Chapter 2
Montague hadn’t previously realized how satisfying bringing relief to those who found financial matters overwhelming could actually be. It was, he now saw, a facet of his professional activities that he had failed to appreciate but should acknowledge and, indeed, take more pride in.
After leaving the house in Lowndes Street, the satisfaction of having in some small part allayed Lady Halstead’s immediate anxiety had stayed with him through the rest of the day and the routinely uneventful evening that had followed, and had fired him to set out first thing that morning to consult with Lady Halstead’s man-of-business.
While her ladyship appeared to have no suspicions of Runcorn, Montague would make up his own mind. Had the matter been one of embezzlement, he would have been far more skeptical, not to say distrustful, but as he strode along the pavement, he was more curious than concerned.
An entire day and evening of allowing Lady Halstead’s “irregularities” to percolate in the deepest recesses of his brain had still not brought forth any possible solution.
Far from being discouraged, he was even more enthused; it had been a long time since anything financial had managed to surprise him, much less intrigue him to this degree.
He almost felt like a new man as he swung around the corner from Broad Street into Winchester Street.
Runcorn’s offices were some way along, on the ground floor of a building near the elbow where Winchester Street turned north.
There was a public house across the road, in the opposite corner of the bend, but the office of Runcorn and Son was flanked by a small printer on one side and a tobacconist’s on the other.
The area was not as heavily dominated by businesses connected with finance as those streets and alleys close by the Bank of England, where Montague and his peers hung their plaques, yet Winchester Street was only a few blocks from that more established sector, and Runcorn’s office was a decent set of premises for a minor firm.
Pausing before the door, Montague studied the faded lettering above the single broad window giving onto the pavement, then looked through the glass in the door itself, unsurprised to see lamps burning inside.
The window allowed some light to penetrate, but not enough for a business that relied on reading figures upon figures.
Opening the door, he went in. Pausing to shut the door, he surveyed the interior, more out of professional curiosity than anything else.
Although poky, the office was very recognizable, at least to him; file boxes were piled high along the shelving occupying every square foot of wall, and formed a man-high stack in one corner.
Papers were spread over the narrow desk behind which a clerk labored; the middle-aged man had looked up as Montague entered.
Soberly attired in the proper manner for a clerk, the man rose and came forward. “Can I help you, sir?”
Already reaching into his inner pocket, Montague withdrew his card case, extracted a card, and handed it to the clerk. “If Mr. Runcorn could spare me a few minutes of his time, I would like to consult him on the matter of the Halstead estate.”
The clerk read the script on the card and his eyes widened. “Yes, of course, sir.” He waved to a pair of chairs set before the window. “Please take a seat, Mr. Montague, and I’ll inform Mr. Runcorn of your arrival.”
Montague inclined his head and obligingly sat. He had no doubt Runcorn would see him. Even if the younger man had not been long enough in the business to recognize his name, the clerk certainly had and would duly inform his master.
The clerk tapped on an inner door, then entered, shutting the door behind him.
A moment later, the door opened again, and a man of some twenty-eight or so summers stood for a moment in the doorway, then came swiftly forward, Montague’s card in his hand.
Montague rose as he approached.
“Sir!” Runcorn Junior halted before him, his round face alight with childlike pleasure.
He met Montague’s eyes, his own alive with an equal mixture of delight and conjecture, then he drew breath, reined in his excitement, and inclined his head.
“It’s an honor, Mr. Montague, to welcome you to Runcorn and Son. How may we assist you?”
Montague smiled approvingly. “I have a matter to do with the Halstead estate that I would like to discuss with you. If you have the time?”
Runcorn stepped back and waved to his office. “Of course.”
He ushered Montague into the office, and into a chair before the large and well-used desk. As Runcorn rounded it, making for his own chair, he offered, “The office was my father’s before me, of course. I’m the son.”
Montague found the young man’s enthusiasm infectious. “I had heard as much.” When Runcorn looked his question, Montague added, “From Lady Halstead.” Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew her letter of authority. “Before we proceed, you will need to read this.”
