The Money Stones

by Ian St. James

  'That's all?' He stood up and crossed to the door. 'Quite a week! My export order. Your getting married. The Pepalasis contract.' He smiled one of his fat, conspiratorial smiles. 'We must have a night out to celebrate. Make it a night to remember.'

  I was still staring when he closed the door behind him. His confidence was insufferable! That, and this contemptuous assumption that he could fool me forever. The mood of angry alarm simmered for the next hour. It stayed with me during the cab ride to Durbeville's. And came nicely to the boil as I was shown into Poignton's office.

  'Did you know that Hallsworth remarried?'

  'No. As a matter of fact I didn't.' Poignton's manner was its usual bland self but his eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity.

  'But you're not surprised?'

  'Should I be?'

  I was in no mood to debate the issue. I wanted Poignton rattled. Shaken out of his normal complacent smugness. So I snapped: 'I know all about the Frascari scandal,' and waited for his reaction.

  'I see,' was all he said, very softly.

  'You're not going to deny knowing about it?'

  'What is there to deny?'

  'Oh, come off it, Poigntori! What kind of lawyer are you? You knew, about that? And you didn't tell me. The whole thing stinking of fraud. You had a duty, a responsibility - '

  'To my client,' he interrupted sharply. 'My only obligation to you was to answer your interminable questions.' He sighed for effect and added, 'And Heaven knows I discharged that. At some considerable length I seem to remember.'

  'It's a pity you didn't remember a few other things,' I said angrily. 'Like Frascari and Hersch. With Hallsworth and Pamela Johnstone shuffling cash between them.'

  'I'd really like to know -'

  'So would I, Poignton. I'd really like to know. The only thing I'm certain of is that I've been tucked up. And that you helped. You put me into bed with a con man and -'

  'Any bed was of your own making,' he retorted furiously. 'And any other suggestion is pure invention.'

  'Invention? I bet your fees were real enough,' I sneered. 'Christ, Hallsworth must have paid a fortune for your help.'

  'My fees are my business.'

  'We'll see if the Law Society think so. Or the Old Bailey.'

  His usually waxen face went crimson with temper and his voice hoarse with outrage. 'How dare you! Neither my client nor I have any reason to reproach -'

  'Save it, Poignton. Don't hand me any crap about Hallsworth making one mistake and turning over a new leaf. Your precious client is all set to pull the biggest con the City's ever seen. Savundra and Stonehouse were choirboys by comparison.'

  'You're mad,' he said with conviction. 'Or sick. Whichever it is you'd better go.' He reached for the telephone. 'Perhaps your doctor -'

  'Leave it!' I slammed a hand on his. 'I'll go when I'm ready. And that will be when we've had our talk.'

  Outrage dissolved to alarm as he recoiled, nursing a bruised hand and watching me as if he feared for his life.

  'For the record.' I reached across and slid the dictating machine to my side of the desk. 'A blank tape. Quickly!'

  He found one in the bottom of his desk drawer and handed it to me without saying a word, his expression a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. It took a minute to fit the cassette in the machine, dictate the date and play it back to make sure that everything was working properly. Then I switched the machine to record and set the microphone on the desk between us.

  'Hallsworth and Pepalasis are in this together,' I begun, more calmly now, using my head instead of my nerve ends. 'They've been meeting in secret for years, planning it, scheming and-'

  'Preposterous!' He recovered enough to drag his gaze away from the tape recorder to face me. 'Pepalasis was your discovery. If anyone arranged anything with him it was you. Hallsworth's hardly been involved.'

  'Don't you believe it. He's been pulling the strings all along.'

  'And you've danced to his tune?' The sarcasm was biting. 'A man with your reputation for tough bargaining? I'm sorry, but I can't see you doing that. Unless it suited you, of course.'

  'Meaning?' I wondered if he knew about the promised kickback.

  'Meaning something's gone wrong. I can't imagine what, but clearly something has. So now you decide it's all your partner's fault. But Hallsworth didn't hawk this deal round the City as if his very life depended on it. Hallsworth didn't visit the island. Hallsworth didn't get elected to the Board of the new consortium.'

  'Hallsworth planned the whole bloody thing!'

