It was gone ten o’clock by the time Rackham made it to Chandos Row. ‘I haven’t eaten a thing since lunchtime,’ he said, drawing his chair up to the table and loading his plate with the cheese, bread, cold sausage and pickles Jack had left out for him. ‘I’m starving. I’ve been knuckling down to it tonight and no mistake,’ he added, between mouthfuls. ‘I talked to Gilchrist Lloyd again, then I went to the Mulciber. I saw Culverton’s valet, then the porter who was on duty in the lobby the night Culverton went west, before I went on to Eden Street.’ He looked round the room. ‘Where’s your pal, Lassiter, by the way?’
Jack jerked his thumb at the door of the spare room. ‘He’s gone to bed. This was his first day up and about and the poor beggar was all in. He was wiped out by the time I got back to Eden Street, so we made our apologies and came back here.’
‘How’s he getting on with his new-found family?’
‘Pretty well. He and his grandfather obviously hit it off. When his grandfather understood he was well and truly broke, he gave him a fair old chunk of money to see him through.’
‘Lucky George,’ commented Rackham.
‘Well, he really didn’t have a bean and it’s not a straightforward gift. As George is being drafted into the firm, he insisted on treating the money as an advance on his wages. That pleased his granddad, I could tell. He’s taken a real shine to Anne Lassiter, as well. I liked her, too. Neither of us saw much of David Lassiter but he seems all right. The only one we didn’t meet was Nigel Lassiter, the chap who had dinner with Culverton.’
‘Nigel Lassiter, eh?’ said Rackham, meaningfully. ‘Well, I don’t want to do down your friend’s family, but I wouldn’t pay you in washers for Nigel Lassiter.’
Jack looked at him, his head to one side. ‘Why not?’
Rackham speared a piece of sausage. ‘He’s one of the awkward squad and no mistake. He told me he couldn’t see it was any of my business what Culverton had for dinner. He’s been knocked sideways by Culverton’s death but he couldn’t give a damn who killed him. You’ll probably come across him at some stage. Let me know what you think, but I’d be surprised if your opinion was very different from mine.’
‘I’m going to come across him tomorrow, I imagine. George and I have been invited for lunch and, as it’s Saturday, I suppose all the family will be there. I’m not sorry to have the chance to meet them. You know I told you about George’s missing legacy? Well, he’s got his birth certificate.’
‘Has he, by Jove?’ said Rackham, adding a pickled egg to his plate.
‘Yes. It was in the desk in the library at Eden Street, together with a lot of other family papers. Anne Lassiter looked it out for him. Now, George was told that the legacy was claimed from South Africa on the strength of that certificate.’
Rackham ate thoughtfully for a few moments. ‘What are you saying? That someone used George’s birth certificate to snaffle the loot?’
‘Either that or the certificate the solicitors saw was forged.’
‘Can a birth certificate be forged?’
Jack shrugged. ‘I don’t see why not. The details would have to be correct, of course, but they’re all on record at Somerset House. All a certificate is, when you come down to it, is an extract from the register. Anyone who pays a shilling can take a dekko, which isn’t a bad investment when there’s forty-six thousand pounds in the offing.’
‘How would anyone know there’s that amount of money up for grabs?’
‘They might not know,’ said Jack. ‘However, the advert was in the South African press, and it’s fairly obvious there must be something to gain. It might be sheer speculation or someone at the solicitors may be on the make or it might have been someone who knew George’s mother and realized she had a fair old bit to leave.’
Rackham finished the rest of his supper and pushed his plate away. ‘Thanks for that, Jack. It was just what I needed.’ He stood up and took his pipe from his pocket. ‘Look, you’d better get Lassiter to call in at Scotland Yard to make a formal complaint. I’ll leave a note that it’s to be referred to me.’ He covered a yawn with his hand. ‘I’ve got my work cut out with the Culverton case but I’ll make time to go and see the solicitors on Monday.’
‘Thanks, Bill. I couldn’t get a damn thing out of Mr Marchbolt. He was very frosty.’
‘I’ll use the strong arm of the Law,’ said Rackham with a grin. ‘An official warrant card works wonders.’
Jack poured out two glasses of whisky, gave one to Rackham and put the tobacco jar on the table between them. ‘So what did you find out about Culverton?’ he asked, sitting down in an armchair. ‘Could his valet suggest where he might have gone in his carefully de-labelled clothes?’
