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The clerk nodded.
“The reputation of Baltimore and Sons is very high,” Monk continued. “I should be much obliged for the advice of whoever is available to give it to me regarding possible business of great value, which must be of the best. If whoever is in charge of land and material purchase has the time to spare me, it could be of great profit to all of us.” He produced the card which gave his name, an address in Bloomsbury, and a very general occupation of adviser and agent. He had found it useful on many occasions.
“Certainly, Mr. Monk,” the clerk said smoothly, pushing his spectacles a little further up his broad nose. “I shall ask Mr. Dalgarno if he can spare the time. If you would be good enough to wait there, sir.” That was an instruction, not a question, and taking the card in his hand, he disappeared through the doorway, leaving Monk alone.
Monk glanced around the walls at a number of very striking paintings and etchings, several of them of dramatic railway works, towering cliffs on either side of gorges carved by swarming teams of navvies, tiny figures against the grandeur of the scenery. Ramps curved upwards from the lower levels to the higher, dotted with wagons piled with stone, horses straining against the weight. Men were swinging picks, lifting shovels, hauling, digging.
He moved to the next, which showed the exquisite arc of a viaduct stretching halfway across a valley of marshland. Again there were teams of men and horses lifting, carrying, building for the railway to press on its relentless way, to take industry from one city to another over whatever lay between.
He walked over to the other wall, where
paintings hung of specific engines—magnificent, shining machinery belching steam into the sky, wheels gleaming, paintwork bright. He felt a long-forgotten pride surge back, a shiver of excitement and fear, a sense of extraordinary exhilaration.
The door opened and he turned almost guiltily, as if he had been caught in some forbidden pleasure, and saw the clerk waiting for him.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” the clerk said with pride. “Mr. Dalgarno can see you now, if you’d like to come this way, sir.”
“Thank you,” Monk accepted quickly. “Yes, they are very fine.” He was reluctant to leave the pictures, almost as though if he looked at them long enough they would tell him something more. But Dalgarno was waiting, so there was no time now. He followed the clerk through into a spacious but very modestly furnished office, as of a company that had yet to make any income beyond that which it plowed back into further projects rather than luxury for its employees.
But Michael Dalgarno dominated the room so that carved desks or newly upholstered chairs would seem superfluous. He was roughly Monk’s height, and he stood with the relaxed grace of a man who knows his own elegance. His clothes not only fitted him perfectly but were in every way appropriate to his situation—stylish, discreet, and yet with the slight individual touch that marked a man who was not one of the crowd. In Dalgarno’s case it was the unusual fold of his cravat. His hair was dark with a heavy wave, his features regular, but pleasingly not quite handsome. Perhaps his nose was a little long, his lower lip rather too wide. It was a strong face in which the emotions were unreadable.
“How do you do, Mr. Monk,” he said courteously but not with the eagerness that betrays too much hunger for business. “How may I be of assistance to you?” He indicated one of the chairs for Monk to be seated, then returned and sat in the one behind the desk himself.
Monk accepted, feeling almost familiar in the office, as if it had been his own. The piles of paper, bills, and invoices were things he was used to. The books on the shelf behind Dalgarno were about the great railways of the world, and there were also atlases, gazetteers, ordnance survey maps, and references to steel manufacturers, lumber mills, and the dozen major and minor industries connected with the building of railways.
“I represent a company acting for a gentleman who prefers to remain unnamed at this point,” he began, as if it were the most ordinary way to conduct business. “He has the opportunity to supply a foreign country with a very large amount of rolling stock, specifically both passenger carriages and goods wagons.”
He saw Dalgarno’s interest, but the intensity of it was concealed.
“Naturally, I am searching this area for the best stock at the best price,” he continued. “One at which all parties will gain from the deal. Baltimore and Sons has been mentioned as a company that is rather more imaginative than most, and is of a size to give individual advice and attention to a good client.” He saw Dalgarno’s eyes flicker. It was only a slight widening, a greater stillness, but he was experienced in observing people and reading the unspoken word, and he allowed Dalgarno to perceive that. He leaned back a little and smiled, adding no more.
Dalgarno understood. “I see. What sort of quantities are we speaking of, Mr. Monk?”
From some untapped recess of memory, the answer came to his tongue. “Five hundred miles of track, to begin with,” he answered. “If it is successful, going up to at least two thousand over the next ten years. Approximately half of it would be over easy terrain, the other half would involve a good deal of cutting and blasting, probably at least five miles of tunneling. The rolling stock would begin with a hundred goods wagons, and perhaps as many passenger carriages, but we have excellent manufacturers in mind for the latter. Of course, we could always entertain another offer if it proved to be better.”
“Let me understand you, Mr. Monk.” Dalgarno’s expression was utterly relaxed, as if he were only mildly interested, but Monk could see the tension in the muscles beneath the eloquent lines of his jacket. Far more than anything he saw or heard betrayed in Dalgarno’s voice, he knew exactly how Dalgarno felt. He had sat in such a chair at Dalgarno’s age. He could feel it as if he were sitting there now. It was deeper than memory; it was an understanding almost in the bone. With no idea why, his mind could change places with Dalgarno’s.
“You are going to ask me if better means cheaper,” Monk said for him. “It means better value for the money, Mr. Dalgarno. It must be safe; accidents are expensive. And it must last. A thing that has to be replaced before its time is expensive, however little you pay for it. There is cost in purchase, in contracts, in haulage, in disposal of the old, and above all in idleness while you obtain the new.”
Dalgarno smiled—a broad, instinctive gesture. He had excellent teeth. “Your points are well taken, Mr. Monk. I can assure you that any offer Baltimore and Sons might make would meet with all your criteria.”
Monk smiled more widely himself. He had no intention of committing to anything, both because Dalgarno would have no respect for him if he did and because he wanted to remain in Dalgarno’s company for as long as possible. It was his only opportunity to form a personal opinion of the man. Already he found it hard to believe Dalgarno was anybody’s dupe. He would never meet Nolan Baltimore to know if he might have used and misled the younger members of his company, but if he had, Monk doubted it would have included this man opposite him. There was an alertness, a confidence in Dalgarno he could feel, as if he knew the man’s thoughts and could sense his nature. He understood very well why Katrina Harcus was in love with him, but not why she was convinced of his innocence. Surely that was a blindness of the heart?
“If I submit all the particulars,” Monk went on aloud, “would you be able to give me times, costs, and specifications within a month, Mr. Dalgarno?”
“Yes,” Dalgarno said without hesitation. “Delivery might take a little while, especially of rolling stock. We have a very large order in place already, to be shipped to India. That country is building at a great rate, as I am sure you are aware.”
“Yes, of course. But I am impressed that you ship to India!” He was astounded, although he could not have said why.
Dalgarno relaxed, putting his fingers together in a steeple in front of him. “Not us, Mr. Monk. Unfortunately, we are not yet large enough for that. But we are supplying components to another company. But I assume you know this.”
That was not really a question. He was taking it for granted that Monk was testing him, and he was allowing his candor to show.
Monk recovered himself rapidly. “Can you speak for your senior partner also?”
Dalgarno’s face clouded. It was impossible to tell if his hesitation was genuine or a matter of propriety. “Tragically, our senior partner died recently,” he answered. “But he is succeeded by his son, Mr. Jarvis Baltimore, who is more than able to take his place.”
“I’m sorry,” Monk said appropriately. “Please accept my condolences.”
