Chapter 26: Chapter 26
.
The agency opened at nine next morning, but the workman was not outside the shop
clutching his papers, nor was he to be seen though Gabriel looked up and down the
street.
Office time was regulated by a richly ornamented French chiming, mantel clock that
James Pryor had observed one day in a jeweller's window. It was decorated with a
bronze representation of cupid aiming his arrow at a shepherd and shepherdess.
Cupid must have missed and hit James Pryor instead because he became enamoured
of the clock, purchased it on the spot with building society money and now it graced a
shelf in a small office that had been partitioned off for his exclusive use. Just as this
clock sounded the very last note of nine Mr. Pringle, their chief clerk, appeared
through the door. He was 29 years of age, lived with his wife in Richmond, and had
been glad to get the job with Pryor and Fox. Times were hard and there was much
unemployment, particularly among office workers.
He had been clerk in the office long enough to observe the business practises of the
two partners and realized the hollowness of the Melbourne and London Amicable
Building Society; but it was not his place to express an opinion on it or on the conduct
of the agency. He had become a little more confident about his future over the past
few weeks, mainly because the extraordinary optimism of James Pryor buoyed up
everyone connected with him.
He was a thin, sandy haired man, prematurely bald, who now took off a swallowtailed black coat and exchanged it for his office coat. He always brought paper cuffs to
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the office to wear on his shirtsleeves after he and his wife had had 'words' about inkstains on the cuff, which she had not been able to ub out.
The two men greeted one another gravely and Fox stepped out to buy the Age and
Argus. Reading the morning papers was one of his duties, particularly the classified
advertisements of real estate for sale or purchase. Interesting advertisements would
be shown to his partner and they would decide if there was any profit to be gained by
Pryor and Fox contacting either buyer or seller to offer their services.
At ten o'clock Fox was still carefully reading the papers and the clerk was writing out
some correspondence. The other partner was not there, but no one expected to see
him in the office before ten, except when he had an appointment, or called on
acquaintances first thing to see if there was any chance of working up new business.
Mr. Gladman was their first caller for the day. He walked in, his head held high. On
this occasion he had remembered his hat; he wore a fashionable check suit with a
sprigged waistcoat and carried an ebony walking stick with a chased silver handle, his
dundreary whiskers had been carefully combed and brushed; it was clear that a
matter of importance was in hand.
Fox was not surprised to see Mr. Gladman, he had been expecting the man to call
about his smashed windows but did not know whether he was to be prayed over or
dunned for the cost of the repairs.
What was astonishing was to see that Mr. Gladman was in the company of the other
person whose appearance had been expected earlier, the cockney workman, the
depositor.
They entered the office together with Mr. Gladman firmly holding the upper arm of
the workman as though he was in some sort of moral custody. A third man followed
whom Fox did not notice at the time his attention was so concentrated on the first
two.
"Mr. Fox, you have met Brother Thompson, I think," were Gladman's opening
remarks. He pushed forward the witness as though he was the first exhibit in a trial.
"By the grace of the Lord, after a life of sin and debauchery, he became a member of
our little flock and he also toils to earn his bread in an iron yard. He should be there
even now as I speak lest his master, a heathen, as are so many of our fellow
countrymen should discharge him from his present employment. Yet why is he here?
Why is he here in your office --?"
"He wants his money back," interrupted Fox, "Mr. Pringle, look over his receipt, if it is
in order write a cheque for the amount."
Mr. Gladman raised his hand. "No, Mr. Fox, a cheque will not do. I know for a fact that
your firm was caught in the bank crash and I caution Brother Thompson against
accepting anything from you but sterling or a banker's draft on a respectable, solid
bank.Brother Thompson caught a train and came to my home last night in great
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distress," he continued. "He came because of my position in the city, my knowledge of
the world and because of our brotherhood in the church. He told me that he had
encountered you in a low lodging house, which I hope he will never have to enter
again, and you were in very dubious company. 0ne of your companions offered to do
him a severe injury and from his description I identified that person as the ruffian
who smashed my windows and later violently escaped from the police.In view of
this," he continued, "I have not only brought Brother Thompson here in the hope that
I can assist him to recover his money I also first accompanied him to the police station
and acquainted them with the facts. Mr. Jones of the Detective Office came with us on
this visit and I believe he has some questions to ask you."
At this cue Detective Sergeant Jones, who had stayed in the background to observe
and listen stepped forward and laid his notebook on the counter. "You are Mr. Fox, I
believe, a principal of this firm, would you oblige me, Sir, with your full name and
address?"
