers have a lot of those things on their files. The penalty of fame. There’s rather an amusing one of your son winning the high jump at his Prep school, but I think that comes in the second article.”
“You’d never dare—”
“It’s going to save a lot of trouble if I simply repeat to you what Macrea said to us this morning. He said: ‘You haven’t got enough to found a criminal prosecution, but there’s a wide difference between criminal proceedings and civil proceedings, and in my view you’ve got enough to put up a fighting defence to any libel action you may provoke. You’ll have to plead justification and the public interest and go the whole hog. You may even get away with nominal damages. It’ll be a jury case, and juries don’t love black marketeers.”
“It would never come to a libel suit. The court would stop the printing—”
“We considered the point. If it was a book, you might be able to do that, but a daily paper’s not all that easy to stop. Suppose you got your injunction on the same afternoon that the first article appeared. It would already be too late. The damage would be done. You’d be forced to sue. And that would afford further opportunities for—shall we say, developing the story.”
“I don’t believe that any responsible newspaper—”
“Responsible fiddlesticks,” said Mr. Wetherall. “This is the mildest of three schemes that Robarts had in mind. What he really wanted was a spontaneous lynching. And I believe he could have organised it, too. You really ought to have left Todd alone.”
Mr. Harbart said nothing. He was turning the folder over and over in his fingers, not looking at it.
“Tear it up, if you like,” said Mr. Wetherall helpfully. “We’ve got dozens of copies.”
Mr. Harbart looked up. His face was white, but his eyes were ugly. “Have you thought about your own position if you try to go through with this?”
“Hot air and nonsense,” said Mr. Wetherall. “If that’s the last shot in your locker, we can get down to business. I’m off to Canada – with my wife – in a few days’ time. I don’t believe that your organisation will be likely to bother me much there. And if you’re thinking of pressing a button and summoning the boys, I might as well warn you that I’ve brought my own escort with me. They’re all crime reporters. One happens to be a middle-weight boxer as well.”
Mr. Harbart went over to his chair and sat down.
“What is your proposition?” he said.
“It’s quite simple. You sign what amounts to a confession. Then you close down the whole machine. And the existence of this confession will ensure that it stays closed down.”
“I see.”
“And if you’re worrying about Holloman, you needn’t. He’s going to have plenty of worries of his own quite soon. Whether he, for his part, will be prepared to take what’s coming to him and keep his mouth shut – that’s a chance you’ll have to take.”
“And if I sign this document, I have your word that nothing further will happen – provided I keep my side of the bargain.”
“That is correct,” said Mr. Wetherall, looking at him curiously.
“And I have to rely on your word for that.”
“You have to rely entirely on my word.”
Even at that point, Mr. Wetherall could not avoid the thought that a lesser man would have hesitated longer.
Mr. Harbart picked up his pen.
“Wait a minute,” said Mr. Wetherall. He went to the window, threw it open, and beckoned.
A moment later, three more visitors were being shown into the room. Mr. Harbart stared hard at the small man who stood between his larger companions, but he said nothing. The small man looked everywhere except at Mr. Harbart.
“Just watch him signing, Mr. Helliby. Then add your name underneath his as a witness. That’s right. You’d better initi
al each of the pages, too. Splendid. Then we won’t take up any more of your time, Mr. Harbart. Don’t bother about the maid. We can show ourselves out.”
A moment later the front door banged.
From outside came the noise of a car starting up. Increased, diminished, and muttered away into the distance.
Mr. Harbart sat without moving. He sat so still that when the maid came in to lay the tea she thought that the room was empty.
II
“Well, that’s that,” said Mrs. Wetherall. “It’s been a rush, but I think we’ve fixed everything. Lucky it was a furnished flat. They’re easy enough to get rid of.”
“Easier to get rid of than get hold of,” agreed her husband.
“If we’ve a moment to spare for it, we ought to have a little celebration.”
“It’s not a victory,” said Mr. Wetherall. He was cross and tired. “At the most, a sort of success.”
