by Clive Mullis
‘What if I refuse?’
‘You won’t, Mr Cornwallis, because if you do, you will be ruined.’ The Bagman smiled without humour. ‘I will make sure of that, and you know that I can. You are resourceful, Mr Cornwallis, your interest has been piqued, and you want to know how it all ends. I am giving you the chance to find out, but if you don’t, then your career as an investigator will come to an end.’
Cornwallis felt deflated. ‘Then I’m damned if I do and I’m damned if I don’t.’
‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that. Just think of it as an opportunity.’
Cornwallis laughed ironically. ‘Some opportunity.’
Mr Hawk swung in his chair. ‘It could well be, Mr Cornwallis. Now, you can tell me what you know of this Maxwell and Kintersbury.’
Cornwallis tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling; he blew his cheeks out and then let the breath out slowly. ‘Not much to tell, Maxwell has something to do with Gornstock Trust and Holdings and threatens people to get their money back. Kintersbury I don’t know yet, he’s only just come into the picture.’
Mr Hawk’s eyes twitched momentarily and then he nodded. ‘And how did you get to find out about Maxwell?’
Cornwallis noticed the twitch and for some reason felt the back of his neck tingle. ‘When we were searching for the coach which took Goup away on the night of the murder, it led me to Brownlow and Son, a coach company down Woodlands. Maxwell forced Brownlow to lend him one of his coaches as he is having trouble paying back a loan; he threatened the family of the man if he didn’t do as he was told. I also found the coach that tried to run me down in Brownlow’s yard; that has something to do with Maxwell too.’
‘That’s interesting. Did you know that Kintersbury bought Gornstock Trust and Holdings some eighteen months ago?’
Cornwallis shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t.’
‘And that he’s been buying up all the personal and small business debts from the bank since then?’
‘I didn’t know that too. It sounds like he’s being very heavy handed in getting the money back.’
Mr Hawk leant back in his chair. ‘You mean like Brownlow? Yes of course, collateral damage, I’m afraid, generally sound business sense. Sometimes the company oversteps the mark, I’ll agree, but as it’s helped the bank, and in turn the city, that has been overlooked.’
Collateral damage? thought Cornwallis; like everyone else, the Bagman doesn’t worry about the little people. ‘Drugs are involved too; the dwarf tunnels have a pile of drugs and it’s too much of a coincidence that Maxwell and Kintersbury have just started to use those tunnels, presumably they were brought in by that ship, so it would seem that they are dealing in them.’
‘That’s Kintersbury’s ship. The drugs may be a sideline, or if big enough, financing.’
‘Kintersbury is a rich man. The drugs are big enough, I assure you; send one of your men down to look.’
‘I might well do that, Mr Cornwallis.’
The pair regarded each other for a while as if weighing up everything they’d heard; at least Cornwallis assumed that, because he was doing a little weighing up himself. He had kept back the knowledge that the handkerchief and the matchbook tied Kintersbury to the scene, and he also decided not to say anything at the moment of his suspicions that Maxwell had killed Freddie, who had killed his Miss Knutt. He was just wondering if the Bagman knew all that when Mr Hawk cleared his throat.
‘I think our little discussion has come to an end, Mr Cornwallis. Can you think of anything else that might be of some interest to me?’
‘No, I think you have the lot.’
‘And what a lot it is. Remember, Mr Cornwallis, your future rides on this. Find out what is going on, for your own sake.’
Like the morning sun, it dawned on Cornwallis that if it all went wrong, then the Bagman would lay the blame squarely on his shoulders. It made him feel angry just to think about it. The Bagman has all the resources there is, teams of people and equipment, but he wasn’t putting any of them at his disposal. He was being threatened, oh, in a polite kind of way, but a threat nonetheless. The more he thought about it the more furious he became. The Bagman seemed to notice as his face broke out in a condescending all-knowing grin. Cornwallis felt like he wanted to explode; he stood up angrily, placed both arms on the table, and leant forward. Mr Hawk retreated just an inch, but Cornwallis noticed, he seemed to notice it all now, and he desperately wanted to say something, wanted to threaten the Bagman, wanted to make the Bagman frightened of him; but the words wouldn’t come. He stared hard as he fought his temper and finally he slapped the desk and turned, then marched back down the centre of the rug and wrenched at the door. It wouldn’t open.
