Unsafe Deposit

by J. E. Kellenberger

  ‘I’m really enjoying it too and the meal was delicious,’ Ruth replied truthfully.

  ‘Do you have family who cause you problems too?’ he enquired.

  ‘Not really. I’m divorced and don’t have children so I don’t experience the turmoil that families always seem to be going through these days. I have a brother who lives in Devon. He looks after his sick wife who has been an invalid for several years now. He is so good to her, caring and loving but it takes it out of him and so I go down and stay with them from time to time to give him a break and some change of company as he can’t get out much. He likes sailing and used to be a member of a yacht club and occasionally he is invited by a member to crew on their boat for three or four days while they sail down to the Scilly Isles or to places along the Cornish coast. He needs the break and male company so I always try to pop down even if it is unscheduled.’

  ‘Do they have family apart from you?’

  ‘They have a daughter but see little of her. She was a bit wild in her teen years, not drugs or smoking or tattoos, it might have been easier to handle if she had been into any of those. No, she was into demonstrations. Whenever there was a demonstration she would be in it, up at the front with a banner and chanting whatever it is that they chant. She didn’t care what the demonstration was about and she probably didn’t even know much of time. What she loved, as the intelligentsia would say, was the demonstration per se!’

  Carrying on, Ruth said, ‘It got her into trouble with the police. She was arrested a few times and had to stay overnight in a cell because she wouldn’t agree to be bound over.’

  ‘Go on,’ encouraged Doug.

  ‘Well when she emerged through that phase of stupidity and quietened down and considered studying to become a teacher she was barred because of her police record.’

  ‘So what did she do?’

  ‘She upped sticks and went to live on the Isle of Lewis in the Outer Hebrides where she helps run a croft. She’s got internet but rarely contacts her parents.’

  ‘That’s really sad. I only see my two girls once a fortnight but I couldn’t afford to see them more often than that!’ Doug said, which made them both laugh. It was something about the way they looked fondly at one another that made the moment special and Doug had to restrain himself from reaching over to put his hand on hers.

  Changing the subject to the “unsolicited mystery objects”, as they were now terming them, Doug enquired if Ruth had made any progress in demystifying the situation.

  ‘Not yet but I’m working on it,’ she replied. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’m glad I took the pouch and marbles home with me and left you with the squares of paper because I’m sure I would have mislaid some of them,’ he said. ‘I found my old solitaire board, you know, the round wooden board with the marble-size dimples. I arranged the mystery marbles on it. I used six roundish pieces of gravel to replace the lozenge-shaped ones as they wouldn’t fit in the board’s round holes and wrote the appropriate character on each with a felt-tip pen. I could keep changing the array easily as new possibilities occurred to me.’

  Doug had thought about this moment quite a lot. He knew something about the marbles that she didn’t and he felt bad that he had not already told her.

  ‘Actually I’ve got a confession to make,’ he said hesitantly. ‘We have twenty-nine marbles but in fact there were thirty.’

  ‘Oh! How’s that?’ responded Ruth a little anxiously.

  ‘Well to cut a long story short I dropped the one I was examining on the train and when I went to pick it up I trod on it in error and it shattered into pieces. When I bent down to pick up all the shards of glass I found a sort of inner core of the marble which appeared undamaged. It glinted at me and I recalled seeing that sort of glint before and it was from the engagement ring that I gave to my ex-wife!’

  ‘Gosh,’ Ruth cried out, somewhat in alarm, ‘are you sure?’

  ‘I wasn’t sure at the time but I am now. I stuffed the bits of glass and inner core into my jacket pocket, zipped it up and left it there until I got home. So much was going on that I didn’t have a chance to look at it for a few days and, quite frankly, I forgot about it. When I did remember I looked at it under a magnifier and, sure enough, it has got facets, and facets in my book equal diamonds or gems of one kind or another. I took a hammer to it and couldn’t break it.’

