Kindling

  The whole thing was impossible, sheer madness to attempt. He must be sensible, and put it from his mind.

  He passed through Peterborough.

  It would be damn good fun …

  CHAPTER VI

  THREE weeks later Barlows’ Yard became the property of Mr. Henry Warren.

  He bought it through a solicitor; it was a long time before the news leaked out of the new ownership. He did not use his firm’s solicitors, which might have led the rumour straight to him, but used a firm called Matheson and Donkin who had done some work for him before. He summoned Matheson on the morning after he reached London, and gave him his directions.

  Two days later Matheson reported back to Warren in his office. “The shipyard is the property of Mrs. Hector Barlow,” he said. “She’s in Le Touquet at the moment—or else the south of France. Jacobson and Priestly are acting for her. There’s a son, too. He’s something in the cinema industry, but I don’t think he comes into the picture.”

  Warren nodded. “How much did they take out of the business?”

  The solicitor glanced at a pencilled note. “It’s a little difficult to say. Between 1914 and 1929—not less than four hundred thousand pounds. Probably rather more.”

  “Not very pretty.”

  “I beg your pardon, sir?”

  “I said,” said Warren grimly, “that it wasn’t very pretty. If I understand you right, they took all the cash out of the business in the good years. When the bad years came they let it bust, and left the town to starve.”

  “That’s broadly what happened,” said the solicitor. “They cashed in. Of course, it was their own business. Still, put in that way it’s not a very pretty story.”

  “What do they want for it now?”

  The solicitor picked up another paper. “I had an hour with Jacobson. He wants fifty thousand for the goodwill, and another twenty thousand for the property as it stands, the freehold site, buildings, plant, machinery, fixtures and fittings—as a going concern.”

  “Does he expect to get that?”

  “I don’t think so. It’s an asking price.”

  “You’d better tell him to go to Sharples and have a look at it—and then come back and talk sense.”

  “You’ve seen it, have you?”

  Warren nodded.

  “It’s very bad?”

  “It’s awful—the worst you ever saw. They haven’t built a ship there for five years. There’s no goodwill. I won’t pay a sausage for that. There’s fifty acres of land encumbered with useless junk. I’ll give him three thousand for that fifty acres, and anything he wants to take away before he sells, he can.”

  He got up from his desk. “Tell him that. Tell him to go and have a look at what he’s selling. And tell him to remember that there’s somebody fool enough to offer him three thousand pounds for what he’s looking at.”

  He paid five thousand five hundred in the end.

  Matheson bought it for him in his own name, transferring it next day to Lisle Court Securities Ltd., the company which represented Warren’s personal fortune. Robbins the watchman continued to receive his weekly wage from Jacobson, as formerly. The deal concluded, Warren placed it in the background of his mind and plunged into the arrears of his work.

  He left the house in Grosvenor Square and went to live in chambers in Pall Mall, opposite his club. His divorce proceeded on its way; he treated it as a matter of minor business, to the distress of his solicitor. It seemed to Warren that his divorce was an affair of little consequence; he had started it off, and it would happen; let the lawyers get on with it. His entire waking thoughts were centred in his work, but with an added interest. He was looking for ships.

  In the next few weeks he learned a good deal about ships. With ships laid up in every creek and every river in the country, orders for new ships were a rarity. He heard of empty shipyards everywhere, of a few scattered orders bitterly competed for, and taken at prices that meant certain loss, but less loss than an empty yard. He heard of Government-assisted German and Italian yards competing in the slender markets that remained, content to make a loss on every ship to take the opportunity of world depression to build up their industry. He heard of queer ships for queer trades, and of rum runners.

  In the office one day Morgan said, “The Laevatian Oil Development, sir. You remember you said it could wait over. Colonel Mavrogadato was on the telephone about a week ago. He wanted to talk it over with you.”

  “Elias Mavrogadato? The one who was Minister for Home Affairs?”

  “No, sir. This is Demetrios Mavrogadato. I think he’s a cousin—a cousin or a nephew. He’s over here with the Commission.”

  Warren nodded. “I remember. How long was the pipe line going to be?”

  “About forty-eight miles from the wells to the coast, at Pitlonas.”

  Warren raised his head. “What were they going to do with the oil then?”

  “Ship it, I suppose. They can place the greater part of the output in Italy.”

  “They’d want tankers.”

  “I couldn’t say, sir.”

  Later that day Warren rang up Colonel Demetrios Mavrogadato and invited him to lunch at the Savoy.

  Colonel Mavrogadato was pleased to detach himself from the Commission and to accept the invitation. It pleased him to lunch at the Savoy. He prided himself on his capacity as un homme d’affaires; he considered the language of his country to be uncouth, and endeavoured to avoid the use of it. He had travelled widely. He had been to Belgrade twice and several times to Sofia; his brother had been to Berlin. With this wealth of experience behind him he knew exactly what was implied by the invitation; he would be expected to eat in one meal the value of his salary for a month, and it would cost him nothing at all. It would cost him less than nothing, in fact, since by common consent the Laevatian Commission had resolved that private hospitality could not affect expense accounts. He was pleased, too, at the prospect of lunching alone with Mr. Henry Warren. It must be that the banker required his help. On his side, Colonel Mavrogadato was willing, nay, even anxious to assist Mr. Warren. In the nature of things, he could hardly expect to serve upon another Commission for some years, and he must make sufficient out of this one to augment his salary till Fortune’s wheel came round again.

