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“I’ll try a little harder tonight.”
“I’ll look forward to that, sir.”
“I only wish it could have been sooner, but this week…” he said without explanation as he closed the boot of the car. “Thank you for your help, Miss Sullivan.”
“My pleasure, sir. I do hope we’ll see you again.”
Thursday afternoon
“Cedric, it’s Stephen Ledbury from the Midland.”
“Good morning, Stephen.”
“I’ve just had a call from the gentleman in question to say that he’s changed his mind. He won’t be selling his Barrington’s shares after all.”
“Did he give a reason?” asked Cedric.
“He told me he now believes in the long-term future of the company, and would prefer to hold on to the stock.”
“Thank you, Stephen. Please let me know if anything changes.”
“I most certainly will, because I still haven’t cleared my debt with you.”
“Oh, yes, you have,” said Cedric without explanation. He put down the phone and wrote down the three words that told him everything he needed to know.
Thursday evening
Sebastian arrived at King’s Cross station just after seven. He walked up the steps to the first level and stood in the shadow of the large four-sided clock which allowed him an uninterrupted view of The Night Scotsman standing at platform 5 waiting to transport 130 overnight passengers to Edinburgh.
Cedric had told him he needed to be certain that all three of them had boarded the train before he could risk releasing his own shares on to the market. Sebastian watched as Don Pedro Martinez, with all the swaggering confidence of a Middle Eastern potentate, and his son Luis strode on to the platform just minutes before the train was due to depart. They made their way to the far end of the train and stepped into a first-class carriage. Why wasn’t Diego with them?
A few minutes later, the guard blew his whistle twice and waved his green flag with a flourish, and The Night Scotsman set off on its journey north with only two Martinezes on board. Once Sebastian could no longer see the plume of white smoke coming from the train’s funnel, he ran to the nearest telephone box and phoned Mr. Hardcastle on his private line.
“Diego didn’t get on the train.”
“His second mistake,” Cedric said. “I need you to come back to the office immediately. Something else has come up.”
Sebastian would have liked to tell Cedric that he had a date with a beautiful young woman, but this was not the time to suggest he might have a private life. He dialed the gallery, put four pennies into the box, pressed button A and waited until he heard the unmistakable voice of Mr. Agnew on the other end of the line.
“Can I speak to Miss Sullivan?”
“Miss Sullivan no longer works here.”
Thursday evening
Sebastian had only one thought on his mind as Tom drove him back to the bank. What could Mr. Agnew have meant by “Miss Sullivan no longer works here”? Why would Sam give up a job she enjoyed so much? Surely she couldn’t have been sacked? Perhaps she was ill, but she’d been there that morning. He still hadn’t solved the mystery by the time Tom parked outside the front entrance of Farthings. And worse, he had no way of contacting her.
Sebastian took the lift to the top floor and went straight to the chairman’s office. He knocked on the door and walked in, to find a meeting in progress.
“Sorry, I’ll—”
“No, come in, Seb,” said Cedric. “You remember my son,” he added as Arnold Hardcastle walked purposefully toward him.
As they shook hands, Arnold whispered, “Only answer the questions that are put to you, don’t volunteer anything.” Sebastian looked at the two other men in the room. He’d never seen either of them before. They didn’t offer to shake his hand.
“Arnold is here to represent you,” said Cedric. “I have already told the detective inspector that I am sure there must be a simple explanation.”
Sebastian had no idea what Cedric was talking about.
