Sir Ralph Osenden was genuinely distressed about Minter’s death. He had known the accountant for a long time, indeed, ever since he had become connected with Nornes Limited, more than ten years earlier. And never during the whole of those years had the man’s health been other than poor. Always he had looked ill and always he had been subject to distressing internal attacks. Sometimes these involved an absence from business of as much as two or three days. However, in all those years he had not grown appreciably worse, and Sir Ralph had come to accept him and his ailments as a permanent part of the Company’s establishment. The shock of his sudden death was, therefore, all the greater.
Judging from their hushed voices, the other members of the party were experiencing similar emotions. Minter had not been exactly popular—he was too quiet and retiring for that—but he had been liked in a mild way by everyone with whom he had come in contact. There was no one, Sir Ralph was sure, who would not be sorry to hear of what had happened.
It was not long before the sound of a motor announced the doctor’s arrival. Norne hurried out to meet him and took him upstairs. But comparatively speaking, a considerable time passed before there was any further move. Then Norne came down alone. He was looking graver and more than a little worried.
‘I’m afraid this affair’s going to be worse even than we thought,’ he announced. ‘Hawthorn says he can’t give a certificate.’
This time his hearers stared even more blankly than before.
‘What does that mean?’ Ricardo asked. ‘He can’t tell the cause of death?’
‘Apparently not. He says there must be an inquest and probably a p.m. He’s still up there looking about and he has ’phoned for the police.’
‘The police! Bless my soul! What does he suspect?’
‘I don’t know a thing more than I’ve told you,’ Norne answered. ‘Hawthorn’s a decent fellow, but he’s close. He’s been looking at a bottle of aspirins that was beside the bed, and asking whether Minter was depressed last night. I don’t know whether you can take anything out of that.’
‘Good God!’ Sloley muttered, ‘so that’s the idea, is it? I don’t believe it: not for a minute.’
‘If you mean suicide,’ Ricardo said more bluntly, ‘neither do I. Minter was not that kind of man.’
Sir Ralph strongly agreed. ‘If the death was not from natural causes, it was an accident. Minter might take an overdose by mistake, but never intentionally.’
‘I entirely agree,’ Norne nodded. ‘We’re probably jumping to conclusions, but if things do look suspicious, accident would be the only possible explanation.’
‘An accident wouldn’t be so hard to explain either,’ Ricardo observed. ‘When a man’s half-blind with a bilious headache he might take anything.’
Norne made a gesture of disapproval. ‘We’re jumping to conclusions,’ he repeated. ‘Let’s wait till we know more about it.’
‘We’ll all agree with that,’ Sheen declared. ‘But there’s something else that won’t wait. What about telling Mrs Minter, Norne?’
‘I know,’ Norne said quickly; ‘I’ve been thinking about that and rather funking it. I don’t know that I oughtn’t to run up and see her. It would be rather ghastly to do it over the telephone.’
‘You know her?’
‘I’ve met her. A fine looking woman: younger than Minter, I should think.’
‘Sloley and I know her,’ said Sheen. ‘She was at our party yesterday. A rotten job, having to tell her.’
‘Yes, but I’m afraid as his host it’s mine. I’ll go as soon as the police have come. They may want to see me.’
‘It’s very good of you, Norne,’ Ricardo declared, ‘but I’m sure you’re doing the right thing!’
Sloley moved uneasily. ‘It seems a bit heartless,’ he said with an air of unusual deprecation, ‘to introduce business at such a time. But after all, we’re here for a purpose. The business which has brought us together is urgent. Tragedy or no tragedy, it won’t wait. What are we going to do about it?’
The others nodded their agreement, but only Norne answered.
‘There’s no doubt in my mind what we should do,’ he declared. ‘As soon as I start, you fellows get going. Do the best you can to reach agreement. I’ll not be more than three hours at the most and we can have a second session after lunch. If you can agree, I’ll fall in with your views.’
As he spoke there came the sound of a second car, followed by a ring and then deep voices in the hall.
‘The police,’ Norne said and went out quickly.
‘I felt rotten butting in like that,’ said Sloley when the door had closed, ‘but what could we do? We must get this blessed thing fixed up before the board.’
‘You were quite right,’ Ricardo assured him. ‘If you hadn’t spoken, I should. I suggest we get to work at once.’
This seemed good advice and they got out their papers and settled themselves round the library table. But they had scarcely got under way when Norne looked in.
‘That’s good,’ he approved, glancing round the group. ‘I shall not be longer than I can help. I’ve rung up Mrs Minter to prepare her for my call and I’m starting at once. I should say also that Sergeant Roxton is taking statements, and he’ll want to see Sloley and Sheen about their interview with Minter last night.’
