Crossword Mystery (23 page)

“Also,” observed Mitchell, “it seems as if there's some scheme of his for developing the coast along there that Winterton was holding up and that may go through now. Well, well, come along, and well run our heads hard against another blank wall.”

Mr. Shorton's offices were in one of the big buildings recently erected on the Thames Embankment, and when Mitchell and Bobby were shown into his private room they found him bending over a table, drawn up before the window, and covered with maps and plans and other papers.

As they entered, he looked up at them, but with a somewhat abstracted expression, and with one hand still upon the plan he had been examining.

“You're from Scotland Yard?” he said. “About poor Winterton, I suppose. Dreadful affair; but I'm glad to see you. Fact is, I was thinking of coming round to have a talk with you people myself.” He paused, and said slowly and impressively: “You know, the man who is behind all this, he's big – a big man – brains.” With another gesture Shorton passed his hand above the mass of papers on the table. “A big man,” he repeated. “A genius, almost.”

It was an observation so unexpected, and at the same time fitting in so well with their own thoughts, that both Mitchell and Bobby were a little startled, and could not help exchanging quick glances as if to ask each other what each thought of that. Recovering himself instantly, Mitchell said:

“Indeed. Who is he?”

“I only wish I knew,” Shorton answered. “I would give quite a lot to know.”

And here again Mitchell and Bobby exchanged quick glances, for once more Shorton seemed to be expressing exactly their own thoughts.

As if he had almost forgotten his visitors, Shorton fell again to examining his maps and plans and papers in a kind of ecstasy of admiration. He had a note-book in his hand, and now and then he jotted down a figure or a word in it. Looking at them again, he said:

“You know, it's big, that's what it is. Big. That's the trouble with half the men you meet nowadays. No vision; no guts; won't go all out. And you must go all out if you mean to do anything. Look at Rugby. Can you play Rugby at a jog-trot? Of course you can't. And you can't play the business game at a jog-trot either; no, nor life itself at a jog-trot. You've got to go all out, and that's what I like about this. It goes the limit; it's big, virile, aggressive. None of the gentle jog-trot that gets you nowhere. Tackle your man and go straight for your goal – that's the way to win, whether it's Twickenham or business. I tell you again, there's a Man behind this.”

“I think so, too,” agreed Mitchell, who, during this harangue, had been looking at the papers spread out on the table. “That's a plan of the Suffby Cove district, isn't it?” he remarked.

“Yes,” Shorton agreed. “Do you smoke? Have a cigarette?” He offered some first to Mitchell and then to Bobby. “Every detail thought out,” he continued. “Every possible contingency provided for. A masterpiece of foresight and organisation. I'm a business man myself, and I've had some experience, but I take off my hat to the man who's worked all this out.”

“But surely,” Mitchell suggested, “you have some idea who it is?”

“Not the foggiest,” answered Shorton. “What's more, except for just a few of the leading men in the City, I can't think of anyone with a big enough brain to carry it through. There are touches that make me think of–” He named an extremely well known City magnate – one whose name was just then very prominently before the public. “There are touches of brilliance in the working out – real brilliance, flashes of it – that made me think of him at once. But there are – well, almost philanthropic touches about it, too, that aren't like him at all.”

“Philanthropic touches?” Mitchell repeated. “In what way?”

“Well, what I mean is, there's a sort of consideration shown for other people. Everyone's been thought of in a way not at all necessary from the strictly business point of view. Mr. Winterton's servants are provided for; arrangements are made for the Suffby Cove villagers, the farmers near are to be encouraged to provide the fruit and vegetables and meat we shall want, and so on – everything thought of, so as to work out for the best for everyone. It's colossal. Upon my soul, it's wonderful to think of a man able to plan big like this, and at the same time grasp and think of every minute detail – it's like planning a world-wide campaign, and at the same time every single detail for to-morrow's meals, from the mustard at breakfast to the nightcap before you go to bed.”

