Mr. Mumford’s jaw dropped in dismay, as Henry walked over to the holy of holies and began trying various keys from the ring which he produced from his pocket. When one of them finally fitted, and the filing cabinet opened, Henry had the impression that Mr. Mumford was piously averting his eyes from the sacrilegious act.
In fact, the contents of the cabinet were not very sensational — a couple of largish cardboard boxes and a handful of files. Henry took one of the boxes out of the cabinet.
“What’s in here? he asked.
“I think,” said Mumford uneasily. “that Mr. Mason liked to have a little ready cash…”
Henry lifted the lid of the box. It was full of one-pound notes tied in bundles.
The second box was heavier. Henry looked inquiringly at Mumford, who went a becoming shade of blush-rose.
“Mr. Mason was — he was compelled to entertain important clients from time to time…”
The box, unsurprisingly, contained a bottle of whiskey, about half full, and another of gin. The bottles were resting on a book, which had a luridly suggestive jacket. Henry recognized it as one which was banned from public sale in England but which “everybody” had read — or claimed to have read.
He closed the two boxes, put them back in the cabinet, and turned his attention to the files. All of them related to people of high rank and social importance, many from the Cregwell area. In fact, they corresponded pretty closely to the names which had been entered so carefully in Mason’s diary. Each betting transaction was carefully entered in Mason’s own handwriting, and the state of the client’s account was also meticulously noted.
Henry said to Mumford, “A lot of these people seem to be in debt to the company. What action will you take about them?”
“None whatsoever,” said Mr. Mumford promptly. “That filing cabinet was a matter for Mr. Mason, and for nobody else. He used to arrange, privately, to collect the debts of his personal clients. In some cases he would decide to waive them and write them off as general expenses. He was quite within his rights to do that,” Mumford added defensively.
“And now that Mr. Mason is dead?”
“The point has been worrying me,” admitted Mumford, “but I have made up my mind as to the ethical course. Any private client who is owed money will, of course, be paid out in full. Any private client who is in debt — well — the debt will simply be written off — as general expenses. That is what Mr. Mason would have wished.”
“I see,” said Henry. “Do you think that Mr. Frank will agree?”
“Mr. Frank,” said Mumford icily, “will not be consulted.”
It was then that pandemonium broke loose in the outer office. Henry and Mumford looked at each other in dismay as giggles, loud-voiced laughter, and, apparently, the shifting of furniture announced the arrival of the gentlemen of the press.
“Oh dear,” said Mr. Mumford, “oh, dear. Oh dear. I shall have to go and deal with — oh, dear.”
“I’m not anxious to meet the press myself at this stage,” said Henry. “So if…”
“I should think not!” exclaimed Mumford. “They’ll recognize you, I am sure, and if they get the idea that Scotland Yard has been here — oh, dear…”
“So if there’s a back door…”
“Yes, yes. Out this way and down the staircase. There’s a door at the bottom out into the mews — that’s right, Chief Inspector…”
Out in the narrow street Henry walked thoughtfully back to his car. He was in a state of some perplexity. He was reasonably certain that he had solved the mystery of Raymond Mason’s death, and he had no wish to interfere in matters which were irrelevant and might cause distress. On the other hand — was it irrelevant? Could it be irrelevant? The fact that Sir John Adamson had been one of Mason’s private clients, and that, according to his dossier, he owed the company no less than three thousand pounds.
Henry was still pondering the problem when he paid his second call, a routine check at the famous jewelers who had supplied Maud’s engagement ring. By good luck he quickly found the clerk who remembered the transaction well. Mr. Manning-Richards had come in just after lunch on Saturday, had bought the ring, and paid by check, which had subsequently — that very morning, in fact — been cleared by the bank. When Henry suggested that it might have been risky to accept a check for a valuable ring on a Saturday afternoon, the clerk replied with a smile that Mr. Manning-Richards was an old client, well known to the firm. Henry thanked him, went back to his car, and headed for Cregwell.
CHAPTER NINE
HENRY ARRIVED BACK in Cregwell barely in time to collect Emmy from The Viking and get to the Grange by one o’clock. He was a little disconcerted to see Sir John Adamson’s Daimler parked in the drive: In the circumstances, he would have preferred not to have the Chief Constable as a fellow luncheon guest.
Violet Manciple greeted Henry with her usual flustered friendliness, and in no time Emmy was being introduced into the Manciple family circle. Soon, she was borne away by Maud and Julian to meet Ramona, and Violet said to Henry, “Well, I really must get back to the kitchen, Mr. Tibbett. Oh, by the way, Aunt Dora has been asking for you all morning. I rather think she wants to give you some pamphlets.”
Henry grinned. “I wouldn’t be surprised,” he said.
“She was really impressed by your aura,” said Violet seriously. “Now, if you’ll forgive me…” She hurried off in the direction of the kitchen, and Henry found himself buttonholed by Sir Claud, who was looking, he thought, quite a lot sprightlier than he had the previous day.
“We’re off back to Bradwood after lunch,” Sir Claud said. “Duty calls, I’m afraid. Still, I hear from Vi that you’ve cleared up this business of Mason’s death. Nice work.” He took a gulp of whiskey and nodded approvingly. “That’s what I always tell my staff. Marshal your facts, draw your deductions, make your decisions.”
“It’s rather premature to say that it’s cleared up,” said Henry. “I’ve more work to do yet, and the world is full of surprises, you know.”
“It should not be,” said Sir Claud severely. “Not for the expert. Even the research worker should be relatively immune from surprises if he goes about his job systematically.”
“Your field of research is rather more precise than mine, I’m afraid,” said Henry. “I deal in human behavior, which is notoriously unpredictable.”
“Rubbish,” replied Sir Claud. “If the subject were approached from a soundly scientific angle it would be seen to conform to rules, just like any other physical phenomenon. Apparently random behavior, whether in men or in matter, is caused by the inability of the investigator to appreciate the workings of basic laws.”
Henry looked at him for a moment. Then he said, “That’s a very interesting point of view, Sir Claud.”
“What d’you mean, interesting? It’s factual, that’s all. If I mentioned to you in conversation that the sun would rise tomorrow morning, would you call that an interesting point of view? Of course not. I am forever trying to instill simple, rational thinking into my staff. You’d be surprised how many of them lack mental organization, even the most brilliant physicists among them.”
“I understand,” said Henry, “that Julian Manning-Richards will soon be joining your staff.”
“I hope so. I hope so very much. He’s a nice lad.”
“But not a physicist surely?”
“No, no. Not necessary for the position I have in mind for him — my personal assistant. What I need is a young man of sound academic training, who is one hundred percent reliable and intelligent enough to understand what I say to him; and that is precisely what Julian is.”