"For the last time, I don't know anyone named Ashley-Pitt!" Jasper
Connaught passed a weary hand over his brow. "And the first time I heard
of Ches Watters was when two police constables came looking for you. Now
please leave me alone!"
Elliott Marston leaned back in the banker's comfortable leather chair and stared at his reluctant host. Maybe it was the lateness of the hour or the pathetic spectacle of the old man cowering under the blankets with his nightcap askew. But whatever the reason, Marston was aware of an uncomfortable feeling.
He believed the banker was telling the truth.
And that was very inconvenient right at the moment because a banker who was telling the truth was also a banker who could not be blackmailed into remaining silent about this nocturnal visit. The situation required an inordinate amount of tact and diplomacy if not outright emotional manipulation.
"Jasper, we've been friends and associates for many years." He assumed a hurt expression calculated to appeal to the hardest conscience. "I realize these are unorthodox methods but can you blame me after our last meeting?"
"No, I can't." Connaught flushed and looked down at his hands, plucking nervously at the coverlet. "I told you then I had no choice. And I still don't."
"Why don't you? Tell me about it. Maybe I can help." He thought about Melvin Collins and Niall standing outside in the rain for the past hour but shoved the image aside ruthlessly; the chance to discover some small part of the truth might not come again.
"You can't! For God's sake Elliott, do you think I turned you over to the police for some whimsical reason?" The banker closed his eyes and rocked back and forth in the bed. "The day after the police came to me asking questions about you, after this Watters was shot, I received a note in a hand I did not recognize. It said that I should be more co-operative with the police in the pursuit of justice. Otherwise I would suffer. That was all."
Marston regarded him with an unblinking stare. "No explanation of how you would sufferer?"
"No. But the next day three men - major customers - all came to me saying they'd heard that the First Commercial was in trouble and they might want to consider pulling their money out. They had heard the rumour from different sources. I managed to reassure them. But other men came to me in the following days." Connaught smiled bleakly. "Had even half of them acted and withdrawn their funds, I would have been finished. After three days of fighting these brushfires, I received another note from the same person asking me if I was now willing to co-operate."
Marston said nothing. The idea that he had such a powerful enemy was a sobering one.
"Well, I won't deny it, I was convinced. When you came to see me that day, I sent a messenger to the police while you were in my office. My clerk was instructed to make sure they'd wait in the street." Connaught hesitated. "You must believe me, Elliott, I hoped you'd get away before they came. And I couldn't be upset when that bandit tried to rob the bank because it allowed you to get away. That was good luck for you."
"Well, that's one way to describe it." Marston smiled in remembrance. "Have you received any more messages from your mysterious correspondent?"
"No." The banker sank back on his pillows. The memory and confession seemed to exhaust him. "And there have been no more customers coming to me about withdrawing their money. I thought the whole nightmare was behind me, until your visit tonight."
Marston sighed. It seemed that his efforts to solve this puzzle simply resulted in even more convolutions. He could see no alternative but to approach Ashley-Pitt directly and question him.
***
"Mr. Collins, I think we should go in and help Elliott." Niall managed to infuse the suggestion with so much enthusiasm that it sounded like the first time he'd proposed it rather than the ninth.
"I don't think so, Niall." Collins had lost his tolerance for enthusiasm some time ago. "We don't know the house and would only get lost in the dark. We'll stay right here."
"Well, I'm cold and the rain won't stop." The boy fidgeted restlessly. "And I want to know what's going on."
"That," said a grim voice out of the darkness. "Is exactly what I want to know, too."
Elliott Marston leaned back in the banker's comfortable leather chair and stared at his reluctant host. Maybe it was the lateness of the hour or the pathetic spectacle of the old man cowering under the blankets with his nightcap askew. But whatever the reason, Marston was aware of an uncomfortable feeling.
He believed the banker was telling the truth.
And that was very inconvenient right at the moment because a banker who was telling the truth was also a banker who could not be blackmailed into remaining silent about this nocturnal visit. The situation required an inordinate amount of tact and diplomacy if not outright emotional manipulation.
"Jasper, we've been friends and associates for many years." He assumed a hurt expression calculated to appeal to the hardest conscience. "I realize these are unorthodox methods but can you blame me after our last meeting?"
"No, I can't." Connaught flushed and looked down at his hands, plucking nervously at the coverlet. "I told you then I had no choice. And I still don't."
"Why don't you? Tell me about it. Maybe I can help." He thought about Melvin Collins and Niall standing outside in the rain for the past hour but shoved the image aside ruthlessly; the chance to discover some small part of the truth might not come again.
"You can't! For God's sake Elliott, do you think I turned you over to the police for some whimsical reason?" The banker closed his eyes and rocked back and forth in the bed. "The day after the police came to me asking questions about you, after this Watters was shot, I received a note in a hand I did not recognize. It said that I should be more co-operative with the police in the pursuit of justice. Otherwise I would suffer. That was all."
Marston regarded him with an unblinking stare. "No explanation of how you would sufferer?"
"No. But the next day three men - major customers - all came to me saying they'd heard that the First Commercial was in trouble and they might want to consider pulling their money out. They had heard the rumour from different sources. I managed to reassure them. But other men came to me in the following days." Connaught smiled bleakly. "Had even half of them acted and withdrawn their funds, I would have been finished. After three days of fighting these brushfires, I received another note from the same person asking me if I was now willing to co-operate."
Marston said nothing. The idea that he had such a powerful enemy was a sobering one.
"Well, I won't deny it, I was convinced. When you came to see me that day, I sent a messenger to the police while you were in my office. My clerk was instructed to make sure they'd wait in the street." Connaught hesitated. "You must believe me, Elliott, I hoped you'd get away before they came. And I couldn't be upset when that bandit tried to rob the bank because it allowed you to get away. That was good luck for you."
"Well, that's one way to describe it." Marston smiled in remembrance. "Have you received any more messages from your mysterious correspondent?"
"No." The banker sank back on his pillows. The memory and confession seemed to exhaust him. "And there have been no more customers coming to me about withdrawing their money. I thought the whole nightmare was behind me, until your visit tonight."
Marston sighed. It seemed that his efforts to solve this puzzle simply resulted in even more convolutions. He could see no alternative but to approach Ashley-Pitt directly and question him.
***
"Mr. Collins, I think we should go in and help Elliott." Niall managed to infuse the suggestion with so much enthusiasm that it sounded like the first time he'd proposed it rather than the ninth.
"I don't think so, Niall." Collins had lost his tolerance for enthusiasm some time ago. "We don't know the house and would only get lost in the dark. We'll stay right here."
"Well, I'm cold and the rain won't stop." The boy fidgeted restlessly. "And I want to know what's going on."
"That," said a grim voice out of the darkness. "Is exactly what I want to know, too."