Norne nodded and withdrew and the others settled down to work. After a short time Jeffries came in to say the sergeant sent his compliments and could he see Mr Sloley? Sloley vanished for ten minutes, and was followed by Sheen. Interruptions then ceased, until shortly before lunch Norne again put in an appearance.
‘I’ve seen that poor lady,’ he said: ‘a perfectly rotten job. She took it wonderfully well on the whole. When I’d told her I went for her sister, who lives at Finchley. She’s looking after her for the present.’
There were murmurs of concern and sympathy and then Norne asked how the others had got on. For a moment no one replied, and then Sloley took upon himself the rôle of spokesman.
‘Not so badly, I think,’ he explained. ‘We’ve rather agreed on a compromise—provisionally of course—and we’re anxious to hear what you think of it. Shall I tell him?’ He looked round.
The others nodded and Sloley went on. ‘We incline to a reconstruction—a reconstruction in which no secret shall be made of our present unsatisfactory position; no glossing it over. At the same time we suggest a fresh issue, which would bring us in enough our way to pay and carry us on for some years. We think that if trade goes on improving, we should eventually make good. We’re agreed so far, but we’re not agreed as to the amount of the issue. However, our differences are getting narrower, and unless,’ he grinned, ‘you come in and upset the apple-cart, I think we’ll reach a figure.’
Norne was evidently as pleased as he was surprised. ‘I’m all for compromise, as you know,’ he declared, ‘and on the face of it, that sounds good. Of course, the other directors may insist on selling and closing down. However, suppose we chuck it for the moment and have lunch. Then we might have a short further go and settle the thing finally.’
Though at lunch they avoided the topic which most fully occupied their minds, there was a constraint over the meal. All, consciously or unconsciously, wished to finish their work and get away. The idea of staying on over Sunday night, as had been intended, was tacitly abandoned. Norne indeed assumed that it would be.
It was not till after lunch that Sir Ralph found himself alone with Norne. ‘Tell me,’ he said, seizing the opportunity, ‘what is happening? Is there going to be an inquest?’
‘I don’t know any more than you do,’ Norne replied. ‘Dr Hawthorn seemed to have no doubt that it would be necessary, but the sergeant said nothing about it.’
‘Then what will you do—with the body?’
‘I can’t do anything till I hear. I propose when our conference is finished to get in touch with the police and find out. Either the body should be taken up to Minter’s house, or Mrs Minter and her sister should come down here.’
Sir Ralph nodded. ‘I’m sorry for that woman,’ he declared, and then: ‘There are no children?’
‘No, and fortunately she’ll be all right financially. I happen to know Minter had saved. Besides there’ll be a pension from our fund.’
‘Much?’
‘No, not much. But enough to be comfortable on.’
Sir Ralph lowered his voice. ‘I suppose, Norne, this affair won’t affect our attitude at the board? I mean,’ he hesitated, ‘suppose this turns out to be suicide, do you think it would affect our issue? It couldn’t be argued, could it, that the suicide was due to our unsatisfactory position?’
‘I thought of that,’ Norne admitted, ‘but I don’t believe there’s anything in it. Granting our position does look bad: why should Minter be upset by it to that extent? If there was any question of fraud it might be different. But no one could suggest that.’
‘Of course not,’ Sir Ralph said hastily. ‘The idea simply occurred to me.’
‘If the issue wasn’t taken up we might have to sell after all. However, that’s the worst that could happen to us. By the way, Osenden, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about another matter.’
‘Go on, Norne.’
‘Well, it’s the question of who’s going to take Minter’s place. I don’t mean who’s going to be our new accountant, but who’s going to act temporarily. There’s the opening of the big safe, for instance. As you know, I have one key and Minter had the other. We had both to be present with our keys before the door could be unlocked. And that door has to be opened every day.’
Sir Ralph waited without speaking.
‘You, Osenden, are the vice-chairman, and it seems to me that you should step into the breach. I suggest that in the presence of the others Minter’s key shall be handed over to you, and that you agree to keep it until the new accountant is appointed. I suggest further that you don’t pretend to be anything but a figurehead, and let Pendlebury, Minter’s chief clerk, do the work. He’s a good chap, is Pendlebury, level headed and knows what he’s about. In fact, I should think he’d have a good chance of getting the job.’
‘Then why not give him the key?’
Norne shook his head. ‘I don’t think I dare do that. At present he’s only a clerk. The directors don’t even know him officially. On the other hand, you’re not only a director, but you’ve been chosen vice-chairman.’ Norne smiled slightly. ‘If you do a bit of levanting, I can’t be blamed: if he did, I could.’
