Fatal Venture (6 page)

“What had you in mind in the office? You must have had some scheme to talk like that?”

“Only to gain time, I’m afraid. But I’ll see Stott at once. You’re stuck in your beastly office, I suppose?”

Morrison shook his head regretfully. “I’m afraid so.”

“Then I’ll ring him up and go down as soon as I can get my car.” With a curt nod, Bristow disappeared into a telephone booth.

In spite of his interest, it was not till later that Morrison heard what took place.

Having fixed up his interview, Bristow drove to “St Austell”. The day was showery and Stott received him in his library instead of under the great elm. He did not trouble with greetings, but got at once to business. “What’s all this?” he asked shortly. “A trick to hurry up the purchase?”

“I wish it was,” Bristow returned. “No, I’m sorry to say it’s the genuine article. We’re going to be done, or I am, if you’re not coming in,” and he told his story.

Upon Stott the tale had an electric effect. Whether or not he had already intended to buy, Bristow did not know, but if not, the hint of opposition brought him to a decision. “I’m damned if I’m going to sit down and be cheated by a blasted racing crook,” he exclaimed roughly. “You say we have a couple of days?”

“I don’t know that, but I think it’s likely from what Amberley said.”

“Time enough to put a spoke in this Malthus’ wheel, I fancy. Take a cigar and let me think.”

For thirty-seven minutes by the electric clock on the mantelpiece they sat in silence, broken only on two occasions when Stott barked out short staccato questions. Then he leant forward, tapped Bristow on the arm and said: “See, with a bit of luck we’ll get him. You go back and have some paper printed with the proper heading – like this.” He took a sheet and wrote rapidly. “ ‘Home Waters Cruising Limited’, here across the top. Then in small letters here on the left side, ‘Directors’, Malthus’ name first with ‘Chairman’ after it, then six other names, invented names except for my own. Put my own second. Put them in a column, you know. Add someone imaginary as treasurer and yourself as secretary. On the other side put ‘Temporary Offices’, and give Malthus’ address and telephone number. That all necessary to make it look right?”

Bristow controlled his satisfaction at this turn of events. “I think so,” he replied. “If I spot anything missing, I’ll add it.”

“Make a decent job of it. Quiet but businesslike, you know. When can you have it ready?”

“A day or two, I should think.”

“I shall want it at ten o’clock on Wednesday morning in your office.”

Bristow nodded. “I’ll see to it.”

“You’ll need to or we’ll be disappointed. Have you a printer that does your firm’s work?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Very well, get on to him at once. See the boss himself; don’t be put off with any Tom, Dick or Harry in the office. Put up any blessed yarn you fancy. Tell him money’s no object and to work his darned box of tricks all night if necessary. Get it done without fail.”

In spite of his satisfaction at having so completely hooked Stott, Bristow found it hard to control his temper. Since he left school, he had not been treated as anyone’s message boy, and he didn’t like it. However, this was not the moment to stand on his dignity. He nodded coolly and stood up.

“Ten o’clock in my office the morning after next?” he said. “Right. I’ll expect you.”

“I’ll be there,” Stott promised, “and with any luck friend Malthus will get what he’s asked for.”

No difficulties about time were raised by the printers, and when Bristow reached his office on the Wednesday a packet of 1,000 sheets of tastefully printed letter paper was waiting for him. He had only wanted one, but thought that a smaller order might be suspicious. He was pleased with his effort, which looked entirely convincing.

At ten exactly Stott was shown in.

“Got the paper?” he asked, without further introduction. “H’m, that looks all right. Now, see,” he went on, before Bristow could speak, “can you type?”

“Slowly. But I can get a girl in.”

“Don’t bother about any girl. Type this yourself,” and he handed over the draft of a letter. It read:

Stott was in a much better humour than a couple of days earlier. “Sign that, Mr Secretary,” he chuckled as he watched Bristow’s face. Then he took a paper from his pocket. “I’ve a good cheque to go with it,” he observed, handing it over.