Again Mitchell and Bobby exchanged swift glances. At this last sentence the same idea had flashed upon them both, and the quick look they exchanged told them each that this was so, and confirmed them in it. Mitchell said:

“Very interesting. It all sounds a little like what we are looking for – clever's no word for him either. But you said you were thinking of coming round to see us?”

“Yes,” Shorton answered. “You see, what the scheme really is – well, the idea is to make an English Monte Carlo. Monte Carlo began as a sea-bathing establishment, you know – they still call themselves ‘Sea Baths, Limited,' or something like that. Well, we'll go in for all kinds of sea sports – bathing, boating, fishing, and so on – but the real attraction will be roulette and baccara.”

“What about the gambling laws?” asked Mitchell mildly.

“That's where the cleverness of the thing comes in,” Mr. Shorten explained enthusiastically. “Genius, almost. Look at the map there, and you'll see Suffby Cove is a splendid natural harbour in shape, protected on every side, but it's shallow water. The idea is to have two or three flat-bottomed vessels, rather like the houseboats you see up the Thames, only larger and more strongly built, and, of course, fitted up in style. We shall have small powerful motor-boats to act as tugs, and every evening the house-boats will be tugged out to sea beyond the three-mile limit. Then play will begin. Most likely we shall have music and dancing on the top deck; and meals will be served, and drinks of course – rather jolly to have a dinner and a dance well out at sea on a calm summer night. But the real thing will be the play inside – available for those who like. Others can enjoy themselves on deck, but there'll be baccara and roulette going on inside. Some time about midnight, or later, the motor-boats will tow the house-boats back, and play will stop the moment the three-mile limit is reached. Anything illegal in that?”

“Hardly for me to say,” Mitchell answered cautiously. “Question for the law officers of the Crown to decide, I suppose. No doubt they'll consider it. Was that what you were coming round to the Yard about?”

“That's right,” Shorten said.

“What about bad weather?” Mitchell asked. “I can't imagine a sea-sick gambler myself.”

“Oh, that's been thought of,” Shorten answered. “Everything's been thought of. The house-boats will only go out in calm weather. If it's at all rough, they'll stay in, and there'll be bridge – poker, perhaps, for club members. Of course, it'll have to be run on club lines, but there's no difficulty about that.”

“There never is,” agreed Mitchell. “Call yourself a club, and there's not much you can't do. I suppose the house-boats will be anchored in the Cove – will they?”

“Yes, we'll build a wharf there for them to tie up to, but we shall generally use Fairview when the weather's bad. Fairview will be the club-house.”

“Oh, Fairview comes into it, does it?”

“Everything comes into it,” Shorton answered enthusiastically. “Our idea at first was a kind of middle-class Gleneagles, run on slightly less expensive lines. We shall provide all sea sports. We shall have our own golf-links – the lay-out for golf-links is ideal. There'll be a little rough shooting, too, as well as all the other usual attractions. Our own cinema, perhaps. All that will be for the hotel we shall put up on the Suffby promontory itself, on the east side of the Cove – a wonderful position, close to the ruins of the old lighthouse that was done away with years ago. But in addition there'll be the Fairview club across the Cove, with bridge and poker on land, and roulette and baccara when the weather's good enough for the house-boats to be tugged out. Of course, those will be the profitable evenings. We shan't make so much out of the contract and poker evenings. Except,” he added with a gentle smile, “for selling champagne and sandwiches at an – er – adequate price.”

“Very interesting idea,” Mitchell admitted. “A kind of nightclub by the sea, and, once beyond the three-mile limit, you snap your fingers at the law.”

“That's right,” agreed Shorton. “Only, of course, everything most respectable, because there'll be money in it – big money – and that means being jolly careful everything's just as it ought to be.”

“Mr. Shorton,” said Mitchell gravely, “you are tempting me to think you are something of a cynic.”

“What do you mean?” asked Shorton indignantly. “What's there cynical about that? It's just sense.”

“Often the same thing,” Mitchell observed. “But it certainly seems a very original idea.”