Rackham sighed in irritation. ‘That valet could give two short planks a run for their money. You know you said he might be a bit dim? Absolutely, he was. I asked him why Culverton had taken the tabs off his evening clothes and he told me he’d never thought to enquire. He knew about them, right enough. He’d call at the office, collect the used linen and valet the suits, but he never wondered why the tabs had been removed. He showed me Culverton’s dressing room at the Mulciber. It was as lavishly furnished as the one at the office but the evening wear in the wardrobe had all its tabs intact.’
Jack nodded. ‘That bears out my theory in a way. He changed at the Mulciber when he was going to a respectable function. Could Gilchrist Lloyd shed any light on the mystery?’
‘No. He knew Culverton frequently changed at the office but he didn’t know anything about his evening clothes. I’ll tell you something, though. He wasn’t remotely surprised that Culverton could have had a private life, as I delicately put it.’
‘I wonder if that’s an angle you could try? If Culverton was a bit of a philanderer then he might have caused some trouble with the female servants or office staff.’
‘Mr Lloyd didn’t say anything,’ said Rackham doubtfully. ‘I think you might be right about a dodgy club. Culverton was a well-known man and his picture got into the papers often enough to worry him if he was trying to keep his identity a secret.’ He frowned. ‘Mrs Culverton knows something, I’m sure of it. She was very much on her guard.’
‘Do you really think she might be guilty? I know you floated the possibility earlier.’
‘And you didn’t like it one bit.’ Rackham smiled. ‘Well, relax, Jack. She didn’t do it. On Wednesday the 31st, the day she left Culverton, she went to see Anne Lassiter. Both old Mr Lassiter and Mrs Lassiter bear that out. Mrs Culverton stayed at Eden Street for a while, then she and Mrs Lassiter went to her flat in Kensington. Anne Lassiter stayed with her until after midnight.’
‘So she’s got an alibi, has she?’ asked Jack, reaching for the tobacco jar.
‘Yes. What’s more, old Mr Lassiter spoke to Anne after she got back. Apparently he’s a bit of a night owl and, although he phrased this quite carefully, he was obviously agog to find out exactly what was going on between Mrs Culverton and her husband.’ Jack stuck a match and lit his pipe, frowning over the smoke. ‘What’s the matter? I thought you’d be pleased that Mrs Culverton’s out of it.’
‘Well, I am,’ agreed Jack. ‘It’s just that I thought your reasoning was pretty good. You know, about it being a brutal crime an’ all so therefore we wouldn’t suspect a woman. By the way, how come Mrs Culverton and Anne Lassiter are such friends? I mean, there’s no reason why they shouldn’t be, but Mrs Culverton’s a good deal older than Anne Lassiter.’
‘I wondered that, too,’ said Rackham. ‘Apparently they nursed together in the war and always kept in touch. Mrs Culverton was very good to Anne after Thomas, her husband, died. Mrs Lassiter told me that she always thought of her as an older sister. Be that as it may, I’m sure Mrs Culverton knows something. What I find frustrating is that she won’t even hint at why she left Culverton. She just states she did and that’s that.’
‘Perhaps I’m right about his philandering tendencies. Wouldn’t that be enough reason?’
Rackham frowned. ‘It might. I’m not sure that’s the top and bottom of it, though. However,’ he added with a shrug, ‘her alibi’s borne out by Mrs Lassiter and I can’t believe Mrs Lassiter would be involved in murder. She didn’t strike me as the type.’
‘No,’ said Jack with certainty. ‘Me neither.’
‘Nigel Lassiter, on the other hand, struck me as the sort who’d murder his own grandmother if she got in the way.’
‘You really didn’t like him, did you?’ said Jack with a grin.
‘He rubbed me up the wrong way, the arrogant devil. I don’t think he’d have condescended to speak to me at all if it wasn’t for Dr Maguire.’
‘Is that the same bloke who had dinner with Culverton the night he was killed? What was he doing there?’
‘He’s a friend of Nigel’s and informally engaged to Anne Lassiter.’
‘Is he, by Jove?’
‘That’s right. I’m not sure about Maguire. He’s a bit smooth. Having said that, he’s a Harley Street psychiatrist, so I suppose he has to be fairly smooth. He was ready enough to answer my questions, though. Interestingly, he’d been Culverton’s doctor when he was in general practice. He couldn’t tell me a lot about Culverton but he kept Nigel on this side of politeness – just.’
‘I don’t suppose Nigel is a possibility, is he?’ Jack asked hopefully. ‘For bumping off Culverton, I mean.’
Rackham laughed. ‘Unfortunately, no. That’s a big no. I don’t suppose he gives tuppence about Culverton, as such, but it’s given him a real headache as regards his aeroplane. Apart from that, he’s got an alibi. He came home after the dinner at the Mulciber and talked to his father about something called stringers, whatever they are.’
