Authors: Charlotte MacLeod
“What kind of chances?”
“That’s rather hard to say. So far, we know of one person who was snatched up in a net while participating in an owl count and returned to the ground stabbed to death. Another is here in the Clavaton Hospital with multiple injuries, including a skull fracture. A third has been kidnapped twice so far and left tied to a tree both times, once in the woods along a lonely stretch of road and once near the parking lot at the Balaclava College Field Station. I myself was abducted yesterday afternoon and imprisoned on a tugboat. Subsequently, an attempt was made to drown me along with Professor Shandy and Dr. Svenson, the college president. There have been other incidents of a less violent nature which I shan’t go into just now.”
“But why?”
“That’s another thing I won’t go into just now. However, we have a very good idea why and also who’s responsible. Mr. Sopwith is going to tell us a lot more. Aren’t you, Mr. Sopwith?”
It was an order, not a question; but Mr. Sopwith’s lips stayed buttoned.
“Ah,” said Winifred, “then it appears that Mr. Sopwith is going to wait for the police to interview him officially. Will they do it here in the presence of us all, or do they haul him off to their grilling room? What is the usual procedure, Mr. Debenham?”
“A very good question, Miss Binks. My practice, as you know, has always been in civil law; however, I can easily find out. Miss Ledbetter, perhaps you would be so obliging as to get the Clavaton police headquarters on the telephone. Explain to them that we have someone here who has attempted to commit suicide by hurling himself down an air shaft in order to escape facing possible criminal charges.”
“You also have someone who’s deliberately and willfully smashed in a door,” Winifred added with a hint of a twinkle. “Both guilty parties must face the due punishment for our malefactions, must we not, Mr. Sopwith? How would it be if, rather than waiting here for the ax to fall, we simply strolled over to the police station and turned ourselves in? That would save the bank a good deal of embarrassment and perchance induce the arm of the law to rest upon us a trifle less harshly. What do you think, Mr. Sopwith?”
“Miss Ledbetter, get me my lawyer.”
“Excuse me,” said the secretary, “but now I’m all confused. Which do you want first: the stockbroker, the police, or the lawyer?”
“Forget the stockbroker,” said Peter. “You know perfectly well your boss never gave any order to sell those shares. Mr. Debenham can arrange the sale as soon as Miss Binks has chosen a new trust officer. I’d suggest you get hold of the lawyer while Mr. Sopwith’s putting his coat on. Ask him to meet us at the police station. You’re coming too, of course.”
“Me? What for?”
“As a witness to my act of vandalism,” Winifred told her. “And to Mr. Sopwith’s asthma attack. Please let’s not shilly-shally, Miss Ledbetter. We’ll all feel much better if we simply do what we must and get it over with.”
The secretary licked her lips. “You said somebody got killed. Who was it?”
“We don’t quite know. He called himself Emory Emmerick and claimed to be a site engineer for the Meadowsweet Construction Company, but they say they’ve never heard of him. I’m surprised you didn’t read about the incident in the papers.”
“Oh. Yes, I—I guess I did read something about that. But I didn’t realize—I thought it was just—I’ll get my coat on. Unless you’d rather I called the police, Mr. Sopwith?”
“No! Don’t call them.” Sopwith clambered wearily to his feet and slumped into his swivel chair. “Don’t call anybody. I’ll talk.”
He took another sip out of the pencil mug, shuddering at the bite of the brandy. He sighed. He rubbed his hands over his face, he took out a handkerchief and mopped his eyes. They waited. At last he brought himself to speak.
“Miss Binks, I owe you an apology.”
“Go on.”
“First, I want you to know that there has been no embezzlement from the Binks Trust. When you check our books, you’ll find they balance to the penny. I may have been a rotter, but I am not a thief.”
“That’s something, at any rate. Do get to the point, Mr. Sopwith.”
He heaved the grandfather of all sighs, and he went on. “It’s about Lackovites. I—have not been entirely straightforward with you on that account.” He licked his lips. “What I told you on Saturday was true enough, up to a point. They have in fact shot forward very quickly, they’ve opened up a vast new consumer market for natural food products. We must not overlook their contribution to the cause of better nutrition, Miss Binks.”
“What is there to overlook, Mr. Sopwith?”
