“Including me?” asked Benson, getting to his feet and holding out his hands for the tankards. “Refills? Or something different?”
“I’ll stick to the same, please.”
“And me,” said Green.
As he went over to the wine cupboard, Masters nodded at Green who said: “In answer to your question, Mr Benson, the answer is yes.”
“I thought it would be.”
“Oh? Why?”
“Because not only am I related—no matter how tenuously—to this matter of gimmel flasks, but also because when I saw you this afternoon and realised who you were, I started to retrace my steps. Your arrival had interrupted what I was thinking about at the time and caused me to remember something I ought not to have forgotten, so I turned about immediately. You saw me do it. You were looking back through the car window. If I were a senior policeman and I saw that my appearance had caused somebody to change his plans, I would not only wonder why, I would wonder about the man himself. It must have seemed to be too much of a coincidence to disregard when you found that I was the man to whom Mrs Hardy had recommended you should come for information.”
“You’d make a good policeman, sir,” said Green as Benson handed him his beer.
“I have been something of a policeman in my time. Oh, not called one, of course, but in the old days we administered and policed our districts and areas. We had cases to dispose of from time to time.”
“In that case,” said Masters, “would you care to tell us what it was that our arrival caused you to remember? The thought that caused you to about-turn?”
“I shall comply with your wishes because I don’t wish to be considered as hindering you, but it is the merest domestic detail.
“Nevertheless. . . .”
“Very well. I was wandering aimlessly when you stopped me. You see, I am a creature of habit and I was out of my stride. The first Tuesday in every month is auction day in Limpid, and I religiously set that day aside to be spent largely in the Corn Exchange. Today’s sale was cancelled, and so my arrangements were upset and I was at a loose end.”
“Hence the walk.”
“Quite. Your arrival brought me to my senses and reminded me that another of my habits on auction days is to take home meringues for tea. I pass the dairy which makes them, on my way to the Corn Exchange. I order them as I go and collect them on my way home. But because I did not go to the Exchange today, I failed to order the meringues. Quite frankly, I order them as a little treat for Mrs Taylor, my housekeeper. She dotes on them. I knew she would not consider the cancellation of the auction a good reason for not buying our habitual meringues. So not wishing to disappoint her—once my memory had been jolted by your cutting in on my thoughts—I immediately turned back in the hope that I wouldn’t be too late to get the meringues. They’re rather special ones, you see, and there is usually a run on them.”
“You were successful, I hope, sir.”
“Bessie had very kindly held two back for me. But whilst I’ve been prattling, Mr Masters, my mind has stumbled on something which may be a little more pertinent to your enquiry than my meringues.”
“What would that be, sir?”
“On the first Tuesday in April—at the auction—there was actually a gimmel flask for sale in a mixed lot of glass which was simply catalogued as so many pieces of glassware.”
The two detectives mentally sat up and took notice.
“So many pieces? How many?” queried Green.
“I believe twenty-seven. Yes, I’m sure it was twenty-seven. My memory for catalogue items is usually good, though as you have heard, it tends to gather wool at other times.”
“All of it this Nailsea stuff?”
“None of it. Just twenty-seven pieces of odds and bobs collected from round a house—tooth mugs, kitchen glasses, a broken butter dish, two old Pyrex plates and so on. Nothing of any value. The gimmel flask was not one of those it was difficult to date. It was an Italian, raffia-corked model of the second half of the twentieth century, as sold to tourists in souvenir shops.”
“You saw it, yourself?”
“I examined it on the morning of the sale,” admitted Benson.
“And decided not to bid for it.”
