A Dangerous Fortune - Ken Follett [217]
But they did not belong to her. They belonged to the syndicate.
He decided to go after her.
He ran down the stairs and out into the street. There was a cabstand a few yards along the road. The drivers were chatting in a group, stamping their feet to keep warm. Hugh ran up to them, saying: “Did any of you drive Lady Whitehaven this afternoon?”
“Two of us did,” said a cabbie. “One for her luggage!” The others chortled.
Hugh’s deduction was confirmed. “Where did you take her?”
“Waterloo Station, for the one o’clock boat train.”
The boat train went to Southampton—where Micky was sailing from. Those two had always been cronies. Micky smarmed all over her like a cad, kissing her hand and flattering her. Despite the eighteen years’ difference in their ages, they made a plausible couple.
“But they missed the train,” the cabbie added.
“They?” Hugh said. “There was someone with her?”
“An elderly chap in a wheelchair.”
Not Micky, evidently. Who, then? No one in the family was frail enough to use a wheelchair. “They missed the train, you say. Do you know when the next boat train leaves?”
“At three.”
Hugh looked at his watch. It was two-thirty. He could catch it.
“Take me to Waterloo,” he said, and jumped into the cab.
He reached the station just in time to get a ticket and board the boat train.
It was a corridor train with interconnecting coaches, so he could walk along it. As it pulled out of the station and picked up speed through the tenements of south London, he set out to look for Augusta.
He did not have to look far. She was in the next coach.
With a quick glance he hurried past her compartment so that she would not see him.
Micky was not with her. He must have gone by an earlier train. The only other person in her compartment was an elderly man with a rug over his knees.
He went to the next coach and found a seat. There was not much point in confronting Augusta right away. She might not have the snuffboxes with her—they could be in one of her cases in the luggage van. To speak to her now would serve only to forewarn her. Better to wait until the train arrived at Southampton. He would jump off, find a policeman, then challenge her as her bags were unloaded.
Suppose she denied she had the snuffboxes? He would insist that the police search her luggage. They were obliged to investigate a reported theft, and the more Augusta protested the more suspicious they would be.
Suppose she claimed the snuffboxes were hers? It was hard to prove anything on the spot. If that happened, Hugh decided he would propose that the police take custody of the valuables while they investigated the contradictory claims.
He controlled his impatience as the white fields of Wimbledon sped by. A hundred thousand pounds was a big chunk of the money Pilasters Bank owed. He was not going to let Augusta steal it. The snuffboxes also symbolized the family’s determination to pay off its debts. If Augusta was allowed to make off with them, people would say the Pilasters were grabbing what they could, just like any ordinary embezzlers. The thought made Hugh angry.
It was still snowing when the train reached Southampton. Hugh was leaning out of the carriage window as the engine puffed into the station. There were uniformed policemen everywhere. That meant Micky had not yet been caught, Hugh inferred.
He jumped off while the train was still moving and got to the ticket barrier before anyone else. He spoke to a police inspector. “I’m the Senior Partner of Pilasters Bank,” he said, giving the inspector his card. “I know you’re looking for a murderer, but there’s a woman on this train who is carrying stolen property worth a hundred thousand pounds belonging to the bank. I believe she is planning to leave the country on the Aztec tonight, taking it with her.”
“What property would that be, Mr. Pilaster?” said the inspector.
“A collection of jeweled snuffboxes.”
“And the name of the woman?”
“She’s the dowager countess of Whitehaven.”
The policeman raised his eyebrows. “I do read