Sobering, Runcorn took the letter, unfolded it, read it, then, slowly refolding the sheet, he looked across the desk at Montague with a faint, puzzled frown.
Montague had no difficulty reading the thoughts passing through Runcorn’s head, not with such an open, expressive face; even the vague possibility of a suspicion he’d harbored that Runcorn might in some way be involved in the irregularities was rapidly fading.
“Permit me to assure you that I am not here to poach your client, Mr. Runcorn.” Holding out his hand for the letter, when Runcorn surrendered it, Montague stowed it in his pocket once again.
“Then I admit I’m confused, sir.” Runcorn regarded him steadily. “Why are you here?”
“Lady Halstead requires . . . shall we say ‘reassurance’? . . . that whatever explanation you find for the irregularities in her bank account is the correct one. That is my focus and that alone. I will also state that I have no financial interest in this matter—I have agreed to provide my oversight purely out of professional curiosity.” Montague held Runcorn’s gaze.
“I am quite intrigued, Mr. Runcorn, as to what the explanation for the unusual payments into her ladyship’s bank account might be. ”
A moment passed, then Runcorn blinked and, as if assuring himself, said, “She wants reassurance . . . well, I can understand that. I haven’t been in this business for all that long, and .
. .” After a second, he met Montague’s eyes.
“To be candid, sir, I would greatly appreciate your guidance in this matter. I had thought the payments must be due to some old, long-forgotten investment, but they’re not—or, at least, that doesn’t appear to be the case. ”
“No.” Montague hesitated, then added, “In fact, that’s what sparked my interest in this matter. I’ve been in this business for a very long time, yet I do not recognize the style of these payments. They don’t match any pattern I’ve seen before.”
“Exactly!” Runcorn held up his hands in a helpless gesture.
“Pringle—he’s my clerk—and I have been wracking our brains trying to think of what they might be arising from, but as yet we’ve found no clue.
And as the bank has noted the payments as cash deposits, it’s unlikely they’ll be able to shed light on the source, and”—Runcorn looked uncomfortable—“I didn’t think it wise to raise the issue with the bank at this time—not without Lady Halstead’s explicit permission, and not until we’ve eliminated all the more likely investment sources. ”
Meeting Runcorn’s gaze, Montague nodded approvingly. “Indeed. We should only involve the bank once we’ve exhausted all other avenues of inquiry. No need to air our questions more widely than necessary.”
“So we thought.” Runcorn looked reassured. “Consequently, pursuing the angle that the payments relate to some forgotten investment, we’ve pulled the complete Halstead file—it goes back a good thirty years—and we’re combing through it page by page, but as yet we’ve had no luck.”
Montague considered, then nodded again. “At present, that’s the first question you must answer—regardless of appearances, are these payments in some way linked to some past investment?
You are, indeed, taking the right tack.” He smiled at Runcorn’s expression of relief, which was almost immediately tempered by the realization of just what a huge undertaking lay before him.
“Indeed,” Montague confirmed. “Learning the answer will take time and effort. However, as to my own approach, at this point I would be grateful if you would provide me with a copy of the statements of the bank account in question, going back to when these odd payments first appeared. Lady Halstead gave me her copy of the most recent statements, but I will need the earlier statements as well. In addition, I would like a list of all investments of any type, whether believed to be current or not, and all loans and deposits into interest-bearing securities.”
Runcorn was nodding; Lady Halstead’s letter gave Montague the authority to request such details and Runcorn permission to provide them.
“We can give you a copy of the bank statements today—Pringle will have a spare. Likewise for the currently held investments, those that are presently paying income—we’ve been searching through those ourselves.
But a listing of the wider investments—that will take a few days to compile.
” He met Montague’s eyes. “To be sure we have the entire picture, all nearly thirty years’ worth of it. ”
“That will be entirely satisfactory.” Montague smiled and rose. “I’m well aware that to survive, you must service your other clients as well.”
“Indeed.” Rising and coming around the desk to open the door, Runcorn grimaced. “It’s something of a juggling act at the moment, what with the Halstead review proving so much more time-consuming than anyone would have expected.”