The Paper Chase by Julian Symons Page B

scholarly appearance. “That’s Miss Delaney, she was what you might call his business partner. Being polite, you know. Johnny was always one for the ladies. The man, I’ve seen him often, but I don’t know his name. But some of the real nobs used to come down – all political parties, and the aristocracy too. Pretty well every weekend they’d be down here eating his food and guzzling his drink, without giving him any more than a thank you. I’d tell him straight that he was wasting his money, if he ever thought he’d get anything out of them. But you know what he’d say? He’d put his finger to his nose and say, ‘Trust Johnny, he’s not such a fool after all.’ That’s why he had the Hall enlarged, you know, for parties and all that. Had one part done in what you might call the old style and the other very modern. What you’d call original.” Applegate nodded in answer to his inquiring look. “Of course people used to talk, ask where the money came from, but then people always will talk.”
    Hedda shifted on her case. “What happened in the war?”
    “ People, ” the shopkeeper said with ineffable contempt. “Said he was too friendly with the Germans, ought to be interned.”
    “And he wasn’t?”
    “We-e-ll.” Anscombe was cautious. “There were a lot of Germans used to come down here, business men who were over here, so it was said. But that all stopped when the war came. And it was then he told me what these Germans had really come for. Do you know what it was, and why Johnny used to see them? He was in a little group that was helping the Jews escape from the Nazis, arranging the ships and all that to get them out of the country. That’s the sort of man Johnny Bogue was, and that’s what he did. But you know what people are – ignorant. They got it in their heads Johnny was a Nazi himself. I told them different. I said he was a patriot. Stands to reason he was, else Churchill would never have employed him. You know he was on a mission, important mission, when he was killed.”
    “What sort of mission?”
    “Ah, that I don’t know. He never gave away Government secrets, Miss Pont. Johnny was not that kind of man.”
    “Did he say anything about money at that time? Did he say he was going to make a lot of money soon, or he’d just made a lot, or anything?”
    “Miss Hedda. With all due respect, Miss Hedda, you don’t understand that man. He wasn’t interested in money. I told you what he said, ‘It’s only money.’”
    “He liked having it, though,” Applegate suggested.
    “Which of us doesn’t?” The shopkeeper roared with laughter as if this were a good joke. “But he did say a funny thing to me a couple of weeks before he died. He came down to the shop and put his arms on the counter the way he always did, and ordered some things to be sent up. Then he gave his smile, and said: ‘Hear they ducked you in the pond on my account.’ That was on account of a little argument I had with Bill Noakes and Jerry Thomas and some others in the pub, when they said Johnny Bogue ought to be shut up and I told them there was a name for people like them, and if they wanted to know what it was, R-A-T spelt rat. Do you know that Johnny had paid all the hospital expenses for Bill Noakes’ wife when she was in six weeks with a broken hip, and that Jerry Thomas, who was our local builder then, must have done thousands of pounds worth of work for him? So one thing led to another and half a dozen of them said I was as bad as he was, and they put me in the pond. I’ve no hard feelings, though, I’m a natural philosopher. Where was I?”
    “Something funny he said.”
    “Ah, yes. We chewed the fat about that for a bit, and Johnny said: ‘That was a real friendly act, and I appreciate it.’ Then he gave his grin, and asked: ‘Worried about getting paid?’ There was only one answer to that, and I gave it. So then he said: ‘Do you know, Bill, in a week or two’s time I shall be the richest