Bristow metaphorically sat up and rubbed his eyes. It was a Lloyds cheque and it was filled in to read: “Pay Messrs Lilac Star Steamship Company Limited One hundred and twenty-five thousand pounds sterling (£125,000),” and was signed, “Home Waters Cruising Limited. J Mottram Stott, director.”

“Countersign that as Secretary,” Stott added, “and it’ll look darned good.”

“How in Hades have you done it, Mr Stott?” Bristow demanded as he wrote his name.

Again Stott chuckled. “Quite simple,” he returned contentedly. “I called at my bank yesterday and opened an account under the heading ‘Home Waters Cruising Limited’ and paid a hundred and twenty-five thousand into it. It’ll be paid out and the account closed today. I’ve fixed it with the manager.”

“It’s as smart as anything I’ve ever seen,” Bristow declared as he put a sheet of the new paper in his typewriter. “They’ll suspect nothing.”

“Not if we’re first in the field,” Stott returned a little grimly. “However, that’s a risk we can’t avoid.”

“Could we not have gone yesterday?”

“No. Haste like that would have looked suspicious. Besides, we had to leave time for the supposed board.”

Having rehearsed what was to be said at the interview, they walked to the Cockspur Street offices and asked for Amberley. A glance at his face told them that they were in time.

“I’m back here sooner than I expected, Mr Amberley,” began Bristow. “May I introduce Mr Stott, one of our directors?”

Amberley had been looking curiously at Stott, and when Bristow mentioned his name he made a little gesture of recognition.

“How do you do, Mr Stott?” he said, smiling. “We’ve met before, though you’ve forgotten it. We crossed the Atlantic together in one of our ships, five – no, let me see – six years ago. It was the
Hellenic
, too, I remember.”

Stott, who Bristow now saw could be extremely pleasant when he chose, looked closely at Amberley, then smiled in his turn. “Why, of course, Mr Amberley, I remember you well. But I don’t think I tumbled to it that you were connected with the company.”

Amberley shook his head. “I kept that dark,” he declared. “Some excuse, too. I avoided complaints and suggestions and all sorts of embarrassments.”

“An emperor travelling incog. I hadn’t thought of that. I’m glad we’re going to prolong the
Hellenic’s
days. She’s a fine ship.”

“She’s always been a favourite: steady, you know; easy in a sea and no vibration.”

“Why are you selling her, if I may ask?” put in Bristow. “Now that the price is fixed, I don’t suppose it’s a secret.”

“No secret at all, Mr Bristow. She’s too slow and she burns too much oil. She does twenty-three knots, but that’s no good when you’re competing with over thirty.”

“But her hull’s all right?”

“Oh, Lord, yes! If it wasn’t, we daren’t have run her across the Atlantic.”

Stott didn’t seem pleased at the interruption, and Bristow quickly saw that he was a man who could never play second fiddle. He therefore remained silent and Stott went on: “I’ve called with our Secretary, Mr Amberley, in the place of our Chairman, Mr Malthus, who’s laid up with flu. We’ve come to tell you that the board has decided to take up our option on the
Hellenic
, and to hand over the purchase money. We had intended to defer the decision till our Chairman was again with us, but we want to carry out certain alterations before the cruising season begins, and there is so little time that every day makes a difference. So we got his approval over the telephone and went ahead.”

Amberley nodded gravely. “That’s very satisfactory news to us, Mr Stott. There’s not a great demand for these big ships, and we’ll be glad to have the
Hellenic
off our hands. Your hurry to get her will also please our board. As you can understand, harbour dues at Southampton are pretty considerable. I needn’t say we’ll facilitate you in every way possible.”

“Excellent,” Stott returned genially: “it’s pleasant when a transaction pleases both parties. I think you have the formal letter, Bristow?”

Bristow opened his attaché case. “Yes. Perhaps I may hand it over, Mr Amberley, with the cheque?”

“About that cheque,” Stott went on, “I wonder if it would be asking you too much to come with us to the bank and satisfy yourself” – he smiled to indicate that he was making a joke – “that we really are solvent? If so, we could perhaps complete the sale documents while we’re here. As you can see from the cheque, Bristow and I are competent to sign for the board.”

