entire firm should be disrupted because of one manâ.â
âWhat did he mean by that, I wonder?â
âI only wish I knew.â Jack puffed at his pipe thoughtfully. âPronouns are the devil, arenât they? âOne manâ could mean Hunt, Valdez, Mark Helston himself or even, although I think itâs unlikely, Martin Crowther from United Stores. At this stage itâs impossible to guess. What I do think odd, though, is this. The Jaggards both told us that Mark had no prejudice against South Americans. According to Pat Jaggard, Helston enjoyed his trip to Brazil and had shown no animosity towards Valdez. But Frederick Hunt said that Helston felt the weight of the white manâs burden to such an extent that the cause of the quarrel was Helstonâs dislike of, as he delicately put it, foreigners. I helped him out a bit with that. He was so obviously trying not to say
Damned dagoes
.â He glanced at his friend. âYouâre looking pensive, Bill. Why? Is it deep thought or the horsehair upholstery?â
âWell . . .â Bill shook his head slowly, then grinned. âI donât want to be personal, but I do wonder if you were the right person to ask Patricia Jaggard that question. I mean, your face is your face and although itâs perfectly decent as far as faces go . . .â
âItâs not the most Anglo-Saxon mug youâve ever seen?â Jack laughed. âDâyou think thatâs all it is? I didnât feel she was going out of her way to be gracious.â
Billâs grin widened. âYour much-vaunted charm failed to bring home the bacon, didnât it? You usually have girls eating out of your hand in the first five minutes.â
âBill!â Jack was shocked. âWhat a revolting idea. Messy, too. I donât charm and I certainly donât vaunt. Iâm merely polite.â
âCome off it. Iâve seen you switch it on.â
âDrop it, will you?â pleaded Jack. âYou make me sound like an advert for Gleamo toothpaste. However, leaving these gross personalities to one side, Helston, we know, was alive and well at half past seven on the ninth of January. Whatâs the last time anyone saw Valdez?â
âThe manager of the Montague Court Hotel says that the last they saw of Valdez was at seven oâclock or thereabouts on Friday the ninth when he handed his room key into the desk clerk. He was carrying a small case and mentioned that he was meeting a friend and might end up staying out overnight. The desk clerk assured him that was perfectly in order from the hotelâs point of view, and off he went.â
âHang on. He was due to sail the next day, wasnât he? Didnât anyone smell a rat?â
âNot then, no. By the time Sunday morning came round and Valdez still hadnât returned, the manager began to get uneasy and entered the room. All of Valdezâs things were still there. Now at this point the manager should have informed us, but he hesitated until the Tuesday morning.â
âDidnât anyone think to ask the Hunt Coffee people?â
âThere wasnât anything in the room to connect him with Hunt Coffee. As far as the manager was concerned, Valdez was a private visitor. After all, hotels donât usually grill their guests about the purpose of their stay.â
âNo, I can see that. What about his passport?â
âIt was in his room. There was no money there, but all his clothes and personal belongings were untouched. The manager assumed that Senhor Valdez had met with an accident and so did we. We contacted the hospitals, but no one answering to his description had been admitted and there, Iâm sorry to say, the matter rested.â
âDidnât Inspector Murray think it was odd?â
âI donât suppose Inspector Murray knew anything about it. They were different enquiries, you see. Murray had been told Valdez had
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley