The six people stood in silence under the lower clouds, occasionally dusted by a misty spray blown from the crest of a passing wave, steadying themselves against the heave and pitch of the deck. To be fair to him, the chaplain kept it as short as decently possible, as well he might, for his white hair and surplice flayed about him in the breeze. Norman Armitage was also bareheaded, looking sick as a parrot and chilled to the bone. What he thought of his late relative, now lying a few feet from him encased in layers of camphor, lead and oak, could only be surmised. Of Mrs Armitage nothing could be seen between fur coat, fur hat and woollen scarf save a pointed, freezing nose.
Martin Pound stared at the sky as the priest droned on. A single gull wheeled on the wind, impervious to wet, cold, and nausea, unknowing of taxes, wills and relatives, self-sufficient in its aerodynamic perfection, independent, free. The solicitor looked back at the coffin and beyond it the ocean. Not bad, he thought, if you are sentimental about such things. Personally he had never been caring about what happened to him after death, and had not known that Hanson had been so concerned. But if you did care, not a bad place to lie. He saw the oak beaded with spray that could not enter. Well, they'll never disturb you here, Timothy old friend, he thought.
.. commend this our brother Timothy John Hanson to Thy everlasting care, through Jesus Christ, Our Lord, Amen.'
With a start Pound realized it was over. The chaplain was looking at him expectantly. He nodded to the Armitages. One went round each of the fishermen holding the planks steady and placed a hand on the rear of the coffin. Pound nodded to the men. Slowly they eased their end of the planks upwards. The other end dipped to the sea. At last the coffin moved. Both Armitages gave a shove. It scraped once, then slid fast off the other end. The boat rocked. The coffin hit the side of a wave with more of a thud than a splash. And it was gone. Instantly. Pound caught the eye of the skipper in the wheelhouse above. The man raised a hand and pointed back towards the way they had come. Pound nodded again. The engine note rose. The large plank was already inboard and stowed. The Armitages and the chaplain were hurrying for cover. The wind was rising.
It was almost dark when they rounded the corner of the mole at Brixham and the first lights were flickering in the houses behind the quay. The chaplain had his own small car parked nearby and was soon gone. Pound settled with the skipper, who was happy to make as much in an afternoon as in a week after mackerel. The undertaker's men waited with the limousine and a worse-for-wear Tarquin Armitage. Pound elected to let them have the car. He preferred to return to London by train and keep his own company.
'You'll get on with the calculation of the estate immediately,' insisted Mrs Armitage shrilly. 'And the filing of probate. We've had enough of all this play-acting.'
'You may be confident I shall waste no time,' said Pound coldly. 'I shall be in touch.' He raised his hat and walked towards the station. It would not, he surmised, be a long business. He knew already the extent and details of Timothy Hanson's estate. It was bound to be in perfect order. Hanson had been such a very careful man.
It was not until mid-November that Mr Pound felt able to communicate with the Armitages again. Although as sole beneficiary it was only Mrs Armitage who was invited to his office off Gray's Inn Road, she turned up with husband and son none the less.
'I find myself in something of a quandary,' he told her.
'What about?'
'Your late brother's estate, Mrs Armitage. Let me explain. As Mr Hanson's solicitor, I already knew the extent and location of the various assets comprising his estate, so I was able to examine each of them without delay.'
'What are they?' she asked brusquely.
Pound refused to be hurried or harried. 'In effect he had seven major areas that constituted his estate. Together they would account for ninety-nine per cent of what he owned. First there was the rare and precious coin dealership in the City. You may know it was a wholly-owned private company with himself as sole proprietor. He founded and built it up himself. He also owned, through the company, the building in which it is situated. He bought this, with a mortgage, shortly after the war when prices were low. The mortgage was long since paid off; the company owned the freehold and he owned the company.'
'What value would all this have?' asked Armitage senior.
'No problem there,' said Pound. 'With the building, the dealership, the stock, the goodwill and the unexpired portions of the leases of the other three tenant companies in the building, exactly one and a quarter million pounds.'
