PINNACLE BOOKS NEW YORK (18 page)

On
descending from our train in the small
Gloucester
town, I anticipated that we would
locate
Burton Hananish, the man who had cap
tured
Holmes' attention, but this was not the case. We made for the local
inn, but a block from the
railroad
station on a pleasant tree-lined street. It was called the Red Grouse
and I judged the
management had held
tenure for some time and
was of a
diligent nature. The spigots in the barroom
and
the rail as well were highly polished while the plank flooring had
that sheen that came from oil applied with muscle grease. There was
the not-
unpleasant aroma of malted
liquids and a fair
sprinkling of
customers at the bar consuming
same.
Holmes not only unerringly walked to the establishment but, without
pause, led me to a table
in the place
that was already occupied. This did not
surprise
me. My friend had spent a considerable
part
of the previous twenty-four hours involved in
his
own pursuits and I suspected that he had established a liaison in
Fenley, for he seemed
capable of
reaching people in almost every locale. We were greeted by a youngish
chap, faultlessly
dressed, with a
low-keyed though hearty voice.

"Gentlemen,"
he said, indicating the two vacant
chairs
available.

"Watson,
this is Wally," said Sherlock Holmes.

As
I took the proffered seat, I reflected that our
greetings
were both limited and unusual. Holmes
did
not refer to people by their first names, but he did not choose to
elaborate. Wally evidently knew of us both, though his face was not
familiar to me.
His hair was sandy and
cut short and his cheeks glowed from a very close shave. There was an
aroma of toilet water about him and I
judged it to
be expensive. He was close
to six feet, slim, and
certainly would
be judged handsome by the fairer
sex.
His manner was even more pleasing. I realized
that
while we had just met and barely that, there
was
a feeling that we were on the threshold of a
pleasant
association. I could not explain this aura
other
than that it emanated from Wally like the
aftershave
I had noted.

There
were no preambles to the conversation,
and
it took no genius to realize that the youngish
fellow
was present for a purpose with which he was
already
well acquainted. I got the feeling that
Wally
and the sleuth did not know each other,
though
their words did not indicate this.

"How
goes it?" asked Holmes.

"Up
and up so far, Mr. Holmes. The man in
question
has a reputation that you might call
. .
. like Gibraltar." His searching for a phrase
jogged
me into the realization that his speech
pattern
was non-revealing. He sounded like a university man, though I
could not guess which one
and, indeed,
would have been hard-pressed to
figure
out his point of origin. I assumed he was
British,
but there was no revealing patois or accent.

"Hananish
has an international reputation as
well,"
said Holmes. "I'm rather interested in that aspect of his
career."

The
barman appeared at this moment and we all
ordered
stout.

"It
is a mite early in the game," continued
Holmes,
"but do you anticipate problems?"

"No,
sir," replied Wally. "With the assistance
you've
made available, I can get a surface check in a short while. As to how
deep I can dig . . ." He let
a
shrug complete his sentence.

"It
would be better if I had something specific for
you
to look for," said the sleuth. "Perhaps I can
come
up with something."

"You're
going to see him?"

Holmes
nodded.

"He's
got a rather spiffy estate on the river road.
Bit
of the local baronet, though without title."

"I
know," said Holmes. "Have we learned anything
particular about him? Personal life, I mean."

"His
raft of servants seem to walk in dread of the
old
boy. There's a similar feeling among his bank
employees,
I judge. Cripple, you know.
"

"I
didn't," admitted Holmes.

"Riding
accident some time back. He's limited to
a
wheelchair, which is handled by a brute of a fellow of local origin
who is a mute."

"Little
to be learned from him." There was a
period
of silence and then Holmes shoved his half-
consumed
tankard to one side. "We will use the regular contact, and if
that is not convenient, the
post office
will do. Sorry to have to put you on to
this
with such short notice."

"Yours
to command, Mr. Holmes. I'm much convenienced
by your associate being on the scene."

I
thought this was a very sporty remark for Wally
to
make and wondered how I was of assistance to
him.
It was when we left the barroom of the Red
Grouse
that it occurred to me that I might not be
the
associate the young man referred to.

Holmes
secured a carriage near the depot and we traveled but a short
distance down the river road to
the home
of Burton Hananish. It was an Eliza
bethan
mansion and as we drew up in front of the
hall
door, I noted the gleaming waters of the Severn
on
our right. Our coming had been observed and servants were already
waiting. No doubt one of Holmes' innumerable cables had been sent to
the
establishment, which was obviously
forewarned of
our arrival.

