“No,” said Father thoughtfully, “no. No more than one can imagine Mr. Justice Ludgrove being mixed-up with a bank holdup.”
Inspector Campbell looked at his superior officer curiously.
The expedition to Chadminster concluded with a short and unprofitable interview with Dr. Stokes.
Dr. Stokes was aggressive, uncooperative and rude.
“I’ve known the Wheelings quite a while. They’re by way of being neighbours of mine. They’d picked some old chap off the road. Didn’t know whether he was dead drunk, or ill. Asked me in to have a look. I told them he wasn’t drunk—that it was concussion—”
“And you treated him after that.”
“Not at all. I didn’t treat him, or prescribe for him or attend him. I’m not a doctor—I was once, but I’m not now—I told them what they ought to do was ring up the police. Whether they did or not I don’t know. Not my business. They’re a bit dumb, both of them—but kindly folk.”
“You didn’t think of ringing up the police yourself?”
“No, I did not. I’m not a doctor. Nothing to do with me. As a human being I told them not to pour whisky down his throat and keep him quiet and flat until the police came.”
He glared at them and, reluctantly, they had to leave it at that.
Chapter Nineteen
Mr. Hoffman was a big solid-looking man. He gave the appearance of being carved out of wood—preferably teak.
His face was so expressionless as to give rise to surmise—could such a man be capable of thinking—of feeling emotion? It seemed impossible.
His manner was highly correct.
He rose, bowed, and held out a wedge-like hand.
“Chief-Inspector Davy? It is some years since I had the pleasure—you may not even remember—”
“Oh yes I do, Mr. Hoffman. The Aaronberg Diamond Case. You were a witness for the Crown—a most excellent witness, let me say. The defence was quite unable to shake you.”
“I am not easily shaken,” said Mr. Hoffman gravely.
He did not look a man who would easily be shaken.
“What can I do for you?” he went on. “No trouble, I hope—I always want to agree well with the police. I have the greatest admiration for your superb police force.”
“Oh! There is no trouble. It is just that we wanted you to confirm a little information.”
“I shall be delighted to help you in any way I can. As I say, I have the highest opinion of your London Police Force. You have such a splendid class of men. So full of integrity, so fair, so just.”
“You’ll make me embarrassed,” said Father.
“I am at your service. What is it that you want to know?”
“I was just going to ask you to give me a little dope about Bertram’s Hotel.”
Mr. Hoffman’s face did not change. It was possible that his entire attitude became for a moment or two even more static than it had been before—that was all.
“Bertram’s Hotel?” he said. His voice was inquiring, slightly puzzled. It might have been that he had never heard of Bertram’s Hotel or that he could not quite remember whether he knew Bertram’s Hotel or not.
“You have a connection with it, have you not, Mr. Hoffman?”
Mr. Hoffman moved his shoulders.
“There are so many things,” he said. “One cannot remember them all. So much business—so much—it keeps me very busy.”
“You have your fingers in a lot of pies, I know that.”
“Yes.” Mr. Hoffman smiled a wooden smile. “I pull out many plums, that is what you think? And so you believe I have a connection with this—Bertram’s Hotel?”
“I shouldn’t have said a connection. As a matter of fact, you own it, don’t you?” said Father genially.
This time, Mr. Hoffman definitely did stiffen.
“Now who told you that, I wonder?” he said softly.
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” said Chief-Inspector Davy, cheerfully. “Very nice place to own, I should say. In fact, you must be quite proud of it.”
“Oh yes,” said Hoffman. “For the moment—I could not quite remember—you see—” he smiled deprecatingly—“I own quite a lot of property in London. It is a good investment—property. If something comes on the market in what I think is a good position, and there is a chance of snapping it up cheap, I invest.”
“And was Bertram’s Hotel going cheap?”
“As a running concern, it had gone down the hill,” said Mr. Hoffman, shaking his head.