  ‘Gosh,’ repeated Ruth, ‘this is getting alarming.’

  They both looked down at their coffee cups, taking a moment to consider this latest information. Ruth took a sip and Doug twiddled the spoon.

  ‘Did you notice a letter on part of one of the glass shards?’ she asked.

  ‘It took some time to arrange the bits next to one another but I think it was a letter “r”.’

  ‘And has it helped to decipher the phrase?’

  ‘I think it did,’ he said softly. ‘I kept coming up with “The quality of” and then had lots of different words to follow which didn’t fit into any coherent phrase. I suddenly found myself saying out loud “The quality of mercy is not strained, it droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven, it is twice blessed”.’

  ‘Said by Portia in The Merchant of Venice,’ cut in Ruth, ‘and could you arrange the marbles on the solitaire board to match?’ she continued eagerly.

  ‘Yes,’ said Doug, ‘they matched.’

  ***

  In the Ludgate Hill office of “RLL marketing” the same conundrum now faced Arthur and Ron as it had Doug and Ruth. What were the contents of the white tube all about? Arthur’s patience with his colleagues had been severely tested when the robbery had not recovered the targeted item but Arthur had to accept that in this instance it was not due to a bungled job but rather to a piece of bad luck as, presumably, the pouch and contents were in the possession of the cyclist. Arthur had always said over the years of their confinement in a safe deposit box that the gems represented one of their retirement nest eggs and that all nest eggs, whether for retirement or not, should be treated with TLC. It was therefore a severe blow to have lost them, albeit, temporarily. They would have to consider carefully their next step to recover them as a similar theft at the cyclist’s home would definitely arouse suspicion and might also result in failure if Doug had hidden the pouch elsewhere, which was quite possible. For the moment they would have to concentrate on the strange items in the cylinder.

  In much the same way as Ruth and Doug they laid out the handkerchief flat on the blotter on Ron’s desk. Angling the desk lamp for maximum efficiency they jotted down on a sheet of A4 the letters and numbers and made a rough drawing of the two rectangles. Pulling a magnifier out from one of the desk drawers, Ron examined the lace border in close up. It was exquisite with strands of fine cottons and silks furled and twisted and wrapped around one another producing delicate pathways intermingling one with another. Working steadily around the square of the handkerchief he came to a corner where there appeared to be a few stitches in yellow below the lace. They were small and fine and difficult to see but looked as if they might be letters of the alphabet. Turning the handkerchief first this way and then that, Ron came up with the possible word “crocus”.

  ‘Crocus,’ repeated Arthur, ‘like the bulb. Are you sure?’

  ‘No,’ replied Ron, ‘but if it spells out a word then that would be the nearest.’

  Arthur took the magnifier, gave it a good clean, and then checked Ron’s findings.

  ‘I think you’re right that they are letters but there are seven of them and not six.’

  ‘What’s the seventh letter then?’

  ‘My best guess is “e”.’

  ‘So that makes “crocus” plus “e”.’

  Arthur pursed his lips and examined the stitches once more.

  ‘I think there are two “s” and one “c” and not vice versa as you thought,’ said Arthur. />
  Ron jotted down the seven letters in a haphazard circle, as he did when trying to solve an anagram in a newspaper quiz but couldn’t make a word, while Arthur stared at the letters for some time, knowing that the word they formed was on the tip of his tongue but that he was unable to spit it out.

  Suddenly he exclaimed, ‘Croesus, it’s not a word it’s a name, as in the expression “to be as rich as Croesus”.’

  ‘I’ve never heard that expression around my part of the world,’ remarked Ron tartly, ‘tell me more.’

