To Die but Once (Maisie Dobbs #14)(30)
At nine o’clock the following morning, Maisie, Billy and Peter Sands sat at the long table in Maisie’s office.
“It’s very good of you to come in to see us, Mr. Sands—I really appreciate your time.”
“Aw, not to worry, Miss Dobbs—and call me ‘Pete.’ It’s a bit of a slow day, to tell you the truth. Now if it was last week, it would have been another matter, but I’m putting the finishing touches to a job over in Russell Square.” He paused, sipped from the mug of tea Billy had passed to him, and looked at Maisie, then Billy. “So, my mate here said you wanted to pick my brains.”
“Yes, Pete, I’m sure you can help us—we’d like to hear what you might know about Yates and Sons. They’ve landed a lucrative government contract for painting buildings on airfields across the country, and the emulsion—if you can call it that—is very viscous, has a strong vapor and, from what we understand already, it does the job it was designed for, which is to stop a fire from taking over if the airfield is attacked.”
“I heard they’d pulled in a big one. Of course, that’s not something that would come my way, being just me and one apprentice. Nice money, especially the way things are—I reckon that one job will keep them going throughout the war, and it’ll mean their boys are out of it, what with government work being protected.”
“Have you ever used anything like this emulsion—do you know what they put in it?” asked Maisie.
The man shook his head. “I’ve heard about paint like that, but not put a brush in it myself. But you know, what with the war, I reckon they’re using new stuff—and probably not tested, so they won’t know how long it will last, that sort of thing. Which again means that Yates’ lads will have jobs for as long as the war goes on—but let’s hope it’s not as long as the last one.”
“Let’s hope, mate,” said Billy.
“One thing,” Maisie interjected. “And it’s a tricky question, Mr. Sands—but do you think Yates is on the up and up in his business affairs? Have you ever heard anything untoward, or critical of his business practices.”
The man shrugged. “Everyone’s got to make a living, haven’t they? Old Bill Yates only took the firm so far, but Mike Yates worked hard, put in the hours and made the connections so it became a much bigger business—for our line of work, anyway. But a growing concern like that means more mouths to feed, because no one likes laying off their workers, especially men they’ve apprenticed and trained up. I mean, it’s not like they’re packing sausages, is it? And it’s not as if any bloke with a brush can just slap paint on walls—well, they can, but you can always tell the cowboys in the trade.” He paused, rubbing his stubbled chin. “I wouldn’t say Mike Yates has bad commercial practices—as far as I know—but he is a terrier. He finds out about new business, goes after the opportunities, and he keeps the customers over time. The minute his crew have finished the downstairs on a job over in Belgravia, than he’s over there asking about the upper floors. For every customer there’s a record kept of what they’ve had done and when—and he’s in there as soon as he thinks a room might need another coat of paint. And he’s a stickler for his men looking clean and tidy—all wearing spotless whites at the start of every week and every new job, and he’ll check a work site to make sure they’re leaving it in good order every day. But no getting away from it—if there’s business out there, then Mike Yates is on it like a fly on a corpse.”
Maisie and Billy exchanged glances, then Maisie turned her attention back to the man seated between them.
“How would someone find out about a contract like this—would the government have come to Mr. Yates? Or would he have his contacts?”
“Bloke like Mike Yates? It’ll be a bit of both. He’s big enough to be known, and on the other hand, the people he works for are your well-heeled lot, on drinking terms with nobs in high places. And you’ve got to remember—like I said, a job like that won’t come to a one-man band like me, or even a cartload of us—it goes to a business big enough to get the job done. And knowing Mike, he would make sure the customer gets the price they want—but so does he. His boys would be putting away a pretty penny too. I would imagine someone from the government arranged all the lodgings and that sort of thing—Mike Yates wouldn’t take that on.”
“Do you think Mr. Yates would do or say anything if he thought the emulsion were dangerous?” asked Maisie.
“I think that unless someone dropped dead in front of him, he would ignore it, hoping that nothing happened that he had to attend to while he was counting the money.” He paused, looked at his hands, shrugged, and brought his gaze back to Maisie. “And to tell you the truth, Miss Dobbs, any of us would do the same thing—if I’m to be perfectly honest with you, we all need work and we’ve all had hard times, especially since the last war. No one can afford to look a gift horse in the mouth.”
Maisie nodded. “Yes, you’re right.”
“And who knows what was causing the lad to have these headaches? It might’ve been something to do with the company he was keeping. He could have been smoking, and not been used to it, or trying to keep up with the older lads at the pub. P’raps that’s why he ended up like he did—Billy told me about the railway line.”