The Money Stones Read online

  I was stunned for a couple of minutes. Not till I choked on a lungful of smoke did I realise I'd lit the first cigarette of the day. Shock I suppose. But against the rules. My rules. Part of my precious routine which dictated that the first cigarette should be taken with coffee at ten o'clock. And I was at my desk before registering the collapse of another rule - that the rest of my mail was still unopened. Feeling like a drunk on the morning after, I reached for the other envelopes.

  The first, from a well known firm of City solicitors, was respectfully worded to the point of servility. They wrote on behalf of their esteemed client and enclosed the first draft of a proposed partnership agreement. They stressed it was a draft, added they'd be pleased to consider any reasonable amendments and concluded by suggesting that if my solicitors contacted them, they felt sure the matter would be dealt with to my complete satisfaction.

  The agreement was an exact resume of Hallsworth's proposals. He put all the money up, I took half the profits.

  It was another five minutes before I turned to the final letter, my name and address handwritten on the envelope. I frowned as I tried to recognise the writing. Neat script, 't's' firmly crossed, 'o's' perfect circles. But the writing of a stranger I was sure I'd never seen before. But in the split second it took to unfold the single sheet of notepaper, I guessed it was from Hallsworth.

  He wrote from his club.

  'Dear Townsend,. I hope you'll forgive the presumption but in anticipation of our meeting and feeling sure we'd have much in common, I instructed my bankers and solicitors to write to you on the subject of our discussion.

  Unfortunately, due to prior commitments, by the time you read this I'll be en route to New York where I'll be for the next ten days. Naturally I'm aware that Walpoles will require your decision before my return, and I hope that you'll weigh my proposals carefully against theirs. Regardless of which you choose, I'm sure you have a wonderful future ahead of you. I would suggest that my way offers a better chance of acquiring substantial personal wealth, but against that I know that the status and influence which will come your way at Walpoles can be seductive attractions to any habitant of the City.

  I shall be back in London on the twentieth and wonder if you'll have dinner with me at the club? Meanwhile, I've instructed my solicitors to answer any questions you may have about my general finances, and they also hold my power of attorney, just in case you wish to finalise our agreement before I get back, or before you give Walpoles an answer.

  With considered best wishes for your future. R.H.

  I smoked another cigarette, past caring about rules, and read the letters again. All of them. Of course I was flattered, intrigued, interested. And above all, excited. But his trip to New York was a damn nuisance. He was right. I'd have to give Walpoles an answer soon. Certainly before his return from the States. Last night I'd banked on meeting him again. Now - to have to make a decision like this in a vacuum.

  Hallsworth's letter and the contract were still open in front of me when Jean arrived with the coffee. I'd lost track of time. and was as startled to see her as she was by the cloud of cigarette smoke, so the looks we exchanged, hers curious and mine guilty, spoke volumes as I swept the papers into my briefcase.

  The rest of the day was routine. Except that I telephoned Hallsworth's bankers and solicitors, Durbeville, Franz & Co., for appointments and arranged to be away from the office for the first three days of the following week. His American trip might prevent another face to face meeting, but I was itching to find out all I could in his absence.

  Four

  'What in particular would you like to know, Mr Townsend?'

  Poignton was a senior partner, perhaps the senior partner, of Durbeville's. I judged him to be sixty, maybe older, though I doubt by much. A few strands of hair combed neatly across his head showed as a dozen white trails on the pink of his scalp. He had a long face with a permanently mournful expression, and the manner of an undertaker to go with it. Black jackets and striped trousers, stiff collar and old school tie - the uniform of a traditionalist living in a changing world - and not much liking it.

  He'd given me a halfway passable lunch in the partners' dining room and we'd spent the hour gauging each other's strengths and weaknesses. I found that I liked him without trusting him too much; our backgrounds were so different, his privileged and mine self-made, that we could never be close.

  'Mr Poignton, if you were going into partnership with a man what would you want to know?'

  Pale, tired-looking eyes crinkled. 'Everything I could find out about him I suppose.' He had a dry, precise voice, the inevitable legacy of a lifetime spent arguing the finer points of company law.