Not for the first time Fox mentally cursed the ubiquitous and irresponsible Benno
who had got him into this position. "Let's clear something up first," he said. "Mr.
Pringle, have you written that cheque yet?"
Pringle's mouth snapped shut. "Nossir." He took the paper presented by Thompson
and started to write..
Gladman gazed sternly at Gabriel. "No, Mr. Fox, as I said before your cheque is not
acceptable. I am here in the capacity of a loving elder brother to Brother Thompson
and I will not permit him to accept from you anything less than cash or a draft from a
respectable banking house. When he has recovered the money that he earned by the
sweat of his brow then we will discuss my costs and damages. As you may gather
from my appearance in this office I have not been able to open my business today. It
is a day when I could expect to do good business so being closed represents a
grievous loss for me."
He folded his arms and gazed immovably on the assembled company.
Fox did his best to ignore Gladman. "Mr. Pringle, write the cheque. I will sign it. Mr.
Pryor should be here at any moment and he will countersign and then you can take
Mr. Thompson to the bank so he can get his money and he need not come back. Mr.
Thompson you will have your money within half an hour, then you can do what you
like with it."
Mr. Gladman smiled in a superior way but said nothing. He did not expect to see
James Pryor ever again and was taken aback when that gentleman walked into the
office just as the detective was about to restate his question.
Mr. Pryor greeted them, raising his hat to the company before hanging it on its own
particular peg. He turned and rubbed his hands, ready to do business.
"Our friend is back," stated Fox, indicating Thompson, "and he wants his money. Sign
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that cheque and he can have it."
Mr. Pryor took the cheque that was handed to him by the clerk and signed it without
examination or comment. With a feeling of relief Fox sent the clerk and the reluctant
depositor off to the bank to collect the money.
Mr. Gladman was a little uneasy at this development. He had built up a great charge of
moral indignation as though it was a head of steam, enough to drive an engine. A little
of the pressure would be lost if Thompson actually recovered his investment. He
waited.
"Now, Sir," said the detective after he had been introduced to James Pryor and had
recorded personal details about the partners "Is it a fact that you were seen yesterday
evening in the company of one--?" and here he consulted his notebook, "one Seamus
Benjamin Murphy who escaped from custody at the Bourke Street police station and
is needed to assist our enquires in relation to an incident of property damage that
occurred on the same day in Bourke Street at approximately three pm.?"
Fox had to admit that he had been in the company of that desperate character at the
time and place stated.
"Your clear duty, Mr. Fox was to inform the police. It is possible that there may be
charges laid because of certain allegations that were made against this man Murphy
in relation to the incident I mentioned. It could be inferred that you were obstructing
the course of justice. Of course if charges had been laid any assistance given to escape
the police would be regarded very seriously."
Once again Fox had to explain his connection with the terrible Benno and deny that
he incited Benno to smash Mr. Gladman's windows, or knew anything about his
intentions. He decided that it might be possible to tell a lie or two and get away with
it.
"I couldn't take him to the police station, he wouldn't come; well, he ran away last
time, didn't he? I thought it best to get him settled down for the night and then go to
the police and tell them he was in such and such a bed in the sixpenny lodgings. You
couldn't expect me to wrestle with a violent man like that and drag him along to the
police station. Anyway he had been drinking all day; once he was asleep you could
have taken him without any trouble at all. It would have worked only he was still
awake when the constable saw him and I would not have any idea where he is now."
The detective tapped his teeth with his pencil. He had the air of a man who had
listened to all the liars in Victoria at some time during his career in the force.
"It seems an odd connection, you and this wharf labourer, but I have heard some
stranger stories in my time that just happened to be true. You say you have no idea
where he is now. Will you guarantee to let us know if you do become acquainted with
his whereabouts?"
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Fox wholeheartedly promised to let the police know anything that might come to light
about Benno. He wanted nothing more to do with that erratic individual.
Mr. Gladman could contain himself no longer. "But what of this so called Building
Society? How could a penniless migrant straight off the boat become a director of a
society that advertises to have £5 million in capital unless it is a house of straw and
the £5million exists only in the imagination of the directors? Ask your questions along
those lines, Mr. Jones, and I am sure you will get some very interesting answers. How
does it exist except on the subscriptions of persons who are foolish enough to be
taken in by its advertising?"
Mr. Pryor had known nothing of Fox's adventures of the preceding night and had not
been able to join in the discussion but now Mr. Gladman had strayed into the field in
which he was most fluent.
