by Ruth Edwards
‘Where did you get it?’
‘Gooseneck gave it to me last night. Well, that is, he didn’t give it to me, but he said I could use it until its rightful owner turned up.’
‘Sorry, I don’t follow.’
‘Ah, right. The system is that Ramsbum and the upper servants divide lost property up among them.’
‘What constitutes lost property?’
‘Anything unclaimed left lying around the club or in the porters’ cubbyhole. There’s a lot of it, you know. All those absent-minded old people. So there’s no end of umbrellas and coats and bags of goodies from Jermyn Street or Harrods. You wouldn’t believe what they find. Gooseneck was telling me. They’ve had people leaving boxes of cigars and bottles of vintage port and silver-topped canes and even wigs and sets of false teeth, apart from all the other obvious things. But this is particularly marvellous. It was left behind a few days ago, Ramsbum doesn’t know by whom, and no one’s claimed it.’
‘I find it almost impossible to imagine any frequenter of this club using a lap-top computer. It’s also hard to believe that someone who would use a lap-top computer would forget where he left it.’
‘I don’t care.’ Sunil was busily getting the machine to work. ‘I’m just enjoying it. If it’s snatched away from me, well and good, but if not, it’ll be a great boon. I bought a spare disk for it this morning. I’ll keep the one that was in it safe in case its owner turns up.’
‘Shouldn’t you look at the contents of the disk in case there’s any clue to the ownership? Sorry if I’m sounding stuffy, Sunil.’
‘Oh, I did look at that, Robert. First thing. But there’s nothing. It’s all incomprehensible. Looks like somebody’s housekeeping accounts, with a lot of stuff about wine sales and trust funds.’
‘Show me,’ said Amiss. ‘I have an idea.’
Chapter Twenty-three
‘You didn’t blow your cover?’
‘No. Sunil’s a bright guy and he’s sufficiently clued into club politics to have known about the question mark over Chatterton’s conduct of the wine committee. It had come up vaguely in conversation between us. And of course he knew as well that the Admiral had been stirring it. So he just kicked himself for not having made the obvious connection.’
‘So why didn’t he ring us?’
‘Because it was felt that I had got to know you two a bit yesterday. Anyway, I’m older and am seen as a man of the world.’
‘OK. I’ll send someone round for the lap-top now.’
‘I suppose you can’t let him have it back when the fingerprinting’s been done?’
‘You know I can’t.’
‘And I don’t suppose you’d think of dipping into your patrimony to fund something similar for Sunil?’
‘I don’t mind subsidising you, Robert, but I’m not taking on your friends, however deserving they may seem.’
‘Tight-wad.’
‘That’s how the Pooleys have held on to it down the generations. Now get off the phone, Robert, for Christ’s sake.’
‘When will we connect?’
‘Are you on duty tonight?’
‘Yep. We’re still short-handed.’
‘Well head for my place when you’re finished. You’ve got the keys now. We’ll all just turn up when we can.’
‘See you.’
‘See you. And, oh sorry, Robert. I should have said, “Very well done.”’
‘Oh gosh, thanks Guv. I’ll try and keep up the good work.’
***
‘Excuse me, Mr. Gooseneck.’
‘Yes, Robert.’
‘Have you seen Sunil recently?’
‘Not since lunch-time. He’s due any moment, isn’t he? It’s almost seven-thirty.’
‘I’m afraid he’s had a disappointment.’ Gooseneck raised an enquiring eyebrow. ‘The lap-top turned out to belong to the Admiral, so it’s been taken off to Scotland Yard for fingerprinting and all that while they analyse the contents of the disk. Then it’ll presumably go to his heirs.’
‘Damn! The boy was enjoying it so much.’
‘I know he was.’ Amiss looked as miserable as he felt. ‘But unfortunately for him when he told me a bit about what was on the disk I had a blinding flash of inspiration.’
‘I perceive that you’re a public-spirited youth. It didn’t occur to you to let sleeping dogs lie, if you’ll forgive the cliché?’
‘No, I’m afraid it didn’t.’