A
staid and proper butler greeted us at the main
entry
and accepted Holmes' card, though he
scarcely
glanced at it. Securing our outer apparel, he led us to a spacious
and lofty room and the
presence of his
master.

Perhaps
it was my imagination but there seemed
to
be an unusual silence about the place, as though
everyone
walked on tiptoe and in fear and trem
bling.
Certainly Hananish, seated in the wheelchair
we
had been told of, was not an awe-inspiring
figure.
His aquiline face was kindly, nay quite
beautiful,
though touched by the inevitable ravages of time. I judged the
results of his accident to be in
his
legs, which were concealed by a rug drawn
closely
across his waist. The man's hair was completely white, his
complexion parchment-like, pallid, entirely colorless. His
features were so finely cut and chiseled that they resembled a piece
of
statuary. As the butler announced us
and then disappeared and we walked slowly toward him,
Hananish
smiled in a welcoming fashion that was marred by the bloodless
quality of his lips. There was in the twist of his mouth a touch of
the spider-to-the-fly quality that destroyed the classic perfec
tion
of his features, revealing a tinge of the sadist. I
could
well imagine him as a backcountry despot.

Beautifully
shaped hands maneuvered his wheel
chair
closer to a desk of fruitwood and he indicated
adjacent
chairs with delicate fingers.

"Do
be seated, Mr. Holmes . . . Dr. Watson. I am
honored
by your presence." As we mumbled suit
able
greetings, a gentle bewilderment segued into
his
tone.
"Knowing of the busy and
active life you gentle
men lead, I'm
at a loss as to how I can assist you.
However,
there must be something I can do which
will
become most apparent after Mr. Holmes explains it." His
mask-like elderly face, singularly
devoid
of wrinkles, favored me with another tight
smile.
"I rather lean on your words, Dr. Watson, for
you
frequently write that all is clear after one of
your
friend's explanations."

There
was a suggestion of Oriental exaggeration
in
Hananish's loquaciousness, which Holmes chose
to
cut through.
"I must disappoint
you," he said. "Regarding the policy issued by Inter-Ocean
on the missing gold
shipment, there are
some quite ordinary formali
ties.
You know I am investigating the matter for the
insurance
group."

Hananish
nodded. "We are—and I speak for the
other
financial institutions involved as well as
myself—grateful
for the policy with Inter-Ocean."

"In
what way?"

One
white eyebrow, so perfect it might have been
plucked,
rose questioningly and Holmes continued.
"The
gold was turned over to the Birmingham
and
Northern by your people and was their responsibility until it
was delivered to the
French."

"Until
it was delivered to the French vessel in Great Yarmouth harbor,"
responded the financier.

There
was the suggestion of a "tut-tut" in his voice,
which
Holmes chose to ignore.

"My
point being that if the stolen gold shipment had not been covered by
insurance, the railroad
would have been
responsible."

"It
still is. I'm being overly technical, of course.
Our
banks are to be reimbursed for the worth of the
gold
by the Birmingham and Northern. If the gold
is
not found, they will secure the face value of their
insurance
policy and transfer the money to us. In
effect,
the money might just as well come to us
from
Inter-Ocean."

Holmes
had been nodding through this rather
detailed
explanation and I sensed impatience in his manner.
"I
am interested in the mechanics of this finan
cial
transaction. 'If you would learn, consult the
expert'
is a worthwhile philosophy," my friend
added.

Hananish
acknowledged this diplomatic quote
with
another tight smile that did not reach his eyes.
He's
a self-styled Caesar
, I thought,
and
it will
become common knowledge
how he instructed the
famous
Sherlock Holmes on finance.
At least
that
was how I read the situation then.
I learned later I
was wrong, no new
experience.

"You
know of the gold bonds of the Credit Lyonnais?" asked Hananish.

Holmes'
expression had a yes-and-no quality,
and
the banker explained with a gusto surprising
from
one so frail.

"To
facilitate their rapid sale, the French incor
porated
a proviso that the bonds could be re
deemed
two years after their issuance in gold. That's pure mumbo-jumbo.
Having the bonds re
deemable prior
to expiration date might just as
well
have specified francs, but gold is the lure to the
investor.
Whenever a currency is troubled people
run
to gold, which is the ultimate currency."