‘They’re part of the innards of a wing,’ said Jack.
‘Well, he’s got problems with them. Apparently that’s what the dinner in the Mulciber was about. Culverton agreed to fund the extra work Nigel needed to put in on them. And that, even more than his alibi, is why he’s such a big no. Nigel Lassiter’s obsessed with his seaplane and was depending on Culverton’s support to finance it. Maguire’s one of Nigel’s investors too, but very small beer compared to Culverton. He only has five thousand or so invested in it.’
‘Only five thousand?’ Jack’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Good God, Bill, when did you join the plutocracy? Five thousand isn’t chicken feed, you know.’
Rackham grinned. ‘You haven’t heard the rest of it yet. I confirmed how much Dr Maguire had at stake with old Mr Lassiter. He’s a nice old boy, isn’t he? I asked him about the costs of the seaplane as I wanted to know just how heavily Culverton was involved. Apparently he brassed up about eighty thousand.’
‘Eighty thousand? No wonder Mr Lloyd wanted to talk to Mrs Culverton about the future of the firm. Culverton put in eighty thousand? That’s unbelievable. I always thought air travel was too expensive.’
‘Mr Lassiter thought Culverton had used his wife’s money. She was a very rich woman before she married. I don’t know if she’s very rich now. Apparently her father was one of the original investors in Wisemann and Levy’s, the New York store. He never touched the income and it built up for years at compound interest. He was worth well over two hundred thousand.’
‘What?’ Jack shook his head disbelievingly. ‘But she was a nurse. By golly, I wish she’d nursed me.’
‘She’s too old for you,’ said Rackham with a laugh.
‘I could age very convincingly,’ muttered Jack.
‘Anyway,’ continued Rackham, ‘Mr Lassiter told me all this to fill in the background. There’s no two ways about it, Culverton’s death has left Lassiter’s in a real hole. You said you met David Lassiter?’
‘Yes. I liked him. I got the impression he’s the one who really controls the firm.’
‘So did I. He bore out everything his father said. He thinks Culverton’s death has more or less kicked the seaplane into touch. They’re finding things difficult anyway and he can’t see why Peggy Culverton should invest in the seaplane as no one’s going to offer her a directorship in any state airline, whatever she does. He’s a very worried man.’
‘Poor beggar.’ Jack put down his pipe. ‘To get back to our own concerns for the moment, I don’t suppose either Nigel Lassiter or Dr Maguire can suggest where Culverton went after they left him at the Mulciber?’
‘They haven’t a clue, or so they say. The only thing which did strike me as not quite right was Dr Maguire’s expression when I asked him what he did for the rest of the evening. He said he went on to the Continental. That’s a restaurant off Northumberland Avenue with a well-frequented bar and dancing and so on. Now, there’s nothing wrong with the Continental, as far as I know, but he looked me straight in the eye as he said it. It made me wonder if he really did go there. He didn’t like the question, I could tell. It’s something and nothing but you never know. If he’s not telling the truth, it might just lead us to this club of Culverton’s.’
‘That’d be a handy short-cut. I bet you’re right about his expression, Bill. That sort of impression is difficult to put into words but fairly unmistakable. What time did they leave?’
‘About nine. I checked that at the Mulciber and it’s right. The porter remembered it as he had a cable for Mr Culverton.’
‘A cable?’ asked Jack with sharpened interest.
‘Yes. Culverton came into the lobby with Maguire and Nigel Lassiter just as the porter was about to send one of the staff to look for him. Culverton said goodbye to the two men, and the porter, who hadn’t wanted to interrupt, gave him the cable after they’d gone. I’ll get a copy of it, but I think it must have been from Paris. Culverton read it and obviously wasn’t very pleased. He wrote a note to Lloyd, as we know. Lloyd showed me the note. Culverton ordered the porter to post it in the Late Fee box so it would arrive next morning. Then he went back into the club and had a drink at the bar. He left the Mulciber about quarter to ten or thereabouts. He didn’t have a taxi so the porter couldn’t tell me where he was going.’
Jack frowned. ‘You say the cable arrived at the Mulciber? But . . .’ He broke off and drank his whisky perplexedly. ‘That doesn’t make sense. Culverton wrote Paris in his appointment diary, didn’t he? But he wrote it in the space for Wednesday, not Thursday, when he should have flown out.’
‘Maybe he got the wrong day,’ said Rackham, puzzled by his friend’s intensity. ‘It’s an easy enough mistake.’
‘So when did he write it? We assumed he knew he was going to Paris before he left the office but he didn’t.’
Rackham stared. ‘That’s a thought,’ he said slowly. ‘Maybe he had to go back to the office to pick up some papers.’
