My heart gave a little jump.
Was this, I asked myself, the opportunity I had been waiting for so patiently?
Chapter Two
After dinner, I went on to the veranda and thought about what Tom Mason had told me. He could, of course, have been exaggerating, but supposing he hadn’t been and it was a fact that Marshall was going to inherit a million dollars?
For more than five years, I had been waiting for the opportunity to get my hands on real money. Now, suddenly, in this one horse town, the opportunity appeared to present itself.
The average man, learning that a small time estate agent was coming into a million dollars would think: ‘good luck to him’ and then give it no further thought. Certainly the average man wouldn’t even begin to think it might be possible to grab Marshall’s inheritance, but then I am not the average man.
During my stay in jail, I had shared a cell with a slick con man who liked to boast about his past swindles. He had had, according to him, a spectacular career until he had become too greedy.
‘For years, buster,’ he said to me, ‘I have traded on other people’s greed and then, goddamn it, if I didn’t get greedy myself and look where it’s landed me... ten years in a cell!’
He had expanded on the subject of greed.
‘If a guy has two dollars, he will want four. If he has five thousand, he’ll want ten. This is human nature. I knew a guy who was worth five million and he nearly bust a gut turning it into seven. The human race is never satisfied. The more they have, the more they want, and if you can show them how to make a fast buck without working for it, they’ll be all over you.’
From my experience when working with tycoons, I knew this to be true. Marshall’s inheritance wouldn’t be lying around in leather bags for some smart thief to steal. The money would be in stocks and bonds, guarded by bankers and brokers, but bankers and brokers didn’t awe me. I had been a broker myself.
If I were certain that Marshall would inherit a million then with my know-how I was willing to bet I could talk him into an investment that would transfer his million to me. The fact that he was a drunk made it that much easier. I was confident I could talk him into something that would dazzle him: how to turn his million safely into three million.
The human race is never satisfied.
I would use this truth to get his money. It would, of course, have to be a carefully planned operation. I thought of all the files I had kept when working with Barton Sharman and which I had stored in New York. They contained facts, figures, plans and maps from which I could draw on to support any scheme I put before Marshall. That was no problem, but before I could even consider what particular bait to dangle before him, I needed to confirm that he was going to inherit this sum and to have more information about his background. Mason had mentioned that Marshall was married. I would need to know about his wife; if he had children or if he had relations: those tricky people who would help a drunk to safeguard the million when it was his.
I would have to get friendly with Marshall. It was possible, in drink, he might give me this information, although from what I had seen of him, he could be difficult to handle.
After I had finished my day’s work, I told myself, I should make a habit of dropping in for a drink at Joe’s bar. In this way, I could expand my social contacts and maybe meet Marshall again.
I felt for the first time since I had been released from jail animated and excited. Even if it didn’t work out, at least, it gave me something to aim at: my second attempt to make big money!
I got to the Driving school the following morning at ten minutes to nine. Bert was already there, opening the mail.
After we had exchanged greetings, he said, ‘I hear you gave Tom Mason a helping hand last night.’
News certainly travelled fast in Wicksteed! All the more reason why I must be careful in my inquiries.
‘Oh... that.’ I sat on the edge of his desk. ‘Mason seems a nice guy. He tells me he owns the hardware store here.’
‘He took it over from his dad who took it over from his dad. Yes, Tom’s a nice fella.’ Bert slit open an envelope. ‘I wish I could say the same for Frank Marshall. I remember the time when he was all right... he’d do anything for you. But now...’ He shook his head.
‘That house of his is pretty isolated,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t like to live so far out. It must be tough on his wife.’
‘You’re right, Keith.’ Bert sat back in his chair. ‘Marshall’s rich aunt left him the house. She used to live in it before she was moved to the hospital. He could have sold it. She wouldn’t have cared, but he reckons if he hangs on to it the land around there will be developed and then he’ll get a real fancy price for it.’
‘Tom said he was in real estate.’ I noted Bert didn’t rise to the ‘wife bait’ I had thrown out. I decided not to press it.
‘That’s right. He was doing well a couple of years back, but this drinking of his...’ Bert frowned. ‘No one can drink the way he does and expect to run a business.’
Maisie came in to tell me my first pupil was waiting.
‘See you, Bert,’ I said and went out to meet a teenage girl with a brace on her teeth and a non-stop giggle.
The morning and afternoon passed quickly. On three occasions, my pupils drove me along Main Street and we passed Deputy Sheriff Ross. The first time, I lifted my hand in his direction, but he ignored me. The other times I ignored him, but I was aware he was staring at me with those narrow cop’s eyes, a bleak expression on his hatchet face.
I would have to be careful of him, I told myself. If I was going to get Marshall’s money — always providing he got it himself — the operation was going to be even more tricky with Ross looming in the background, but that didn’t faze me. It would be a challenge, and I was in the mood to accept a challenge.
At 18.00, I said good night to Bert and Maisie, then went over to Joe’s bar.
There were only five men in the bar, talking earnestly together. I wondered if Marshall would show.
Joe came down the counter and shook hands.
‘What’ll it be, Mr. Devery?’
‘I think a gin and tonic.’
He served the drink, then propped himself up against the counter and seemed ready to talk.
‘You weren’t too late for your supper last night?’
‘No, and thanks for calling Mrs. Hansen.’
‘That was the least I could do.’ He shook his head. ‘That Marshall... it’s a real shame. I expect Tom told you about him.’
‘He did mention something about an old aunt.’
‘That’s correct. She used to be a Miss Hackett, a nurse at our hospital... a fine lady. One day, there was an accident: a bad car smash and the driver got taken to our hospital. This was some forty years ago. I was a nipper at school at the time, but my dad told me about it. The injured man turned out to be Howard T. Fremlin of Pittsburg. He owned the Fremlin Steel Corporation. He was passing through to Frisco on a business trip when this truck hit him. To cut a long story short, Miss Hackett, after nursing him for quite a time, married him. It was only when he died, some thirty years later, that she returned to Wicksteed and bought that big house where Marshall now lives. Now she’s real bad in hospital where she once worked. Funny the way things work out, isn’t it?’
I said it was. I sipped my drink, then said, ‘Tom said it was cancer.’
‘Correct... Leukemia. It’s a wonder they’ve kept her alive for so long, but now, I hear she could go any moment.’
‘Fremlin?’ I squinted at my drink. ‘Some sort of millionaire, wasn’t he?’
‘Correct. He left her a cool million which Marshall is going to inherit. The rest of Fremlin’s estate went to charities. I heard it was around ten million.’