‘Oh, I expect you’re right, my boy. My moral sense has been dulled by too many years here. I find it hard to raise more than a flicker of interest about who killed whom and why. I should, of course, in the event that they began disposing of those I like—you. Sunil, that rather delicious young Wu and that engaging Armenian. And me, of course.’
‘But don’t you think Sunil might have been in danger had it been realised that he had the run of the Admiral’s computer?’
‘Why?’ Gooseneck sounded only very slightly interested. ‘Was it full of incriminating material?’
‘There certainly seemed to be a lot of stuff about club finances.’
‘You are getting rather involved, are you not? Perhaps pulp fiction is your métier rather than poetry? Ah, here come the troops. I’ve ordered an extremely agreeable supper for us this evening—a fine steak and kidney pie.’
‘What about the Hindus?’
‘Sunil is a beef eater so there’s only Sanjiv to cater for. He’s happy with an omelette as are the two vegetarians. One has to be ever-vigilant in feeding what I believe are now referred to as “multi-cultural” gatherings.’
‘No wonder Colonel Fagg kept it so simple,’ said Amiss.
‘Indeed.’ Gooseneck looked thoughtful. ‘If you do find the murderer, Robert, don’t stop him in his tracks until he has seen off the Colonel.’
‘But he may, of course, be the murderer.’
‘That’s an attractive thought and indeed he does have form.’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘I mean he has done time. Bird. Been inside. And what’s more, for violence.’
‘Really?’
‘Well, I don’t know what you’re so surprised about, Robert. He’s hardly the only one. The alumnae of Her Majesty’s prisons now adorning ffeatherstonehaugh’s include Mr. Fishbane, Mr. Mauleverer and, of course, myself.’ He put his head to one side and regarded Amiss with interest. ‘You appear surprised, my dear boy. Surely you realised I would hardly be here but for some catastrophe. Or perhaps I flatter myself.’ He smiled genially. ‘Here comes Sunil. Let us give him what solace we can. Should you seek further revelations, we can continue our conversation after supper.’
***
‘Two years for buggery in nineteen sixty-three. Finished him as a teacher.’
‘With adults or children?’ asked Milton.
‘Guardsmen, he said. He taught at a London prep-school and socialised enthusiastically in the area of Chelsea Barracks.’
‘And Fagg?’
‘Interesting. Grievous bodily harm, about twenty-five years ago. Nearly murdered his wife. Gooseneck couldn’t remember what the marital row was about. He’s a pretty detached sort of bloke. Doesn’t take a lot of interest in other people anyway. Then there was Fishbane. Guess what he did time for?’
‘Flashing?’ asked Milton.
‘Corruption of minors?’ asked Pooley.
‘No, but you’re on the right lines. Living off immoral earnings, no less. Apparently, he ran a small but superior bordello in Pimlico until the vice squad descended.’
‘He talked about visiting such an establishment,’ said Milton.
‘Well, there you are. He presumably bought into it with his Foreign Office gratuity. Marvellous. Oh, yes. We mustn’t forget Mauleverer, the one who’s always demanding to know if the haddock is finnan, the salmon wild and the beef Aberdeen Angus. He was done for four years for fraud. Pity he’s not a suspect.’
‘He wasn’t even in the club on the days of the murders,’ said Pooley morose
ly.
Milton was already on the phone to the Yard issuing instructions. ‘Thanks, Robert,’ he said when he returned. ‘A very useful day you’ve had. You’d have earned your money if you were paid any.’
‘Well, come on, come on. What did the Admiral’s disk yield?’
‘Lists of auction houses with dates and receipts. We’ll have to check them out of course, but it looks as if Comrade Chatterton has sold over a hundred thousand pounds’ worth of wine in the last ten years.’
‘Wow!’
‘He seems also to have been given sixty thousand in travel grants. Fishbane appears to have had an entertainment allowance of around twenty thousand. Then there are notes and figures relating to the library with a lot of question marks. Meredith-Lee appears to have seen a discrepancy of twenty to forty thousand pounds. Look, here’s the print-out. Look at the list headed “Missing. First editions, question mark. Best drawings, question mark. Rochester manuscript, question mark. Toulouse-Lautrec.” And then it just says on the next page, “Fagg angle.”’
‘Anything else important? It looks pretty incomprehensible.’