‘Neither of us could do that without your connivance. However, I’ll agree to whatever you think best. What will it mean?’
‘It’ll mean turning up every day till the appointment’s made. It’s a bit hard lines, I know, but I don’t see what else we can do.’
‘That’s all right. What time will you want me to be there in the morning?’
Norne hesitated. ‘I generally get busy about ten, but I dare say we could wait for a bit if that’s too early.’
‘Not a bit of it. I’ll be there at ten, or earlier if you like.’
‘How will you do it? It would mean a pretty early start from Ryde.’
‘I won’t go to Ryde. Something will probably be settled at Wednesday’s board, and till then I’ll stay at the club.’
‘Well, it’s good of you. That’s a weight off my mind.’
At their adjourned conference the proposals made earlier were duly ratified, and a clear understanding was reached as to the policy to be recommended to the full board. Then Norne explained his idea in connection with Minter’s key, which was approved by everyone present. The keys had been taken charge of by the police, but Norne rang them up and the transfer was effected.
This brought the business of the visit to an end, and soon all four guests left for Town in Sloley’s car. Sir Ralph was dropped at his club in Pall Mall and Ricardo at Piccadilly Circus, both places being but little out of Sloley’s and Sheen’s way to their homes in Hampstead.
Sir Ralph was not too well pleased at having to assume the custody of the second key of the safe. In the first place, his having charge of it was a useless precaution, for he did not know enough about the business to check the papers or stones which might be taken out. In the second, he could not but feel the thing was a slap in Pendlebury’s face. Pendlebury was the man who would actually do Minter’s work, and he should have been given the key.
However, regrets were now useless. With a shrug Sir Ralph went to the club library for a book with which to while away the evening.
When he reached the office next morning it was obvious that the news was already common property. There was a kind of excited hush in the air. Faces wore a startled expression, and movements to and fro were just a little furtive. The prevailing feeling seemed to be eager interest, but here and there someone showed traces of genuine sorrow.
Norne had already arrived. Sir Ralph went to his room and sat reading the paper while the managing-director was going through his correspondence. Presently Norne looked up.
‘Suppose we go over to Minter’s office?’ he suggested. ‘You’ll see better there what’s to be done.’
Sir Ralph agreed and Norne led the way.
‘You’ve met Pendlebury, haven’t you?’ Norne said as they walked down the corridor.
‘I don’t know that I have,’ Sir Ralph answered. ‘I don’t remember doing so.’
‘Then I’ll introduce him. You’ll find him a good chap to work with.’
Norne pushed open a door marked ‘Private,’ which led into a medium sized office containing three desks. At the desks men were working. They looked up as the others entered, and one of them, a smallish man with a square dependable face and a pleasant expression, rose to his feet. All three looked excited, but the man who rose was obviously anxious and upset as well.
‘This is Pendlebury,’ said Norne. ‘I’ve told him just what has happened. Sir Ralph Osenden, Pendlebury.’
‘How do you do?’ said Osenden, holding out his hand.
The man came forward and shook hands. ‘Very tragic affair this, Sir Ralph,’ he said. ‘We’re all—’ he included his companions with a glance—‘very sorry indeed about Mr Minter.’
He spoke with such obvious sincerity that Sir Ralph warmed to him. ‘So are we all,’ he said sympathetically. ‘Indeed, we were absolutely horrified yesterday morning when he didn’t come down and we learnt what had happened.’
‘Mr Minter was a pleasant man to work for,’ Pendlebury went on. ‘Always recognised anything that was done and stood up for his men when he could.’
Sir Ralph was sure of it. He could tell Pendlebury that he had always had the highest opinion of the late accountant, and that this was fully shared by all his colleagues.
Norne agreed politely, then went on with the immediate business. ‘I’ve explained to Pendlebury that you will be taking Minter’s place temporarily. I’m sure he’ll give you all the help he can.’
‘I shall be only too glad, sir.’
‘Thank you,’ said Sir Ralph, ‘but I’m afraid you’ll have to do most of the work yourself. However, between us we’ll keep things going till something permanent is settled.’
‘Well, it’s you two for it,’ Norne answered and with a short nod left the room.
‘Will you come into the private office, Sir Ralph?’ said Pendlebury when he had gone.
‘Certainly,’ Sir Ralph agreed. ‘But first, won’t you introduce me?’ He pointed to the other two. ‘Are these men not in the department?’
All three of the clerks were gratified and showed it. A few kindly remarks, and Sir Ralph felt he had made three friends. This important business over, he allowed Pendlebury to convoy him next door to what had been Minter’s private office.