  'Ridiculous. Something's gone wrong. Own up to it like a man. You're not the first man in business to make a mistake.'

  'And that's how you see it?'

  'That's how the world will see it. That's how it is. You'll make things a damn sight worse by -'

  'They planned it I tell you! Will you listen? Secret meetings in Malta. Every few months for the last couple of years.'

  His face twisted into a smile designed to humour me. 'Naturally, you've got proof of this, Mr Townsend?'

  I reached to an inside pocket for the list. 'Those are the dates,' I said triumphantly. 'When they all met at the Dragon's Lair Hotel in Malta.'

  He accepted the piece of paper and sat staring at it, turning it over in long thin fingers, as if thinking rather than reading it. Eventually he asked: 'When they all met?'

  'Mr and Mrs Hallsworth. And Aristotle Pepalasis.' I paused until his eyes lifted to reach mine. 'And Bruno Frascari.'

  It took ten minutes to relate the details of the weekend's discoveries. The machine recorded it all and the tape was still, turning as I finished and reached for a cigarette.

  'It's hardly proof of anything is it?' he snorted. 'In fact quite the reverse. There's no evidence that anyone actually met anyone. And Frascari's presence is total assumption on your part. So is the claim that it's the same Mr Hallsworth, or the same Mr Pepalasis.'

  'Oh, for God's sake! What is this? A cover up? How many Aristotle Pepalasises do you know?'

  'It's not an uncommon Greek name. I've seen it over shop windows in Athens and I even enjoyed holidaying once at an hotel owned by a man of that name.' His smile was infuriating. 'After all, a Greek might not know many Townsends but there's hundreds of them in the London phonebook.'

  'You're dismissing this?' I snatched the list from his fingers. 'You asked for proof, and -'

  'You've given me assumptions. That's all. That's not proof. Coincidences perhaps, but...'

  'Coincidences? The same names. The same dates. The same out of the way hotel in Malta?'

  'Adolph Hitler and I stayed at the same hotel,' he said surprisingly. 'In 1935 and again in 1936. It was a large hotel and we never met but one might infer our nights were spent together planning the Second World War.'

  'Don't be so bloody stupid.' It seemed an absurd argument to me but he seemed pleased with it. He sat with his chin cupped in both hands, with the mildly curious expression of an entomologist watching a scorpion sting itself to death.

  I tried again. 'So how do you explain Mrs Hallsworth?'

  'Any number of ways. The most obvious is that she's additional proof that this Mr Hallsworth isn't the man we know. The next is -'

  'Her real name's Ballantyne. Susan Ballantyne. I told you -'

  'Oh yes. What was it? Eyes that dance and make impossible promises. Your Mr Tonelli missed his vocation. Writing lyrics for popular songs earns more money than running hotels.'

  'Treat it as a joke, Poignton, and you'll laugh your way right into the Old Bailey. Four people Tonelli said, four people meet whenever Hallsworth goes to Malta. Well, I'm damn sure I know three of them and I'll take short odds on the fourth being Bruno Frascari.'

  'But you don't know.'

  'I'll damn soon find out. I'll phone Jack and have him check the records. Will you act then?'

  'I've a very good mind to act now,' he answered quickly. I could hear the temper back in his voice. He'd once told me that he couldn't be intimidated and I believed hi
m. 'By phoning Hallsworth immediately,' he said, waving a hand in disgust. 'You barge in here, commandeer my dictating machine, make a lot of wild accusations about the man who's been largely responsible for your recent success. It's not on, Townsend. Hallsworth's dealings with you have been greatly to your benefit. After all, Townsend and Partner has been pretty much your own show hasn't it?'

  'Has it? Maybe on everything except the Pepalasis project. And that's where the con is, Poignton, I'm convinced of it. And you'll be convinced too. When I tell you the name Frascari uses these days.'

  'Oh, you know that too, do you?'

  'I know someone with an American accent. Whose involvement would be crucial. 'And his name is Kirk McNeil.'-

  'McNeil?' Poignton's astonishment was completely genuine. No one could have faked the eyebrows climbing into the hairline and the mouth gaping in amazement. It took him almost a minute to recover and then, very quietly he said. 'You really are mad. Quite, quite, mad.'