‘There’s quite a lot. Summaries of the kitchen accounts for the last ten years, for instance.’
‘Grotesquely extravagant, presumably.’
‘Looks like it. Then there are summaries of income and expenditure in all departments. The subscription income is interesting. Look how it’s gone down spectacularly over twenty years.’
‘Where do you go from here?’
‘Tomorrow we’ll be putting on the pressure to gain access to bank records—club and personal. Then of course there’ll be a team checking with the auction rooms. And there’ll also be at the club tomorrow morning an antiquarian bookseller, a dealer in manuscripts, and an expert in drawings, to see if there’s been the hanky-panky suggested by those few notes about Fishbane.’
Milton returned the typescript to his briefcase. ‘I have to admit to being rather staggered by the number of jail-birds the club accommodates. Presumably most clubs frown on chaps with records, Ellis?’
‘Good Lord, yes. You normally get drummed out if you disgrace yourself. Or you resign first.’
‘Not so in ffeatherstonehaugh’s,’ said Amiss. ‘Our great founder laid down a rule in his will that anyone who went to prison would not have to pay his subscription during the time that he was unable to use the club premises, and that any unused portion of his subscription should be held over until his release.’
‘How d’ you get thrown out of ffeatherstonehaugh’ s anyway?’ asked Pooley.
‘Ah! He thought of that too. Ten members may present a petition claiming another to be either, (a), a bore, (b), a Roundhead, that’s with a capital ‘R’ you understand, or (c), an admirer of Mr. Gladstone. A vote is then held on the last Friday of the following month and members drop white balls or black balls in a box bearing the member’s name. The decision is made on the basis of a simple majority.’
‘Well I don’t know about (b) and (c),’ said Milton. ‘But they appear to have got a bit lax on (a).’
‘Funnily enough, Gooseneck says that the only votes in his time were attempts to oust Fagg, but the majority of white balls was so immense that the opposition seems to have got discouraged and given up.’
‘Who counts the balls?’ asked Pooley.
‘The secretary,’ said Amiss. ‘And the late Pinkie Blenkinsop’s loyalty was, of course, to the purveyor of the flesh-pots.’
‘He didn’t seem too bad a man all the same,’ said Pooley. ‘I rather liked him in spite of myself.’
Amiss sat up angrily. ‘I’m supposed to be the one that makes excuses for people, Ellis. You’re the absolutist. Well, let me tell you that on this occasion I would welcome a little more intolerance from you. He might have put up a good show the other day, but that was because he was frightened. If you actually had to live belowstairs and see the obscene way people were treated, you might be a little less sympathetic towards a man who claimed just to be following orders because he was weak. Some things are inexcusable.’
Milton looked at them both. ‘Give him another drink, Ellis,’ he said, ‘and then let’s vote him out of our club for being sanctimonious.’
Chapter Twenty-four
Breakfast was particularly tiresome that morning. The strain seemed to have got to the aged suspects. Amiss suspected they had been hammering the port harder than ever the previous night. Waking Glastonbury had on this occasion required him to bellow his nanny impersonation four times, causing old Mauleverer to come staggering out of his nearby bedroom asking if the club was on fire. Mauleverer had then proceeded to snatch the cover off the dish on Amiss’s tray, sniff disparagingly and explain to him that the ham was underdone and the eggs too hard. By the time Amiss had sorted Glastonbury out and returned to the dining-room Mauleverer was well into his ‘Is-the-haddock-finnan’ routine with a bewildered Vietnamese whom Gooseneck had omitted to brief. Not to be outdone, Fagg had then plunged into his ‘What’s-your-name-then-and-where-do-you-come-from-you-bloody-foreigner?’ performance. On being told that the name was Ng and its owner Vietnamese, Fagg had started bellowing, ‘North or South? North or South? Are you a bloody red? And why is your hair so long? Are you queer as well?’ As the frightened boy bolted to Gooseneck’s side, there was a scream from Fishbane’s corner where an unwary Pole had reaped the consequences of turning her back to view the drama. In turn she fled to Gooseneck, who after uttering a few more words of comfort, strode over to Fagg’s table and said, ‘Shut up.’