  They met in the entrance hall. “My dear Colonel,” said Warren in French. “This is indeed a pleasure.”

  The swarthy features broke into a smile. “Enchanté, cher monsieur,” said the colonel, and bowed stiffly from the waist. They went down into the dining-room, talking amiable politenesses in bad French, and having some little difficulty in understanding each other.

  Warren, who had had some experience of the Balkan peoples, was nevertheless surprised at what the colonel put away. He began, reasonably enough, with a plate of iced melon, followed by hors d’oeuvres and caviar. At Warren’s suggestion he followed this up with a couple of dozen oysters and half a bottle of Chablis. He then expressed a preference for turtle soup and sole meunière, and was so delighted with pheasant that Warren had little difficuty in inducing him to consume a second portion. With the tournedos they broached the second bottle of champagne. The sweet demanded serious concentration; the colonel took the card and studied it.

  “Qu’est celui-là?” he enquired. “Jam Roly Poly?”

  “C’est un plat du pays,” said Warren, “avec confiture. C’est bien délicieux—mais solide.”

  “Bien,” said the colonel. “J’ai encore un peu de faim.”

  Coffee and kummel; with the blue smoke wreathing up from their cigars Warren approached the subject of their business. “It has been a great sorrow to me,” he said in French, “that I have been unable to see more of your beautiful country. Two visits only I have made there, for the business of the Visgrad waterworks.”

  “The Visgrad waterworks,” said the colonel, a little thickly. “That was a very good business, I think. For everybody, that was very good business.” He leaned a little towards Warren. “But our oil de
velopment—that will be a good business too, I think.”

  “I understand,” said Warren, “that it is the intention of your Government to raise the finance for the oil development from external sources. It is for this reason that I ventured to ask if you could spare the time to talk the matter over with me, as between two friends, or business associates.” The dark eyes watching him narrowed a little. “As I understand the matter, it is not the intention of your Government to seek a loan?”

  They’d never have the nerve to ask for a loan, thought Warren to himself. Not after what happened to the last one.

  The Laevatian leaned a little closer to him. “Not a loan,” he said. “There will be a company, an incorporated company of the highest integrity, supported by our Government. There will be two classes of the shares. The first class will be held entirely by the Laevatian Government. The second class will be issued to the public in London, perhaps also in Paris and in New York. But London alone, I think, is better.”

  They know it’s the only place where they could raise money for a thing like this, thought Warren. I’d like to see them try it on in Paris.

  Aloud, he said, “The Laevatian Government, will they subscribe in cash for any portion of their shares?”

  He knew the answer before he asked the question.

  “It is not necessary,” declared the colonel. “The Laevatian Government is the owner of all the oil that is in the land. It is not necessary that they should give money also to the company, besides the oil. That is for the public to subscribe.”

  Warren nodded slowly. He sat there smoking meditatively for a few minutes. In the course of his working life he had examined many such proposals for Government-controlled companies, and he thought little of them. His experience warned him at the outset that this was probably a wrong ’un. It might not be consciously fraudulent in its inception, though he would not rule that out, but in the end the investors would probably lose their money.

  He turned to the colonel. “It may be that it would be possible to float such a company,” he said. “But, as a first step, I think it would be necessary to offer some collateral security to the investors.”

  The other nodded. “That might be arranged,” he said. “For example, the profit from the railways.”

  Warren nodded. This thing had been carefully prepared; his sense of the unsoundness of it grew stronger. He had successfully avoided the railways as a security when he was dealing with the waterworks; in his view they were no security at all. But they would do to dress up a prospectus with.

  God, he couldn’t touch this thing. He must be crazy to be thinking of it.

  “As I understand it,” he said, “the proposal is that a pipe line should be laid from the wells to Pitlonas, on the coast, to get the oil to the coast for shipment. I take it that you have had suitable consultants on that portion of the project?”

  “Everything,” said the colonel, “has been examined with a care that is incredible. Everything is in order for the work to begin now. The reports of the engineers are at your disposal.”

  Warren nodded. That part of the thing was probably all right; it was not there that the swindle would lie.

  He thought for a minute, and then said, “After the oil reaches the coast, how is it transported? In whose ships?”

  The colonel shrugged his shoulders, and spread his hands. “You understand—that is a concern of detail, for the management of the company.”

  Warren considered for a moment. He decided that there was no objection to indicating his line, even at this early stage. This would be a long business, and must be shortened as much as possible. “My dear Colonel,” he said. “You must understand the position of our finance in this country. In this time of depression, our business in the financial world is so to direct the facilities that we offer that they produce the greatest assistance to the trade of this country—in which also we have great interests.”

  “Parfaitement,” said the colonel. He helped himself to a little more of the hotel’s excellent brandy.