“Er—yes. That’s the problem.” Sopwith chewed on his lower lip as if to test its value to the cause of better nutrition. “Their products in some cases have not been—ah—all that might be desired. As a result, certain—ah—difficulties have arisen. Sales have fallen off, customer dissatisfaction is—ah—rife. So far, the company has managed to maintain its facade of prosperity through—ah—aggressive advertising and possibly a little—ah—creative accounting.”
“You mean cooking the books?” said Peter.
“Well—ah—that term is not generally used in banking circles. In any event, certain government agencies have begun to—ah—take an interest. Next quarter’s earnings will inevitably reflect a sharp loss; this cannot but affect adversely the market value of Lackovites stock. Therefore, company executives have hit upon the expedient of taking over the respectable and well-established Golden Apples Company. They had, for your information, already been mulling over the possibility of a takeover for some time, the idea being that Golden Apples’s impeccable reputation for quality and service would have a—um—purifying effect on the somewhat tarnished Lackovites image.”
“Yes, we know that,” Winifred told him impatiently.
“You do?”
“I did mention that we know a good deal, Mr. Sopwith. However, I suppose your confirmation is useful. Please continue.”
Sopwith cleared his throat. “Being aggressive, not to say impetuous, in their policies, the Lackovites people wanted to take action as soon as the plan was conceived. However, the fact that your grandfather held the controlling interest in Golden Apples and was—ah—not available for negotiation made this impossible, unless the trust officers for the Binks estate could be bribed or coerced into acting on their behalf. My predecessor being a man of utmost probity and Mr. Debenham being a shrewd and incorruptible guardian of both the founder’s and the prospective heiress’s interests, this avenue was not open to them. So they waited.”
“Until Grandfather was pronounced dead.”
“And my predecessor, Mr. Allerton, retired. In point of fact, I’d just taken over the Binks Trust a few weeks previously when Mr. Binks was pronounced—ah—officially deceased. If Allerton had known how soon that was going to happen, the old coot would have stayed on and I’d never had got the chance,” Sopwith interjected with some bitterness.
“Anyway, the Lackovites people now felt that their time had come, particularly when it became known that the heir to the trust was a spinster lady of—forgive me—eccentric habits and no business experience. Your impressive donation of land and money to Balaclava Agricultural College, Miss Binks, was seen by them as an act of reckless fiscal irresponsibility, which of course was just what they’d been hoping for; and your—ah—environmental proclivities appeared to offer the perfect opening wedge. I was, as one might say, approached.”
“By whom?” Winifred demanded.
“Ah—I am not prepared to divulge that information.”
“Why not? Come now, Mr. Sopwith, I may be eccentric but I’m not stupid. It’s either us or the police.”
“Well—ah—the fact is, I never did learn her name. She said just call her Toots, so I—ah—did.”
“Indeed? And where did you meet this Toots? Here in Clavaton?”
“Heavens no! I was in Boston. On—ah—business. I’d dropped in at a—um—restaurant.”
“I assume you mean a saloon or gin mill. So she gave you the glad eye?”
“Ah—I suppose you could call it that. She made an overture.”
“To which you responded without hesitation, one gathers?”
“After the tensions of the day, I was—ah—trying to unwind.”
Meaning he was drunk but not yet incapable, Peter deduced. “Can you describe this Toots?” he asked.
“Well—ah—she was—um—”
“Was she indeed? I suppose with a wig and—er—padding and so forth, she could have made herself up to look like just about anything. You’re quite sure Toots was in fact a woman?”
“Quite sure.” For a fleeting instant, Sopwith looked smug as a cat in a cream jug. “Oh yes, quite sure.”
“Did you subsequently get to know Toots better?”
“Ah—er—yes and no. That is to say, I regret for your sakes that I never did manage to learn her true identity. Anyway, she and I—ah—fell into conversation. When she got around to asking me what I did, I—ah—told her. I realized later that she must have known all along and had actually been—ah—stalking me. I felt, since I may as well confess the full extent of my folly, somewhat flattered.”
“OTHER MEN HAVE FELT
so before you, no doubt,” said Peter. “So this latter-day Mata Hari got you to admit that you were the trust officer for Miss Binks. Then what?”
“We exchanged a few inconsequentialities about the Binks saga, as she chose to call it. Then she, no doubt disingenuously, revealed that she was a close friend of one of the executives at Lackovites. She had, she said, learned through him that the company was—ah—eager to acquire a controlling interest in Golden Apples.”