Jack got up and stood beside the mantelpiece. ‘So why post the letter to Lloyd?’
‘He could have only worked out he needed the papers or whatever after he’d sent the letter.’
‘That’s true,’ agreed Jack. ‘Damn! That might be it. Could you ask Lloyd if there’s any way of telling if Culverton came back to the office that night? Any papers which should be there that aren’t?’
‘I’ll ask him, certainly,’ agreed Rackham, ‘but what’s the point? If he added Paris to his diary he must have gone back to the office.’ He stared sightlessly into the fireplace. ‘This is a beggar of a case, Jack. Culverton left the Mulciber about quarter to ten and was killed before midnight. If he went back to the office there’s not much time for him to have gone anywhere else. It’s odd, isn’t it?’
‘It’s damned odd,’ agreed Jack. ‘I wonder where the dickens he got to?’
The next morning Jack and George went to Scotland Yard where, armed with his birth certificate, George made an official complaint about his missing legacy. That was followed by a visit to Butler and Furness, the gentlemen’s outfitters. Next on the agenda was lunch at Eden Street. It made a pleasant change, thought Jack, as he rang the bell at number 19, to see his friend in clothes that actually fitted. He was about to say as much when he noticed how apprehensive George seemed. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.
George adjusted the lapels of his new jacket. ‘Nothing, really,’ he said with a sigh. ‘It’s just that coming here still feels odd, and it’s even odder to think this is my family’s house. I’m looking forward to meeting my Uncle Nigel, though. Everyone seemed a bit iffy about him yesterday but if he’s anything like my grandfather and Uncle David, he should be all right.’
Jack, too, was looking forward to meeting Uncle Nigel, but, with Bill Rackham’s comments firmly in mind, he lacked George’s optimism.
Corby, the butler, opened the door and, ushering them into the hall, took their hats and coats.
‘I’m afraid we’re a bit early,’ said George, glancing at the clock.
‘It doesn’t matter, sir. Mr Lassiter gave instructions you were to be shown into the library. He’s going over some papers with Mr Nigel and Mr David.’
As Corby led the way along the hall they heard the muffled sound of raised voices which grew louder as they approached the library. Jack swapped glances with Lassiter. There was obviously a heated argument going on. Corby hesitated with his hand on the handle, then opened the door, stepped into the room and coughed. ‘Mr Lassiter and Major Haldean, sir.’
Everyone was abruptly silent but the room was crackling with tension. Jack recognized David Lassiter from the previous evening, a tall, grey-haired man with kindly, worried eyes. He looked up as they entered and nodded a greeting. He was standing with his arms braced on a table strewn with papers. Across the table from him stood George’s grandfather and another man, who was, presumably, Nigel Lassiter. Nigel Lassiter’s body was rigid, his arms were folded and his face flushed.
Jack saw old Mr Lassiter’s rather harried expression lighten in relief. ‘George! And Major Haldean. It’s a pleasure to see you both. As you’re going to be part of the firm, George, I said you might as well be shown in here but I think we’re about finished.’ He turned to David and Nigel. ‘That’s right, isn’t it?’ There was a definite command in the question.
Nigel, a man in his forties with shadowed eyes and dark, untidy hair, unfolded his arms. He was radiating anger. He hardly glanced at Jack and Lassiter but spoke to his father.
‘You might have finished but I certainly haven’t. I need some answers. What am I going to do?’
David Lassiter looked apologetically across the room. ‘I’m sorry, George, Major Haldean. We really have finished.’
‘Stop saying we’re finished!’ snarled Nigel in frustration. ‘For God’s sake, David, we haven’t begun. Listen to me! You don’t seem to realize what Culverton’s death means. You can’t seem to grasp how truly awful it is. What’s going to happen to the funding of the seaplane now? I need another few thousand at least. Culverton would have paid up. What does Mrs Culverton say?’
‘Mrs Culverton,’ said David with weary patience, ‘told you she wasn’t making any decisions until her secretary, Gilchrist Lloyd, has gone through the paperwork.’
Nigel tossed his head impatiently. ‘That’s not good enough. I haven’t got the time to wait. Doesn’t she know how urgent it is?’
‘You can’t expect her to make a snap decision. For heaven’s sake, she’s just lost her husband.’
‘Don’t give me that,’ said Nigel with a dismissive snort. ‘She couldn’t care less about Culverton. She left him, for heaven’s sake. This is a matter of business.’
‘Well, she’s not going to be hurried, no matter how important you think it is,’ said David acidly. ‘So what if we do have to suspend production on the seaplane?’