“I had never intended to bid for it. But I have a young friend—a young married woman, wife of the photographer who takes pictures of my collection for insurance purposes—who, since she first came here with her husband, has started to take a great interest in objets d’art. She hasn’t the money to dabble in a big way, of course, and indeed she has only just started to collect. But she saw the gimmel flask on viewing day and thought she might like it. She mentioned it to me—she was on the lookout for me as I went past the shop to the Corn Exchange—and asked me if I thought it might prove to be something worth having, disguised among a load of junk. The beginner is always hoping for such finds but they rarely happen, particularly when the dealers’ ring is about. But I promised her I would look at it and give her an opinion. I told her that, from a collector’s point of view, the flask was valueless.”
“So you advised her not to buy.”
“Not so. I’m a great believer in the old saw that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. If, after having my opinion of its value, Jill Racine still wanted to go ahead and buy for some other reason, then that was her affair.”
“Did she buy?”
“Ah! That I don’t know.”
“You weren’t at the sale to see if she bought or not?”
“I was at the sale until two o’clock, but the glassware in question came up later in the afternoon. The flask was of such little moment that when I next saw Jill I never thought to ask her if she had bid for it or not, and she didn’t tell me. It may be that subconsciously I knew she wouldn’t once I had declared it valueless. Such is my vanity, gentlemen.”
“Fair enough,” said Green. “But if Mrs Racine didn’t buy the flask, who did?”
“I’ve no idea. But the offices of Hardy, Williams and Lamont are on the Market Hill, and every lot is booked in the buyer’s name. Find the lot number in the catalogue and compare it with the invoice book.”
Masters got to his feet. “Thank you very much, Mr Benson. I’m afraid we’ve trespassed too long on your time. It’s after half past ten.”
“Nonsense. I’ve enjoyed having you. Stay on and have a hot drink. You won’t get anything in the Swan and Cygnets at this hour, you know. Mrs Taylor, my housekeeper, makes a very good cheese scone. I usually have one or two about now. Why not join me?”
Again an eye signal between Masters and Green. Then Green said: “We’d like to stay, sir and not only for the drink and scones.”
“More information?”
“Of a general sort. Arising out of something you said earlier.”
“What was that?”
“You said that beginners like Mrs Racine rarely found a treasure among old junk, particularly when there is a ring operating.”
Benson nodded.
“Does that mean a ring operates here?”
“I’m afraid it does.”
“Afraid? Because you know it’s illegal?”
“I know it is illegal and so must the auctioneers. But the police appear to be unaware of it.”
“Why?” asked Masters. “Because nobody has told them, or because they do not put in an appearance at the sales?”
“I would imagine the former, because the auction is held on private premises and so, presumably, policemen only have the right to attend as potential buyers or onlookers, not in their official capacity. But if anybody should inform the police, it ought to be the auctioneers, in my view.”
“And in mine.”
Benson got to his feet. “Come through and we’ll brew up.”
*
When they met in the interview room set aside for Masters’ use in the Limpid police station the next morning, Masters said to Frimley and Hoame: “There is something I want to talk about before we move out.”
“Oh, yes
?” asked Frimley.
“It may colour our attitudes here, and may be of some use to us, so don’t get the impression I am mentioning it just for fun or to point out any shortcomings on the part of your local force.”
“This sounds serious. Is it?”
“It is law-breaking, certainly. I’m referring to the presence of a ring of about a dozen antique dealers who operate here once a month at the auction sales. For all I know, they may operate elsewhere round here, but for the moment I am interested in Limpid only.”
“Go on,” said Frimley heavily.
“Don’t take it to heart, chum,” said Green. “Whenever there’s a murder we have to turn over stones which look nice and clean on top, but you should see what creeps out from under sometimes. The Chief is not blaming you. He blames the auctioneers for letting it go on under their noses and, knowing it to be illegal, not reporting it.”
“I see. How does it operate?”
“According to my information, it is the marked catalogue system that’s worked. To prevent puffers,” said Masters.
“Puffers?”
“People who bid at an auction to raise the prices.”
“What happens?”
