A Dangerous Fortune(137)

“All right, Mulberry. Thank you very much for letting me know. I’ll try to deal with it.”

Forgetting his phone call, Hugh returned to the Partners’ Room. Would the other partners let Edward do this? They might. Hugh and Samuel no longer had much influence, as they were leaving. Young William did not share Hugh’s fear of a South American collapse. Major Hartshorn and Sir Harry would do as they were told: And Edward was Senior Partner now.

What was Hugh going to do about it? He had not left yet, and he was still earning his share of the profits, so his responsibilities were not at an end.

The trouble was that Edward was not rational: as Mulberry had said, he was completely under the influence of Micky Miranda.

Was there any way Hugh could weaken that influence? He could tell Edward that Micky was a murderer. Edward would not believe him. But he began to feel that he had to try. He had nothing to lose. And he badly needed to do something about the dreadful revelation he had had in the night.

Edward had already left for lunch. On impulse, Hugh decided to follow him.

Guessing Edward’s destination, he took a hansom to the Cowes Club. He spent the journey from the City to Pall Mall trying to think of words that would be plausible and inoffensive, to help convince Edward. But all the phrases he thought of sounded artificial, and when he arrived he decided to tell the unvarnished truth and hope for the best.

It was still early, and he found Edward alone in the smoking room of the club, drinking a large glass of Madeira. Edward’s skin rash was getting worse, he noticed: where his collar chafed his neck it was red and raw.

Hugh sat down at the same table and ordered tea. When they were boys, Hugh had hated Edward passionately, for being a beast and a bully. But in recent years he had come to see his cousin as a victim. Edward was the way he was because of the influence of two wicked people, Augusta and Micky. Augusta had suffocated him and Micky had corrupted him. However, Edward had not softened toward Hugh, and he now made no bones about showing that he had no wish for Hugh’s company. “You didn’t have to come this far for a cup of tea,” he, said. “What do you want?”

It was a bad start, but nothing could be done about that. Feeling pessimistic, Hugh began. “I have something to say that will shock and horrify you.”

“Really?”

“You’ll have trouble believing it, but all the same it’s true. I think Micky Miranda is a murderer.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Edward said angrily. “Don’t bother me with such nonsense.”

“Listen to me before you dismiss the idea out of hand,” Hugh said. “I’m leaving the bank, you’re Senior Partner, I have nothing left to fight for. But I discovered something yesterday. Solly Greenbourne knew that your mother was behind that press campaign to stop Ben Greenbourne’s getting a peerage.”

Edward gave an involuntary start, as if what Hugh had said chimed with something he already knew.

Hugh felt more hopeful. “I’m on the right track, am I not?” he said. Guessing, he went on: “Solly threatened to cancel the Santamaria railroad deal, didn’t he?”

Edward nodded.

Hugh sat forward, trying to contain his excitement.

Edward said: “I was sitting at this very table, with Micky, when Solly came in, angry as the devil. But—”

“And that night Solly died.”

“Yes—but Micky was with me all night. We played cards here, then went on to Nellie’s.”

“He must have left you, just for a few minutes.”

“No—”

“I saw him coming into the club about the time Solly died.”

“That must have been earlier.”

“He may have gone to the toilet, or something.”

“That hardly gives him enough time.” Edward’s face settled into an expression of decided skepticism.

Hugh’s hopes faded again. For a moment he had succeeded in creating a doubt in Edward’s mind, but it had not lasted.

“You’ve lost your senses,” Edward went on. “Micky’s not a murderer. The notion is absurd.”

Hugh decided to tell him about Peter Middleton. It was an act of desperation, for if Edward refused to believe that Micky might have killed Solly eleven years ago, why would he believe that Micky had killed Peter twenty-four years ago? But Hugh had to try. “Micky killed Peter Middleton, too,” he said, knowing that he was in danger of sounding wild.

“This is ridiculous!”

“You think you killed him, I know that. You ducked him repeatedly, then went chasing after Tonio; and you think that Peter was too exhausted to swim to the side, and drowned. But there’s something you don’t know.”

Despite his skepticism, Edward was intrigued. “What?”

“Peter was a very strong swimmer.”

“He was a weed!”

“Yes—but he had been practicing swimming every day that spring. He was a weed all right, but he could swim for miles. He swam to the side without difficulty—Tonio saw it.”

“What …” Edward swallowed. “What else did Tonio see?”

“While you were climbing up the side of the quarry, Micky held Peter’s head under the water until he drowned.”

To Hugh’s surprise, Edward did not spurn the idea. Instead he said: “Why have you waited so long to tell me this?”