‘Suspend production?’ Nigel Lassiter stared at him. ‘For God’s sake, don’t start that again. We’re only ten days away from the press presentation. I’ve got ten days to get the Pegasus in a fit condition to show to the public. Ten days! We can’t stop now. It’d be disastrous. If Mrs Culverton won’t pay up then the company will have to fund it.’
His father made as if to speak but David beat him to it. ‘What d’you think we’ve been doing? Your blasted flying-boat has cost us thousands and for what? The entire company’s been turned upside down because of it. We can’t afford to pump any more money into the Pegasus, Nigel. You know that.’
‘You’ll have to.’
‘We haven’t got it!’ David Lassiter swallowed and forced himself to speak calmly. ‘Look, as I said before, if we could only suspend production we could concentrate on making some sort of profit. Then, when things are more settled, we can go back to the Pegasus.’
The door opened once more and a thin, nervy-looking man with a file of papers under his arm came in. He looked at Jack and George, smiled briefly, and spoke to Mr Lassiter. ‘I’ve got the papers you wanted, sir.’
‘Thank you, Walsh,’ said Mr Lassiter. ‘Nigel, perhaps you can look at these figures later on.’
Walsh gave the file to Nigel who glanced at it contemptuously.
‘Balance sheets,’ he said with deep sarcasm.
Walsh straightened up. Jack remembered Mr Lassiter referring to his secretary, Walsh, yesterday. He was a taller man than Nigel but much slighter. There were deep-set lines etched round his eyes and mouth. He was, thought Jack, not a well man. He had very little colour in his face but his eyes were glittering with suppressed anger. ‘Balance sheets, Mr Lassiter,’ he said, picking his way through the words. ‘I was only able to give you a very brief idea of the figures involved when we talked about this earlier, but if you would care to look over the balance sheets –’
‘Damn the bloody balance sheets,’ ground out Nigel. ‘And damn you, too.’
‘Nigel!’ exclaimed his father, shocked. ‘Withdraw that remark immediately.’
Nigel clenched his fists and took a deep breath. He glanced at Walsh. ‘Sorry.’ The word was like the flick of a whip.
Walsh met his eyes unflinchingly, reining in his temper with a visible effort. A spot of angry colour flamed on his pale cheeks. ‘You might not like what the balance sheets show, Mr Lassiter, but you cannot ignore them.’
Nigel brought his fist down on the table. ‘For God’s sake, stop talking about balance sheets! I’m days away from the press presentation. The Pegasus is important.’
‘The Pegasus is damned expensive,’ snapped David. ‘It’s one thing after another. Last month’s flight trials were a disaster. The aeroplane isn’t safe, Nigel. Not yet.’
‘Safety! Don’t you ever think about anything other than safety?’
The cold gleam in David Lassiter’s eyes startled Jack. He’d been angry before but now he was suddenly murderous. ‘It’s not surprising, is it? Let me tell you –’
‘David,’ said Mr Lassiter sharply. ‘I’d rather you and Nigel had this conversation in private.’
David Lassiter froze. He stood very still, then, with a long-drawn-out breath, and his shoulders rigid, stretched his hands out on the table. After a few moments he looked ruefully at Jack and George. ‘I’m sorry. For the moment I forgot you were here. I apologize.’
The door opened once more and Corby came into the room. ‘Dr Maguire has arrived, sir. Shall I show him in?’
‘Don’t bother,’ said Nigel in disgust. He looked at his brother contemptuously. ‘Apparently, we’ve finished.’
Walsh coughed. The flush of colour on his cheeks hadn’t faded. ‘You really should look at the balance sheets, Mr Lassiter,’ he said evenly. ‘They tell their own story.’
‘Bloody hell!’ shouted Nigel, goaded beyond endurance.
A well-dressed man came into the room behind Corby. ‘Excuse me finding my way in here but I heard voices,’ he said calmly. He looked at Nigel. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘A problem?’ repeated Nigel. ‘Of course there’s a problem, Roger.’ Jack looked at the newcomer with interest. So this was the smooth Dr Maguire. Nigel ran his hands through his hair. ‘I’ve been trying to explain the situation with the Pegasus and all anyone can talk to me about is balance sheets.’
‘They will repay study, Mr Lassiter,’ said Walsh.
Nigel glared at him speechlessly then, taking the papers from the file, ripped them across and flung them down on the table. ‘That’s what I think of you and your balance sheets. Why don’t you drop dead, you little runt?’
‘Nigel!’ exclaimed his father, David and Maguire together but Nigel was past hearing.
