At Bertram's Hotel - Agatha Christie [57]
Father shook his head and looked apologetic.
“I suppose it’s really curiosity. Looking for my disappearing clergyman was what took me to Bertram’s, but then I got—well, interested if you understand what I mean. One thing leads to another sometimes, doesn’t it?”
“I suppose that could be so, yes. And now?” He smiled. “Your curiosity is satisfied?”
“Nothing like coming to the horse’s mouth when you want information, is there?” said Father, genially. He rose to his feet. “There’s only one thing I’d really like to know—and I don’t suppose you’ll tell me that.”
“Yes, Chief-Inspector?” Hoffman’s voice was wary.
“Where do Bertram’s get hold of their staff? Wonderful! That fellow what’s-his-name—Henry. The one that looks like an Archduke or an Archbishop, I’m not sure which. Anyway, he serves you tea and muffins—most wonderful muffins! An unforgettable experience.”
“You like muffins with much butter, yes?” Mr. Hoffman’s eyes rested for a moment on the rotundity of Father’s figure with disapprobation.
“I expect you can see I do,” said Father. “Well, I mustn’t be keeping you. I expect you’re pretty busy taking over take-over bids, or something like that.”
“Ah. It amuses you to pretend to be ignorant of all these things. No, I am not busy. I do not let business absorb me too much. My tastes are simple. I live simply, with leisure, with growing of roses, and my family to whom I am much devoted.”
“Sounds ideal,” said Father. “Wish I could live like that.”
Mr. Hoffman smiled and rose ponderously to shake hands with him.
“I hope you will find your disappearing clergyman very soon.”
“Oh! That’s all right. I’m sorry I didn’t make myself clear. He’s found—disappointing case, really. Had a car accident and got concussion—simple as that.”
Father went to the door, then turned and asked:
“By the way, is Lady Sedgwick a director of your company?”
“Lady Sedgwick?” Hoffman took a moment or two. “No. Why should she be?”
“Oh well, one hears things—Just a shareholder?”
“I—yes.”
“Well, good-bye, Mr. Hoffman. Thanks very much.”
Father went back to the Yard and straight to the AC.
“The two Hoffman brothers are the ones behind Bertram’s Hotel—financially.”
“What? Those scoundrels?” demanded Sir Ronald.
“Yes.”
“They’ve kept it very dark.”
“Yes—and Robert Hoffman didn’t half like our finding it out. It was a shock to him.”
“What did he say?”
“Oh, we kept it all very formal and polite. He tried, not too obviously, to learn how I had found out about it.”
“And you didn’t oblige him with that information, I suppose.”
“I certainly did not.”
“What excuse did you give for going to see him?”
“I didn’t give any,” said Father.
“Didn’t he think that a bit odd?”
“I expect he did. On the whole I thought that was a good way to play it, sir.”
“If the Hoffmans are behind all this, it accounts for a lot. They’re never concerned in anything crooked themselves—oh no! They don’t organize crime—they finance it though!
“Wilhelm deals with the banking side from Switzerland. He was behind those foreign currency rackets just after the war—we knew it—but we couldn’t prove it. Those two brothers control a great deal of money and they use it for backing all kinds of enterprises—some legitimate—some not. But they’re careful—they know every trick of the trade. Robert’s diamond broking is straightforward enough—but it makes a suggestive picture—diamonds—banking interests, and property—clubs, cultural foundations, office buildings, restaurants, hotels—all apparently owned by somebody else.”
“Do you think Hoffman is the planner of these organized robberies?”
“No, I think those two deal only with finance. No, you’ll have to look elsewhere for your planner. Somewhere there’s a first-class brain at work.”
Chapter Twenty
I
The fog had come down over London suddenly that evening. Chief-Inspector Davy pulled up his coat collar and turned into Pond Street. Walking slowly, like a man who was thinking of something else, he did not look particularly purposeful but anyone who knew him well would