  'Exactly. So I'd appreciate it if you'll tell me everything you know about Rupert Hallsworth.'

  I felt no embarrassment at my bluntness. After all, Hallsworth's letter gave me a mandate to pry and Poignton had admitted he'd be equally curious in similar circumstances. So I was surprised when he hesitated. And even less prepared for the shake of his head.

  'Oh no, Mr Townsend. I don't think I can quite do that.'

  'But Hallsworth wrote to me - he said he'd given you instructions. Hang on. I've got his letter with me.'

  'There's no need. I have a copy. And of course I'm happy to comply with our client's request.'

  'Well then?' I gave him a hard look but the pale eyes remained unperturbed, perhaps even slightly amused.

  'I suppose it's a matter of interpretation. You see, I take my instructions to answer specific questions. Where I can of course. Whereas a discourse on every single thing I know about our client would be a different matter entirely. You do see the difference, don't you?'

  'But I'm sure he meant -'

  'Whereas I'm only sure of what he said. I gave up trying to legislate for people's meanings years ago, Mr Townsend. It's dangerous ground. Full of assumptions. These days I prefer to-'

  'Split hairs.'

  He inclined his head as if in acknowledgement. 'Habit of a lifetime, Mr Townsend, but there it is. Now, if you've any specific questions...'

  Impatiently I interrupted. 'Mr Poignton, your client initiated this partnership idea. Not me. A pedantic attitude now, on your part, could - well, could prejudice the whole issue.'

  An eyebrow rose a fraction. 'My client's offer seems amazingly generous.' He paused managing to imply that I should jump at it. 'If I may say so.'

  'And if I may say so, your attitude could jeopardise your client's best interests.'

  'Your reputation for blunt speaking has preceded you, Mr Townsend. But I won't be intimidated.'

  I drummed the tips of my fingers on the table, caught flatfooted by this unexpected obtrusion into the smoothness of our earlier conversation. But there was no doubting his determination to do this his way.

  'Where was he born?' I asked, my surly manner out of place in the graciousness of the room.

  'Allahabad. That's in India, Mr Townsend.' He contrasted his polished manners to good effect.

  'Who were his parents? And don't say Mr and Mrs Hallsworth.'

  'It had occurred to me. After all it combines the twin virtues of brevity and accuracy, don't you think?'

  'Still alive?'

  'Alas, no. His mother died when he was quite young. When he was about four I think. His father died much later, when he was - um, twenty-four, twenty-five, something like that.'

  'And that's when he inherited?'

  'Yes.'

  'How much?'

  The slightest pause. 'Less than expected. About a hundred thousand after tax.'

  'About?'

  'Almost exactly.'

  'Any brothers, sisters, cousins? Anyone share in the inheritance?'

  'No brothers or sisters. I believe there is a cousin somewhere. The United States I think. But Mr Rupert Hallsworth was the sole beneficiary of his father's estate.'

  'Do you know what he's worth today?'

  'About one million four hundred thousand I believe.'

  'How d'you
know that?'

  'It's what I'm given to understand by his accountants.'

  'Who are?' 'Sorry?'

  'His accountants?'

  'Stevenson & Floyd.'

  'Has he inherited any other money? From another source?'

  'Not to my knowledge.'

  'So his present net worth is what he's made of it from his starting capital?'

  'That would follow surely?'

  'Who are the brokers?'

  'Leppard Peplow principally,' Poignton paused and thought about it. 'He may use others, but I think Leppard Peplow handle the bulk of his transactions.'

  'Does he hold any current directorships?'

  'None that I know of.'

  'And you would know?'

  'I might. I think so.'

  'Any other partnerships, then?'

  'He's a member of a Lloyds syndicate. I think that's all.'

  'Which syndicate?'

  'Aspreys. You may know of them?'

