Treasure by Degrees

by David Williams

  ‘Tell me about Andy.’

  ‘Ha – sad case, but we’re winning. He’s a . . . he’s a relative of Margaret Stopps. Parents killed outright in a motor crash in Rhodesia twelve years ago. Boy was in the car – badly hurt; you must have noticed that skin graft. There was some brain damage, but he’s not dotty – far from it. He was in some kind of sanatorium for years making no progress to speak of. Then Margaret pulled him out and had him to live with her here. Result – a near miracle. That’s devotion for you – that boy would do anything for Margaret.’

  ‘Miss Stopps is quite old for such a responsibility . . .’

  ‘You know, she’s eighty-one – marvellous old girl. But you’re quite right, she is too old – and she knows it. Two years ago Andy legally became my ward – and pupil: incidentally, young Peter Gregory helps in that connection. Andy’s well past “eleven plus” standard now. He just needs time – and care. By the by, he’s a grand actor – adores dressing up.’ Treasure recalled the interlude when Andy’s imitation of an armed soldier had been all too real. ‘Margaret’s settled some money on him – enough to see him through life if need be. But in my view he’ll be perfectly capable of earning a living a few years from now – got a marvellous way with animals. Foxy’s his pride and joy.’

  ‘Miss Stopps is well off? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean . . .’

  ‘She’s comfortably off – and she deserves it. She’s had her share of troubles.’

  ‘You’ve known her a long time?’

  ‘All my life. She’s not exactly local, brought up near Eastleigh, but her father and my grandfather were business partners. She was a close friend of my mother’s. Wicked waste she never married – but that’s another story. Was it Margaret you came to talk about?’

  Treasure explained Miss Stopps’s involvement in the student demonstration.

  ‘Oh lawks,’ was Hassock’s first comment. ‘Will the police want to see her?’

  ‘I can’t promise, but Superintendent Bantree’s an understanding chap. I was planning to see Miss Stopps myself.’

  ‘Good man. Margaret’s potty about UCI, the Hall, the College – the lot. Anyone’d think the place had been her ancestral home. Well, it’s understandable. She lived with us for a while after her own parents died – did a job of work, though. Messy one, too – unusual for a girl in those days. Anyway, she’s protective about the College – doesn’t want Americans and Arabs mucking it about. But I don’t believe for one minute she knew what the revolting students were cooking up for last night – even if she did pay for it.’

  ‘I believe that – and it’s not all that important by itself. Without the murder the student demo would have been an internal matter.’

  ‘I’m with you – and I see the problem. Look, Margaret’s out now — probably on good works, but she’s lunching with us. Could you join us? Pot luck, but you and I could have a word with her first.’

  Treasure readily agreed to this proposal. ‘D’you keep pigs?’

  The Vicar’s eyes lit up. ‘Only modesty prevents me from telling you we breed nothing but champions – ha! Well one champion anyway, a Large White called Gertrude – farrowed this year. We’ve still got the litter – want to see ’em? Actually, Andy gets the credit.’

  ‘And collects swill from The Rod and Fly?’

  ‘Yes – the landlord’s one of my sidesmen. He calls it his tithe. In another age, of course . . .’ Hassock shrugged his shoulders. Previous generations of incumbents no doubt enjoyed the benefit of whole pigs as a right rather than mere bar scraps as a privilege from local publicans and a multitude of sinners. The Vicar looked up quizzically. ‘You weren’t there last night when some thugs tried roughing up Andy, were you?’

  ‘I think I must have been one of the thugs.’ Treasure explained the incident.

  Hassock roared with laughter. ‘Mystery solved. Andy was quite sure he was being attacked. Anyway, he’s no ghost – and I can’t imagine why Witaker took him for one.’

  ‘The chap’s highly strung at the moment — understandably so. He thought he’d seen a ghost through the glass door ,and when he got outside Andy was the only figure in sight.’ Treasure did not want to enlarge on this. ‘I must go. Perhaps I can see Gertrude at lunchtime.’ The two men walked to the Vicarage door where fox and cat – incongruously entwined – were enjoying a nap. ‘You didn’t bring your posh conveyance?’

