At Bertram's Hotel - Agatha Christie [53]
“I do not think,” he said genially, “that we shall have long to wait. I am interested, you know. Very much interested. I have occasionally wondered myself—”
Father looked inquiring.
“About Bertram’s Hotel,” said Mr. Robinson. “Financially, you know. One wonders how it can pay. However, it has never been any of my business. And one appreciates—” he shrugged his shoulders—“a comfortable hostelry with an unusually talented personnel and staff…Yes, I have wondered.” He looked at Father. “You know how and why?”
“Not yet,” said Father, “but I mean to.”
“There are several possibilities,” said Mr. Robinson, thoughtfully. “It is like music, you know. Only so many notes to the octave, yet one can combine them in—what is it—several million different ways? A musician told me once that you do not get the same tune twice. Most interesting.”
There was a slight buzz on his desk and he picked up the receiver once more.
“Yes? Yes, you have been very prompt. I am pleased. I see. Oh! Amsterdam yes…Ah…Thank you…Yes. You will spell that? Good.”
He wrote rapidly on a pad at his elbow.
“I hope this will be useful to you,” he said, as he tore off the sheet and passed it across the table to Father, who read the name out loud. “Wilhelm Hoffman.”
“Nationality Swiss,” said Mr. Robinson. “Though not, I would say, born in Switzerland. Has a good deal of influence in Banking circles and though keeping strictly on the right side of the law, he has been behind a great many—questionable deals. He operates solely on the Continent, not in this country.”
“Oh.”
“But he has a brother,” said Mr. Robinson. “Robert Hoffman. Living in London—a diamond merchant—most respectable business—His wife is Dutch—He also has offices in Amsterdam—Your people may know about him. As I say, he deals mainly in diamonds, but he is a very rich man, and he owns a lot of property, not usually in his own name. Yes, he is behind quite a lot of enterprises. He and his brother are the real owners of Bertram’s Hotel.”
“Thank you, sir,” Chief-Inspector Davy rose to his feet. “I needn’t tell you that I’m much obliged to you. It’s wonderful,” he added, allowing himself to show more enthusiasm than was normal.
“That I should know?” inquired Mr. Robinson, giving one of his larger smiles. “But this is one of my specialities. Information. I like to know. That is why you came to me, is it not?”
“Well,” said Chief-Inspector Davy, “we do know about you. The Home Office. The Special Branch and all the rest of it.” He added almost naïvely, “It took a bit of nerve on my part to approach you.”
Again Mr. Robinson smiled.
“I find you an interesting personality, Chief-Inspector Davy,” he said. “I wish you success in whatever you are undertaking.”
“Thank you, sir. I think I shall need it. By the way, these two brothers, would you say they were violent men?”
“Certainly not,” said Mr. Robinson. “It would be quite against their policy. The brothers Hoffman do not apply violence in business matters. They have other methods that serve them better. Year by year, I would say, they get steadily richer, or so my information from Swiss Banking circles tells me.”
“It’s a useful place, Switzerland,” said Chief-Inspector Davy.
“Yes, indeed. What we should all do without it I do not know! So much rectitude. Such a fine business sense! Yes, we businessmen must all be very grateful to Switzerland. I myself,” he added, “have also a high opinion of Amsterdam.” He looked hard at Davy, then smiled again, and the Chief-Inspector left.
When he got back to headquarters again, he found a note awaiting him.
Canon Pennyfather has turned up—safe if not sound.
Apparently was knocked down by a car at Milton St. John and has concussion.
Chapter Eighteen
Canon Pennyfather looked at Chief-Inspector Davy and Inspector Campbell, and Chief-Inspector