Armitage junior whistled through his teeth and grinned.
'How do you know so exactly?' asked Armitage.
'Because he sold it for that sum.'
'He what...?'
'Three months before he died, after brief negotiations, he sold the company lock, stock and barrel to a rich Dutch dealer who had wanted it for years. The sum paid was what I have mentioned.'
'But he was working there almost until he died,' objected Mrs Armitage. 'Who else knew about this?'
'No one,' said Pound. 'Not even the staff. In the sale deal the conveyancing of the building was performed by a provincial lawyer who quite properly said no more about it. The remaining part of the sale was a private treaty between him and the Dutch purchaser. There were conditions. The staff of five keep their jobs; and he personally was to remain on as sole manager until the end of this year or his death, whichever should be the sooner. Of course, the buyer thought this was a mere formality.'
'You have seen this man?' asked Mrs Armitage.
'Mr de Jong? Yes, a reputable Amsterdam dealer in coins. And I have seen the paperwork. It is all perfectly in order, absolutely legal.'
'So what did he do with the money?' asked Armitage senior.
'He banked it.'
'Well, then, no problem,' said the son.
'His next asset was his manor in Kent, a lovely property, set in twenty acres of parkland. Last June he took out a ninety-five per cent mortgage on the property. At the time of his death he had only paid off one quarterly instalment. On his death the building society became a primary creditor and now has taken possession of the title deeds. Again, perfectly legal and proper.'
'How much did he get for it, the manor?' asked Mrs Armitage.
'Two hundred and ten thousand pounds,' said Pound.
'Which he banked?'
'Yes. Then there was his apartment in Mayfair. He sold this by private treaty about the same time, employing yet another lawyer for the deed of sale, for a hundred and fifty thousand. This too was banked.'
'That makes three assets. What else?' demanded the son.
'Apart from the three properties he had a valuable private coin collection. This was sold piecemeal, through the company, for just over half a million pounds, over a period of several months. But the invoices were kept quite separate and were found in his safe at the manor house. Perfectly legitimate and every sale carefully noted. He banked each sum of money following each sale. His broker, on instruction, realized his entire portfolio of stocks and shares before the first day of August. Last but one, there was his Rolls Royce. He sold it for forty-eight thousand and leased another one instead.
The leasing company has repossessed this vehicle. Finally he had various deposit accounts in various banks. His total estate as I have been able to trace it, and I am convinced there is nothing missing, amounts to a shade over three million pounds.'
'You mean,' said Armitage senior, 'that before he died he called in and realized every single asset he possessed, converted it to cash and banked it, without telling a soul or raising any suspicions in those who knew him or worked for him?'
'I couldn't have put it better myself,' conceded Pound.
'Well, we wouldn't have wanted all that junk anyway,' said Armitage junior. 'We'd have wanted it realized. So he spent his last months doing your job for you. Tot it all up, settle the debts, assess the revenue and let's have the money.'
'I'm afraid I can't,' said Mr Pound.
'Why not?' T
here was a shrill edge of anger in Mrs Armitage's tone.
'The money he deposited for all these assets …'
'What about it?'
'He withdrew it?'
'He what...?'
'He put it in. And he took it all back out again. From a score of banks, in tranches, over a period of many weeks. But he got it out all right. In cash.'
'You can't withdrew three million pounds in cash,' said Armitage senior in disbelief.
'Oh, yes, you can,' said Pound mildly. 'Not all at once of course, but in sums up to fifty thousand pounds from major banks, with prior notice. Quite a lot of businesses operate with large floats of cash. Casinos, betting shops for example. And dealers in the second-hand market of almost anything ...'
He was cut off by the growing hubbub. Mrs Armitage was pounding the table with a plump fist; her son was on his feet waving a forefinger down the table; her husband was seeking to adopt the posture of a judge about to deliver a particularly severe sentence. They were all shouting at once.