“The individual dealers buy catalogues and view the lots. They then mark their catalogues with the top price they are willing to pay for any article. When they meet at the sale they work their way through the catalogues and declare their interest in whatever lots they would like to acquire. If only one person is interested in any item, nobody worries, and the interested party is given a clear run, knowing that none of his colleagues will puff. But if two or more have their eye on a good piece, then they have to declare their top price. Let us say the item in question is an antique bookcase which dealer A knows he can sell for four hundred pounds. He will fix his maximum bid at a price that will give him a very good profit margin. Say he decides on a maximum bid of a hundred and fifty.”
“As low as that?”
“I am assured that would be his ceiling. Anyhow, the question is academic. The others who are interested in it are asked whether they are willing to go above a hundred and fifty. If nobody is prepared to do so, dealer A is in at his price.
“With no other dealers against him, the likelihood is that he will get it knocked down to him for far less than his one-fifty, unless a knowledgeable private collector is present and interested. The chances are that no ordinary lay people will force the bidding up to more than fifty or sixty. So dealer A buys his writing table for sixty pounds, and he then pays the ring the difference between what he actually paid and what he was prepared to pay to avoid being puffed. So he owes the ring ninety quid.”
“I don’t get it,” said Reed. “What do they do with his ninety?”
“This will show you,” said Masters, taking a sheet of paper and a pencil and talking as he wrote. “We’ll use a simple ring of three dealers, A, B and C and give them just two bids each—bids which have topped those of their colleagues, and so are in without fear of puffing.”
Masters showed them his table.
DealerBidTop Price (£)Price Bid (£)Into Ring (£)
A1150–60=90
B130–10=20
C170–30=40
A2100–50=50
B240–30=10
C260–30=30
£240
A gets £250 worth of goods for £110 and has 50 x £5 units credit
B gets £ 70 worth of goods for £ 40 and has 14 x £5 units credit
C gets £130 worth of goods for £ 60 and has 26 x £5 units credit
90 units credit
“Notice they get a credit unit for every five pounds they are prepared to pay initially.
“The kitty collects £240 for 90 units of credit. Therefore one unit is worth two pounds sixty-seven. So dealer A draws out of the kitty £133, B draws £38 and C draws £69. So, what has happened? Look at the table, and you will see A has got £250 worth of goods for £110, and though he paid £140 in to the ring, he got £133 back, which means he paid seven pounds for the privilege of saving £140. B got £70 worth of goods for £40 and actually gets an eight pound bonus from the credits for not puffing his pals. C got £130 worth for £60 and pays one pound for the privilege of saving £70. Thus everybody in the ring wins, even on their own low valuations. The people who lose are the vendors who, being illegally robbed of the normal bidding system, are entirely at the mercy of the ring unless the articles have reserve prices put on them. If this happens, they are very likely not sold at all.”
“And this is going on in Limpid?” asked Frimley.
“On the first Tuesday of every month among a dozen or so dealers making dozens of bids. The money involved is great.”
“I don’t believe it. No auctioneer would allow a ring to operate. He gets paid a percentage of takings. Low prices mean small percentages.”
“Quite right,” agreed Masters, “unless the ring is willing to reimburse the auctioneer for turning a blind eye to its activities. He takes fifteen per cent off the vendors. Why not fifteen per cent of the ring kitty? Say a kitty of four thousand pounds. That would give him a rake-off of six hundred a month, or seven thousand two hundred a year, tax free. How much do you have to earn to get that much, Wally?”
“God knows. At least fourteen or fifteen thousand, I suppose.”
“Does it start to explain to you why rings are illegal and why Hardy—and presumably Williams and Lamont—are comparatively wealthy men all of a sudden?”
Frimley struck the desk with his fist. “I’ll nail the bastards! Every single one of them. I’ll have to bring in the Fraud Squad very likely to do the sums, but I’ll get them.”
“Hold it chum,” said Green, lighting a crumpled Kensitas. “You haven’t heard the best of it yet.”
“No?”