‘Because if you don’t drop dead, then God help me, I’ll kill you. In fact –’
‘Nigel!’ said Maguire in a voice as sharp as the crack of a bullet. ‘Shut up!’ His eyes blazed. Nigel, startled, looked at him, then dropped his head. ‘That’s better,’ said Maguire curtly. ‘I think an apology’s in order.’
Nigel met his gaze, then glanced away. ‘All right. I’m sorry.’ He wearily stuck his hands in his pockets and looked round the room, seemingly noticing Jack and George for the first time. ‘I’m sorry.’ He picked up the torn papers and put them back in the file. ‘I’ll study these,’ he said to Walsh with an effort. ‘Sorry about that.’
Walsh let his breath out slowly. ‘Don’t mention it.’
The gong sounded in the hall. ‘Lunch,’ said old Mr Lassiter.
‘What d’you think of your Uncle Nigel?’ asked Jack softly as they walked across the hall.
‘Happy families,’ said George with a grimace. ‘What have I got myself involved in?’
Leaving George at Eden Street for the afternoon, Jack walked to his club, the Young Services. He was pretty sure that he would bump into Joe Hawley of Aviation Monthly there and he could rely on Joe, a former pilot and a journalist with a real nose for a story, to be both knowledgeable and gossipy about Culverton and the Lassiter Aircraft Company.
Hawley was unsure about the Pegasus. In his opinion, Nigel Lassiter was a wayward genius. ‘The trouble is,’ he said, ‘you’re never quite sure how his designs are going to work out in practice. Things are tough for everyone in the aviation world at the moment, particularly the small fry. Because of all the old surplus from the war, there’s not many new craft being sold. Lassiter’s might have bitten off more than they can chew with the Pegasus. They’re not a big company, although they did some good work in the war. Mind you, David Lassiter, although he’s nowhere near as brilliant as his brother, isn’t a bad designer, either. Surely you remember all the to-do about his plane, the Urbis, last year? There was enough in the papers.’
Of course! Jack had thought David Lassiter’s name was vaguely familiar. The Urbis was a small aircraft which sold for three hundred and fifty pounds and had been the subject of a well-publicized competition. Ten lucky winners received an aeroplane and their first flying-lesson from David Lassiter himself. The aeroplanes were presented to the winners in the course of a much-talked-about flight round Britain. The aerial photographs of the trip, featuring such far-flung places as Cape Wrath and homely scenes of holiday-makers at Margate, had been a regular feature in the newspapers, together with quotes from David Lassiter emphasizing the simplicity and pleasure of flying the Urbis and the benefits of owning an aeroplane to any frequent traveller. It was the Urbis, according to Joe Hawley, which was keeping the company going. As he said, David Lassiter was a sound businessman.
Jack went thoughtfully into the smoking room, turning over what he’d heard. Here, as an unlooked-for bonus, he ran into an old acquaintance, Dr Anthony Brooke.
Dr Brooke, late of the RAMC and now of London University, didn’t answer Jack’s question right away. ‘Maguire? Yes, I know Maguire,’ he said eventually, halfway down the cigarette Jack had offered him. ‘Not very well, mind, but I do know him. To be honest, Haldean, I don’t care for him. He’s too sleek for my taste, but he’s fashionable. He used to be a real doctor but now rich women go and talk to him about sex. Rich men, as well, I suppose. All our problems are meant to be tied up with sex nowadays. Freud’s got a lot to answer for. Maguire charges them a fortune for it. I believe he’s got a wonderful manner. Still, why not?’ He grinned. ‘It beats working for a living.’
Jack had been home for some time when George arrived, time enough for him to have a bath and change into evening dress.
‘Hello,’ said George morosely. ‘What are the glad-rags for?’
‘I thought,’ said Jack, checking his tie in the mirror, ‘I’d take in a few clubs this evening.’ He was hoping to get some idea of where Culverton might have been, but he didn’t want to spell that out to George.
‘By yourself?’ asked George with a frown. ‘It doesn’t sound much fun.’
‘I usually run into someone I know. We can go somewhere for a bite to eat if you like first, though.’
‘I don’t know if I’m very hungry,’ said George unenthusiastically. ‘I had afternoon tea so I’ll just have a sandwich or something later on. I don’t really fancy going out. I think I’ll have an early night. Thanks, anyway.’
‘Is something wrong?’ asked Jack, watching his friend pace round the room. ‘You were a fair old time at Eden Street.’
‘Yes,’ said George absently. He hesitated before the fireplace, fiddled with the ornaments on the mantelpiece, rearranged the clock and distractedly straightened up the spills in their wooden jar.
‘George?’ repeated Jack. ‘What’s wrong?’