'He couldn't get away with this ... he must have put it somewhere ... you had just better find it... you two were in this together ...'
It was the last remark that finally snapped Martin Pound's patience.
'Silence ...' he roared, and the outburst was so unexpected/that the three fell silent. Pound pointed a finger directly at young Armitage. 'You, sir, will retract that last remark immediately. Do I make myself plain?'
Armitage junior shuffled in his seat. He glanced at his parents who were glaring at him. 'Sorry,' he said.
'Now,' resumed Pound, 'this particular ploy has been used before, usually to avoid payment of taxes. I am surprised at Timothy Hanson. It seldom ever works. One may withdraw a large amount of cash, but disposing of it is entirely a different matter. He might have banked it on deposit with a foreign bank, but knowing he was going to die, this does not make sense. He had no desire to enrich already rich bankers. No, he must have put it somewhere, or bought something with it. It may take time, but the result is always the same. If it has been deposited, it will be found. If some other asset has been acquired, that too will be traced. Apart from anything else, there are capital gains tax and estate duties payable on the sales of assets and on the estate itself. So the Inland Revenue will wish to be informed.'
'What can you do personally?' asked Armitage senior at last.
'So far I have contacted every major bank and merchant bank in the United Kingdom, empowered as I am by the terms of his own will. Everything is computerized nowadays. But no deposit at all in the name of Hanson has turned up. Also I have advertised in the nation's major newspapers for information but there has been no response. I have been to visit his former chauffeur and valet, Mr Richards, now retired to South Wales, but he cannot help. No large quantities — and believe me they would have to be very large quantities and volumes — of notes has he seen anywhere. Now, the question is: what more would you wish me to do now?'
There was silence as the three of them pondered the issue.
Privately, Martin Pound was saddened by what his friend had evidently tried to do. How could you think to get away with it? he asked the departed spirit. Had you so little respect for the Inland Revenue? It was never these greedy, shallow people you had to fear, Timothy. It was always the tax men. They are inexorable, untiring. They never stop. They never run out of funds. However well hidden it is, they will, when we have given up and their turn comes, seek it. So long as they do not know where it is, they will go on and on with the hunt, and until they know, they will never, never cease. Only when they do know, even if it is outside Britain and beyond their jurisdiction, will they close the file.
'Couldn't you go on looking?' asked Armitage senior with a degree more courtesy than he had yet shown.
'For a while, yes,' agreed Pound. 'But I have done my best. I have a practice to run. I cannot devote my whole time to the search.'
'What do you advise?' asked Armitage.
'There is always the Inland Revenue,' said Pound mildly. 'Sooner or later, and probably sooner, I shall have to inform them of what has happened.'
'You think they will trace it?' asked Mrs Armitage eagerly. 'After all, they are beneficiaries too, in a sense.'
'I am sure they will,' said Pound. 'They will want their cut. And they have all the resources of the state at their disposal.'
'How long would they take?' asked Armitage.
'Ah,' said Pound, 'that's another matter. My experience is that they are usually in no hurry. Like the mills of God, they grind slowly.'
'Months?' asked Armitage junior.
'More likely years. They will never call off the hunt. But they will not hurry.' .
'We can't wait that long,' shrilled Mrs Armitage. Her social take-off was beginning to look like a cold start. 'There must be a quicker way.'
'Hey, what about a private detective?' suggested Armitage junior.
'Could you employ a private detective?' asked Mrs Armitage.
'I prefer the term private inquiry agent,' said Pound. 'So do they. Yes, it is possible. I have in the past had occasion to use a very respected such agent in tracing missing beneficiaries. Now it appears the beneficiaries are present but the estate is missing. Still …'
'Well, then get on to him,' snapped Mrs Armitage. 'Tell him to find where the damned man put all his money.'
Greed, thought Pound. If only Hanson could have guessed how greedy they would turn out to be.