"I am glad you asked that question, Mr. Gladman," he stated. "Naturally our books are
not open for inspection by the general public but they may be viewed at any time by
the properly constituted authorities. Mr. Jones is welcome to the office for that
purpose and in fact we would encourage him to obtain an inspection warrant. I
mention a warrant so as to protect all parties. Our business methods are open and
honest but we cannot permit any person whether police or civil to inspect our books
unless we also are protected. Sergeant, please set Mr. Gladman's mind at rest by
applying for a warrant. Our ledgers, our journals, our day books, our investment
registers, our bank documents will all be open to you."
"You were caught in the bank crash; how could you still be solvent?"
Mr. Pryor looked at him knowingly. "You're a businessman Mr. Gladman, you hear
things in the city before they become public and, no doubt, sometimes you act on that
private knowledge. We happened to learn in time that the bank was in difficulties and
we took the appropriate measures; as you would, as would any prudent businessmen.
But have no fears for us, our society is solvent and will be a force for progress in
Melbourne for many years to come."
Mr. Gladman was about to pursue the matter further when Pringle, the head clerk,
entered the office.
Mr. Gladman looked at him sharply. "Where is Mr. Thompson, what have you done
with him?"
"He got his money and left me at the bank. I think he was going back to work but he
didn't say anything, he just signed for it and cleared off."
"He left no word for me? No sign of gratitude for having recovered his money?"
"He didn't have to," retorted Gabriel, "he was going to get it anyway. I told him that
last night. You could have saved yourself all this trouble and stayed with your
business."
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"My business," wailed Mr. Gladman, "is ruined. How can I conduct a business from a
boarded up shop. Did you know the story was in the papers this morning? The
reporters were there less than half an hour after the outrage was committed. There is
a report in the Argus and almost half a column in the Age. Just before Christmas, too,
really, this could not have happened at a worse time."
James Pryor brightened up immediately when he heard of these newspaper stories
and his eyes turned to their own glass windows as though measuring the publicity
value of having them smashed too. He decided to give some consideration to Mr.
Gladman's problems.
"You are insured?" he asked.
"Yes, but the glass cannot be replaced until the new year. I first met the criminal that
broke my windows here, in this office; I do believe it is incumbent on you, Mr. Fox, as
his companion to help lift me from this pit of despair into which I have tumbled. My
feet are bound round with snares and the devil stands across my path."
"Wait a minute,” said the detective, interrupting Mr. Gladman's flow of language.
We're a bit busy at the station right now, and I have to hurry back."
"What charges are you laying?" Mr. Gladman enquired eagerly. "Someone in this
Godless modern society has to be held responsible for wilful damage to property."
The detective shook his head. "At present there's no provable criminal connection
with anyone here. Nothing that would stand up in court. If you come across new
information you could let me know but it would have to be a whole lot stronger than
what I've heard today. The only advice I've got for anyone here is for Mr. Fox. I would
advise you, Mr. Fox, to break any connection with this fellow Murphy. He's a bad lot is
our friend Murphy and when we catch him he'll be in trouble. You needn't expect to
see him around for a few years."
"But the books, are you or are you not going to inspect the books of this so called
building society?"
"Ah well, Mr. Gladman, we're police, not bookkeepers. We act on complaints; yours is
the only one we have had so far and the problem seems to have been rectified. Any
doubts you have about the Building Society should be referred to the Registrar it is up
to him if he wants to investigate the books, If you feel you have some grounds against
Mr. Fox for incitement to commit damage against your premises I'm afraid you will
have to take civil action. You had better go and see a solicitor."
The detective walked out leaving Mr. Gladman staring folornly at the partners. He too
was about to depart when Mr. Pryor called him back.
"Don't go for a minute, Mr. Gladman; I think we should talk some more about this
matter. Would you care to step into my office?" There was scarcely room for the three
of them in the cubicle that James Pryor graced with the title of office. He had already
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made enquiries about moving to larger premises but office space in Melbourne was
hard to come by and they were reluctant to move from their shop in the busiest part
of Swanston Street.
Mr. Gladman took the client's chair and Fox sat on a corner of the desk.
"This is an unhappy affair, Mr. Gladman, but I think you will have to accept Mr. Fox's
assurances that he had nothing to do with smashing your windows. The next question
that arises is how can we help you?"