  ‘In deference to the cloth – it usually embarrasses my clerical friends to have a Rolls parked in their drives.’

  ‘Ha, more misplaced socialism. I imagine it takes ten times more well-paid labour to make one of those than it does to make a Mini like mine. As a matter of fact I wanted you to let Andy sit in it. He saw it yesterday – talked about it all through breakfast.’

  ‘Well, if he likes to meet me in the College car park at noon he can ride back here in it.’ Treasure remembered the other question he wanted to put. ‘Was your family the one that put the H in HTS Ltd?’

  ‘Ha, Hassock’s Prime Pork Pies and Sausages – the very same, my dear chap. You’ve got a good memory. Alas, they are no more – even HTS was gobbled up in a merger years ago.’

  ‘I know, we acted for the gobblers – but you said your brother was still involved.’

  ‘Mm, he runs one of the factories.’ Hassock absently picked some blistered white paint off the front door. ‘Rather him than me. Imagine having to work in a chromium-plated emporium of that sort – and most of the meat’s foreign these days, too. Ha, you can’t beat good old-fashioned British bangers – with any luck you’ll get some for lunch.’ Treasure trusted Gertrude would survive the morning. ‘Everything’s off the hoof in this village – Ministry-approved slaughterer just down the road.’ It took a moment for the banker to appreciate that this description indicated more than a private accolade of confidence from the Vicar of Itchendever. In any case, as he set off towards the College he was too preoccupied with thoughts of Andy to be much concerned with the merits of British meat.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  Miss STOPPS’S ELEGANT Triumph was standing near Treasure’s own car. The banker glanced about in the hope of sighting the owner. After all the trouble he had taken to protect the old lady from official admonition he was anxious she should not run into Bantree by chance. He tried the door of the car; it was open as he had expected. He scribbled a note on a sheet from the slim pad he invariably carried with him and tried to prop it against the steering-wheel. Since it refused to remain propped, he searched around inside the car for some implement to hold it in position. A piece of Sellotape attached to a transparent plastic package was easily detached and provided precisely what he needed. He replaced the package in the glove pocket where he had found it – and where Miss Stopps had probably forgotten it. He made a mental note to mention its existence to her – for Miss Stopps was not the type of citizen who would ignore a parking fine demand and risk sterner retribution from the City of London Police.

  ‘Mr Treasure – if we might have a word.’ The probability that they would have several was confirmed as Treasure turned to discover that it was indeed Ribble who had uttered and who was now bobbing about nervously beside him. ‘You may be aware that I am under suspicion.’ Personal predicament was evidently taking precedence over official preoccupation with the disciplining of unruly students – or even a show of responsible anguish at the unwelcome addition of murder to extra-curricular activities.

  ‘On the contrary, Dean, I find that impossible to credit.’

  Ribble mopped his brow, despite the crisp November temperature. ‘Last evening I was questioned most exhaustively by the Inspector . . .’

  ‘So were lots of other people. Have you seen Superintendent Bantree this morning?’

  ‘No, but I fear that is an ordeal to come. You see, I was in possession of sleeping capsules . . .’

  ‘But not enough to have done any harm to Mrs Hatch.’ Treasure saw no reason to withhold what in any case he did not regard as a confidence. Ribble stopped hopping
. ‘I gather you handed over the capsules you had left to the Inspector.’

  ‘The bottle was half empty.’

  ‘Then you should know your doctor’s confirmed he’s only once prescribed you chloral hydrate and that the quantity imbibed by Mrs Hatch indicates the concentration in the bottle of rum was far too strong to have been squeezed out of your little supply.’ The Dean was all attention. ‘I’m surprised the Inspector hasn’t told you.’

  The relief was evident in Ribble’s expression – but it was not complete. ‘I was also asked to account for my movements between certain times.’

  ‘And you couldn’t – neither can most other people. Unfortunate, but there it is. I don’t imagine they’re crediting you with a motive for doing in Mrs Hatch so if I were you I’d relax.’

