carried around in paper bags. Perhaps other accounts under false names;
perhaps small businesses quickly established-I don’t know. But I do know
this is the money that will be used until the payments for the securities
are liquid.”
“Christ, he’s got thirty million dollars in Stockholml”
“Not necessarily. Accounts could be opened in Switzerland totaling thirty
million-probably paid in bullionbut not released for a considerable length
of time.”
“How long?”
“As long as it takes to certify the authenticity of every
document. Since they were sold on a foreign exchange that could take
months.”
“So you’re going to trace the accounts in the banks.”
“That would appear to be the only starting point.” Elizabeth Scarlatti
opened the drawer of a writing desk and took out a vanity case. Unlocking
it she took out a single sheet of paper.
“I assume you have a copy of this. I’d like you to read it over and refresh
your memory.” She handed him the paper. It was the list of foreign banks
where monies had been deposited by Waterman Trust for Ulster Stewart
Scarlett. Canfield remembered it from the material sent from the Justice
Department.
“Yes, I’ve seen it, but I haven’t got a copy…. Something less than a
million dollars.”
“Have you noticed the dates of the withdrawals?”
“I remember the last one was about two weeks before your son and his wife
returned to New York. A couple of accounts are still open, aren’t they?
Yes, here . . .”
“London and The Hague.” The old woman interrupted and continued without
stopping. “That’s not what I mean, but it could be valuable. What I’m
referring to is the geographic pattern.”
“What geographic pattern?”
“Starting with London, then north to Norway; then south again to
England-Manchester; then east to Paris; north again to Denmark; south to
Marseilles; west into Spain, Portugal; northeast to Berlin; south again
into North Africa–Cairo; northwest through Italy-Rome; then the Balkans;
reversing west back to Switzerland-it goes on. A patchwork.” The old lady
had recited by rote as Canfield tried to follow the list of dates.
“What’s your point, Madame Scarlatti?”
“Nothing strikes you as unusual?”
“Your son was on his honeymoon. I don’t know how you people go on
honeymoons. All I know about is Niagara Falls.”
“This is not a normal itinerary.”
“I wouldn’t know about thaL”
“Let me put it this way…. You wouldn’t take a pleasure trip from
Washington, D.C., to New York City, then return to Baltimore with your next
stop Boston.”
“I suppose not.”
“My son crisscrossed within a semicircle. The final des-
182
tination, the last and largest withdrawal was made at a point more
logically reached months earlier.”
Canfield was lost trying to follow the banks and dates.
“Don’t bother, Mr. Canfield. It was Germany. An obscure town in southern
Germany. It’s called Tassing. . . . Why?”
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PART TWO
CHAPTER 22
The second and third days of the Ca1purnia voyage were calm, both the
weather and the first-class section of the ship. The news of the death of a
passenger cast a paU over the voyagers. Mrs. Charles Boothroyd was confined
to quarters under the constant supervision of the ship’s doctor and
attending nurses. She had gone into hysterics upon hearing the news of her
husband and it had been necessary to administer large doses of sedatives.
By the third day, with revived health, the optimism of most passengers
revived.
Elizabeth Wyckham Scarlatti and her young table escort made it a point to
part company after each meal. By ten thirty every night, however, Matthew
Canfield let himself into her quarters to take up his post lest there be a
recurrence of the Boothroyd attempt. It was an unsatisfactory arrangement.
“If I were a hundred years younger, you might pass yourself off as one of
those distasteful men who perform services for middle-aged adventuresses.”
“If you used some of your well-advertised money to buy your own ocean
liner, I might get some sleep at night.”
These late-hour conversations served one good purpose, however. Their plans
began to take shape. Also Canfield’s responsibilities as an employee of
Eaabeth Scarlatti were diplomatically discussed. –
“You understand,” said Elizabeth, “I wouldn’t expect you to do anything
detrimental to the government. Or
187
against your own conscience. I do believe in a man’s conscience.”
“But I gather you’d like to make the decision about what’s detrimental and
what isn’t?”
“To a degree, yes. I believe I’m qualified.”
“What happens if I don’t agree with you?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“Oh, that’s great!”
In essence, Matthew Canfield would continue submitting his reports to
Washington’s Group Twenty with one alteration-they first would be approved
by Elizabeth Scarlatti. Together they would, through the field accountant,
make certain requests of his office they both felt necessary. In all
matters of physical well-being, the old woman would follow the instructions
of the young man without argument.
Matthew Canfield would receive ten payments of ten thousand dollars each
commencing with the first day in London. In small American bills.
“You realize, Mr. Canfield, that there’s another way to look at this
arrangement.”
“What’s that?”
“Your office is getting the benefit of my not inconsiderable talents for
absolutely nothing. Extremely beneficial to the taxpayers.”
“I’ll put that in my next report.9.
The basic problem of the arrangement bad not been resolved, however. For
the field accountant to fulfill his obligations to both employers, a reason
bad to be found explaining his association with the old woman. It would
become obvious as the weeks went by and it would be foolish to try to pass
it off as either companionship or business. Both explanations would be
suspect.
With a degree of self-interest, Matthew Canfield asked, “Cain you get along
with your daughter-in-law?”
“I assume you mean Ulster’s wife. No one could stand Chancellor’s.”
“Yes.”
“I like her. However, if you’re thinking about her as a third party, I must
tell you that sheF despises me. There are many reasons, most of them quite
valid. In order to get what I want I’ve had to treat her quite badly. My
only defense, if I felt I needed one-which I don’t-is that what I wanted
was for her benefit.”
188
“I’m deeply moved, but do you think we could get her coopoeration? I’ve met
her on several occasions.”
“She’s not very responsible. But I suppose you know that.”
“Yes. I also know that she suspects you of going to Europe on your son’s
account.”
“I realize that. It would help to enlist her, I imagine. But I don’t think
I could manage it by cable, and I certainly wouldn’t want to spell it out
in a letter.”
“I’ve a better way. I’ll go back for her and I’ll take a written . . .
explanation from you. Not too involved, not too specific. I’ll handle the
rest.”
“You must know her very well.”
“Not so. I just think that if I can convince her that you-and I-are on her
side . . . if someone’s on her side, she’ll help.”
“She might be able to. She could show us places. .
“She might recognize people. . . .”
“But what will I do while you’re in America? I’ll no doubt be dead when you
come back.”
Canfield had thought of. that. “When we reach England, you should go into
retreat.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“For your immortal soul. And your son’s as well, of course.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“A convent. The whole world knows of your bereavement. It’s a logical thing
to do. We’ll issue a statement to the press to the effect that you’ve gone
to an undisclosed retreat in the north of England. Then send you somewhere
down south. My office will help.”
“It sounds positively ridiculous!”
“You’ll be fetching in your black robesl”
The veiled, grieving Mrs. Boothroyd was led off with the first contingent
of passengers. She was met by a man at customs who hurried her through the
procedures and took her to a Rolls-Royce waiting on the street. Canfield
followed the couple to the car.
Forty-five minutes later Canfield checked into the hotel. He had called his
London contact from a public phone and they had agreed to meet as soon as
the Lon-
189
doner could drive down. The field accountant then spent a half hour enjoying
the stability of a dry-land bed. He was depressed at the thought of going
right back on board ship but he knew there was no other solution. Janet
would supply the most reasonable explanation for his accompanying the old
lady and it was logical that the wife and mother of the missing Ulster
Scarlett should travel together. And certainly Canfield was not unhappy at
the prospect of a continued association with Janet Scarlett. She was a
tramp, no question; but he had begun to doubt his opinion that she was a
bitch.
He was about to doze off when he looked at his watch and realized that he