The banker was right, of course, but Holmes wasn't going to let him know it. 'Sir, what I, as a layman, think about such matters may be a far cry from what you, an expert, know.'
Hananish had to retreat in the face of this statement. 'Of course. Of course. Do forgive me.'
Holmes did not abandon the stern look he had adopted, and as the financier rushed ahead, apologetically, I thought,
'Perhaps I'd better go over the entire matter,' Hananish suggested, and Holmes indicated that this would be acceptable.
'Chasseur's railroad and the Inter-Ocean insurance company are but middlemen in the deal. A consortium of banks, of which I am a member, was well able to make the gold available. The French issued certificates of indebtedness to us for half a million pounds plus a fee.' Hananish caught himself and corrected his last statement. 'For the equivalent in French francs actually, but that is unimportant. The certificates are convertible, quite as good as currency. With one I could go to any major bank in the world and secure the face value.'
'But since the French did not receive the gold, those certificates are not convertible?'
'We shall be reimbursed by the insurance payment.'
'Unless the gold is found,' I stated, glad to make a comment.
'It is to be hoped that it is,' agreed Hananish quickly. 'Otherwise Inter-Ocean is the loser and the thieves the winners.'
'If the gold is not found, what will the Credit Lyonnais do?' inquired the sleuth.
'Make an arrangement with someone else. Possibly the Deutsche Bank.' Again Hananish paused and corrected himself. 'Though I am not informed as to their gold reserve at this time. However, the need will be filled.' His eyes, a soft shade of blue, swiveled to me briefly and then returned to my friend. 'If the subject interests you, might I point out an unusual factor?'
'By all means,' replied Holmes.
'Under normal circumstances the gold need not have left our vaults. Upon receipt of the certificates from the Credit Lyonnais, we would have issued demand notes making the gold available to whomsoever presented them. Said notes would go to a French bank, or any European bank for that matter, and would be honored. But psychology enters the scene. The panicky subscriber to the Credit Lyonnais bond issue presents himself at its doors and wants the gold in his hands. He really doesn't need it, you see, but that is the way of the world. Do you follow me?'
Holmes nodded. I did not, but that made no difference. 'This gives me a clear picture of the transaction,' stated Holmes. 'Dr. Watson and I are grateful, and our trip has proven worthwhile.'
As he rose and made as though to depart, Holmes posed another question, a device that I had seen him use on other occasions.
'What happens now to the certificates from the Credit Lyonnais?' Hananish's thin lips pursed in a moue. 'They are quite worthless, of course, unless you can locate the gold, Mr. Holmes.'
'Yes, there still is that possibility,' replied my friend. He did not sound enthusiastic, but I discounted this since Holmes was always a superb actor.
At this point we made our departure from the overly quiet, somewhat ominous home of Burton Hananish, who had been maneuvered into giving us a lesson in the mechanics of international finance. Or perhaps he just thought he had.
Chapter 10
The Battle on the River Road
AGAIN THE pattern of our investigation took a swerve from the norm. Instead of returning to Fenley proper and boarding the first train for London, my friend chose to prolong our west country interlude. He directed our vehicle to the inn and reserved rooms. Something, which had evaded me completely, had gotten the wind up for Holmes since he was never quite comfortable when removed from his beloved London and its teeming millions. Happily, he did not bury himself in thoughtful silence but was disposed to explain his latest move.
'Burton Hananish can bear a long second look, Watson, and while here in Gloucester I will seek answers to questions which come to mind.'
'His story seemed straight enough.'
'In part, in part.'
'The arrangement with the Credit Lyonnais involved a lot of backing and filling. Perhaps it only seemed complex to my untutored mind.'
'No, Watson, your point is well taken. If man ever invents the perpetual motion machine, it will have very few working parts. The more spokes and wheels, the greater the possibility of error.'
'Or chicanery?' I suggested, keen to learn what had clued Holmes. Surprisingly, his next statement provided an answer.
'Any arrangement where one party cannot lose arouses my suspicions.' My friend's voice had a dreamy quality and I knew he was actually talking to himself, using me as the familiar baffle board for his suppositions, which might cement themselves into fact. 'Banks and financial houses are, in essence, service organizations providing capital for expansion, development and presentation of products, creation of new jobs; all of which adds to prosperity. I oversimplify, but that's the nuts and bolts of it. Where currency is involved, loss by whatever means is a universal peril shared by all parties.'
'But how could the west coast banks lose in the arrangement that Hananish outlined?' I asked.
'If I judge correctly, the French paid well for the gold they needed. If it were all so foolproof, they would not have had to. Besides, as you observed, the whole matter did seem unwieldy and we'd best unravel it to our satisfaction.'
We were by now back at the Red Grouse Inn. Holmes suggested that I might profitably rest my bones and I knew what that meant. He was going to sally forth to investigate on his own, probably with the mysterious though affable Wally. As we washed up in our comfortable suite, I made mention of the man, seeking to draw my friend out. Holmes had one of his fluent evasions ready at hand.
'When dealing with a known ability, names or titles are of scant importance. Now I must check up on several matters which need not involve you, good fellow. The information, like grain in the fields, is but waiting for the gleaner.'
Leaning against the doorjamb of Holmes' bedchamber, I smiled. The picture of my friend searching a harvested field for stray grain struck me as ludicrous until I realized that a detective does often face a similar situation—the poring over of incidents created by some and recounted by others, with an eye always cocked for an overlooked kernel of truth.
Shortly thereafter, Holmes was off and I did get a comfortable nap. I then took myself to the taproom since my friend was not about. With evening coming on, there were more customers present. I posed a few questions about the local fishing conditions during the season. Through my long association with the world's greatest detective, I had learned that this was a safe approach. Speak to one who knows anything about fish and you automatically become the audience for his tale of the one that got away. Whilst the story has a boring sameness, it shields the listener from questions regarding his presence and the reason for it. I exchanged words with some of the locals, lost a few coins at the dart board as befits a newcomer to an area and passed my time pleasantly but without profit. The opportunity to guide the conversation around to Burton Hananish did not present itself. When Holmes did return and locate me, I was quite ready to join him for dinner. It was at this point that my original estimate of the management of the Red Grouse was upheld, for Holmes and I dined not well but sumptuously.
Holmes chose a bottle of fine old brown brandy, very reasonable at five and two, to top off our feast. As a result, I slept very soundly that night despite my late-afternoon nap.
The following morning, when I finally forced my eyes apart, things were rather inconvenient since we had not planned to spend the night in Fenley. But I brushed off my traveling suit and found a serviceable straightedge, no doubt on loan from the landlord. Holmes was not about. It occurred to me that my friend had found much of interest in Fenley, for he had obviously been up and about at an early hour.
I decided to take a brief stroll. When I reached the street, a closed carriage was pulling up at the inn. I paused to allow the door to open and was jostled from behind. When I turned instinctively, the carriage door did open and, of a sudden, there was a large palm across my mouth, stifling the cry that rose in my throat. The man who had come up behind me had my wrists pinioned in a steely grasp and I found myself rudely deposited on the