  ‘That, I fear, is out of the question, but I’m most grateful for your view. My concern for the College, its reputation, and so on, believe me, transcends any worry about my own position – but the two things are interlocked, as you must see. We cannot afford a scandal – I mean of course, a worse scandal. The involvement of someone such as myself even as a temporary suspect, if it got out . . .’

  ‘Would be as unfortunate as it is unlikely.’ Treasure tried to invest this almost unsupported pronouncement with the authority of one who enjoyed the complete confidence of all concerned in the investigation – possibly from the Home Secretary downwards. In mitigation he was well aware of Bantree’s view that Eric Ribble failed dismally to qualify as the likely perpetrator of a fairly sophisticated crime – on grounds of competence. While he could hardly share this at once unflattering if reassuring opinion with the Dean, he saw no harm in predicating its effect. In any case, he required the man’s full attention in another context. ‘In other words, old chap, I’d stop worrying.’ Ribble seemed partially mollified as Treasure continued. ‘Now that the Funny Farms endowment is down the drain, what about the College’ finances?’ Lord Grenwood was less likely to be concerned with murder most foul than he would be with the news that his pet charity was once more heading for the rocks.

  ‘Ah, there, at least, we have an encouraging development.’ Treasure hoped this did not presage an assumption on Ribble’s part that following embarrassment as well as insult the Crown Prince of Abu B’yat would still be disposed to shower riches on UCI. ‘This morning we received a donation of fifty thousand pounds — the first of three such promised over the next two years.’

  ‘Anonymous?’ Treasure glanced involuntarily at the expensive Triumph.

  ‘The money comes as a charitable donation from Home Counties Television. It would be naive to assume that so commercial a body has been wholly motivated by feelings of simple generosity.’ Ribble rallied to the extent of a half smile. ‘The Bursar takes the view that we are indebted to Daniel Goldstein for the gift.’

  ‘And I’m inclined to agree with him.’ Based on the quite substantial sums Treasure himself received for occasional and often fleeting appearances on television, he calculated that the figure mentioned might equate with the annual retainer Goldstein could demand in return for contracting his services to the television company on an exclusive basis. He called to mind reading that Verdict on History had been sold by HCT to television stations in various parts of the English-speaking world. ‘Have you asked Goldstein about it?’

  ‘Unfortunately he was closeted with the police earlier on and he is now conducting a tutorial.’ The last information at least indicated that the Senior Tutor had so far avoided arrest.

  Ribble adopted a philosophical tone as the two men made their way towards the College at Treasure’s instigation. ‘I have thought a good deal about the wisdom of accepting the Funny Farms endowment – ’ most particularly since the opportunity of doing so had evaporated – ‘and I have concluded we may have been misguided in our enthusiasm. There still exists, of course, the possibility of some accommodation with Sheikh Al Haban – ’ but, thanks to Daniel Goldstein, on terms that would not involve the Arabs taking over the establishment. Treasure believed he understood Ribble’s drift. If the Dean could be judged too incompetent to commit murder, his pragmatic approach to finance offered earnest of his capacity as a horse-trader. A quarter of a million pounds from Al Haban, plus a hundred and fifty thousand from HCT would be more than sufficient to keep the College out of the red for the foreseeable future as well as to pay for some modest capital improvements. Even without Arab funds – and UCI’s new obligation to the Senior Tutor might preclude their acceptance – the television money would at least underwrite the survival of the institution for some while to come.

  The last conclusion invented a question in Treasure’s mind. ‘D’you suppose the anonymous gift received earlier this year . . .’

  ‘Was also a gift from Daniel?’ Ribble broke in. He continued with a nod. ‘That is the Bursar’s view, and I am inclined to agree. Daniel himself will never admit it, of course – I doubt, even, he will confirm his responsibility for the fresh munificence.’ Which, thought Treasure, would also preclude the HCT money being used by Goldstein as a reason for turning down an Arab deal. As though following the same train of thought Ribble added, ‘Daniel is a strange man with a rigidly stern set of values. It would not be in his nature to use his generosity to sway our decisions.’ He stopped to face Treasure as the two men reached the steps to the Hall portico. ‘If Mrs Hatch had not been murdered we should this morning have been completing arrangements to accept her endowment. We should none the less have received the quite unconditional gift from the television people – it was posted yesterday morning. Daniel would still have been relying on the force of his own personality to prevent what he regarded as my persistence in error. A strange man, Mr Treasure, and an intellectually honest one – ruthless in many ways, but . . .’

