Chapter 17 Chapter Seventeen

Chief Ronald Groves drew a cat on his blotting paper.He looked at Chief Inspector David, who was sitting across from him, tall and fat, and drew another bulldog. "Ladislas Malinowski?" he said. "Possibly. Any evidence?" "No. He's just the right guy, isn't he?" "A daredevil. Don't know what nerves are. World champion. Crashed badly a year ago. Bad reputation with women. Questionable source of income. Spending money at home and abroad. Travels a lot between here and the mainland. Do you think he is behind these organized robberies?" "I don't think he's the organizer. But I think he's with them."

"why?" "For one thing, he was driving an Otto, a racing model. Someone saw a car like that around Bedhampton on the morning of the mail robbery. Different plates—but we're used to it. This is the case. Same noticeable--not the same, not much different. FAN 2299 instead of 2266. Not many people drive this type of Mercedes-Otto. Mrs. Sedgwick and Young Lord Merrillville had one of each." "You don't think Malinowski did that on purpose?" "No, I think there's someone smarter than him up there, but he's definitely involved. I went over the old files again, and I'll take the Highway robberies in the Midlands and west London: three passenger cars. A van happened—just happened—to block that street. An Otto sedan at the scene went too far because of the blockage."

"It was intercepted again later." "Right. Checked and found nothing wrong. Especially the witnesses were not sure about the correct number. We were told it was FAM3366 - Malinowski's registration number is FAN2266 - the exact same scene again .” "You insisted on investigating this matter from the Bertram Hotel, and they obtained some materials about Bertram for you..." "Daddy" patted his pocket. "Here it is. Legally registered company. Income and expenses, fully paid up, directors, etc., etc. Doesn't make any sense! These financial reports are all the same - just a swarm of snakes biting each other That's it! Company, running a company--fooling my head!"

"Come on, 'Father.' That's just one way they do it in the City of London. Must have something to do with taxes." "What I want is really reliable information. If you write me a note, sir, I want to see a big man." The Assistant Chief of Police stared at him. "What do you mean by big shot?" "Papa" said a name. The Assistant Chief of Police looked disturbed. "I don't know. I think we're almost afraid to approach him." "That could be very helpful." silence.Both are looking at each other. "Pop" looked dull, peaceful and patient.The Assistant Chief of Police relented.

"You're a stubborn old devil, Fred," he said. "Do it your way. Go bother the elite behind the international capitalists of Europe." "He'll know," said Chief Inspector Davy. "He'll know. If he doesn't know, he'll just press a button on his desk or make a phone call to find out." "I don't know if he'd like it." "Probably not," said Father, "but it won't take much of his time. And I have power behind me." "Are you really serious about this place, Bertram's Hotel? But what else do you want to know? It's well run, has a respectable clientele--and doesn't break the liquor laws."

"I know, I know. No booze, no drugs, no gambling, no housing for criminals. Pure as snow. No hippies, no thugs, no delinquents. Just staid Victorian-Edwardian crones, there Gentleman's family, tourists from Boston and other more respectable parts of America. Even so, a respectable Reverend Canon was seen leaving it somewhat furtively at three o'clock in the morning..." "Who saw it?" "An old lady." "How did she see him. Why wasn't she in bed?" "Older women do that, sir." "You're not talking about—what's his name—Canon Pennyfather?"

"Yes, sir. He has been reported missing and Campbell is investigating." "Funny coincidence - his name happens to be associated with the postal van robbery in Bedhampton." "Really? How is it connected, sir?" "Another elderly woman - or just middle age. When the train was held up by a manipulative signal, many people woke up and looked in the passage. This woman - she lived in Chadminster, see Canon Pennyfather—said she saw him enter the train through a door. She thought he went out and saw something and came back. Since he was reported missing, we intend to investigate further..."

"Let's think about it again... the train was stopped at five-thirty in the morning, and Canon Pennyfather left Bertram's Hotel at one past three, yes, it could be done if he went by--well-- A racing car..." "And so we are back to Ladislas Malinowski!" The Assistant Chief of Police looked at his scribbles on blotting paper. "You're a bulldog Fred," he said. Half an hour later Chief Inspector Davy entered a quiet but rather shabby office. The tall man sitting behind the desk stood up and held out a hand. "Chief Inspector Davy? Sit down," he said. "Would you like a cigarette?"

Chief Inspector Davy shook his head. "I wasted your precious time," he said, in a deep country voice, "I'm sorry." Mr. Robinson smiled.He was fat, but well dressed.He had a sallow complexion, with dark, melancholy eyes, and a large, generous mouth.From time to time he smiled and showed his oversized teeth. "That's a good eater with big teeth," thought Chief Inspector Davy irrelevantly.He spoke excellent English without an accent, but he was not British. "Poppa" wondered, as many others wondered in his presence, what was Mr. Robinson's real nationality?