“In other words, planning a hostile takeover?”
“Ah—quite. Toots intimated that it could be lucrative for me, in my position as trust officer, to induce Miss Binks to sever her connection with Golden Apples. A willing buyer would come forward as soon as she agreed to sell. This person, needless to say, would be merely a straw man. Her equity would immediately be transferred to Lackovites, the subterfuge having been rendered necessary by the Compotes’ expressed refusal to have any dealings whatsoever with their competitor.”
“As well they might,” said Winifred. “I have the highest opinion of the Compotes and am glad to hear it thus confirmed. Did Toots’s friend have any further plans for my money?”
“I was to persuade you to invest the profits from the Golden Apples sale in Lackovites, and to make additional stock purchases out of your trust. The Lackovites people would thus get back the money they’d used to buy you out, and your further investments—heavy, it was hoped—would help to counteract the—er—dumping of shares by present disillusioned holders, which is accelerating at a dangerous rate. This would also buy them time to polish their corporate image through a massive public-relations campaign built around their acquisition of Golden Apples.”
“How philanthropic of me.”
“Oh, but your interests were being taken into consideration, Miss Binks. Golden Apples had made no substantial gain in its earnings, as you know, whereas Lackovites stock would have gone straight through the ceiling as soon as the deal was consummated. You stood, in short, to make a bundle. It—ah—seemed reasonable enough at the time.”
“Did it indeed? Was it Toots who unveiled this ingenious plan to you?”
“No, I believe her role was chiefly to—ah—capture my interest. The details of the plan were spelled out in separate conversations, first with a junior vice-president of Lackovites whose name was Emory, later with a senior vice-president, Mr. Dewey.”
Peter and Winifred exchanged glances. “Not George Dewey, by any chance?” Peter asked. “Fellow about my height and build, with a beard and mustache?”
“Why yes, that’s the man. He was even dressed like you, come to think of it. Do you know him?”
“I believe Miss Binks and I may have met both of them. Was Emory a blondish, talkative, glad-hander type? Clean-shaven, snappy dresser, younger than Dewey? Very helpful about telling you what to do and how to do it?”
“That’s right. Somewhat too breezy in his manner and not always clear in his explanations. He almost turned me off the deal, I have to say; he really didn’t impress me as the sort of person I’d feel comfortable doing business with. Mr. Dewey was quite different: older, more responsible, low-key in his approach but fully in command of his facts. I was impressed by Mr. Dewey. He had me fully convinced that the arrangement would be to nobody’s detriment and everyone’s benefit.”
“He’s a persuasive fellow,” said Peter. “And what was to be your share of the benefits?”
“Professor Shandy, I sincerely hope you don’t think I would have been so venal as to accept a bribe?” Now that he’d abased himself, Sopwith was making a pathetic effort to climb back up on his high horse. “I was to receive a hundred shares of Lackovites stock as soon as I’d achieved the sale of Miss Binks’s interest in Golden Apples, a second hundred once the purchase money had been converted back into Lackovites shares and resold to Miss Binks. Further emoluments of a similar nature would depend on the extent of future stock purchases by the Binks Trust. In other words, I’d be getting merely the equivalent of a salesman’s commission. At least that’s how Mr. Dewey put it to me,” Sopwith added less bombastically once he’d seen the looks on his hearers’ faces.
“As of now, however, you’ve received nothing at all?” said Winifred.
“Nothing at all,” Sopwith replied sadly. “Merely a gentleman’s agreement with Mr. Dewey.”
“I see. Then my telling you to get rid of my Lackovites stock and turn over the proceeds to Golden Apples must have come as a serious blow.”
“It did.”
“And your otherwise inexplicable procrastination about obeying my orders was in fact your attempt to avoid breaking this potentially lucrative gentleman’s agreement.”
“Ah—um—”
“But you realized just now that it wasn’t going to work, and that’s why you tried to hurl yourself down the air shaft.”
“No, he didn’t.”
Miss Ledbetter hadn’t spoken for quite a while, the others were a bit startled to be reminded that she was still standing in the doorway. “What he did was, he remembered. Mr. Allerton, who used to have this office, was an Eagle Scout.”
“I see,” said Peter. “That explains everything.”