  I smiled bleakly at his sarcasm. No one had a career in the City without knowing them. Aspreys were one of the biggest underwriters, long established and well respected. It was the same with the accountants and the brokers. Durbeville's too, come to that. All top firms. And were choosier than most bankers about whose cash they handled. Poignton puzzled me. Hallsworth had impressed me with his warmth and openness as much as his intelligence. Yet Poignton was as close mouthed as a clam and I wondered why? Perhaps he was just a professional secret keeper? A man who couldn't bring himself to volunteer information, even when authorised to do so. I tried another tack, in the vain hope of catching him off guard.

  'What went wrong with Hallsworth's marriage?'

  'I can't answer that question.'

  'Can't or won't?'

  'Does it matter, Mr Townsend?'

  'If it didn't I wouldn't ask!' I snapped. Poignton's casual manner was beginning to get on my nerves. 'Dammit, all we're doing is cataloguing, when what I really want is to find out what the man's like - what makes him tick.' I glared across the table and growled. 'Perhaps his ex-wife can tell me? I presume you might know her name? And where is she now?'

  'Johnstone, Mr Townsend.' His calm eyes didn't even flicker. 'Pamela Johnstone.'

  'And her whereabouts?'

  'Highgate cemetery. She's dead.'

  'Oh!' Another blank wall. I shuffled my thoughts into some sort of order. 'Are there any relatives that you know of? Apart from the cousin in the States: Perhaps someone in the UK, someone I could talk to?'

  'None that I know of.'

  'Well, friends then?'

  'I'm afraid I know virtually nothing about Mr Hallsworth's social life.'

  'Virtually nothing?'

  'Now I come to think of it,' he moistened his thin lips with the tip of his tongue, 'Absolutely nothing.'

  He was enjoying himself, a fencing master toying with a novice, not mounting an attack of his own but making it clear he could defend the rest of the afternoon. Yet why? And defend what?

  'Did you advise your client against going into business with me, Mr Poignton?'

  The pale eyes registered a small triumph, but the voice remained as neutral as before. 'We do not advise Mr Hallsworth on anything. Not even the law. We merely carry out his instructions.'

  'But you don't approve?'

  'You misunderstand our function.' He sighed at my limited understanding. 'We neither approve nor disapprove.'

  It went on like that for another thirty minutes or so and I was getting ready to leave, shrugging myself into my overcoat, when I asked one more question. Later I wondered why it had occurred to me. I think I was trying to imagine Hallsworth's childhood. To picture him growing up. His mother died when he was so young that I wondered what who perhaps had filled the void afterwards.

  'What did Hallsworth's parents die of?' ,

  'Pneumonia, I think, in his mother's case.' The level eyes I met mine without wavering. We were both standing, about to walk to the door. 'Of course it was much more difficult to treat in those days.'

  I nodded and half turned away. 'And his father?'

  His hesitation stopped me dead in my tracks. After a moment he said, 'He committed suicide. Shot himself, poor devil.'

  I wanted to ask more questions, but Poignton was looking at his watch and had already warned me of another appointment at three o'clock. It was five minutes to.

  'Why?'I asked.

  He shrugged. 'Why does anyone commit suicide, Mr Townsend? No one knows.'

  He took a step towards the door and I followed reluctantly.

  'Did... I mean, have any other members of the family committed suicide?'

  'My dear chap, suicidal tendencies aren't inherited you know. It's not a disease. More a state of mind, don't you think? Despair I suppose.'

  'So, it's the only instance in Hallsworth's family?'

  We were at the door, his hand reaching for the door knob. I could feel him wanting to get rid of me. 'Yes, so far as I know. Now, if you'll excuse me -'

  'What about his wife? What was her name? Pamela? Pamela Johnstone. She couldn't have been very old. How did she die?'

  He had reached for my hand and was shaking it with a surprisingly firm grip. 'Ah? Um, case in point I suppose. Tragic business. Girl of that age. Not that I see it's any of your business. But as a matter of fact, she committed suicide too.'

  We stood staring at each other, the handshake slowly coming to an end, our fingers parting. I felt stunned. Not just with the disclosure itself, but at catching Poignton out in an apparent lie.

  'But you said? No other member of the family.'