George sighed and ran a hand through his hair before perching on the arm of a chair. ‘Do you want to come to the factory on Monday?’ he asked. ‘My grandfather wondered if it would be convenient for you. He said we could all go down together in his car.’
‘I’ve got to go into the office on Monday. I don’t suppose you can make it Tuesday, by any chance?’ asked Jack. ‘I’d like to come.’
‘I’ll ask,’ said George. ‘I’d rather you were there.’ He got off the chair, walked over to the sideboard and started to rearrange the silver cups.
‘What on earth is it?’ demanded Jack.
George didn’t answer.
‘Family?’ asked Jack with a lift of his eyebrows.
George sighed once more. ‘Yes, damn it, it is,’ he agreed reluctantly. He put down a cup and turned to face him. ‘Look, Jack, I don’t like saying this. Yesterday was wonderful, what with meeting my grandfather, to say nothing of Anne.’ His voice softened. ‘She’s really something, isn’t she? She’s younger than me, you know, yet my grandfather relies on her completely. She really understands people. Neither she nor my grandfather have said a word to the rest of the family about how I broke into the kitchen, by the way. Anne said that she thought I’d find it difficult to explain, and he agreed.’
‘That’s very tactful of them.’
‘Yes, isn’t it?’ He paused for a few moments then shook himself. ‘It was like a dream. After everything I’d been through, to find myself not only with a family, but with the offer of a job as well, was like a miracle.’ His face lengthened. ‘And then today . . .’
‘What happened?’ said Jack, offering George a cigarette.
‘Nigel was just about unbearable,’ said George in a rush. ‘One of these days he’ll go too far. It didn’t get any better after you left, you know. Nigel started sniping about a dinner he’s having tonight.’
‘What dinner?’
‘It’s a formal thing at the Savoy to try and drum up money for the Pegasus. There’s a whole bunch of worthies invited, an MP, a bloke called Ridgeway or something, and a few others. Culverton should have been there. My grandfather isn’t going, and neither are David or Anne, and Nigel was hugely sarcastic about their lack of support. Anne told him straight out that she can’t stand Ridgeway and my grandfather pointed out he hadn’t wanted them there in the first place. That simmered down, but Walsh was there, still seething about his balance sheets. Walsh spoke out of turn and Nigel was really foul to him. It was rotten. Walsh is a sick man, poor devil. He was badly gassed in the war and it left him with his heart and lungs on the blink and it didn’t do him any good to have Nigel turn on him. I tell you, Jack, I was worried Walsh was going to keel over there and then after Nigel had finished with him. What he said was completely not on.’
‘What on earth did Nigel say?’ asked Jack, curiously.
George snorted in disapproval. ‘It was about a girl, of all the cheap shots to take. Poor old Walsh obviously isn’t in any sort of condition to go running round after girls, but he’s got a real thing about Nigel’s clerk. From what I can make out, he worships her from afar, which is all he’s really capable of. He’s dippy about her, apparently, poor beggar. Anyway, Nigel caught Walsh on the raw, saying it was pathetic to see him follow her about endlessly, looking sorry for himself, and no girl would ever look twice at a washed-up crock like him.’
Jack frowned in distaste. ‘That’s a bit off. What on earth did your grandfather say? Surely he didn’t let Nigel get away with that sort of remark?’
‘Maguire and I were the only others in the room. Nigel chose his time very carefully. Maguire didn’t like it and told Nigel to pipe down but he was spoiling for a fight. When David came in, Nigel started another row with him. You probably gathered there’s not much love lost between David and Nigel but there’s more to it than you realize.’ His mouth became a thin line. ‘David holds Nigel responsible for Thomas’s death.’
Jack drew back. ‘Thomas? His son, you mean? Why?’
‘His son and Anne’s husband,’ said George grimly. He was silent for a few moments. ‘Thomas crashed in one of Nigel’s planes,’ he said eventually. ‘It went up in a fireball.’
Jack looked at him sharply. ‘The poor devil,’ he said softly. ‘Was it really Nigel’s fault?’
George nodded. ‘To be honest, it sounds like it. Thomas was the test pilot for the company. He sounded like a terrific bloke. I really wish I’d known him. Anne thought the world of him. Anyway, the plane was a fighter and Nigel had built in instability. Now, I know you need that in a fighter, but David thought it was dangerously unstable. Nigel agreed to amend the specifications before Thomas took her up but he didn’t. He was convinced his design would work.’
Jack looked at his friend in shocked silence. He understood now the reason for that sudden, murderous gleam in David Lassiter’s eyes during the argument before lunch. ‘That’s appalling,’ he said at last.
‘Isn’t it though?’ agreed George. ‘Apparently David had to be dragged off Nigel when he found out the truth. He very nearly killed him.’