  'Am I? I'll tell you about it. Pepalasis found an island of dubious value, McNeil exaggerated the amount of nickel there, and Hallsworth used me to persuade people to invest in it. It's the only way to make sense. It's a perfect set up. They pick up thirty million from the consortium and disappear when U.S. Steel's experts contradict McNeil's findings. U.S. Steel withdraw and I'm torn limb from limb by the consortium for persuading them to invest in the first place.'

  'And you really believe that?'

  'I know it's incredible. Don't think I don't,' I admitted. 'But it fits.'

  'Incredible?' he shook his head. 'It's more than that. And as for fitting.. ' Words failed him for a moment, then he said, 'Kirk McNeil is an acknowledged expert in the mining industry. And isn't he a friend of Harry Smithers? Wasn't that how he became involved? They knew each other in Australia.'

  'So who more likely for Harry to send for when he has a mining problem?'

  'But the man's got a lifetime experience behind him. It was largely because of his reputation that U.S. Steel moved so quickly. And you claim that the man's an impostor?'

  I tried hard not to back down. To meet Poignton's look of utter disbelief with one of conviction. But it was damn near impossible. The truth was I wasn't convinced myself. Not about McNeil. Dammit, I liked the man. But the problem had an answer somewhere, some theory seemed better than none at all.

  'And as for Hallsworth and Pepalasis skipping with the money,' Poignton said derisively. 'Of course you know that Pepalasis has set up a British company to handle the transactions, don't you? So think what's involved in moving thirty million out of the country in a hurry. It will take weeks. Months probably, to get Bank of England consent to move that much. Consent might even be refused. And then what happens to your moonlight flit theory? Not to mention that during those weeks and months you and U.S. Steel will have experts crawling all over the island.'

  'And suppose they don't come up with nickel in the right quantities?'

  He shrugged, and then smiled. 'The only person you won't be able to blame is Pepalasis. After all, he's never claimed there was any nickel. If anyone's being deceived by the present arrangements, he is.'

  'So it all rests on McNeil?'

  'It always did surely?'

  'I'm still not satisfied,' I said, conceding the argument but stubbornly resisting the outcome of his logic.

  'It's a bit late in the day for that isn't it?'

  'Not too late.'

  'So what will you do?' There was no temper left in his voice now, only a kind of malicious curiosity. 'Call the deal off? There's still time. Though God knows how you'll explain it to your consortium. And I'm bound to say that in view of the letter of intent sent to Pepalasis he must have the basis of a massive claim against you for breach of contract.'

  But it wasn't Pepalasis I was worrying about. Not at that moment. I was picturing a Paddington cellar and wondering how I would explain the loss of four million pounds to Simmy Drachman.

  'I'll let you know,' I answered, bleak with defeat, switching off the microphone.

  Poignton was watching the tape re-wind itself. He said: 'I'll have to consider reporting this conversation to Mr Hallsworth. I'll sleep on it. Decide in the morning. But some of the allegations you've made...'He stopped abruptly. 'What the devil are you doing with that tape?'

  But he was too late. I had already slipped the cassette into my pocket and was half way to the door. 'Maybe I'll save you the trouble,' I said over my shoulder. 'And give him this to play with.' And I left.

  Eight

  I went for a walk. Not for the exercise but to digest Poignton's attitude. Loyalty to a client was one thing; conspiracy to defraud, another. It was of no consequence that he had demolished my arguments. After all, even I was sceptical about some of them. All I was sure about was that something was wrong. Very wrong. Despite his refusal to see substance in the coincidences. That alarmed me almost as much as his forecast about the consequences. And that was beginning to scare the hell out of me. Pull out now and Pepalasis would ruin me with a writ for breach of contract. Stay in and, if I was right, I'd never be trusted in the City again. Not that that mattered. If I was right, Drachman would murder me anyway.

  A dozen cigarettes later I reached the only conclusion possible. Face Hallsworth when I got back to Hill Street. If I was wrong I'd leave the office on the toe of his boot. If I was right I might just persuade them to pull out of Wednesday's meeting. Just in time for me to play the jilted bridegroom, with thirty million pounds worth of presents to return.

