Jasper Connaught frowned. "This is most irregular, you understand."
"I understand." Elliott Marston leaned back in his chair and blew smoke at the ceiling. It was never wise to hurry a banker. "More brandy?"
"If it were anyone else, I would not consider the request for a moment. But coming from you." The older man shook his head, reinforcing the fact that he was acting against the accumulated financial instincts of a lifetime, and shuffled the papers in front of him. "Oh, yes, thank you. Just a spot, please."
"Believe me, I appreciate your making an exception." Marston poured a generous amount into the other's glass. "But sometimes a man has to gamble a little to win a lot."
Connaught sniffed. Marston smiled. A less likely gambler than the president of the First Commercial Bank of Western Australia could not be imagined. The man was all angles and sharp points as his elbows and knees poked out of the chair. The candlelight reflected off his spectacles as he adjusted them with long bony fingers.
"I made a cursory search of our bank's records after we spoke this afternoon. Sam Flanagan does have an account with us, going back about fourteen years." Connaught shifted in his chair and reached for his glass. "We would not normally do business with a man in his, er, profession, but there were personal considerations involved."
"What kind of 'personal considerations' do you mean?"
"Fifteen years ago, we were plagued by a series of robberies. Deliveries of gold were intercepted no matter how often we varied the schedules. Obviously they had help from someone inside the bank with access to sensitive information. We hired Flanagan to find the malefactors."
Connaught sipped his brandy. "He did an excellent job. Within a month the crime ring had been broken and the felons were behind bars."
"And the gunslinger was accepted as a customer of the most exclusive bank in Western Australia."
"Not only that. He was accepted by many businessmen who hired him to advise them on security matters. Overnight his shady past was forgotten."
"Most affecting. Sounds like a fairy tale ending." Marston sipped his whiskey.
"Oh, not entirely. Game poachers turned wardens are rarely popular with their former colleagues. Flanagan became the target of a great deal of animosity."
"Interesting." Marston leaned forward in his chair and refilled the banker's glass. "Were there attempts on his life?"
"Several. All unsuccessful. He kept a low profile, moved around a fair bit, made it hard for people to find him." Connaught smiled his appreciation and lifted the snifter to his nose. "Very nice, Elliott. No price too high for good quality."
"I quite agree." Marston watched his guest closely. It was always a chancy thing, giving a man enough brandy to loosen his tongue but not enough to put him to sleep. "Obviously no one found him since he's still alive today."
"Found who?" Connaught blinked owlishly.
"Flanagan." Marston eyed the brandy. Had he miscalculated?
"Oh, him." The banker frowned in remembrance. "No, no one found him. He outlived most of them. Not a long-term career, being a criminal in this country. Good thing for Flanagan. Started a family once he could make an honest living."
"Really? Who would marry a gunslinger, even one who gave up the profession?" Marston raised his voice to make sure it penetrated the alcoholic fog.
"I never met her, of course. We didn't mix socially." For the banker, this was high wit. He giggled slightly. "She was a widow, quite young. They had two children at least, maybe more. Boys, I think. She died a few years ago. Saw the notice in the paper."
"Had he been married before?" Marston lifted the decanter to examine the remainder. He kept his voice carefully neutral.
"Not that I know of." Connaught waved a hand in the air. "Course, no way to tell what he did before he came here. From Sydney, you know."
Marston's shoulders sagged as the tension eased. "I didn't know that." That might explain why the major didn't know about Sam.
"No reason why you should. None of your weesbax." The banker giggled sleepily. "I mean beeswax." He slumped back in his chair and closed his eyes. His breathing became regular and his fingers opened, dropping the snifter to the floor.
Marston sat back in his chair and stared at his guest. It was a start, but there was a great deal more information he needed before he could put his plan into effect.
"I understand." Elliott Marston leaned back in his chair and blew smoke at the ceiling. It was never wise to hurry a banker. "More brandy?"
"If it were anyone else, I would not consider the request for a moment. But coming from you." The older man shook his head, reinforcing the fact that he was acting against the accumulated financial instincts of a lifetime, and shuffled the papers in front of him. "Oh, yes, thank you. Just a spot, please."
"Believe me, I appreciate your making an exception." Marston poured a generous amount into the other's glass. "But sometimes a man has to gamble a little to win a lot."
Connaught sniffed. Marston smiled. A less likely gambler than the president of the First Commercial Bank of Western Australia could not be imagined. The man was all angles and sharp points as his elbows and knees poked out of the chair. The candlelight reflected off his spectacles as he adjusted them with long bony fingers.
"I made a cursory search of our bank's records after we spoke this afternoon. Sam Flanagan does have an account with us, going back about fourteen years." Connaught shifted in his chair and reached for his glass. "We would not normally do business with a man in his, er, profession, but there were personal considerations involved."
"What kind of 'personal considerations' do you mean?"
"Fifteen years ago, we were plagued by a series of robberies. Deliveries of gold were intercepted no matter how often we varied the schedules. Obviously they had help from someone inside the bank with access to sensitive information. We hired Flanagan to find the malefactors."
Connaught sipped his brandy. "He did an excellent job. Within a month the crime ring had been broken and the felons were behind bars."
"And the gunslinger was accepted as a customer of the most exclusive bank in Western Australia."
"Not only that. He was accepted by many businessmen who hired him to advise them on security matters. Overnight his shady past was forgotten."
"Most affecting. Sounds like a fairy tale ending." Marston sipped his whiskey.
"Oh, not entirely. Game poachers turned wardens are rarely popular with their former colleagues. Flanagan became the target of a great deal of animosity."
"Interesting." Marston leaned forward in his chair and refilled the banker's glass. "Were there attempts on his life?"
"Several. All unsuccessful. He kept a low profile, moved around a fair bit, made it hard for people to find him." Connaught smiled his appreciation and lifted the snifter to his nose. "Very nice, Elliott. No price too high for good quality."
"I quite agree." Marston watched his guest closely. It was always a chancy thing, giving a man enough brandy to loosen his tongue but not enough to put him to sleep. "Obviously no one found him since he's still alive today."
"Found who?" Connaught blinked owlishly.
"Flanagan." Marston eyed the brandy. Had he miscalculated?
"Oh, him." The banker frowned in remembrance. "No, no one found him. He outlived most of them. Not a long-term career, being a criminal in this country. Good thing for Flanagan. Started a family once he could make an honest living."
"Really? Who would marry a gunslinger, even one who gave up the profession?" Marston raised his voice to make sure it penetrated the alcoholic fog.
"I never met her, of course. We didn't mix socially." For the banker, this was high wit. He giggled slightly. "She was a widow, quite young. They had two children at least, maybe more. Boys, I think. She died a few years ago. Saw the notice in the paper."
"Had he been married before?" Marston lifted the decanter to examine the remainder. He kept his voice carefully neutral.
"Not that I know of." Connaught waved a hand in the air. "Course, no way to tell what he did before he came here. From Sydney, you know."
Marston's shoulders sagged as the tension eased. "I didn't know that." That might explain why the major didn't know about Sam.
"No reason why you should. None of your weesbax." The banker giggled sleepily. "I mean beeswax." He slumped back in his chair and closed his eyes. His breathing became regular and his fingers opened, dropping the snifter to the floor.
Marston sat back in his chair and stared at his guest. It was a start, but there was a great deal more information he needed before he could put his plan into effect.