  “The construction of the pipe line,” said Warren. “It would be necessary, of course, for that contract to be placed in this country.”

  “That could perhaps be arranged.”

  Warren thought, This is a damn sight too easy. They must have tried Paris. I wonder if they’ve tried New York? Aloud, he said, “What would be the cost of that contract?”

  “About three hundred thousand of your English pounds, in sterling.”

  “And the working capital that would be required?”

  “About another three hundred thousand of your sterling.”

  There was a long pause. In the end Warren said, “You understand, I speak only of my own group. But, in my view, that prospect would not be very attractive. The contracts are too small in relation to the risk.” The colonel was about to say something impetuous, but thought better of it. “On the other hand,” said Warren, “if it were possible for the company to reconsider its plan of operation so that it would operate its own fleet of oil tankers, and if the order for the tankers were to be placed through my group in this country, then I think the position might be greatly eased.”

  The Laevatian was silent for a minute, his swarthy features a mask. And then, “I cannot say,” he said. “It will be difficult. It will be necessary to satisfy the Minister of Marine, M. Theopoulos.”

  Satisfy is right, thought Warren grimly. I’ll have to satisfy the whole bloody Cabinet before I’m through with this.

  “You understand,” said the Laevatian, “there is the Trade Agreement with Germany that would require to be considered.”

  Warren nodded slowly. He had not thought of that. The Laevatians some years before had bartered the whole of their output of pseudo-Turkish tobacco to Germany in exchange for manufactured goods. In normal markets the stuff was practically unsaleable, but in totalitarian countries people smoked what they were told to smoke. The Laevatians had not taken from Germany the value of the stuff they sent; there were large credits tied up in that country. If any ships were to be bought they would be German ships.

  He must stand firm on that, however. No ships, no money. One didn’t finance a muck-heap of a country like Laevatia for fun.

  He smiled at the Laevatian. “We will turn it over in our minds,” he said. “On my part, I feel that it would make the scheme complete if the company were to operate its own ships. It would assist a flotation. It would make a flotation very much easier if part of the issue were to be expended in orders for ships in this country.”

  He paused. “On your part, you will consult with your colleagues, and obtain their views. Then, perhaps, we may meet again to take the matter a stage further.”

  “With pleasure,” said the colonel, and paused expectantly.

  Warren chose his words carefully. “I am sure that we can bring about this business if we work together, my dear Colonel,” he said smoothly, “as business associates. We shall do everything within our power to—satisfy—any reasonable request that you may make.”

  Their eyes met. “I will see what I can do,” said the colonel.

  Warren turned and motioned to the waiter for his bill; the colonel surreptitiously pocketed a couple of cigars from the box upon the table. They left the dining-room, and parted with mutual expressions of esteem.

  Two days later Warren received a letter from Dr. Miller in Sharples. His wireless installation in the hospital was complete; would he care to come down to see it, staying a couple of nights with the doctor? He thought it over for a minute, and decided to go down at the week-end.

  He arrived in Sharples late on Friday night, had a whisky and soda with the doctor, and went to bed.

  Next morning they drove down to the hospital. “I feel a bit of an impostor,” said Warren uneasily. “Does anybody know that I gave the damn thing?”

  “Not a soul,” said the surgeon cheerfully. “I gave out that it was an anonymous donor and that’s all they know.” He smiled. “I don’t suppose anyone will reco
gnise you.”

  “I hope you’re right,” said Warren.

  He was not. In the corridor, on their way down to the installation in the basement, they met Miss MacMahon. She nodded to the surgeon, glanced at Warren, stopped, and stared hard at him.

  Warren smiled. “I’m afraid so,” he said.

  She said, “You are Warren, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I’m Warren.”

  She smiled. “Have you come back to pay me your seven pounds?”

  The surgeon smiled. “You’ll have to strike that off your books, Mr. Warren has already paid that—to me. I dealt with it at the last committee.”

  “Oh. Is he the patient who paid a hundred and fifty guineas?”

  The surgeon nodded.

  She thought for a minute, and then turned to Warren. “I suppose you put in the wireless, too. Or was that some other tramp?”

  “I’m afraid that was me. But it was supposed to be anonymous.”

  “That’s all very well,” said Miss MacMahon. “But we’ve got the books to keep straight, Mr. Williams and I. Somebody’s got to know who gives anonymous gifts, or you couldn’t cash any cheques. As it is, I don’t know what I shall say to Mr. Williams about that seven pounds. You see, it’s entered in the ledger. I suppose I shall have to tell him that I can’t collect it from you, and he’s got to write it off as a bad debt. I’ll probably get the sack over it.”

  “I’d better pay up.”

  “That wouldn’t be fair. You’d better let me tell Mr. Williams. You see, it’s not so easy to hide your light under a bushel.”

  He smiled. “I ought to have stayed in London.”

  “That wouldn’t have done you any good. I was going to get after you for it next week—you remember you left an address.” She paused. “I suppose I should have found that you were head of the firm, or something.”

  “I suppose you would.”

  “Why did you say you were out of a job?”

  “I didn’t say it first—somebody told me that was what I was—one of the nurses. I thought it was easier to carry on that way.”