"It's a heavy loss," said Mr. Gladman, shaking his head sadly. "The insurance company
will replace my windows but how can I pay rent and expenses if there is to be no
income from the business until the new year? Even if I did accept Mr. Fox's story
there is no doubt that the miscreant had some sort of connection with this office. I
really believe you gentlemen owe me a duty of assistance in these troubles."
"Of course we do," agreed Mr. Pryor genially, rubbing his hands together, "And we are
going to turn this affair round into one of the greatest strokes of good fortune you
have ever had. What you need, Mr. Gladman, is a pre-Christmas disaster sale. Put up
all your prices so that they can be reduced by 25% and we will have some banners
made for the front of your building. You are going to have the biggest sale of musical
instruments ever seen in Melbourne because Mr. Fox and I will be in charge of
publicity. Don't worry about the fee it will be modest and based on results; we're
going to astound you with the new sales you will get out of this."
Mr. Gladman was astounded already. The effrontery of talking about extracting a fee
for repairing this commercial disaster, and the apparent vulgarity of Mr. Pryor's
plans, was just too much.
He rose. "I believe we have no further business to discuss," he said icily, "You will be
hearing from my solicitors."
"No, no! Mr. Gladman, never go to the law unless you can be sure of making a profit
out of someone." James Pryor gestured the music dealer back to his seat. "You heard
the detective; you cannot prove a connection between Mr. Fox and this fellow Murphy
any more than you can prove that Mr. Fox incited him to break your windows. Let's
be sensible. The chances are you would not win a court case and if so you would have
to pay costs. That would be disastrous; there is no way you could make a profit out of
a situation like that, whereas, at present, I can see a golden profit just waiting to be
picked up."
"After we have sorted all this out I'll talk to you about buying your own premises.
This is an important business you are running Mr. Gladman but it is not working to
full capacity unless it is also paying off instalments on the shop for you. Renting is no
good to a businessman. Buy now and when you retire you can sell the business and
rent the property. You buy property here in the city before prices go up, otherwise, in
a few years, you will bitterly regret this lost opportunity."
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Mr. Gladman was not in the mood to consider buying property. He was thinking about
his closed shop. "I have built my business up over many years and my clients would
be outraged if I was to engage in a vulgar display such as you suggest. They would go
to Allans’ or one of the other music stores. You can't build up a high class clientele
such as I have and then offend them with vulgarity."
Mr. Pryor fixed him with a glittering eye. "We will hire a German Band to play on the
footpath outside the shop -- Christmas Carols will do very nicely. Just for an hour or
two each day, and then in the evenings. This whole thing can be carried over into
January until you get the windows fixed. You can have a big January sale; it might be
best not to reduce the prices until January."
"Another thing. I am sure Mr. Fox would not mind coming back for a few days. There
is very little doing in Real Estate right now and Mr. Pringle and I can handle it. Yes,
that's it! Mr. Fox can back up your sales and I will deal with the publicity. Perhaps, Mr.
Fox, you could go with Mr. Gladman right now and get things under weigh?"
Mr. Gladman and Gabriel looked at one another, lost in astonishment, but James Pryor
paid no attention. He was busy calling for the clerk to go round to the signwriter's
premises to alert him to the need to prepare for the banners and signs that would be
designed presently by Mr. Pryor to help rescue the stricken music shop.
Mr. Gladman attempted to get matters clear in the minds of his auditors. "I haven't
authorised this, you know. It is a matter that requires a great deal of thought and
what you are asking me is to offend the standards of a lifetime. What if the results are
not what you expect and you make matters worse than they are now?"
James Pryor waved these objections away. "Not now, old fellow, time is of the essence.
I will have to catch the sign-writer early or the work won't be done today. You and
Gabriel go round to the music shop like good chaps and start getting everything
ready. I will let you know the instant the sign-writer's are able to come round and put
up the banners."
Somehow, soon after this, they were out of the shop and on the footpath, Mr. Gladman
was not quite sure how the interview had ended so quickly.
"This young man, your partner, is very overbearing, I had quite a lot to say still and I
consider it most presumptuous of him to tell me, a businessman of my experience,
how to run my business."
Gabriel was better acquainted with the overpowering personality of his partner than
was Mr. Gladman and had not expected anything different. He said, "iI you don't want
to follow his suggestions you will have to go back and tell him so; if not we will go to
your shop and open up."
Mr. Gladman fidgeted nervously with his walking cane and then decided, like so many
others, that it might be easier to let James Pryor have his own way than argue. They
walked away together in uneasy silence.