‘We will keep in touch,’ said the Bagman from afar. ‘We will keep in touch.’
The door clicked, and Cornwallis finally managed to drag the door open. He strode through and Mr Sparrow and Miss Wren stopped talking mid flow. Cornwallis shot them both a look and then walked across to crash the door into the next room too. Mr Sparrow hurried after Cornwallis as he strode down the corridor, he could see how angry Cornwallis was, so didn’t even bother trying to open a conversation. At the end of the corridor Mr Sparrow leapt in front and opened the door, he then guided Cornwallis through the coach park and out into the evening sun.
‘I will come and see you very shortly, Mr Cornwallis,’ said Mr Sparrow, by way of parting.
Cornwallis turned and fixed him with a flinty look before spinning around again and marching off. Mr Sparrow let out his breath like a deflating balloon.
Mr Hawk looked up as Mr Sparrow sat down. ‘Well?’ he enquired.
‘Very, very angry,’ replied Mr Sparrow.
‘Good, we need him to be angry. I think we’ve given him enough to get on with now; we’ve pointed him in the direction of Dumchuck, so that should be sufficient for him to get his teeth into it all. I just wish we could have got hold of those documents at Goup’s though, it would have made things so much simpler, Mr Sparrow.’
‘Yes, sir, I quite agree. Do you want me to follow Cornwallis again?’
‘No, he knows you now. We’ll get Mr Magpie to go snooping around instead.’
*
Cornwallis’ temper slowly returned to normal as he stormed through the streets of Gornstock. The steps were getting lighter and slower as his shoulders began to relax; and then he began to think. He had seen the Bagman flinch, only at the end, but there had been a definite reaction there. He smiled to himself in triumph, the Bagman may not be quite as confident as he appeared.
They weren’t at the office when he called in, so that must mean they had gone down to the Stoat. Dusk descended fast, with the long shadows melding into one great lump of dark. The street lamps were being lit as he made the short journey down to the pub. He felt much more like himself now, he could put it all into perspective; the Bagman was unsure of something.
Frankie and Rose sat outside minding their drinks when he entered the square, he noticed that they had thoughtfully provided one for him and they both looked up expectantly when he came over and sat down. He didn’t say anything at first, just lifted the glass and downed it in one.
‘Well? asked Rose, with an enquiring twitch of her head when he’d finished.
‘Well, indeed,’ replied Cornwallis, now grinning, ‘I think another one of these is called for.’
‘Not too many,’ warned Frankie. ‘We have to go and see Gerald, don’t forget.’
‘Oh bugger.’ Cornwallis had forgotten; a request by Gerald is just as important as one from the Bagman. ‘I’ll just have one more while I fill you in, then the three of us can go to the Brews. Anything from Algernon?’
Frankie shook his head. ‘Nothing so far, but he’s still keeping his ears open.’
‘Bugger,’ said Cornwallis and then he spent the next half hour going through his interview with the Bagman.
He was desperate for another pint, but it wouldn’t do to see Gerald with anything other than
a clear head. When he dropped the name of Dumchuck, Frankie gave a low whistle; the whole investigation could be the downfall of a lot of important people, but Rose couldn’t understand why the Bagman had let them continue if he had known all this.
‘Because,’ answered Cornwallis, and he had been thinking the same thing. ‘Because he’s not certain. I don’t think he told me everything, but he said he’d ruin me if I stopped. You have to listen to threats like that from someone like him. He wouldn’t do it lightly, so that means there's something he can’t get to — or someone.’
‘So we have to find out who or what.'