“Genius,” Shorton repeated. “Every detail thought out, down to the names of the fishermen to be offered permanent jobs to provide sport for visitors fond of fishing and boating – that'll all be free, of course; at least, we shall call it free, but it'll come into the bills all right – tremendous attraction if you provide something free; people don't mind then how much they pay for it through the nose. Even Winterton's old servants thought of: the steward and stewardess at Fairview are to be his old butler and wife – their name's Cooper, I think. Their local knowledge should be useful. You know, that appeals to me in this scheme. Such care taken to see that no one is injured – everybody concerned has been thought of. Then there are plans for enlarging Fairview; a motor – coach service of our own, free, of course, for taking people to and from the railway. We shall be a bit dependent on the weather, but then that's always the case in England, and, as the memorandum suggests, that may help us in a way by emphasising the gamble. ‘Try Your Luck at Suffby Cove: First the Weather, Then Roulette' – an advert like that ought to go over big. But what'll really fetch the well-to-do respectable class we're aiming to get is the way well be dodging the law. It's the flavour of illegality will do it. Respectable, suburban churchgoers, whose idea of reckless gambling is risking half a crown at contract, will troop along so as to be able to tell their friends they've been to the British Monte Carlo, and hint at the dreadful orgies taking place there – and a good lot of them will want to come along and see for themselves, and try their own luck. We shall run the hotel on very strict lines indeed, but, just across the Cove, there'll be Fairview, standing for all that's wicked and romantic and bold and reckless, and all our really respectable guests will be equally shocked and tempted – wickedness is so attractive to the highly respectable who've never dared before, and now they'll see a chance.”

“Is that in the Memo.?” Mitchell asked.

“Word for word,” Shorton answered.

“Bit of a psychologist, your man.”

“Bit of a genius,” returned Shorton gravely. “Take it from me, this is going to be one of the biggest things of the century. A visit to Suffby Cove is going to be the great adventure in the lives of every really respectable family in the suburbs and provinces of the land – once we've got into working order. Patriotic, too. ‘Keep British Money at Home' – that'll be another of our slogans. Why, sir, in a year or two, I hope every British citizen will blush to admit he intends to go and lose his money at Monte Carlo when he can get rid of it just as easily at Suffby Cove – ‘British Baccara for British Gamblers.'”

“Jolly good,” approved Mitchell. “Only I'm afraid you won't be able to provide the sunshine of the south of France.”

“Certainly we shall. Most certainly,” declared Shorton, with some indignation. He turned to his papers again. “There's an estimate here,” he said. “Yes. A score of high-power lamps – artificial sunshine twenty-four hours a day all the year round; more than Nature manages. ‘On Suffby Cove Beach, Perpetual Sunshine Day and Night' – that'll be another slogan. Take it from me,” he repeated, almost with awe, “everyone connected with this scheme will be a millionaire in ten years or less – and all that money now wasted in France all kept in the country. The Government won't be able to touch us; and they ought to be willing to help, in the public interest. It's disgusting to think of all the good British money that's poured out on the Monte Carlo tables. But there won't be any need for that, once we've got into working order. Look at the money greyhound-racing makes – that's just animated roulette. We shall be sea-faring roulette, and we shall do better still. One side of Suffby Cove – respectable, law-abiding; the other side – wicked, law-breaking. The combination – irresistible. That's the Memo, again.”

“I should like to read it,” Mitchell admitted. “It sounds as racy and cynical as a Somerset Maugham play. But I agree there are first-class brains behind it; and it's someone with first-class brains we are trying to get in touch with, too. You say you don't know who this Memo, comes from?”

“Haven't the foggiest,” declared Shorton. “But I take off my hat to him, whoever he is.”

“I take it the thing didn't drop on you out of the sky?”

“Oh, no. Dreg & Sons sent it me – they're solicitors. Office in West Street – between the Mansion House and the Bank. In a small way, I'm told; but quite good reputation. They may know who they are acting for, I suppose; but, when I rang them up to ask, they said they didn't.”

“Have you done business with them before?”