  It had turned five. For an hour I had sat on the Embankment, gazing moodily across the Thames, my mind a turmoil of fear and uncertainty. But now the decision was made, and I shifted my eyes from the river to the road as I looked for a cab. Instead I found a long, low, black limousine parked by the kerb. With Drachman's face peering out at me from the open rear window.

  'Mr Townsend. What a pleasure.' He nodded at the parapet. 'Not contemplating jumping I hope?'

  One of the heavy mob was already opening the door and guiding me into the rear seat. It was a very practised manoeuvre which I found disturbing and then alarming, as he followed me in and closed the door.

  'You worried about something?' Drachman searched my face.

  'Just getting a breath of air. You know what it's like meetings all day in stuffy offices.'

  'Sure.' The car had already pulled away and was beginning to nudge a path towards Parliament Square. 'Can we drop you somewhere?'

  I felt the relief well up inside me. 'Hill Street. If it's not out of your way.' -

  'Timbuktu wouldn't be out of our way. Not for you. Right now, Mr Townsend, you're our most valuable property.'

  I wondered if I should ask him to call me Mike but decided against it. Instead I laughed nervously. 'Coincidence. You passing just then.'

  'Yeah, wasn't it?' There was a glimmer of humour in his expression. 'You'd be surprised how carefully we watch our investments.’

  I understood and almost let it go, overburdened with enough worry without dwelling on the thought of Drachman having me watched. But it prompted a memory. 'Have you ever had me followed before, Mr Drachman?'

  'Before when?'

  'Before now. About a month ago for instance?'

  'I had no business with you a month ago. You think my boys need the practice or something?' He laughed and everyone in the car laughed with him. Except me, and I pretended to watch the grass grow in Green Park.

  'Everything set for Wednesday?' he asked.

  'Yes.'

  'No last minute hitches?'

  'Should there be?'

  'Legitimate business?' he shrugged and looked a picture of misery. 'Always screws me up. Can't sleep for the worry of it. Know what I mean?'

  I knew exactly what he meant.

  They dropped me at the corner of Hill Street and Chesterfield Hill and Drachman said goodbye through the open window. 'You'll let us know if you plan to move around, eh? Like the filth say - notify us of your travel arrangements.'

&nbs
p; 'I'm not going anywhere.'

  'That's best,' he nodded soberly. 'This time of year - all those crowds. It ain't healthy.'

  It was six o'clock and the front door was closed. I unlocked it and walked up to the first floor to see if Jean was still working. She wasn't. So I continued on to the floor above, half expecting to find Hallsworth and Seckleman still involved with the export deal. But that office was empty too, so I climbed the final flight of stairs to the flat, hoping that Jean would have finished the packing and be ready to leave. We planned for me to move into Fulham while we searched for a suitable house. I reached the landing, crossed it, and was just about to open the door to the flat, when somebody opened it for me. From the inside.

  'Come in, Mike. We've been expecting you,' Sue Ballantyne said as she stepped back into the doorway to allow me to pass.

  Part Five

  One

  'Oh Mike - thank God!' Jean threw herself at me like a frightened child. Beyond her was Hallsworth and someone else, just inside the room - a big man, very big, someone I had never seen before. Sue Ballantyne closed the door behind me and the small sitting room seemed suddenly crowded as everyone stood looking at each other expectantly. Alarmed at Jean's trembling, I looked to Hallsworth for an explanation. But he merely smiled and raised the glass he was holding.'To the happy couple.'

  The mockery of his toast added to my confusion and I was about to ask what the hell was going on when the doorbell interrupted me. One short ring, twice more - three bursts followed by a longer one. I sensed Sue look to Hallsworth for instructions as the big man closed in from the left and placed a hand on my shoulder to propel me towards the centre of the room.

  'Mike, meet Albert,' Hallsworth said casually.

  Closer inspection confirmed first impressions. Albert was a giant, easily six inches taller than me with the weight to go with it. A battered, moronic looking face, hands like bananas; second cousin to the men with Drachman in the Cadillac. For a fleeting second I wondered if, after all, this was Frascari. But a second glance into the dull eyes convinced me otherwise.