The Crack In the Teacup

by Michael Gilbert

  “Then if I occupy the position of Returning Officer, even though I do none of the work, and even if I refuse to touch a penny of the money, I jeopardise my tolls.”

  “You wouldn’t lose your tolls. But it could mean that the whole of your receipts that year would be subject to tax.”

  “And afterwards?”

  “Possibly.”

  “You put the matter very clearly, Mr. Brydon. Do I understand that there is no way out of it?”

  “There is a way,” said Anthony. “But I’m not sure that it’s going to appeal to you. Your position as Returning Officer doesn’t arise until polling day. Until then the work is done by the Deputy Returning Officer. So if it could be arranged – before next Friday – that you were not Returning Officer—”

  “I’ll resign at once.”

  “I’m afraid it’s not as simple as that.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “The reason that you are Returning Officer is because you are Mayoress. It’s an ex officio appointment. The one depends on the other.”

  “That’s quite clear, then. The only way I can get out of it is by resigning as Mayoress.”

  “I honestly can’t think of any other way.”

  “Before Friday?”

  “Before Friday.”

  There was a further silence. Then Mrs. Lord, who had surprised Anthony more than once that afternoon, surprised him once again. She rose to her feet and said, with a sweet smile, “I think you’re a very good lawyer, Mr. Brydon. You’re wasted on Barhaven.” Anthony got to the door just in time to hold it open for her, and watched her sweeping down the stairs. Ann was waiting at the bottom with her coat. Bowler held the door open. It was a regal exit.

  “I can never make my mind up,” said Ann, “if she’s a wonderful old lady or a perfect old fraud.”

  “Certain Central African tribes,” said Anthony, “are ruled by elderly widows. Such people are felt to have acquired a strength and independence of judgement which enables them to deal effectively with any circumstance, however difficult.”

  “It’s a pity you’re not an elderly widow, then.”

  “Oh?”

  “Because I guess you’re going to need all your strength and independence of judgement to deal with the gentleman who’s been prowling round your waiting-room for the last half-hour.”

  “Ambrose?”

  “No.”

  “Sellinge?”

  “Guess again. It’s Hamish Macintyre.”

  “Macintyre! Did he say what he wanted?”

  “He said it was to do with the public enquiry tomorrow.”

  “That sounds fairly irregular to me. He’s on the other side.”

  “He said that what he had to say was off the record, and wouldn’t take very long.”

  “What we need in this office is a professional chucker-out.”

  Macintyre came straight to the point.

  “I’m told that crackpot Ambrose will be giving evidence for you at the enquiry.”

  “We don’t have to declare the names of our witnesses in advance.”

  “I know that. But are you going to call him?”

  “Why don’t you turn up tomorrow and find out.”

  “All right,” said Macintyre. “Keep your cards as close to your chest as you like. What I came to say was this. Ambrose has been going round this town spreading lies about me. It’s been word-of-mouth stuff. So I haven’t been able to pin them down. But I’m warning you, if he gets up at the hearing and repeats them, I’m taking action.”

  “Repeats what?”

  “You know what I’m talking about.”

  Macintyre’s face was so ugly that it had a sort of metaphysical attraction, a power of twisted compulsion, which a more primitive people would have acknowledged, only crossing themselves as they did so.

  Anthony drew back in his chair and said, as coolly as he could, “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. Suppose you tell me.”

  “You’ve got a brass nerve,” said Macintyre, “coming butting into this thing. I suppose you’re in it for legal fees. Well let me tell you, some money’s too hard-earned. You’ll find out.”

  “Suppose we leave me out of it for the moment,” said Anthony, “and stick to the point.” He had suddenly realised that Macintyre was not only angry. He was frightened, as well. “You burst in here, uninvited, and start telling me what I’m to do and what I’m not to do. You say that people have been spreading stories about you. But when I ask you what they are, you seem curiously unwilling to tell me.”

  Macintyre made a small, angry gesture, but kept silent.

