At Bertram's Hotel - Agatha Christie [51]
“Certainly not,” said Canon Pennyfather, “not with concussion. No. It would have been unadvisable.”
“I’ll put another pillow behind your back, shall I, ducks? There, is that all right?”
Canon Pennyfather was a little startled by being addressed as “ducks.” He told himself that it was kindly meant.
“Upsydaisy,” said the woman, “there we are.”
“Yes, but where are we?” said Canon Pennyfather. “I mean, where am I? Where is this place?”
“Milton St. John,” said the woman. “Didn’t you know?”
“Milton St. John?” said Canon Pennyfather. He shook his head. “I never heard the name before.”
“Oh well, it’s not much of a place. Only a village.”
“You have been very kind,” said Canon Pennyfather. “May I ask your name?”
“Mrs. Wheeling. Emma Wheeling.”
“You are most kind,” said Canon Pennyfather again. “But this accident now. I simply cannot remember—”
“You put yourself outside that, luv, and you’ll feel better and up to remembering things.”
“Milton St. John,” said Canon Pennyfather to himself, in a tone of wonder. “The name means nothing to me at all. How very extraordinary!”
Chapter Seventeen
Sir Ronald Graves drew a cat upon his blotting pad. He looked at the large portly figure of Chief-Inspector Davy sitting opposite him and drew a bulldog.
“Ladislaus Malinowski?” he said. “Could be. Got any evidence?”
“No. He’d fit the bill, would he?”
“A daredevil. No nerves. Won the World Championship. Bad crash about a year ago. Bad reputation with women. Sources of income doubtful. Spends money here and abroad freely. Always going to and fro to the Continent. Have you got some idea that he’s the man behind these organized robberies and holdups?”
“I don’t think he’s the planner. But I think he’s in with them.”
“Why?”
“For one thing, he runs a Mercedes-Otto car. Racing model. A car answering to that description was seen near Bedhampton on the morning of the mail robbery. Different number plates—but we’re used to that. And it’s the same stunt—unlike, but not too unlike. FAN 2299 instead of 2266. There aren’t so many Mercedes-Otto models of that type about. Lady Sedgwick has one and young Lord Merrivale.”
“You don’t think Malinowski runs the show?”
“No—I think there are better brains than his at the top. But he’s in it. I’ve looked back over the files. Take the holdup at the Midland and West London. Three vans happened—just happened—to block a certain street. A Mercedes-Otto that was on the scene got clear away owing to that block.”
“It was stopped later.”
“Yes. And given a clean bill of health. Especially as the people who’d reported it weren’t sure of the correct number. It was reported as FAM 3366—Malinowski’s registration number is FAN 2266—It’s all the same picture.”
“And you persist in tying it up with Bertram’s Hotel. They dug up some stuff about Bertram’s for you—”
Father tapped his pocket.
“Got it here. Properly registered company. Balance—paid up capital—directors—etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. Doesn’t mean a thing! These financial shows are all the same—just a lot of snakes swallowing each other! Companies, and holding companies—makes your brain reel!”
“Come now, Father. That’s just a way they have in the City. Has to do with taxation—”
“What I want is the real dope. If you’ll give me a chit, sir, I’d like to go and see some top brass.”
The AC stared at him.
“And what exactly do you mean by top brass?”
Father mentioned a name.
The AC looked upset. “I don’t know about that. I hardly think we dare approach him.”
“It might be very helpful.”
There was a pause. The two men looked at each other. Father looked bovine, placid, and patient. The AC gave in.
“You’re a stubborn old devil, Fred,” he said. “Have it your own way. Go and worry the top brains behind the international financiers of Europe.”
“He’ll know,” said Chief-Inspector Davy. “He’ll know. And if he doesn’t, he can find out by pressing one buzzer on his desk or making one telephone call.”
“I don’t know that he’ll be pleased.”
“Probably not,” said Father, “but it won’t take much of his time. I’ve got to have authority behind me, though.”
“You