‘How dare you shout at me! Don’t you know who I am?’
‘Of course I know who you are, you appalling oaf. You’ve been plaguing the life out of me and everybody else for as long as I’ve worked here. You have had your day. Now shut up and stop insulting my staff.’
Fagg emitted an interesting glugging sound, rather as if he were repeating the name of the insulted Vietnamese over and over again. Amiss wondered if apoplexy would ensue, but all that followed was silence. Fagg began to pretend to read his newspaper with great attention. The rest of the breakfasters, who had been gazing on with fascination, returned also to their newspapers, with the exception of Fishbane, on whom Gooseneck now turned.
‘If you ever again touch one of my staff,’ he said clearly and loudly, ‘I will instruct the largest and toughest of her colleagues to knock you down. Is that understood?’
‘Perfectly, my dear man.’ Fishbane spoke with commendable urbanity. ‘You’ve made yourself absolutely clear.’ He returned to his newspaper.
As Gooseneck strode masterfully back to his accustomed position, Amiss heard Mauleverer muttering mutinously: ‘That’s all very well, that’s all very well, but nobody’s told me if the haddock’s finnan.’
Gooseneck turned on his heel and stood over him. ‘Of course the haddock’s finnan, you old idiot. Has been probably since the foundation of the club. The kidneys are lambs’, and yes—they have been grilled with the fat still on them—the marmalade is thick-cut, the food is superb and the waiters are underpaid. Is there anything else you wish to know?’
Mauleverer avoided Gooseneck’s eyes. He looked covertly at the members to his left and right: they gave not a flicker of recognition. ‘That’s fine,’ he said. ‘Thank you very much. I’d be grateful if you could tell the waiter that I would like the haddock.’
Petrified, all the old men gazed at their food or their newspapers: the silence was palpable. After relaying the message to Ng, Gooseneck looked over at Amiss and gave him a long, slow wink. Amiss made him a deep bow followed by a noiseless, but enthusiastic clapping of hands.
***
‘It’s Robert. Have you a moment?’
‘Yes.’
‘Any news?’
‘Some. We’ve got Fagg’s career well and truly sorted out.’
‘Go on.’
‘Hang on a minute. I’m just looking for the biographical summary Ellis has given me. Albert Anthony Fagg, born nineteen fourteen, Sevenoaks, Kent. Fat
her ran a butcher’s shop in which Fagg also worked until called up in nineteen thirty-nine. By then he was married to Ethel Midgley, whose father was a cobbler. She went off with a GI during the war and he divorced her in nineteen forty-six.’
‘Well, poor old sod. Maybe he was quite nice till then.’
‘Posted to the Army Catering Corps serving the Pioneer Corps. They weren’t glamorous enough for you to have known about them: they consisted of the people who weren’t medically Al. Fagg fitted in: his eyesight was very poor and he had flat feet. So his whole war was spent with them in England, or, much later on, in Italy. He emerged as sergeant-major. There’s a reprimand on his record for improper treatment of a prisoner of war.’
‘Any details?’
‘No. Can’t have been too serious. Probably just abuse. And one court martial on a charge of pilfering rations. The case was dismissed. No other details. Ellis managed to track down one contemporary who described him as, quote, a horrible little shit who thought he was Napoleon, unquote. The same chap also revealed that he was given the nickname Colonel because he was so self-important.’
Amiss exploded with laughter. ‘I feel a grudging respect for his brass neck,’ he said. ‘It takes real guts to carry off such a successful fraud. Go on. Go on.’
‘Back to father’s shop. Married Julia Short, the daughter of the fishmonger.’
‘He certainly had a clear view of his place,’ said Amiss. ‘But how the hell did he come to join ffeatherstonehaugh’s?’
‘It’s a long story, which Ellis extracted from Gooseneck this morning. Apparently, Fagg turned up as the protégé of one Captain Fanning of the Pioneer Corps, an Irish member of ffeatherstonehaugh’s whom Gooseneck remembers as an occasional visitor and noted practical joker. He apparently introduced Fagg as his colonel.’
‘And the wife?’
‘Had a bust-up in the late fifties when he beat her up so badly he was sent to jail.’