  “Very well. Let’s put a few cards on the table. There are stories going round about you. I didn’t start them, and I haven’t repeated them, but I’ve heard them.”

  “Such as—?”

  “Such as that you’ve got shares in the underground garage on the front—”

  “Which is a lie. You can look at the Share Register.”

  “Of course your name wouldn’t be on the Register. The shares would be held by nominees. But the courts have got the power to go behind nominee holdings—”

  “What courts? What are you talking about?”

  “If it was established, as I think it might be, that you had a hidden holding of shares in the only existing garage and had been consistently using your position as Borough Engineer to block any other garage being built on the front, I can’t help thinking that a criminal charge would lie.”

  Macintyre said, in a thick voice, “You repeat that in front of witnesses, and see what happens.”

  “There may be no need.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean that if the Progressives get a balance of seats on the Council at the forthcoming elections, the first item on the agenda is going to be looking for a new Borough Engineer. And the second item will be an investigation of the affairs of his predecessor.”

  Macintyre said, “Anyone can make any bloody investigation he bloody well chooses. I bloody well couldn’t care less.”

  “Then don’t let me keep you,” said Anthony.

  Ann, coming in a few minutes later, found Anthony leaning back in his chair at an extreme angle, whistling.

  “Well, you look happy,” she said.

  “I feel happy.”

  “It’s more than Macintyre does. When he went out just now he had a face on him to curdle the milk.”

  “Do you remember Lewis Carroll’s lobster?” said Anthony. “When the sands were all dry, he was gay as a lark, and would speak in contemptuous tones of the shark. But when the tide deepened, and sharks were around, his voice had a timid and tremulous sound. Macintyre is a lobster. He can see the waters creeping up on him, and the ugly snouts circling round and he’s scared. Have you brought me my letters to sign?”

  It was seven o’clock by the time Anthony dealt with the last of the letters. One of his managing clerks, he noticed, was getting into a snarl over the repairing covenants in a lease. Those letters would have to be rewritten. The rest he signed. Since the staff had all gone he walked down with them himself to the post.

  A man on the opposite pavement kept pace with him.

  When Anthony came out of the post office he paused. There was little point in going home. When he left for London on Monday he had given Mrs. Stebbins a week’s leave to visit her sister in Seaford. There would be tinned food in the house, and he could cook himself some sort of meal, but he felt no inclination to do so. Equally, there wasn’t much attraction about the idea of a solitary meal in a restaurant. If he’d thought about it sooner he could have asked Ann to come and have a meal with him. She’d be home, by now, though, and her mother would think it odd—

  He looked up, aware that someone was standing in front of him, blocking the way. It was a face that he recognised, but could not place.

  “You are Mr. Brydon, aren’t you?”

  “That’s right,” said Anthony. “Do I—?”

  “We haven’t be
en introduced,” said the man. “But we travelled down from London in the train together the other day.”

  “Good God,” said Anthony. “Of course, yes.”

  “I was wondering if there was somewhere we could have a word together. By the way—” he slid a card out of his case, and Anthony read “Detective Chief Superintendent A. J. Brennan.”

  “They’ve got some very nice Red Barrel on draught at the Prince Consort,” said Anthony. “Perhaps we could talk there.”

  Over their first pint Brennan said, “By the way, did I gather you were having a bit of trouble with that character in your carriage?”

  “Yes,” said Anthony. He still felt ashamed to talk about it.

  “I was in the next carriage, and I thought I heard a bit of a rumpus. What did he do to you?”

  Anthony said, “He kicked me, twice, on the shin. It doesn’t sound very—I mean—”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” said Brennan. “You didn’t feel you were getting your money’s worth.”

  “That’s right,” said Anthony. There was something comforting about this stout, disillusioned man. “Caving in because he hacked me on the shin. When I thought about it afterwards it seemed so silly. If he’d pulled a gun on me—or a knife—”

  “Real professionals don’t carry weapons. They’re afraid of getting picked up. They use their hands, and their feet, and their heads. Cherokee started life in a circus. I shouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t got a bit of Indian blood in him. He’s got a lot of funny little tricks.”