"Well, what can I do for you?" "I should like to know," said Chief Inspector Davy, "who owns Bertram's Hotel?" The expression on Mr. Robinson's face did not change.Hearing the name expressed neither surprise nor approval.He said thoughtfully: "You want to know who owns Bertram's Hotel. That, I think, is in Bond Street, beyond Piccadilly." "Exactly, sir." "Sometimes, I've lived there myself. A very quiet place. Well run." "Yes," said "Father," "it's doing very well." "You want to know who owns it? Surely it's easy to find out?"

There was a hint of sarcasm behind his smile. "You mean through the usual channels? Oh, that's right," "Father" took out a small piece of paper from his pocket, and read out three or four names and addresses. "I see," said Mr. Robinson, "somebody took a lot of trouble. It was funny. So you came to me?" "If anyone knows, you do, sir." "I don't actually know. But it's true that I have ways of getting information. People have—" He shrugged his broad, thick shoulders—"people have informants." "Yes, sir." "Father" said indifferently. Mr. Robinson looked at him, then picked up the phone on the desk. "Sonia, get me Carlos." He waited for a minute or two before asking, "Carlos?" He said five or six sentences quickly in a foreign language. Daddy couldn't even make out what language it was. "Papa" can converse in good British French, has a half-knowledge of Italian, and can guess the meaning of the traveler's clear German; although he can't understand it, he can recognize Spanish and Russian from the pronunciation , or Arabic.This language is neither of those.He guessed with some uncertainty that it might be Turkish or Persian or Armenian, but even then he couldn't be sure.Mr. Robinson put down the microphone. "I don't think," he said cheerfully, "we won't have long to wait. You know, I'm interested, very interested, and sometimes I wonder—" "Father" looked puzzled. "About Bertram's Hotel," said Mr. Robinson, "you know, people wonder how it's affordable financially. It's never had anything to do with me, though. People appreciate—" He shrugged." —comfortable hotel with exceptionally talented staff... yes, I find it odd." He looked at Papa. "Do you know how and why?" "Don't know yet," said "Pop," "but I want to know." "There are a few possibilities," said Mr. Robinson, still lost in thought, "you know, it's like music. There are only so many notes in an octave, but one can—how should I say it—in terms of millions of notes? Putting them together in different ways. One musician said to me once that you can’t get the exact same melody twice. Very interesting.” There was a slight hum on the table, and he picked up the phone again. "Hello? Yes, you're just in time. I'm glad. I see. Oh! Amsterdam, well... ah... thank you... ok. Can you spell it? Very good." He was scribbling quickly on the note pad that was handy. "I hope this helps you," he said, tearing off the paper and passing it across the table to "Papa." "Father" read the name on it aloud: "William Hoffman." "Swiss," said Mr. Robinson, "but not born in Switzerland, I suppose. Very influential in the banking world, and although he has always followed the law, he has done a great deal of—doubtful transactions. He only operates on the Continent, and Not in this country." "Oh." "But he has a brother," said Mr. Robinson, "Robert Hoffman. Lives in London. . . a diamond merchant--pleasant trade. . . . His wife is Dutch. . . . He also has an office in Amsterdam-- —Your people should know him. As I said, he was mainly in the diamond business, but he was very rich and owned many properties, usually not in his own name. Yes, he controlled a lot of businesses. He and his brother were The real owner of Bertram's Hotel." "Thank you, sir," said Chief Inspector Davy, rising, "I need not say how much I am grateful to you. It is very kind," he added, with more earnestness than usual. "Don't you tell me I should know your gratitude too?" asked Mr. Robinson, smiling more cheerfully. "But it's one of my specialties. Intelligence. I like to know. That's why you came to me, isn't it?" "Well," said Chief Inspector Davy, "we do know about you. Home Office, Secret Service, etc.," he added, almost naively, "I'm a little nervous about coming to you." Mr. Robinson laughed again. "I find you very interesting, Chief Inspector Davy," he said, "and I wish you success in whatever you're doing." "Thank you, sir. I think I need your blessing. By the way, these brothers, do you think they are very violent people?" "Of course not," said Mr. Robinson, "that's quite against their code. The Hoffman Brothers don't use violence in their business affairs. They have other means to achieve their ends better. I think their fortunes come back every year." It's been growing steadily year after year, or so my intelligence from the Swiss banking world says." "That's a really useful place, Switzerland," said Chief Inspector Davy. "Yes, indeed. I don't know how we would all do without it! Such integrity and honesty. What a business sense! Yes, we business people must be grateful to Switzerland. Myself," he added , "I think highly of Amsterdam, too." He looked at David seriously, then smiled again, and the Chief Inspector took his leave. Back at headquarters again, he found a note addressed to him. Canon Pennyfather appeared - safe but unharmed.Looks like he got hit by a car in Milton St. John and got a concussion.