“Well, it’s on its feet now,” said Father. “I was in there just the other day. I was very much struck with the atmosphere there. Nice old-fashioned clientele, comfortable, old-fashioned premises, nothing rackety about it, a lot of luxury without looking luxurious.”
“I know very little about it personally,” explained Mr. Hoffman. “It is just one of my investments—but I believe it is doing well.”
“Yes, you seem to have a first-class fellow running it. What is his name? Humfries? Yes, Humfries.”
“An excellent man,” said Mr. Hoffman. “I leave everything to him. I look at the balance sheet once a year to see that all is well.”
“The place was thick with titles,” said Father. “Rich travelling Americans too.” He shook his head thoughtfully. “Wonderful combination.”
“You say you were in there the other day?” Mr. Hoffman inquired. “Not—not officially, I hope?”
“Nothing serious. Just trying to clear up a little mystery.”
“A mystery? In Bertram’s Hotel?”
“So it seems. The Case of the Disappearing Clergyman, you might label it.”
“That is a joke,” Mr. Hoffman said. “That is your Sherlock Holmes language.”
“This clergyman walked out of the place one evening and was never seen again.”
“Peculiar,” said Mr. Hoffman, “but such things happen. I remember many, many years ago now, a great sensation. Colonel—now let me think of his name—Colonel Fergusson I think, one of the equerries of Queen Mary. He walked out of his club one night and he, too, was never seen again.”
“Of course,” said Father, with a sigh, “a lot of these disappearances are voluntary.”
“You know more about that than I do, my dear Chief-Inspector,” said Mr. Hoffman. He added, “I hope they gave you every assistance at Bertram’s Hotel?”
“They couldn’t have been nicer,” Father assured him. “That Miss Gorringe, she has been with you some time, I believe?”
“Possibly. I really know so very little about it. I take no personal interest, you understand. In fact—” he smiled disarmingly—“I was surprised that you even knew it belonged to me.”
It was not quite a question; but once more there was a slight uneasiness in his eyes. Father noted it without seeming to.
“The ramifications that go on in the City are like a gigantic jigsaw,” he said. “It would make my head ache if I had to deal with that side of things. I gather that a company—Mayfair Holding Trust or some name like that—is the registered owner. They’re owned by another company and so on and so on. The real truth of the matter is that it belongs to you. Simple as that. I’m right, aren’t I?”
“I and my fellow directors are what I dare say you’d call behind it, yes,” admitted Mr. Hoffman rather reluctantly.
“Your fellow directors. And who might they be? Yourself and, I believe, a brother of yours?”
“My brother Wilhelm is associated with me in this venture. You must understand that Bertram’s is only a part of a chain of various hotels, offices, clubs and other London properties.”
“Any other directors?”
“Lord Pomfret, Abel Isaacstein.” Hoffman’s voice was suddenly edged. “Do you really need to know all these things? Just because you are looking into the Case of the Disappearing Clergyman?”
Father shook his head and looked apologetic.
“I suppose it’s really curiosity. Looking for my disappearing clergyman was what took me to Bertram
’s, but then I got—well, interested if you understand what I mean. One thing leads to another sometimes, doesn’t it?”
“I suppose that could be so, yes. And now?” He smiled. “Your curiosity is satisfied?”
“Nothing like coming to the horse’s mouth when you want information, is there?” said Father, genially. He rose to his feet. “There’s only one thing I’d really like to know—and I don’t suppose you’ll tell me that.”
“Yes, Chief-Inspector?” Hoffman’s voice was wary.
“Where do Bertram’s get hold of their staff? Wonderful! That fellow what’s-his-name—Henry. The one that looks like an Archduke or an Archbishop, I’m not sure which. Anyway, he serves you tea and muffins—most wonderful muffins! An unforgettable experience.”
“You like muffins with much butter, yes?” Mr. Hoffman’s eyes rested for a moment on the rotundity of Father’s figure with disapprobation.
“I expect you can see I do,” said Father. “Well, I mustn’t be keeping you. I expect you’re pretty busy taking over take-over bids, or something like that.”