  “What does he do?”

  “Anything you’re prepared to pay for. Except murder. I don’t think he’s killed anyone yet. He’s gone fairly close to it. There was a jobbing builder at Walthamstow getting awkward. Two of Sturrock’s boys held him down and Cherokee jumped on his stomach. He was in hospital for three months, and he’s still on a diet of slops.”

  “Why wasn’t he arrested?”

  “The only person who could prove anything was the builder. And he won’t talk.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Cherokee told him, if he opened his mouth, they’d do the same thing to his wife. You’re right, you know. This stuff ’s good. Drink up and I’ll get you another pint.”

  When he came back he said, “I think you’ll have to watch out for yourself for the next two or three days. After that it won’t be important. The planning enquiry will be finished, and the elections will be over. They’re on Friday, aren’t they?”

  Anthony nodded. “What exactly did you mean, take care of myself?”

  “I don’t think you ought to sleep in that house of yours. You’re all alone there. And it’s an isolated part of the town. I’d be happier to have you down for the next three days in my hotel – the Eversley – it’s quiet but it’s very comfortable. In fact, I’ve booked a room for you there.”

  “But—” said Anthony.

  “You’ve got your pyjamas and washing things with you, I take it, seeing you’ve been staying in town.”

  “Yes—”

  “Then there won’t be any real need for you to go back to your house tonight at all.”

  “Look here,” said Anthony. “Are you sure you’ve got this right? I’m not all that important now. The enquiry would go on, whether I was there or not. I’ve done my part. Hiscoe’s the important man, now.”

  “I’ve arranged for Mr. Hiscoe to stay at the Eversley, too.” The Superintendent took a further pull at his beer, and said, “I’m not saying the police couldn’t protect you in your own house. If they put a couple of men on to the job. But it’d be a bit of a business, and they haven’t got a lot of men to spare. Now the Eversley’s convenient. It’s only a street away from the police station—and it’s got a night-porter, and it’s in a well-lit street.”

  “You still haven’t told me why you think anyone should want to get at me.”

  Brennan stared into the amber depths of his glass tankard, gave it a little swirl, and watched the bubbles steam up. Then he said, “I’m down here on a job. It’s nothing to do with local crime or local politics, but I’m working on it with your Inspector Knox—”

  “Not with Ashford.”

  “Not on this job,” said Brennan, blandly. “One of the things I heard from Knox I didn’t much like. You were in Sudderby’s house the night he died, weren’t you?”

  “Yes. I found him.”

  “When did you leave?”

  “Just after midnight.”

  “When the police and the doctor left.”

  “That’s right. I think Doctor Rogers was actually the last man out. Why?”

  “When the police came back the next morning, they found the house had been broken into and ransacked. Two or three men on the job. They’d been through every drawer and cupboard and bookcase in the house and taken away every scrap of private paper they could find.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Wednesday

  At four o’clock on the following afternoon Mr. Parnell, the Inspector sent down to Barhaven by the Ministry of Housing and Local Government, coughed, looked at his watch, checked it with the clock on the front of the gallery in the Council Chamber and said, “I will resume tomorrow at ten o’clock, gentlemen.”

  Mr. Hiscoe murmured to Anthony, “Can you get hold of Mr. Sellinge for a few minutes? And is there somewhere we can talk?”

  “There’s a small committee room upstairs. We could use that. I’ll catch Sellinge.”

  When they reached the committee room they found Mr. Hiscoe perched on the end of the table swinging his long legs.

  “I got the impression,” said Sellinge, “correct me if I’m wrong, Mr. Hiscoe, that our side didn’t bat too well today.”

  “I think the opposition have had the best of it so far,” agreed Mr. Hiscoe. “And that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. In theory, I’m appearing for the appellant, Mr. Shanklin, but I gather, in fact, that you’re instructing us.”