It was small and comfortably, though not elaborately, furnished, in which Sir Ralph thought it reflected the character of its late occupant. There was a table-desk, a small bookcase of technical works, a letter filing cabinet painted green, a couple of armchairs and a small built-in safe.
‘The first thing is to get the books out of the safe,’ Pendlebury began. ‘I suppose, sir, you have Mr Minter’s keys?’
Sir Ralph produced the keys and opened the safe. The ledgers were taken out and work began. As Sir Ralph had supposed, there was not a great deal that he was able to do, but he quickly saw that Pendlebury did not need his assistance.
They had not settled down for more than a few minutes when the desk telephone rang. It was Norne, and he said he wanted to open the large safe and would Sir Ralph go round and assist him? Sir Ralph accordingly left Pendlebury working and walked back to Norne’s office.
This was a somewhat larger and more ornately furnished than that he had just left. The table-desk was similar in design, but was bigger and covered with a more expensive leather. The armchairs were deeper, the carpet softer, and there were more books, filling a greater number of sectional bookcases. The file cabinet was identical in each room, as were also the lamps, radiators and other fittings.
The great difference between the offices lay in the safes. While that in the accountant’s was of moderate size, Norne’s was a veritable giant. It was built in so that its door projected only a few inches from the wall and was of modern design, and the work of a first-class firm.
In the office with Norne was an elderly man with a clean-shaven dependable face and an alert though rather bad-tempered expression. This was Miles, the foreman of the works department. Sir Ralph had met him before, but he did not know much about him except that he was supposed to be a good man at his job. Sir Ralph wished him good morning.
‘Sorry for asking you to come along, Osenden,’ Norne apologised, ‘but Miles wants to get some stones for making up, and I therefore have to open the safe. Will you help me?’
The two directors inserted their keys and turned them, one after another. Each of these enabled the main handle to be rotated through a certain arc, releasing the door bolts. With a little effort Norne swung the great door open.
‘Here are what you want, Miles,’ he said; ‘on Shelf B.’
Sir Ralph looked in as the door opened and was interested to see the array of little drawers and boxes, presumably containing stones, as well as the masses of papers and books, all stacked tidily and labelled with green card labels. What an accumulation of power was there! The power not only of sheer wealth, but the almost more potent force of knowledge! If the papers in that safe were published, what ruin might not follow; what skeletons in cupboards might not become revealed! How many old family jewels were there, which were believed by fond husbands to be in the jewel-cases of their wives! How many were there, believed by fond wives to be in the safes of their husbands! Sir Ralph was thrilled as he wondered how far the picture he had conjured up represented the facts—
A moment later, in stepping back to give place to Miles, he happened to glance at Norne’s face. What he saw froze him stiff.
A very startling change had come over the managing-director’s expression. For a moment it was slightly mystified, as if Norne were trying to account for some unusual and puzzling spectacle. But only for a moment. Mild mystification quickly gave place to amazement, amazement to consternation, and consternation to actual dread. It was evident that Miles was equally moved.
For some moments the three men stood transfixed. Then Norne suddenly became galvanised into furious life. Madly he seized drawer after drawer, pulled them out, glanced in, and slammed them shut again.
Sir Ralph moved as if coming out of a trance. ‘For heaven’s sake, Norne,’ he gasped, ‘what’s the matter? What are you looking for?’
For some moments Norne continued his wild search. Then he stopped, and turning round, faced the others with an expression of positive horror. ‘The stones!’ he cried in a small voice, suddenly gone hoarse. ‘The stones! Our entire stock! They’re gone!’
Sir Ralph stared incredulously. ‘Norne, do you know what you’re saying?’ he stammered, while Miles gave vent to a slow and lurid oath.
Norne for a moment seemed paralysed. Then slowly he regained some of his normal self-control. Looking white and scared, he once again took charge.
‘Lock the door, will you, Miles, and then come and give me a hand. We’ll go through all these drawers and make quite sure.’
‘I can’t believe it,’ Sir Ralph declared helplessly.
‘We’ll soon know. Come on, Miles. I’ll open them one by one and you look in with me. Osenden, will you take notes of anything we find?’
With grave faces the three men got to work and soon the entire safe had been gone over. Norne looked blankly at the others.
‘All the stones are gone,’ he said in a choked voice; ‘all that are any good. The whole of that half million’s worth! All gone!’
Looking already ten years older he returned to his desk and caught up the telephone. ‘Whitehall, one two, one two,’ he said urgently … ‘Is that Scotland Yard? … I am the managing-director of Nornes Limited, the working jewellers, of Ronder Lane, Kingsway. There has been a very big robbery of precious stones here. Will you put me through to someone in authority!’