“Well, I call it a victory. And I’m sure you deserved it.” She presented him with a kiss. “And now Timothy’s going to be born a little Canadian. I’m told the hospitals are very good out there.”
“He’ll be born in Canada. That won’t make him a Canadian.”
“Well, I’m sure it’s all come out for the best. Though why you ever had to get mixed up in it at all—”
It was people, really, thought Mr. Wetherall. When it came to the point you’d do things for people that you’d never dream of doing for patriotism or politics or principles. Unimportant people. People like Mr. Crowdy and Peter Crowdy, and Luigi, and Sammy and Peggy, and Alastair Todd – and his own wife, too. But you could never explain it to her.
“The fact of the matter is,” he said, and was aware as he said it that it sounded silly, “that I’ve always been against bullying. Someone starts a thing like this, and he takes a risk and if it comes off he makes a profit, like any other business, and it seems all right at his end. But at the other end, it always seems to come down to plain bullying. That’s really all there is to it.”
“What I’m sorry about,” said Mrs. Wetherall, “is that no one’s ever going to publish those articles, after you took so much trouble over them too. I know the Kite’s paying for them anyway, but that’s not the same as seeing your name in print.”
“You never know,” said Mr. Wetherall. “Perhaps, some time – it would mean changing all the names and places round a bit, of course – but perhaps sometime I might be able to make a book out of it.”
Michael Gilbert Titles in order of first publication
All Series titles can be read in order, or randomly as standalone novels
Inspector Hazlerigg
Close Quarters (1947)
They Never Looked Inside (alt: He Didn’t Mind Danger) (1948)
The Doors Open (1949)
Smallbone Deceased (1950)
Death has Deep Roots (1951)
Fear To Tread (in part)(1953)
The Young Petrella (included) (short stories)(1988)
The Man Who Hated Banks and Other Mysteries (included) (short stories)(1997)
Patrick Petrella
Blood and Judgement (1959)
Amateur in Violence (included) (short stories) (1973)
Petrella at Q (short stories) (1977)
The Young Petrella (short stories) (1988)
Roller Coaster (1993)
The Man Who Hated Banks and Other Mysteries (included) (short stories) (1997)
Luke Pagan
Ring of Terror (1995)
Into Battle (1997)
Over and Out (1998)
Calder & Behrens
Game Without Rules (short stories) (1967)
Mr. Calder and Mr. Behrens (short stories) (1982)
Non-Series
Death in Captivity (alt: The Danger Within) (1952)
Sky High (alt: The Country House Burglar) (1955)
Be Shot for Sixpence (1956)
After the Fine Weather (1963)
The Crack in the Teacup (1966)
The Dust and the Heat (alt: Overdrive) (1967)
The Etruscan Net (alt: The Family Tomb) (1969)
Stay of Execution and Other Stories (short stories) (1971)
The Body of a Girl (1972)
The Ninety-Second Tiger (1973)
Flash Point (1974)
The Night of the Twelfth (1976)
The Empty House (1979)
The Killing of Katie Steelstock (alt: Death of a Favourite Girl) (1980)
The Final Throw (alt: End Game) (1982)
The Black Seraphim (1984)
The Long Journey Home (1985)
Trouble (1987)
Paint, Gold, and Blood (1989)
Anything for a Quiet Life (short stories) (1990)
The Queen against Karl Mullen (1992)
Synopses (Both Series & ‘Stand-alone’ Titles)
Published by House of Stratus
After The Fine Weather
When Laura Hart travels to Austria to visit her brother, vice-consul of Lienz in the Tyrol, she briefly meets an American who warns her of the mounting political tension. Neo-Nazis are stirring trouble in the province, and xenophobia is rife between the Austrians who control the area and the Italian locals. Then Laura experiences the troubles first-hand, a shocking incident that suggests Hofrat Humbold, leader of the Lienz government is using some heavy-handed tactics. Somewhat unsurprisingly, he is unwilling to let one little English girl destroy his plans for the largest Nazi move since the war, and Laura makes a dangerous enemy.
