and lay it all on the table for him. There's nothing more you can do except go home and go to bed. It was sharp of you to check on Linklater's yard. I'll see that place has its shutters up before another twenty-four hours are past."
"There's no possibility of some other explanation?"
"None that doesn't nail your boy and mine as victims of a three-card trick, Tybalt. Are you sure you won't take a drink?"
The little man shuffled, then threw up his round head. "I've faced a good many upsets in my time, Mr. Swann, and I've done it on tea."
"Then let me order you a pot of tea," and without waiting for Tybalt's assent, Adam rang the bell and summoned a waiter. When the tea appeared, Tybalt poured, his movements as precise as an old maid's, and Adam thought, dolefully, I wish to God I hadn't involved him now. This is going to hit him damned hard , and he urged the clerk to drink up, get a cab, and go home to bed.
When Tybalt had left, Adam sat in his nightshirt at the window looking over the river, musing on his tactics from this point on. He had a penchant for French metaphors and one occurred to him now, offensive à outrance . There was no point in nibbling around the edge of this unsavoury mess. George would have to be located and brought back, by the ear if necessary, and both he and Wesley would have to be confronted with the situation as far as he knew it. That foreman Robsart would have to be threatened until he told all he knew. The thieves would have to be run down, here and out in the network, and sent packing. There would be prosecutions, no doubt. Charges would have to be formulated against Linklater and Linklater's operators. It was likely to be a long, sordid business, with half the yard men under suspicion during the investigation. He lit one of his favourite Burmese cheroots, a solace granted him over the years ever since, as a youngster, he and Roberts and other men long since in their graves had ridden across the Bengal plains. Beyond his window the roar of the city subsided to a soft, insistent murmur.
2
He had his first piece of luck next morning. He was dawdling over his second cup of coffee in the breakfast-room when a waiter brought him a message that a Mr. Giles Swann had called, but could only stop a short while. Adam said, eagerly, "Tell him to come in and fetch some fresh coffee, will you?" Giles, dressed for travelling, entered from the foyer, taking the seat indicated but saying he only had twenty minutes as he was anxious to catch the ten-ten West Country train from Waterloo. "I'm going down to clear up that Gimblett claim," he said. "That old Scrooge is still bucking at paying up, although the adjudicators declared for us a month ago. That collision at Taunton was his liability."
"How the devil did you know I was here?" Adam asked, and Giles said, smiling, that he was always here when he was in town, and Hugo had word from Henrietta yesterday that he was off on one of his junk-buying jaunts. "My words, not his," he added. "I think you've got a collector's eye." They talked as equals, something he was unable to do with his other children, but Giles, unlike him in so many ways, had a maturity that the more extrovert of his family lacked. "As a matter of fact, I'm here to ask a favour, Father. A small one."
"It wouldn't have to do with George, would it?"
"No. Why should it?"
"I don't know. Just a hunch. Is George at the yard?"
"No, he isn't. He hasn't been for a day or so."
"Where is he? I can never find him these days. He's here, there, and everywhere, and I particularly want a word with him while I'm up here."
"He's in the regions," Giles said. "They expect him back sometime tomorrow."
"Do you know where in the regions?"
"No, but Wesley Tybalt would tell you."
"I don't think he would." He looked at Giles narrowly. "How do you hit it off with that chap, Giles?"
"Not all that well," Giles said, looking a little puzzled, "He's
"There's no possibility of some other explanation?"
"None that doesn't nail your boy and mine as victims of a three-card trick, Tybalt. Are you sure you won't take a drink?"
The little man shuffled, then threw up his round head. "I've faced a good many upsets in my time, Mr. Swann, and I've done it on tea."
"Then let me order you a pot of tea," and without waiting for Tybalt's assent, Adam rang the bell and summoned a waiter. When the tea appeared, Tybalt poured, his movements as precise as an old maid's, and Adam thought, dolefully, I wish to God I hadn't involved him now. This is going to hit him damned hard , and he urged the clerk to drink up, get a cab, and go home to bed.
When Tybalt had left, Adam sat in his nightshirt at the window looking over the river, musing on his tactics from this point on. He had a penchant for French metaphors and one occurred to him now, offensive à outrance . There was no point in nibbling around the edge of this unsavoury mess. George would have to be located and brought back, by the ear if necessary, and both he and Wesley would have to be confronted with the situation as far as he knew it. That foreman Robsart would have to be threatened until he told all he knew. The thieves would have to be run down, here and out in the network, and sent packing. There would be prosecutions, no doubt. Charges would have to be formulated against Linklater and Linklater's operators. It was likely to be a long, sordid business, with half the yard men under suspicion during the investigation. He lit one of his favourite Burmese cheroots, a solace granted him over the years ever since, as a youngster, he and Roberts and other men long since in their graves had ridden across the Bengal plains. Beyond his window the roar of the city subsided to a soft, insistent murmur.
2
He had his first piece of luck next morning. He was dawdling over his second cup of coffee in the breakfast-room when a waiter brought him a message that a Mr. Giles Swann had called, but could only stop a short while. Adam said, eagerly, "Tell him to come in and fetch some fresh coffee, will you?" Giles, dressed for travelling, entered from the foyer, taking the seat indicated but saying he only had twenty minutes as he was anxious to catch the ten-ten West Country train from Waterloo. "I'm going down to clear up that Gimblett claim," he said. "That old Scrooge is still bucking at paying up, although the adjudicators declared for us a month ago. That collision at Taunton was his liability."
"How the devil did you know I was here?" Adam asked, and Giles said, smiling, that he was always here when he was in town, and Hugo had word from Henrietta yesterday that he was off on one of his junk-buying jaunts. "My words, not his," he added. "I think you've got a collector's eye." They talked as equals, something he was unable to do with his other children, but Giles, unlike him in so many ways, had a maturity that the more extrovert of his family lacked. "As a matter of fact, I'm here to ask a favour, Father. A small one."
"It wouldn't have to do with George, would it?"
"No. Why should it?"
"I don't know. Just a hunch. Is George at the yard?"
"No, he isn't. He hasn't been for a day or so."
"Where is he? I can never find him these days. He's here, there, and everywhere, and I particularly want a word with him while I'm up here."
"He's in the regions," Giles said. "They expect him back sometime tomorrow."
"Do you know where in the regions?"
"No, but Wesley Tybalt would tell you."
"I don't think he would." He looked at Giles narrowly. "How do you hit it off with that chap, Giles?"
"Not all that well," Giles said, looking a little puzzled, "He's
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