  It was at such moments that Arthur could show off his knowledge of the finer things in life. With his love of the fine arts he had, over the years, soaked up information about all sorts from Egyptology to the Elgin Marbles, from the Impressionists to Roman antiquities and so he was able to tell Ron that King Croesus lived in about 500 BC and had ruled the Lydian Kingdom. The Croesus Treasure, he told Ron, was a collection of artefacts consisting of more than 360 pieces, some as large as urns and salvers, others as small as brooches and gold coins. The remaining treasure was excavated illegally in western Turkey in the 1960s by looters who sold on the precious pieces abroad. Some items from the collection came to be displayed in museums in New York from where they were sometimes stolen and went into private collections or were used to produce fakes which were swapped with legitimate pieces. King Croesus was widely known for inventing gold coins, a man with an obvious and indubitable eye for commerce. Some believed the Croesus Treasure was cursed.

  After he’d delivered this monologue Ron said in frustration, ‘so it’s just another thing that we can’t explain!’

  ‘I don’t know about that Ron,’ Arthur replied, deep in thought, ‘it could be that a piece of King Croesus’s treasure has been stolen and that these various bits of information are the clues to solving where it is hidden. If that is the case then the stolen item or items could be worth millions.’

  ‘We’d better get our thinking caps on straightaway then,’ said Ron excitedly, ‘and what about the banknotes?’

  ‘They must represent a further clue to help solve the mystery,’ replied Arthur, ‘but the meaning of “watchword” eludes me totally at present.’

  ***

  The telephone rang.

  “There is no one here at the moment to take your call. Please leave your name and number and we’ll get back to you as soon as we can,” responded the answer phone anonymously.

  ‘Hallo Doug, it’s Ruth speaking,’ she said confidently. ‘Could you ring me back please when you’ve got a few spare moments. It’s about the white tube, I can’t find it. It’s very strange. Anyhow we’ll discuss it when you ring back, thanks.’

  When the phone warbled she put the handset to her ear and was pleased to hear Doug’s voice.

  ‘If you’re anything like me then you’ve probably put it somewhere for safekeeping and forgotten where you put it!’ he said lightheartedly.

  ‘No, I know exactly where I put it. I lodged it in one of the plastic tubes of my pencil tidy, where I couldn’t possibly miss seeing it,’ she replied decisively. ‘I’ve hunted high and low around the desk area and on the floor just in case I somehow knocked it off the desktop but I can’t find it, it simply isn’t here.’

  Doug could hear the anxiety mount in her voice.

  ‘So you are positive that you left it there.’

  ‘Absolutely positive,’ Ruth declared.

  It was Doug’s turn to sound bothered this time.

  ‘This whole saga is growing stranger by the minute,’ he said finally. ‘Can you meet me tomorrow evening after work at the Four Feathers pub and we can talk it over?’

  ‘Yes,’ answered Ruth gratefully.

  The Four Feathers was a traditional-style pub about a half a mile outside the small town centre. From her home it was just a short walk. She knew the pub quite well as occasionally she would meet prospective new clients there. In wintertime when light was at a premium she would now and again meet Rosemary there for an evening’s gossip and the allotment committee on which Ruth served as treasurer had its monthly meetings in a small room just off the lounge bar. She didn’t quite know why but Ruth had taken greater care with her appearance than normal. She’d washed her hair and combed it into shape, popped in her small pearl earrings and was wearing a rather figure-hugging top. She’d also scrubbed her fingernails to remove every last vestige of allotment soil.

  Doug was waiting for her when she arrived. He stood immediately and indicated a chair. The lounge bar was not spacious but he had found a quiet spot so that they could talk without having to whisper.

  ‘I don’t suppose you have found it by chance,’ Doug opened.

  ‘No, unfortunately not,’ responded Ruth. ‘I wish I had because I’ve got a horrible feeling that it has been stolen.’

  ‘Stolen!’ repeated Doug, trying to keep his voice down.

  ‘I can’t explain it in any other way. There has been no obvious break-in to the home office or to the house itself, and I always keep the door to my home office locked. It has a three-lever mortise lock.’

  Doug looked thoughtful but said nothing.