  “I, and a group of people I represent, have undertaken for the costs, if that’s what you mean.”

  “That’s exactly what I mean,” said Mr. Hiscoe. “There’s an old saying that he who pays the piper calls the tune. You all saw what happened today. First, the Council trumped one of our aces very neatly, by agreeing to support an amendment of the plan which would put a row of shops in the next road to Haven Road. That took most of the sting out of our local witnesses. Then, I’m afraid Mr. Breamore went rather too far, and got roughly handled by Paradine.”

  “On the other hand,” said Anthony, “I thought that Colonel Passmore gave better than he got.”

  “I think he did. But, if I might adopt Mr. Sellinge’s metaphor, this isn’t a match in which it’s any use playing for a draw, is it? We shan’t achieve anything by showing that a western development is just as good as an eastern development. If that’s all we do, the Inspector is almost bound to come down in favour of the existing plan.”

  “He’ll do that, anyway,” said Sellinge. “He was against us from the moment he first opened his mouth.”

  “I’ve appeared before Mr. Parnell on a number of occasions,” said Mr. Hiscoe. “He’s a senior man—indeed, it reflects the importance which Whitehall must attach to this enquiry that he should have been sent down here at all. And there’s no denying he has a considerable sense of his own dignity. I’m afraid Mr. Ambrose upset him with his ill-timed interjection.”

  “I tried to collar him,” said Anthony, “but I just couldn’t get hold of him in time.”

  “Ambrose is a silly ass,” said Sellinge: “Clever, mind you. But dead stupid, too, if you follow me. The thing is, though, what are we going to do next?”

  “As I see it,” said Mr. Hiscoe, “we have two choices. Either we go quietly, or we go the whole hog. So far, all that we’ve managed to say is that the eastern development is bad planning. We’ve now got to make up our minds whether to go further and assent that it is dishonest planning.”

  “Which would mean calling Ambrose as a wi
tness.”

  “What about subpoena-ing Macintyre?”

  “I’m afraid that a planning tribunal has no power to subpoena witnesses.”

  “Then it’s Ambrose or nothing.”

  Anthony tried to visualise the editor of the Barhaven Gazette in the witness-box. He visualised him being cross-examined by the Belial-like Mr. Paradine, under the austere correction of Mr. Parnell. Ambrose would certainly lose his temper. He would go wildly beyond his script. He would create an enormous sensation and would very likely put paid to their chances of success. On the other hand, if they didn’t call him—He said to Mr. Hiscoe, “By the way, what about libel? Does a witness in a planning enquiry enjoy the same absolute protection as a witness in a court of law? Macintyre as good as told me that if we tried to drag his name into it, he’d sue us.”

  “Curiously enough,” said Mr. Hiscoe, “the point has never been specifically decided. My own view, for what it is worth, is that he does not. A planning enquiry is an administrative, not a judicial tribunal. He would have qualified privilege, of course.”

  “Which means what?” said Sellinge.

  “As long as he says no more than he honestly believes to be the truth, without malice, he will have a defence to any proceedings for defamation.”

  “Without malice?” said Sellinge, thoughtfully.

  “There’s another point,” said Mr. Hiscoe. “I doubt whether the Inspector would allow Ambrose to get very far. If he started some irrelevant attack on Macintyre, he’d shut him up at once. He could even order him out of the room. I’ve known him do that.”

  “It’s no good ordering Ambrose out,” said Anthony. “You have to carry him out.”

  “I can’t think that such an undignified proceeding would do our case a lot of good,” said Mr. Hiscoe.

  “Now there I disagree,” said Sellinge. “Don’t let’s take our eyes off the ball. Strictly within these four walls, I don’t care a damn if we win or lose this particular appeal. The object is to ventilate our feelings about the Council – and about people like Crawford and Lincoln-Bright, who’ve got property at the eastern end of the town—”

  “But not in the development area.”