Cornwallis nodded. ‘For our own salvation, if nothing else. Right, let us go through everything again: Freddie the Weasel killed Eliza Knutt at Roland Goup’s office, after she was put there to lift some papers belonging to Dumchuck. We saw Maxwell, who Gerald said killed Freddie, who also threatened Brownlow, and who, with Kintersbury, helped Roland Goup onto the ship; the same ship which is believed to be involved in drug smuggling. Now, are Kintersbury and Dumchuck working together, and where did Dumchuck get all the money in the tax return? Kintersbury owns Gornstock Trust and Holdings, who employs Maxwell. But at the moment, we only have evidence to lift Maxwell. The cat put Kintersbury at Goup’s office, so we can surmise that Maxwell must have been there too; but Goup is only a witness, so Kintersbury hasn’t done anything illegal.’
‘He tried to torch the place,’ interjected Frankie.
‘Yes, but it would be the cat’s word against his; and who out of the two of them is a member of the government?’
‘Point taken.’
‘The drugs are illegal, but we can’t prove Kintersbury is involved with them, yet.’
‘Gerald,’ indicated Frankie, tapping the table. ‘We can’t keep him waiting.’
‘No, you’re right. Let’s all think about it and we’ll decide what to do in the morning.’
*
The Brews took on a different complexion during the night, the only light coming from the moon and the occasional weak candle glow seeping from a house. It was just as well really, because the squelchy stuff they were treading on didn’t encourage discovery. Rose couldn’t believe the poverty she saw, the children were still out and about and resembled feral creatures dressed in rags. They clung to her jacket, begging for money, for scraps, for anything at all, as she passed by. Arms like thin skeletal demons reached out of the darkness and sent shivers down her spine. The adults all stood in groups of twos and threes and watched without concern through their alcoholic mist. Occasionally they were followed, but a quick threat from Frankie generally did the trick and the followers melted away into the dark dank passageways. A scream began from somewhere behind and echoed all the way through the streets and passed them by before ending far ahead in a gentle sigh. Rose edged towards Cornwallis until she welded herself to his side.
‘If you stay being an investigator you are going to have to come in here quite a lot,’ said Cornwallis quietly. ‘Outsiders don’t last very long in here, and yes, I know you can look after yourself, but this is the Brews; it’s everybody’s worst nightmare. It’s just as well we’re seeing Gerald, he can put the word out that you’re not to be touched.’
Rose didn’t argue; she had never been so scared in her life.
They went down a few more alleys, past several Brew Houses and through a wide square where thin emaciated women were touting for business; the nature of the business being quite plain from the grunts emanating from the alleys that ran off to the side. Eventually they came to a large tall house that backed onto the river. Outside were several of the inhabitants drinking and playing dice. They waited until a couple of the men looked up and noticed them standing there, and then one of them grinned evilly through a rotten set of teeth. Frankie stepped towards him so he could be recognised, and with a nod of acknowledgement, the man lurched to the side to create a little gap for them to walk through. Cornwallis held on to Rose’s arm as he guided her past the men. She looked at all of them in turn and saw from the returned scrutiny, that if it wasn’t for Frankie and Cornwallis, she would be anything but safe. Frankie pushed at the door and it scraped open. He then stood aside as Rose and Cornwallis went past and then turned back to the men and leant forward to speak quietly into one of the men’s ears. The man nodded and said something in return. Frankie’s mouth opened, but then he shut it quickly before patting him on the back.
‘They’ll keep an eye out,’ he informed Cornwallis as he pushed the door closed. ‘Apparently, we’re already being followed.’
Cornwallis nodded. ‘That’ll be Sparrow, I expect.’
‘This place was bad enough during the day,’ observed Rose soberly. ‘But at night it takes on a whole different persona. Just how do people live here?’
‘They have no choice,’ replied Cornwallis easily. ‘But they’re used to it, it holds little fear for them as they know and understand the rules. In actual fact, to most of them it’s the safest place in the world, except if you go against the rules.’