'Very well. There is however the question of his fee. I have to tell you that of the five thousand pounds that was allocated for all expenses, rather little remains. The outgoings have been heavier than usual... And his services are not inexpensive. But then, he is the best...'
Mrs Armitage looked at her husband. 'Norman.'
Armitage senior swallowed hard. He had mental images of his car and the planned summer holiday being forfeit. He nodded. 'I'll ... er ... take care of his fees when the remaining money from the five thousand pounds is exhausted,' he said.
'Very well, then,' said Pound rising. 'I shall engage the services of Mr Eustace Miller and him alone. I have no doubt he will trace the missing fortune. He has never failed me yet.'
With that he showed them out and retired to his office to ring Eustace Miller, private inquiry agent.
For four weeks there was silence from Mr Miller, but not from the Armitages, who bombarded Martin Pound with their ceaseless clamours for a quick location of the missing fortune to which they were entitled. At last Miller reported to Martin Pound to say that he had reached a watershed in his inquiries and felt he should report his progress to date.
Pound was by this time almost as curious as the Armitages so he arranged a meeting at his office.
If the Armitage family had expected to confront a figure in the mould of Philip Marlowe or any other popular conception of a tough private eye, they were doomed to disappointment. Eustace Miller was short, round and benign, with tufts of white hair round an otherwise bald head, and half-moon glasses. He wore a sober suit with a gold watch chain across the waistcoat, and he rose to his not very great height to present his report.
'I began this inquiry,' he said, surveying them all in turn over the top of His half-moons, 'with three assumptions in mind. One was that the late Mr Hanson had gone through his extraordinary performance in the months before he died with complete deliberation and a firm purpose. Secondly, I believed, and still do, that Mr Hanson's purpose was to deny his apparent inheritors and the Commissioners of Inland Revenue any access to his fortune after his death.
'The old bastard,' snapped Armitage junior.
'He need not have left it to you in the first place,' interposed Pound mildly. 'Do proceed, Mr Miller.'
'Thank you. Thirdly, I presumed that Mr Hanson had neither burned the money nor undertaken the considerable risks of trying to smuggle it abroad, bearing in mind the enormous volume that such a large sum would occupy in cash form. In short, I came to the view that he had bought something with it.'
br /> 'Gold? Diamonds?' asked Armitage senior.
'No, I examined all these possibilities and after intensive inquiries ruled them out. Then I found myself thinking of another kind of commodity of great value but relatively small bulk. I consulted the firm of Johnson Matthey, dealers in precious metals. And I found it.'
'The money?' chorused the three Armitages together.
'The answer,' said Miller. Enjoying his moment he drew from his attache case a wad of pieces of paper. 'These constitute sales documents for the purchase by Mr Hanson from Johnson Matthey of two hundred and fifty fifty-ounce ingots of high-grade 99.95 per cent pure platinum.'
There was a stunned silence round the table.
'It was not, frankly, a very clever ruse,' said Mr Miller with some regret. 'The buyer may have destroyed all record of his purchases, but obviously the vendor would not destroy his records of the sales. And here they are.'
'Why platinum?' queried Pound faintly.
'That's interesting. Under the present Labour government you need a licence to purchase and hold gold. Diamonds are instantly identifiable within the trade and not nearly as easy to dispose of as one would gather from some ill-informed thriller fiction. Platinum does not need a licence, is presently about the same value as gold, and apart from rhodium is one of the most valuable metals in the world. When he bought the metal he paid the free market price of five hundred American dollars per fine ounce.'
'How much did he spend?' asked Mrs Armitage.
'Nigh on the whole three million pounds he had secured for all his worldly goods,' said Miller. 'In US dollars — and his market is always calculated in US dollars — six and a quarter million dollars; twelve and a half thousand ounces in all. Or, as I said, two hundred and fifty ingots each of fifty fine ounces weight.'
'Where did he take them all?' Armitage senior demanded.
'To his manor in Kent,' said Miller. He was enjoying his moment and was aware with anticipatory pleasure that he had more to reveal.