Anything For A Quiet Life
Jonas Pickett, lawyer and commissioner of oaths is nearing retirement, but still has lots of energy. However, he leaves the pressure of a London practice behind to set up a new modest office in a quiet seaside resort. He soon finds that he is overwhelmed with clients and some of them involve him in very odd and sometimes dangerous cases. This collection of inter-linked stories tells how these are brought to a conclusion; ranging from an incredible courtroom drama involving a gipsy queen to terrorist thugs who make their demands at gunpoint.
Be Shot For Sixpence
A gripping spy thriller with a deserved reputation. Philip sees an announcement in The Times from an old school friend who has instructed the newspaper to publish only if they don’t hear from him. This sets a trail running through Europe, with much of the action taking place on the Austro-Hungarian border. The Kremlin, defectors, agitators and the People’s Court set the background to a very realistic story that could well have happened …
The Black Seraphim
James Scotland, a young pathologist, decides on a quiet holiday in Melchester, but amid the cathedral town’s quiet medieval atmosphere, he finds a hornet’s nest of church politics, town and country rivalries, and murder. He is called upon to investigate and finds that some very curious alliances between the church, state and business exist. With modern forensic pathology he unravels the unvarnished truth about Melchester, but not before a spot of unexpected romance intervenes.
Blood & Judgement
When the wife of a recently escaped prisoner is found murdered and partially buried near a reservoir, Patrick Petrella, a Metropolitan Police Inspector, is called in. Suspicion falls on the escaped convict, but what could have been his motive? Petrella meets resistance from top detectives at the Yard who would prefer to keep the inspector out of the limelight, but he is determined to solve the mystery with or without their approval.
The Body Of A Girl
Detective Chief Inspector Mercer is called to the scene when a skeleton of a girl is found on Westlaugh Island in the upper reaches of the River Thames. What appears to be a straightforward and routine investigation, however, leads to unexpected events and a string of unlikely characters, including a lawyer and a one armed garage proprietor. Nothing seems to fit together and it seems the sleepy town holds many secrets. The finale involves two nights of dramatic violence and it isn’t until this stage is reached that the twisted truth finally emerges.
Close Quarters
It has been more than a year since Cannon Whyte fell 103 feet from the cathedral gallery, yet unease still casts a shadow over the peaceful lives of the Close’s inhabitants. In an apparently separate incident, head verger Appledown is being persecuted: a spate of anonymous letters and random acts of vandalism imply that he is inefficient and immoral. But then the notes turn threatening, and when Appledown is found dead, Inspector Hazlerigg is called in. Investigations suggest that someone directly connected to the cathedral is responsible, and it is up to Hazlerigg to get to the heart of the corruption.
The Crack In The Teacup
Barhaven is on the south coast within commuting distance from London. It is, however, a fairly sleepy place and it seems incredulous that it could be the kind of town where the local councillors could manage to line their own pockets. However, there is something odd about the borough engineers behaviour, and it seems strange that the owner of the local amusement park is unknown, and the Town Clerk himself is acting peculiarly. Enter a young lawyer, who finds himself at the centre of a major campaign against racketeering. The public and the press become involved and it ends with a twist that is totally unexpected.
Death Has Deep Roots
This is a detective and trial story with a complicated plot that will grip the reader. Victoria Lamartine is on trial for the murder of her supposed lover, whom she is accused of having stabbed. There are only five suspects including Lamartine. But evidence that doesn’t fit the police theory of the crime has been ignored, whilst all of the damming evidence is presented in isolation. Intriguingly, whilst the murder was committed in England, all of the suspects somehow have a past connection with France and its wartime underground. However, there now appears to be links to gold smuggling and it is not immediately clear how all of the different pieces of evidence fit together. As always, Gilbert neatly takes the reader to a satisfying final twist and conclusion.
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