  'Well, she wasn't was she? Divorced - remember?'

  'Splitting hairs, Mr Poignton?'

  'Old habits, Mr Townsend.'

  Five

  The following day I went to Hallsworth's bankers and drank amontillado with the General Manager. He was attentive, discreet, urbane, and about as inscrutable as I imagine a Chinese whore might be. Yes, Rupert Hallsworth had maintained an account with them for a number of years. No, they didn't know him well, not personally, he rarely visited the Bank, transacting his business by letter or through his agents, Durbeville's or Leppard Peplow. Perhaps I knew them? I said we'd met.

  As we couldn't discuss Hallsworth's character we did the next best thing, we discussed Hallsworth's money. The million on current account could be drawn out, every last penny, subject to my signature on one piece of paper. The note asked me to acknowledge receipt of the money as a loan pending the negotiation of a partnership agreement. If I withdrew the money from them I was to let them and Durbeville's know where it was, and if the partnership agreement failed to materialise the loan became repayable on demand.

  I sighed. Mainly because I hate to see money idle when it could be working. Especially when it could be working for me.

  The Manager's face brightened when I asked what rate of interest he'd pay if we switched the money from current to deposit account. He offered six per cent which I refused and then waited while he fought his conscience before coming up with another quarter per cent. I borrowed his telephone, spoke to Peter Warman who brokes for local authorities, and transferred the whole million to him for use as overnight money at eight and three quarter. It wouldn't make a fortune but as safe as houses, repayable on demand, and at least the three thousand pounds which would accrue before Hallsworth's return would replenish my wine cellar for the year - even split fifty fifty. After that the Manager said goodbye with less enthusiasm than he'd said hello and I left to keep my lunch appointment with Tommy Richardson.

  I was pinning a lot of hopes on Richardson. A large, jovial man of about fifty, given to smoking Churchillian cigars and wearing red roses in his buttonhole. A man not easily overlooked. He had a round pink face more like a farmer's than a stockbroker's, honest eyes which were his fortune, arid he was always happy. So should he be, with the money he made.

  Of course, being top man at Leppard Peplow made Tommy a lot more than an ordinary stockbroker, but he was a kindly
man who played himself down and gave credit to the efforts of others. I'd known him for about two years and we'd always got on. And his importance that morning was monumental. Not only did Leppard Peplow act for me at the Bank, but they also acted for Hallsworth. Richardson was the first shared acquaintance, the only shared acquaintance,. I'd uncovered since I started.

  I told him the whole story. I'd thought about trying to disguise the reasons for my interest in Hallsworth, even invented various stories, but they'd all sounded pretty thin and wouldn't have fooled Richardson for a moment. Even the truth sounded far-fetched.

  'Lucky sod,' he said when I finished. 'I don't know what it is about you, Townsend, but you lead a charmed life. Only the good things happen.'

  'And Hallsworth? You know him well?'

  He shook his head. 'Not really. He comes to see us, what - three or four, maybe five times a year. We have a meal together, discuss his holdings, perhaps switch out of this to go into that, and he goes away again.'

  'But you've known him for a long time?'

  'About as long as I've known you. And I know you a damn sight better.'

  Slightly disappointed I said, 'Still, you've advised him on his investments.'

  'Christ no! Not really. Wish he'd been advising us - might have done better following him than he'd have done following us.' It was a brave admission, half joking and qualified a second later. 'Not that we've done too badly for people, you understand.' He sat staring at me, blue cigar smoke drifting between us, his eyes thoughtful and pensive. 'Matter of fact, Mike, I doubt Hallsworth takes advice from anyone.'

  I remembered the fleeting look of resignation on Poignton's face when he said that they didn't advise, not 'even on the law'.

  'You mean he's invested in things against your advice?'

  Richardson frowned. 'Not really that. He listens to what we say and then makes up his own mind.'

  'And very successfully from what I hear?'

  'Successfully yes. Very successfully?' He shrugged. 'I'd have said safe, steady, not spectacular.'

  It was my turn to frown. 'But he told me he'd made a fortune on the market?'