"In the year ending 31 December 1921 we showed a turnover on the seven shops of one thousand three hundred and twelve pounds and four shillings, on which we declared a profit of two hundred and nineteen pounds eleven shillings, showing seventeen percent profit on turnover. Our debt at the bank currently stands at seven hundred and seventy-one pounds, which includes our tax liability for the year, but the value of the seven shops remains in the books at one thousand two hundred and ninety pounds, which is the exact price we paid for them. This therefore does not reflect their current market value.
"I have made a breakdown of the figures on each of the shops for your consideration," said Becky, handing copies of her efforts to Charlie and the colonel, both of whom studied them carefully for several minutes before either spoke.
"Grocery is still our number one earner, I see," said the colonel, as he ran his monocle down the profit and loss column. "Hardware is only just breaking even, and the tailor's is actually eating into our profits."
"Yes," said Charlie. "I met up with a right holy friar when I bought that one."
"Holy friar?" said the colonel, perplexed.
"Liar," said Becky, not looking up from her book.
"Afraid so," said Charlie. "You see, I paid through the nose for the freehold, too much for the stock, then got myself landed with poor staff who weren't properly trained. But things have taken a turn for the better since Major Arnold took over."
The colonel smiled at the knowledge that the appointment of one of his former staff officers had been such an immediate success. Tom Arnold had resumed to Savile Row soon after the war only to find that his old job as under-manager at Hawkes had been taken up by someone who had been demobbed a few months earlier than himself, and he was therefore expected to be satisfied with the status of senior assistant. He wasn't. When the colonel told him there just might be an opening for him at Trumper's, Arnold had jumped at the opportunity.
"I'm bound to say," said Becky, studying the figures, "that people seem to have a totally different moral attitude to paying their tailor than they would ever consider applying to any other tradesman. Just look at the debtors' column."
"Agreed," said Charlie. "And I fear we won't be able to show a great deal of improvement on that until Major Arnold has managed to find replacements for at least three members of his present staff. I don't expect him to declare a profit during the next six months, although I would hope they might be able to break even by the end of the third quarter."
"Good," said the colonel. "Now what about hardware? I see Number 129 declared a decent enough profit last year, so why should the figures have fallen back so badly this? They're down over sixty pounds on 1920, declaring a loss for the first time."
"I'm afraid there's a simple enough explanation," said Becky. "The money was stolen."
"Stolen?"
"I fear so," replied Charlie. "Becky began to notice as long ago as October of last year that the weekly receipts were falling, at first only by a little but then the amount grew as a pattern began to evolve."
"Have we discovered who the culprit is?"
"Yes, that was simple enough. We switched Bob Makins from grocery when one of the staff at hardware was on holiday, and he spotted the tea leaf in no time."
"Stop it, Charlie," said Becky. "Sorry, Colonel. Thief."
"It turned out the manager, Reg Larkins, has a gambling problem," Charlie continued, "and was using our money to cover his debts. The bigger those debts became the more he needed to steal."
"You sacked Larkins, of course," said the colonel.
"The same day," said Charlie. "He turned rather nasty at the time and tried to deny that he'd ever taken a penny. But we haven't heard a word from him since and in the last three weeks we've even begun to show a small profit again. However, I'm still looking for a new manager to take over as soon as possible. I've got my eye on a young man who works at Cudson's just off the Charing Cross Road."
"Good," said the colonel. "That covers last year's problems, Charlie, so now you can frighten us with your plans for the future."
Charlie opened the smart new leather case that Becky had given him on 20 January and took out the latest report from John D. Wood. He cleared his throat theatrically and Becky had to put a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh.
"Mr. Crowther," began Charlie, "has prepared a comprehensive survey of all the properties in Chelsea Terrace."
"For which, incidentally, he has charged us ten guineas," said Becky, checking the accounts book.
"I have no quarrel with that, if it turns out to be a good investment," said the colonel.
"It already has," said Charlie. He handed over copies of Crowther's report. "As you both already know, there are thirty-six shops in Chelsea Terrace, of which we currently own seven. In Crowther's opinion a further five could well become available during the next twelve months. However, as he points out, all the shopkeepers in Chelsea Terrace are now only too aware of my role as a buyer, which doesn't exactly help keep the price down."
"I suppose that was bound to happen sooner or later."
"I agree, Colonel," said Charlie, "but it's still far sooner than I'd hoped for. In fact, Syd Wrexall, the chairman of the Shops Committee, is becoming quite wary of us."
"Why Mr. Wrexall in particular?" asked the colonel.
"He's the publican who owns the Musketeer on the other corner of Chelsea Terrace. He's started telling his customers that it's my long-term aim to buy up all the property in the block and drive out the small shopkeepers."
"He has a point," said Becky.
"Maybe, but I never expected him to form a cooperative with the sole purpose of stopping me purchasing certain properties. I was rather hoping to get my hands on the Musketeer itself in time but whenever the subject comes up he just says, 'Over my dead body.'"
"That comes as rather a blow," said the colonel.
"Not at all," said Charlie. "No one can expect to go through life without facing a moment of crisis. The secret will be spotting Wrexall's when it comes and then moving in quickly. But it does mean for the time being that I'm occasionally going to have to pay over the odds if a shop owner decides the time has come to sell."
"Not a lot we can do about that I suspect," said the colonel.
"Except call their bluff from time to time," said Charlie.
"Call their bluff? I'm not sure I catch your drift. "
"Well, we've had an approach from two shops recently with an interest in disposing of their freehold and I turned them both down out of hand."
"Why?"
"Simply because they were demanding such outrageous prices, not to mention Becky nagging me about our present overdraft."
"And have they reconsidered their position?"
"Yes and no," said Charlie. "One has already come back with a far more realistic demand, while the other is still holding out for his original price."
"Who is holding out?"
"Cuthbert's, Number 101, the wine and spirits merchant. But there's no need to make any sort of move in that direction for the time being, because Crowther says that Mr. Cuthbert has recently been looking at several properties in Pimlico, and he'll be able to keep us informed of any progress on that front. We can then make a sensible offer the moment Cuthbert commits himself."
"Well done, Crowther, I say. By the way, where do you pick up all your information?" the colonel asked.
"Mr. Bales the newsagent, and Syd Wrexall himself."
"But I thought you said Wrexall wasn't proving that helpful."
"He isn't," said Charlie, "but he'll still offer his opinion on any subject for the price of a pint, so Bob Makins has become a regular and learned never to complain about being short-measured. I even get a copy of the Shops Committee minutes before they do."