  ‘Oh!’ exclaimed Ruth suddenly. ‘I’ve just remembered something. A woman came to the door recently selling handmade wares. I was in the office when the door bell sounded. I left the office and dashed up the path, went through the backdoor to answer the ring at the front. I was with her for a quarter of an hour or so as I decided to buy some of her hand-sculpted soaps. When she left I returned to the office. The door was closed but unlocked as I hadn’t locked it when I hurried out to answer the door bell.’

  ‘Go on,’ Doug said, staring at her.

  ‘Well, it must have happened then, don’t you see. The saleswoman must have diverted my attention while an accomplice went into my office.’

  ‘You’ve got a rich imagination,’ said Doug kindly. ‘And talking of rich imaginations,’ he continued, ‘I must have one too as I’ve got a sense that I am still being followed.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘I’ve noticed a tall thin bloke outside my office a couple of times at least and I thought I’d also seen him opposite the entrance to my block of apartments. He tilts his head to one side as if he’s got a stiff neck. As I said I may be imagining it but it seems strange to have seen him near my home out here in the suburbs and also up at my workplace in the City.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Ruth, ‘that’s very fishy. So it’s not the same person who followed you from Paris.’

  ‘No. That makes this whole situation even more worrying.’

  They sipped their drinks and chewed a few peanuts.

  ‘Should we go to the police?’ asked Ruth.

  Doug shrugged and said, ‘Maybe we should, it had always been my first intention, but we don’t have any facts just suppositions.’

  ‘Except the marbles which aren’t really marbles at all,’ she cut in, ‘and we did have a handkerchief and two banknotes.’

  ‘It was a good thing you made photocopies because if we do decide to go to the police without them they will treat us as a couple of nutters,’ Doug concluded.

  The handkerchief and banknotes were still causing Arthur, Ron and Lizzie sleepless nights. Apart from Arthur’s exposé on King Croesus no inspiration had flowed to any of them to help solve the cryptic puzzle. Realising that action was necessary, Arthur left his own office and walked down the flight of steps leading to the half landing and unlocked the door marked “Private”. Lizzie, in reception, heard him enter and called Ron through to join them.

  ‘We need a counsel of war to try to fathom this out,’ he said to Ron and Lizzie as they took their seats around the small circular table. ‘Let’s start from square one and see where we get.’

  ‘Kevin, put the two items in the bike’s pannier,’ said Ron, recapping. ‘The cyclist was iden
tified and followed to Essex where he put them in a compost bin on an allotment. They were retrieved by the allotment holder, a woman named Ruth Raven. Lizzie and Joe recovered the item which we have before us but not the gems. We believe the cyclist has them.’

  Lizzie picked up the recap. ‘The banknotes are Swiss but not current. Both have the English word “watchword” written on them. The dictionary definition of watchword is a word or phrase expressing briefly the principles of a party or group. A bit like an advertising or company slogan I suppose. We would need to know to whom or what it relates to be able to make a reasonable guess.’

  Lizzie’s voice trailed off as the three of them took time to consider this fact. Then Lizzie continued the summary.

  ‘The handkerchief is a woman’s. It looks old-fashioned with those intricate lace corners. I did an internet search to find out where lace handkerchiefs are made but nothing came up. I think they are just grouped under the general heading “textiles”. But when I read up about the history of handkerchiefs I got the impression that this type of dainty one is continental in origin. As for the two rectangles, they look to me to have been drawn out as if they relate to one another very precisely. Whatever they represent they were probably made or constructed in 1976.’

  ‘Constructed,’ said Arthur thoughtfully.

  ‘And lastly,’ Lizzie continued, ‘even my secondary school taught me about “x and y” coordinates.’

  ‘Rolf’s father was German by birth although I believe he became naturalised,’ said Arthur. ‘His son Rolf was born in England and has always lived here. He works in south Leicestershire but travels regularly to Switzerland on business trips. Any ideas about the banknotes?’