Chapter Twenty-four

Benjamin Reynolds sat forward in his chair, clipping a week-old article from the Sunday supplement of the New York Herald. It was a photograph of Janet Saxon Scarlett being escorted by sporting goods executive, ‘M. Canfield to a dog show at Madison Square Garden. Reynolds smiled as he recalled Canfield’s remark on the telephone.

‘I can stand everything but the God damn dog shows. Dogs are for the very rich or the very poor. Not for anyone in between!’

No matter, thought Group Twenty’s head. The newspapers were doing an excellent job. Washington had ordered Canfield to spend an additional ten days in Manhattan thoroughly establishing his relationship with Ulster Scarlett’s wife before returning to England.

The relationship was unmistakable and Benjamin Reynolds wondered if it was really a public facade. Or was it something else? Was Canfield in the process of trapping himself? The ease with which he had engineered a collaboration with Elizabeth Scarlatti bore watching.

‘Ben’—Glover walked briskly into the office—’I think we’ve found what we’ve been looking for!’ He closed the door firmly and approached Reynolds’s desk.

‘What have you got? About what?’

‘A link with the Scarlatti business. I’m sure of it.’

‘Let me see.’

Glover placed several pages on top of the spread-out newspaper. ‘Nice coverage, wasn’t it?’ he said, indicating the photograph of Canfield and the girl.

‘Just what us dirty old men ordered. He’s going to be the toast of society if he doesn’t spit on the floor.’

‘He’s doing a good job, Ben. They’re back on board ship now, aren’t they?’

‘Sailed yesterday—What is this?’

‘Statistics found it. From Switzerland. Zurich area. Fourteen estates all purchased within the year. Look at these latitude and longitude marks. Every one of the properties is adjacent to another one. A borders on B, B on C, C on D, right down the line. Hundreds of thousands of acres forming an enormous compound.’

‘One of the buyers Scarlatti?’

‘No—But one of the estates was bought in the name of Boothroyd. Charles Boothroyd.’

‘You’re sure? What do you mean “bought in the name of”?’

‘Father-in-law bought it for his daughter and her husband. Named Rawlins. Thomas Rawlins. Partner in the brokerage house of Godwin and Rawlins. His daughter’s name is Cecily. Married to Boothroyd.’

Reynolds picked up the page with the list of names. ‘Who are these people? How does it break down?’

Glover reached for the other two pages. ‘It’s all here. Four Americans, two Swedes, three English, two French, and three German. Fourteen in all.’

‘Do you have any rundowns?’

‘Only on the Americans. We’ve sent for information on the rest.’

‘Who are they? Besides Rawlins.’

‘A Howard Thornton, San Francisco. He’s in construction. And two Texas oilmen. A Louis Gibson and Avery Landor. Between them they own more wells than fifty of their competitors combined.’

‘Any connections between them?’

‘Nothing so far. We’re checking that out now.’

‘What about the others? The Swedes, the French?… The English and the Germans?’

‘Only the names.’

‘Anyone familiar?’

‘Several. There’s an Innes-Brown, he’s English, in textiles, I think. And I recognize the name of Daudet, French. Owns steamship lines. And two of the Germans. Kindorf—he’s in the Ruhr Valley. Coal. And von Schnitzler, speaks for I. G. Farben. Don’t know the rest, never heard of the Swedes, either.’

‘In one respect they’re all alike—’

‘You bet your life they are. They’re all as rich as a roomful of Astors. You don’t buy places like these with mortgages. Shall I contact Canfield?’

‘We’ll have to. Send the list by courier. We’ll cable him to stay in London until it arrives.’

‘Madame Scarlatti may know some of them.’

‘I’m counting on it—But I see a problem.’

‘What’s that?’

‘It’s going to be a temptation for the old girl to head right into Zurich… If she does, she’s dead. So’s Canfield and Scarlett’s wife.’

That’s a pretty drastic assumption.’

‘Not really. We’re presuming that a group of wealthy men have bought fourteen estates all adjoining one another because of a common interest. And Boothroyd—courtesy of a generous father-in-law—is one of them.’

‘Which ties Zurich to Scarlatti—’

‘We think so. We believe it because Boothroyd tried to kill her, right?’

‘Of course.’

‘But the Scarlatti woman is alive. Boothroyd failed.’

‘Obviously.’

‘And the property was purchased before that fact.’

‘It must have been—’

Then if Zurich is tied to Boothroyd, Zurich wants Scarlatti dead. They want to stop her. Also… Zurich presumed success. They expected Boothroyd to succeed.’

‘And now that he’s gone,’ interrupted Glover, ‘Zurich will figure the old woman found out who he was. Maybe more… Ben, perhaps we’ve gone too far. It might be better to call it off. Make a report to Justice and get Canfield back.’

‘Not yet. We’re getting close to something. Elizabeth Scarlatti’s the key right now. We’ll get them plenty of protection.’

‘I don’t want to make an alibi in advance, but this is your responsibility.’

‘I understand that. In our instructions to Canfield make one thing absolutely clear. He’s to stay out of Zurich. Under no condition is he to go to Switzerland.’

‘I’ll do that.’

Reynolds turned from his desk and stared out the window. He spoke to his subordinate without looking at him. ‘And… keep a line open on this Rawlins. Boothroyd’s father-in-law. He’s the one who may have made the mistake.’