Read Online The Elder Ice: A Harry Stubbs Adventure by David Hambling - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Hambling
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passed housewives with baskets on their way to the shops, delivery boys on foot and on bicycle, a postman finishing his morning rounds, a group of children from the Blind School led in a crocodile by a teacher. The world was going about its regular business.
The Recreation ground was a large rectangular area consisting of playing fields at one end and a landscaped section at the other. Consulting my instructions, I located the bench directed. Nobody was in sight except a pair of municipal gardeners digging up flowerbeds in anticipation of spring. The ground was hard frozen, and that was an optimistic task.
“Good morning, Mr Stubbs,” Mrs Crawford greeted me cordially and indicated I should remain seated. “A chilly morning, I'm afraid, but we need a secluded spot away from other ears.” She was wearing a long coat trimmed with fur, patent leather shoes, a black hat, and carried a large handbag and a black umbrella. She remained standing as she spoke. Outside the office, she seemed different from her usual self. I had never seen her without her reading glasses. “This will be a morning of revelations. Firstly and most importantly, you are about to become a wealthy man—if you're able to follow my instructions.”
“ Your instructions?”
“Yes, mine. In fact, you've been following them for some time. That is one of the things about which I must undeceive you. I'm afraid the world is not as kind and generous a place as you have been led to believe,” she said sadly. “Solicitors’ firms are not apt to give golden opportunities to boxers with no qualifications and a taste for adventure stories. Mr Rowe has not been taking a personal interest in your career.”
“Yes, he is,” I protested automatically. “I have had many words of encouragement from him and some very flattering reports on my performance.”
“I'm afraid not. You may have received messages in his name, but he wrote not one of them. Your employment as Latham and Rowe was entirely on my initiative. The partners believe you are kept on to help with debt collection duties and the like. They have no idea of the terms of your engagement. In effect, you have been working entirely for me.”
This shocking news took some time to digest.
“My interest,” Mrs Crawford went on, “is in the Shackleton case. Again, Mr Rowe has no idea the firm is still pursuing it. As far as he's concerned, it's a dead letter. Only you and I know otherwise.”
“But Mrs Crawford, why?”
“Mr Stubbs, have you met a single person in your investigations who genuinely believed that Shackleton had anything of value? I think not. The world is persuaded that he was nothing but a wild adventurer, a treasure-hunter who never found treasure. But we know different. We know he found Aladdin's cave.”
“How do we know that? And what did he find? What was in that biscuit tin?”
“That is the answer to the mystery and the gold at the end of the rainbow. I will explain more at the proper time. The only question now is whether you are willing to walk the final mile with me and claim the reward for your labours.”
I considered the proposition, tried to gauge what she was asking of me and what was at stake. “My position at Latham and Rowe,” I started.
“Put it out of your mind.” She shook her head. “I have submitted my resignation, ‘for personal reasons’ with immediate effect, and it has been accepted. I have destroyed the paperwork relating to the Shackleton legacy. If you go back, you will not have a post, and there are likely to be some difficulties over your employment there. Our bridges are well and truly burned, Mr Stubbs. We must look forward.”
The mention of Shackleton’s name made me think of him and the Imperial Trans-Antarctic Endurance Expedition in 1914. When the Endurance had been stuck in the ice for months and then crumpled like an empty tin can, Shackleton’s dream of crossing the Antarctic disappeared – the pressing matter then was how
The Recreation ground was a large rectangular area consisting of playing fields at one end and a landscaped section at the other. Consulting my instructions, I located the bench directed. Nobody was in sight except a pair of municipal gardeners digging up flowerbeds in anticipation of spring. The ground was hard frozen, and that was an optimistic task.
“Good morning, Mr Stubbs,” Mrs Crawford greeted me cordially and indicated I should remain seated. “A chilly morning, I'm afraid, but we need a secluded spot away from other ears.” She was wearing a long coat trimmed with fur, patent leather shoes, a black hat, and carried a large handbag and a black umbrella. She remained standing as she spoke. Outside the office, she seemed different from her usual self. I had never seen her without her reading glasses. “This will be a morning of revelations. Firstly and most importantly, you are about to become a wealthy man—if you're able to follow my instructions.”
“ Your instructions?”
“Yes, mine. In fact, you've been following them for some time. That is one of the things about which I must undeceive you. I'm afraid the world is not as kind and generous a place as you have been led to believe,” she said sadly. “Solicitors’ firms are not apt to give golden opportunities to boxers with no qualifications and a taste for adventure stories. Mr Rowe has not been taking a personal interest in your career.”
“Yes, he is,” I protested automatically. “I have had many words of encouragement from him and some very flattering reports on my performance.”
“I'm afraid not. You may have received messages in his name, but he wrote not one of them. Your employment as Latham and Rowe was entirely on my initiative. The partners believe you are kept on to help with debt collection duties and the like. They have no idea of the terms of your engagement. In effect, you have been working entirely for me.”
This shocking news took some time to digest.
“My interest,” Mrs Crawford went on, “is in the Shackleton case. Again, Mr Rowe has no idea the firm is still pursuing it. As far as he's concerned, it's a dead letter. Only you and I know otherwise.”
“But Mrs Crawford, why?”
“Mr Stubbs, have you met a single person in your investigations who genuinely believed that Shackleton had anything of value? I think not. The world is persuaded that he was nothing but a wild adventurer, a treasure-hunter who never found treasure. But we know different. We know he found Aladdin's cave.”
“How do we know that? And what did he find? What was in that biscuit tin?”
“That is the answer to the mystery and the gold at the end of the rainbow. I will explain more at the proper time. The only question now is whether you are willing to walk the final mile with me and claim the reward for your labours.”
I considered the proposition, tried to gauge what she was asking of me and what was at stake. “My position at Latham and Rowe,” I started.
“Put it out of your mind.” She shook her head. “I have submitted my resignation, ‘for personal reasons’ with immediate effect, and it has been accepted. I have destroyed the paperwork relating to the Shackleton legacy. If you go back, you will not have a post, and there are likely to be some difficulties over your employment there. Our bridges are well and truly burned, Mr Stubbs. We must look forward.”
The mention of Shackleton’s name made me think of him and the Imperial Trans-Antarctic Endurance Expedition in 1914. When the Endurance had been stuck in the ice for months and then crumpled like an empty tin can, Shackleton’s dream of crossing the Antarctic disappeared – the pressing matter then was how
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