Jack gave a soundless whistle. No wonder Anne Lassiter had used the word ‘awkward’ to describe Thomas’s death. Downright impossible would be another way of putting it. ‘How on earth can they live in the same house?’
George shrugged. ‘Stubbornness. Nigel’s never lived anywhere else and he certainly wasn’t going to shift when David moved back in.’ He smiled faintly. ‘My father was a stubborn beggar. It seems to be a Lassiter characteristic.’ He would have said more but a ring sounded at the door.
Jack glanced up, surprised. ‘I wasn’t expecting anyone. Were you?’ George shook his head and Jack went to answer it.
David Lassiter was outside. His rather weary face lit up in a smile as Jack opened the door. ‘You’ll excuse me calling unannounced,’ he said, taking off his hat and stepping into the hall. ‘I was hoping to have a word with George.’ He hesitated, looking at Jack’s clothes. ‘Were you going out? I don’t want to hold you up.’
‘There’s no rush,’ said Jack, leading the way into his rooms. ‘I hadn’t any definite plans. George, you’ve got a visitor,’ he called. ‘Come in and sit down, Mr Lassiter. Can I offer you a drink?’
‘Whisky, if you’ve got it,’ said David. ‘Thanks.’ He looked at his nephew thoughtfully. ‘It’s about this idea of the guv’nor’s that you join the firm as my secretary. I wanted to talk to you.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Today should have been ideal but it was difficult, wasn’t it? I had the impression you found it heavy going.’
‘I’ve just been saying as much to Jack,’ admitted George.
David nodded. ‘I thought so.’ He sipped his whisky. ‘I’m glad to say it’s not always like that. Nigel’s a bit hard to take at the moment but, to be fair to him, he’s worried sick. Culverton’s death really has put the cat amongst the pigeons. Anyway, I thought I’d call in and see you here, where we could have some peace and quiet. Have you ever done any secretarial work before?’
‘No,’ said George. He spoke quickly. ‘Look, Uncle David, I feel as if I’ve been wished on you and that’s not what I want at all. If you’re not happy, say so.’
David held up his hand. ‘Easy does it. Believe me, George, if you can’t do the job, I’ll tell you. But . . .’ He hesitated and smiled. ‘I thought the world of my brother, you know, and you remind me of him no end. Silly beggar,’ he added wistfully. ‘Burying himself in South Africa. I used to think of going to see him, but I got involved with the firm and then there was my family to think of.’ He bit his lip. ‘It’s too late now. I should have made the effort.’
‘Did any of the family ever get out there?’ asked Jack.
David shook his head. ‘No, never. The guv’nor’s too old and it’s not the sort of thing that would occur to Nigel. He was a lot younger than Charles and they didn’t really know one another. Dad was too upset to talk about it much, so I’m afraid it all just got forgotten, more or less. I doubt Nigel really remembered he had another brother until you showed up, George. I should have tried, though.’
‘It was my father’s decision,’ said George awkwardly.
‘He was a stubborn devil,’ said David affectionately. ‘It’s a family failing. And he’d been hurt, you know. I’m not surprised he thought it was up to us to make the first move. Anyway, George, you’ll want to know what sort of thing I expect you to do. The first thing is to get acquainted with how the firm works . . .’
George and David went into details while Jack, legs stretched out in front of him, lit a cigarette. If none of the Lassiters had been to South Africa that surely ruled out the possibility of any of them claiming the legacy – and yet who else could know there was a legacy to claim? The solicitors were the obvious answer. He’d just have to wait and see what Bill could dig out of them on Monday.
George, he was pleased to see, seemed to be getting on well with his uncle. That should cheer him up after his uncomfortable afternoon. David Lassiter, he thought, was a very likeable man. He was clearly in reality, if not in name, the head of the firm and Jack admired the tact he showed in dealing with his father who was so reluctant to let go of the reins. In fact, what with old Mr Lassiter on the one hand and Nigel on the other, diplomacy seemed to be the virtue David chiefly required.
The telephone jangled in the hall and, a few minutes later, he heard Mrs Pettycure’s tread up the stairs. He opened the door and looked over the banister.
‘Is it for me, Mrs Pettycure?’ he called.
‘No, Major. It’s a lady. She wants to know if a Mr David Lassiter is here,’ she said.
‘David Lassiter? Yes, he’s here.’
David, with a puzzled frown, went down to the hall.
He returned a few minutes later, looking grim. ‘That was Anne,’ he said without preamble. ‘Thank goodness I mentioned I was calling here. Something’s happened at the factory. Michael Walsh has been found dead.’