They were in a large bright vestibule with a winding staircase reaching up, it was clean and tidy and strangely aromatic. Cornwallis led the way up the stairs closely followed by Rose and Frankie. The guard at the top of the first flight nodded and indicated that they could proceed through the double doors into a comfortable lounge-type room. They waited for a few moments in the opulence, the thick expensive carpet underfoot, the luxurious sofas, the paintings on the walls; a total contrast to the area that they were in. A door opened on the far side and a dapper looking man beckoned them through.
‘Here we go again,’ muttered Frankie wryly.
Rose looked askance at him, her mind already a jumble of confusion made worse by Frankie’s quiet mumbling. She felt Cornwallis’ hand on her back as he took a step forward, and with a strange reluctance, she joined him.
The door led into semi-darkness with a thin flickering light from just a couple of candles in sconces on the wall. Another opulent room, but this one smelt a little musty. The deep red carpet had a pattern of stars amongst a geometrical design, and standing on it, a highly polished large rectangular table, with ten chairs around it. Silently they walked forward, and Rose saw at the end of the room an enormous gilded chair set on a little platform. In front of it, a half-circle of big comfortable arm chairs coming from an age long ago. Cornwallis urged her on until they came to stand in front of the big gilded chair, and then the dapper man smiled and indicated that they could sit.
‘Why we have to go through all this, I don’t know?’ groaned Frankie. ‘I were here just a while ago, it’s not as we need to be dramatic every time.’
‘Rose hasn’t been here before,’ replied Cornwallis. ‘I expect this is for her benefit. Gerald likes to create an impression, don’t forget.’
‘Yeah, but all the same…’
A lot of muffled swearing came from behind the gilded chair, interrupting Frankie. Rose craned her neck and noticed that the wallpaper billowed, in fact, it wasn’t a wall at all, but a curtain, and it looked like someone was struggling to find the gap.
‘Oh, this is just great,’ moaned the curtain. ‘What pillock did it this time, eh?’
The dapper looking man stood there wide eyed for a couple of moments and then dived behind the chair in order to help.
‘Was it you, Crinning?’ said the voice, when the man drew the curtain aside. ‘I specifically said to put the gap on the sodding line. If I wanted you to put the sodding thing to the side, I would ‘a said put the sodding thing to the side. I wanted it there.’ A stamp of a foot indicated where precisely the gap should have been. ‘All right, just go and get the coffee, see if yer can get that right.’
The man disappeared behind the curtain and a few moments passed, then a grinning face suddenly emerged through the now properly positioned flap. This face belonged to someone else, a small tidy looking man with salt and pepper hair. He wore a dark suit covered in sparkly little buttons, with a white cravat tied around his neck
and he carried a hat in his hand, which also sparkled. He had a cheeky face full of mischief which carried an ever present smile. ‘Evening Cornwallis, Frankie, an’ this must be the delectable Miss Morant, if I’m not mistaken.’
‘Evening Gerald,’ returned Cornwallis with a smile. ‘It seems to me that not all went according to plan.’
‘Staff,’ replied Gerald. ‘Who’d ‘ave the buggers?’ He looked at Rose and winked, before going forward and taking her hand in his. ‘Not one of my best entrances, my ducks, it normally works much better ‘an that.’
‘Really?’ replied Rose, smiling.
‘Oh yes, I’ve ‘ad some nearly cack ‘emselves.’ He let go of Rose’s hand and turned to go and sit on his chair. ‘Lights,’ he yelled.
Suddenly the room lit up, bright as day. Rose turned around and saw lanterns swivelling from their hidden compartments, snapping as they found their fixture. Gerald seemed to be pleased that at least something worked to plan.
‘Well, Cornwallis, yer Brownlow family. Put ‘em up safe we did, ‘ere in the Brews, nice gaff as well. We ‘ad a bit o’problem wiv the watchers though. There were two, but we did fer ‘em, so’s there’s two less now.’
Cornwallis raised an eyebrow.