“Lord save us,” said Hoame. “And old Telford thought we could match your lot. In less than half a day!”
“Forget that,” ordered Masters. “Listen to what we have to tell you and then put it right when the time comes. Hardy lived in Pellucid House, as you know. What did you think of it?”
“An enormous palace for two people,” grated Frimley.
“And the contents? Didn’t you recognise that all the pieces in that house were valuable? No? Well, I’ll tell you, there was more there than any collector could hope to amass in a lifetime or many lifetimes.”
“I don’t know anything about antiques,” snarled Frimley. It was very obvious that the crime squad man was getting angry both at the failure of the local police to stop this law-breaking on their patch, and at Masters’ tone.
“Neither do I. But I ask, read, enquire.”
“Okay. So you’re Mr Know-all. Hardy had antiques which he obviously fiddled.”
“Obviously. And I can give you a good idea of how it was done—if you’re interested.”
“I’ve got to be, haven’t I?”
Masters looked at Green. “You tell them, Greeny.”
Green, always ready to air his knowledge, took over willingly. “You’ve heard the Chief make an estimation of six hundred pounds a month going to the auctioneers from the ring. That isn’t just guesswork, it is an estimation based on calculations made by a source we think we can trust.”
“Only think?” asked Hoame.
“We asked the Yard to run a check on our informant late last night. We wanted a reply by breakfast time this morning, so the check was not as full and leisurely as it might otherwise have been. But as the person concerned was formerly a senior government official, Whitehall could supply at least a reasonable answer.”
“Which was?”
“That the man was and is considered highly trustworthy and respected. He has, in his time, conducted a number of delicate missions of a secret nature for the government and on every occasion proved himself able and trustworthy. In addition—though this may not signify much—he was awarded a medal for gallantry in peace time.”
“So?”
“So for the moment we trust him, p
articularly as he has expert knowledge of antiques and, again according to our report on him, contributes a learned column to one of the better known antique journals under the pseudonym of ‘The Collector’. Those are our reasons for relying on what he has told us.”
“And what’s that? Apart from what we’ve already heard?”
“As I was saying, six hundred pounds goes each month from the ring to the auctioneers. There are three of them. Hardy is the senior partner. Here we are not on such firm ground, but we believe the money would have to be split among all three, but our guess is that it isn’t split into three equal parts. One of the reasons for suggesting this is, for instance, that Lamont is far from flush with money, which he should be if he got a tax-free two hundred a month.
“We reckon that Hardy took three hundred, Williams and Lamont the rest, split either fifty-fifty or two-and-one. Whichever it is doesn’t matter. The chances are that Hardy has been defrauding his own partners even further.”
“How?”
“In getting the ring to act for him at the sales in return for turning a blind eye to their activities. Any piece he wants for himself out of the hundreds that pass through his hands on the way to the auctions he earmarks and asks the ring to bid for on his behalf.”
“How is that defrauding his partners?”
“Let us use the same old antique bookcase which is worth four hundred nicker in a shop. Hardy asks the ring to bid and, as we have seen, the ring gets it for sixty. But at the end of the sale the ring owes Hardy his percentage of six hundred. So they knock sixty off six hundred and pay him five-forty. He goes along to Williams and Lamont and says: ‘Sorry chums, only five-forty this month. That’s two-seventy for me, one-eighty for Williams and ninety for Lamont. So while his colleagues draw less because of his buy—which they know nothing about—Hardy gets cash and goods worth six hundred and seventy quid, with nobody any the wiser—least of all the tax man. What d’you reckon to that for a racket, Wally, my boy?”
Frimley was beyond words. He sat with both hands clenched just above the table. There was a pause while the others watched his mental struggle for expressions which would adequately describe his feelings of anger, dismay and—Masters guessed—an intense loss of pride caused by the fact that strangers could come into the area and unearth an adder’s nest of crime in so short a time.
The Gimmel Flask Page 8