  Ribble shook his head. He left the sentence uncompleted, and Treasure to the reflection that ruthlessness could manifest itself in a variety of ways.

  ‘What did I tell you?’ Bantree announced smugly as Treasure entered the Bursar’s Office. ‘The full weight of the medical evidence has dropped with a dull thud. Time of death? Anywhere between five-forty-five and six-forty-five.’ He waved some sheets of paper in the air. ‘So they’re not telling us much we don’t know already. She was done in after six-twelve, which is the last time anyone saw her. Why this medico persists in extending the period backwards heaven knows.’ He read from the typewritten report. ‘ “Professional integrity” my foot – professional conceit more likely. Anyway, the Dean’s off the hook. He was remonstrating with some students outside the JCR at fire-cracker time, and half a dozen people remember seeing him throughout the stirring events afterwards. Same goes for the drunken Bursar. Help yourself to a cup of coffee. Your friend Goldstein’s a deep one.’

  Treasure paused before pouring the liquid from the Thermos jug in his hand. ‘D’you suspect him?’

  ‘Of setting up diversions, muddying the waters, and making life difficult for honest policemen – yes. Of murder – frankly I don’t know. Oh, he’s capable of it – he as good as said so. Mrs Hatch was misguided – he’s outraged at the manner of her leaving – but he’s not sorry she’s gone. Like some Counter-Reformation Jesuit justifying a religious execution.’

  ‘And where was he during the critical hour?’

  ‘In his study listening to Bach.’

  ‘Well, he can’t be all bad. I can add a little in terms of character reference.’ Treasure went on to relate the details of the gift from HCT. ‘Of course,’ he ended, ‘we can’t know for sure that the manna was arranged by Goldstein — and Ribble doubts he’s going to admit to it – but I know the Chairman of HCT: he’s not noted for giving the company’s money away.’

  ‘The whole thing could be another diversion. Incidentally, Goldstein’s no more fond of the Arabs than he is of the Funny Farms bunch – he made that quite plain – and if he didn’t set up the bomb scare I’ll bet he wished he had.’

  ‘You think he did?’

  ‘Almost certain
ly. He gave it away in his eyes when I told him the Sheikh was on his way back. Obviously he thought the Middle Eastern contingent had been wiped off the board.’

  ‘But Al Haban is returning to treat? I thought he might be from something Ribble said. You’d better have that helicopter standing by.’ Treasure paused. ‘Could Goldstein have doctored the rum?’

  ‘If he was lurking in the Common Room waiting for Mrs Hatch to put in her exclusive appearance – yes. His wife’s had enough chloral hydrate prescribed over the last two years to lace a distillery – but then, so has the Vicar, and half the village, as we discovered after more exhaustive enquiry from the open-handed doctor.’ Bantree’s opinion of the medical profession was deteriorating by the hour. ‘Mark you, Mrs Goldstein swears she uses the stuff regularly – Treet interviewed her this morning. Incidentally, the knock-out drops introduce another medical inconsistency. Our quack insists that if he can’t be certain about the time of death, he’s absolutely certain that the drug was swallowed twenty minutes before – something to do with the way it disperses.’

  ‘Perhaps Amelia packed a hip flask – she certainly predated Prohibition.’

  ‘I thought of that, but there’s no flask amongst her effects over there.’ Bantree nodded at the small table where the contents of Mrs Hatch’s handbag were neatly arranged. Treasure moved across the room to inspect them. ‘The only time we know she took’a drink was at five-thirty.’

  ‘Which fits with your surgeon’s theory about the earliest time of death.’

  ‘Not necessarily. She could have had another drink with the drug in it later – or she could have taken chloral hydrate by itself to calm her nerves at six-fifteen. The alcohol and the drug weren’t necessarily taken at the same time – only probably.’

  ‘They were in the case of Peter Gregory, which suggests . . .’