“Yes.”
“Very good. That advertisement appeared on a Friday.”
“Are you trying to explain that these advertisements are all passed for press on a Tuesday and all appear on a Friday?”
“Exactly.”
“Then why not say so, instead of continually repeating yourself?”
“All right. But now perpend. Mr. Tallboy has a habit of sending letters on a Tuesday, addressed to a Mr. Smith-who, by the way, doesn’t exist.”
“I know. You told us all about that. Mr. T. Smith is Mr. Cummings; only Mr. Cummings denies it.”
“He denies it, said the King. Leave out that part. The point is that Mr. Smith isn’t always Mr. T. Smith. Sometimes he’s other kinds of Mr. Smith. But on the day that the Nutrax headline began with a T,’ Mr. Smith was Mr. T. Smith.”
“And what sort of Mr. Smith was he on the day that the Nutrax headline began with a ‘W?”
“Unfortunately I don’t know. But I can guess that he was Mr. W. Smith. In any case, on this date here, which was the day I came to Pym’s, the Nutrax headline was ‘Kittle Cattle.’ On that day, Mr. Smith-”
“Stop! I can guess this one. He was Mr. K. Smith.”
“He was. Kenneth, perhaps, or Kirkpatrick, or Killarney. Killarney Smith would be a lovely name.”
“And was coke distributed the next Friday from the King’s Head?”
“I’m betting my boots it was. What do you think of that?”
“I think you want a little more evidence on that point. You don’t seem to have any instance where you can point to the initial, the headline, and the pub. All together.”
“That’s the weak point,” confessed Wimsey. “But look here. This Tuesday which I now write down is the date on which the great Nutrax row occurred, and the headline was altered at the last moment on Thursday night. On the Friday of that week, something went wrong with the supply of dope to Major Milligan. It never turned up.”
“Peter, I do believe you’ve got hold of something.”
“Do you, Polly? Well, so do I. But I wasn’t sure if it would sound plausible to anybody but me. And, look here! I remember another day.” Wimsey began to laugh. “I forget which date it was, but the headline was simply a blank line and an exclamation mark, and Tallboy was horribly peeved about it. I wonder what they did that week. I should think they took the initial of the sub-head. What a joke!”
“But how is it worked, Peter?”
“Well, I don’t know the details, but I imagine it’s done this way. On the Tuesday, as soon as the headline is decided, Tallboy sends an envelope to Cummings’ shop addressed to A. Smith, Esq., or B. Smith, Esq., according to the initial of the headline. Cummings looks at it, snorts at it and hands it back to the postman. Then he informs the head distributing agent, or agents. I don’t know how. Possibly he advertises too, because the great point of this scheme, as I see it, is to have as little contact as possible between the various agents. The stuff is run across on Thursday, and the agent meets it and packets it up as Bicarbonate of Soda, or something equally harmless. Then he gets the London Telephone Directory and looks up the next pub. on the list whose name begins with the letter of which Cummings has advised him. As soon as the pub. opens on Friday morning, he is there. The retail agents, if we may call them so, have meanwhile consulted the Morning Star and the Telephone Directory. They hasten to the pub. and the packets are passed to them. The late Mr. Mountjoy must have been one of these gentry.”
“How does the wholesaler recognize the retailer?”
“There must be some code or other, and our battered friend Hector Puncheon must have given the code-word by accident. We must ask about that. He’s a Morning Star man, and it may be something to do with the Morning Star. Mountjoy, by the way, evidently believed in being early on the job, because he seems to have made a practice of getting his copy of the paper the second it was off the machine, which accounts for his having been in full working order at 4.30 a.m. in Covent Garden, and hanging round Fleet Street again in the small hours of the following Friday. He must have given the code-signal, whatever it was; Puncheon may remember about it. After that, he would make his supply up into smaller packets (hence his supply of cigarette-papers) and proceed with the distribution according to his own taste and fancy. Of course, there are a lot of things we don’t know yet. How the payments are made, for instance. Puncheon wasn’t asked for money. Tallboy seems to have got his particular share in Currency Notes. But that’s a detail. The ingenuity of the thing is that the stuff is never distributed twice from the same place. No wonder Charles had difficulty with it. By the way, I’ve sent him to the wrong place tonight, poor devil. How he must be cursing me!”
Mr. Parker cursed solidly enough on his return.
“It’s entirely my fault,” said Wimsey, blithely. “I sent you to the Yelverton Arms. You ought to have been at the Anchor or the Antelope. But we’ll pull it off next week-if we live so long.”
“If,” said Parker, seriously, “we live so long.”
Chapter XVIII. Unexpected Conclusion of a Cricket Match
The party from Pym’s filled a large charabanc; in addition, a number of people attended in their own Austins. It was a two-innings match, starting at 10 a.m., and Mr. Pym liked to see it well attended. A skeleton staff was left to hold the fort at the office during the Saturday morning, and it was expected that as many of them as possible would trundle down to Romford by the afternoon train. Mr. Death Bredon, escorted by Lady Mary and Chief-Inspector Parker, was one of the last to scramble into the charabanc.
The firm of Brotherhood’s believed in ideal conditions for their staff. It was their pet form of practical Christianity; in addition to which, it looked very well in their advertising literature and was a formidable weapon against the trade unions. Not, of course, that Brotherhoods’ had the slightest objection to trade unions as such. They had merely discovered that comfortable and well-fed people are constitutionally disinclined for united action of any sort-a fact which explains the asinine meekness of the income-tax payer.
In Brotherhood’s regime of bread and circuses, organized games naturally played a large part. From the pavilion overlooking the spacious cricket-field floated superbly a crimson flag, embroidered with the Brotherhood trademark of two clasped hands. The same device adorned the crimson blazers and caps of Brotherhoods’ cricket eleven. By contrast, the eleven advertising cricketers were but a poor advertisement for themselves. Mr. Bredon was, indeed, a bright spot on the landscape, for his flannels were faultless, while his Balliol blazer, though ancient, carried with it an air of authenticity. Mr. Ingleby also was correct, though a trifle shabby. Mr. Hankin, beautifully laundered, had rather spoilt his general effect by a brown felt hat, while Mr. Tallboy, irreproachable in other respects, had an unfortunate tendency to come apart at the waist, for which his tailor and shirt-maker were, no doubt, jointly responsible. The dress of the remainder varied in combining white flannels with brown shoes, white shoes with the wrong sort of shirt, tweed coats with white linen hats, down to the disgraceful exhibition of Mr. Miller, who, disdaining to put himself out for a mere game, affronted the sight in grey flannel trousers, a striped shirt and braces.
The day began badly with Mr. Tallboy’s having lost his lucky half-crown and with Mr. Copley’s observing, offensively, that perhaps Mr. Tallboy would prefer to toss with a pound-note. This flustered Mr. Tallboy. Brotherhood’s won the toss and elected to go in first. Mr. Tallboy, still flustered, arranged his field, forgetting in his agitation Mr. Hankin’s preference for mid-on and placing him at cover-point. By the time this error was remedied, it was discovered that Mr. Haagedorn had omitted to bring his wicket-keeper’s gloves, and a pair had to be borrowed from the pavilion. Mr. Tallboy then realized that he had put on his two fast bowlers together. He remedied this by recalling Mr. Wedderburn from the deep field to bowl his slow “spinners,” and dismissing Mr. Barrow in favour of Mr. Beeseley. This offended Mr. Barrow, who retired in dudgeon to the remotest part of the field and appeared to go to sleep.