This was a proposal to which Amberley was unlikely to object. They went to the bank, saw the manager, and put beyond question the transfer of the cash. Then they returned to the Lilac Star offices, and the documents completing the sale were duly signed, sealed and delivered.

“A bit of luck that,” Stott observed, when they once more regained the street. “If Malthus and company had moved during these last two days, we’d have been sunk. And a tremendous bit of luck that Amberley knew me. If he hadn’t, he might have held us up till he made enquiries.”

“That’s true,” Bristow admitted slowly. He was not enthusiastic. In fact, he was feeling a good deal worried. “But are you sure that we are all right?” he went on. “I’m afraid I’m not quite happy about it myself.”

Stott looked at him curiously. “What’s the trouble?” he asked with a rather mocking expression.

“Well, just who does the
Hellenic
belong to? As I see it, she doesn’t belong to you or me severally or jointly. She belongs to a company. Home Waters Cruising Limited, of which Malthus is Chairman.”

“She belongs to a company. Home Waters Cruising Limited, of which I’m a director and you’re the Secretary.”

“And Malthus is the Chairman,” Bristow persisted.

Stott shook his head. “Not at all,” he retorted. “Malthus doesn’t come into it.”

“I don’t see how you make that out. Malthus’ name – ”

“See,” interrupted Stott, “what names were on that deed of sale? The Company’s, mine and yours. There was no mention of Malthus.”

“The Company’s name was given, and on our paper Malthus is shown as Chairman.”

“Ah, quite. But that name on the letter paper was the only reference to Malthus that there was.”

Bristow was becoming irritable. “I know that’s so,” he returned with some warmth, “but it
was
there.”

Stott winked. “ ‘Was’ is the right word,” he declared. “Show me that deed of sale again.”

They went into Stott’s club and Bristow opened his attaché case and handed over the folded document. Stott opened it out. As he did so a letter fluttered to the ground. Bristow grabbed it and gave an exclamation.

“Yes” – Stott grinned – “our Company’s one letter to the Lilac Star people got accidentally folded in the deed while Amberley was looking elsewhere. So he has no reference of any kind to Malthus. And as for the Company’s title, it was your title which Malthus stole.” He dropped the letter into the fire and watched it slowly discolour and disintegrate. “And now the letter’s gone,” he went on, “and your job is to see that its nine hundred and ninety-nine brothers follow it.”

“I tell you, Morrison,” Bristow said afterwards when he was recounting the story, “I had to hand it to him. I just can’t remember a brainier bit of work. No wonder Stott can pay about a quarter of a million without turning a hair.”

“He’s living up to his reputation.”

“Lucky for us! I tell you, our fortune’s made now we have him with us.”

Morrison was not so delighted as Bristow expected. To Morrison the whole thing didn’t seem straight, and though he was not rabid on the subject, he disliked questionable dealings. However, he reminded himself that they were not stealing anything from Malthus, but only preventing him from stealing their idea from them.

“There’ll be hell to pay when Malthus finds it out,” he observed.

Bristow smiled happily. “Won’t there? I only hope I’ll be there when it happens.”

Morrison’s prophecy was soon fulfilled, though he saw nothing of the trouble personally, only hearing of it from Bristow when everything was over.

It happened that on the very next day Malthus had called on Amberley to say that he had got his money and was ready to complete his purchase. The fat was then properly in the fire. A storm of No. 12 Beaufort scale took place in the office, at the end of which Malthus flung furiously out, while Amberley collapsed limp and helpless in his secretarial chair.

Malthus then approached Stott. By this time he had cooled down and had evidently taken legal advice. He was outwardly friendly, said that Stott had been prompt in his action, and proposed an amalgamation, his people putting up half the money. Stott apparently was equally polite, though clear as crystal that nothing was doing. Malthus then lost his temper and became abusive, threatening Stott with proceedings involving all sorts of penalties. Stott in effect said, “Go ahead,” and the interview terminated with heat and promptitude.