[MG&M Detective Agency 01] - The Greek Coins Affair Read online

  The Greek Coins Affair

  MG&M Detective Agency Book 1

  By Rick Adelmann

  Chapter One

  It Begins With the Stones

  The trip up the west coast of Africa and around the Iberian Peninsula had taken four days. Henry Spellman stood at the bow, staring out to sea. “We’re almost home, Chadwick,” he said to the slightly built, older man clinging to the railing next to him. “Well, your home anyway. I could tell by the dirty, brown skies ahead.”

  “Must you always be so caustic, my good man?” Sir Holdsworth responded. He gazed out to sea, his small eyes searching the surface of the water.

  “What the hell ya looking for, Chadie? You seem as nervous as a dogged squirrel.”

  “Periscopes,” he answered, his white hair flapping in the cold wind. “Those devils are out there, waiting for us to cross their paths.”

  Spellman started to laugh heartily, then shook his head. “You’re not gonna see no periscopes, ya fool. The Kaiser is a man of his word. He said he wouldn’t torpedo any ships in the south Atlantic. Quit your squirming and enjoy the trip.”

  HMS Aquitania passed by the White Cliffs of Dover as the two passengers stood on the lower deck, watching the shoreline of England draw close.

  “I say, do you think they’ve discovered our deception yet?” Holdsworth asked.

  Spellman stared down at the dirty foam along the hull. “I told Douglas we needed to go to Pretoria to renew our mining permit. He was more than happy to scrape up as many diamonds as he could while we were gone. The greedy bastard. The round trip to Pretoria and back to the Kimberley River would have taken a week or better.”

  “So, he won't suspect anything until sometime next week. And, Steven Jackson is too addlebrained to know that we’re gone.”

  “Relax, old fellow, I’ve got it all covered.” Spellman made a crooked grin as he slapped the older man's shoulder. “As long as you’ve got everything set up in London.”

  Holdsworth gazed up into the dark clouds. “Yes, he’ll be there. Miserable day, don’t you think? Inopportune time of year to travel.”

  “It’ll be fine,” Spellman answered, but a shadow of gloom seemed to fall over him. “I like it dark. It covers my thoughts like a cold blanket.”

  On this voyage, along with these two men, the commandeered Aquitania held fifteen hundred soldiers of the Rhodesian Regiment. Their next stop was Southampton, then to a training camp in the north of Wales. After that, the miserable trenches of France and Belgium to face the Germans.

  The two civilians had paid the captain’s mate a considerable sum to share an officer’s quarters. No questions asked, and no explanation offered for their immediate departure from Africa.

  Sir Holdsworth had spent almost all of the voyage on the flush deck, pacing nervously as he stared out to sea, his face drawn, his skin chalky. He hadn’t slept well for some time.

  Henry Spellman, the American, was more adventurous. He spent a lot of time below deck playing cards with the crew and soldiers, where he had a talent for getting the winning cards. He took a great deal of money as well as the ire of his opponents.

  The two noticeably different men held the same secret. One feared capture, the other, ostensibly, dared the authorities to catch him.

  They arrived at Southampton on Monday, January seventh. Sir Holdsworth wired ahead for his driver, Malcolm, to pick them up at the port. He arrived in Holdsworth’s 1909 Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost. Outside of Holdsworth Manor, the auto was his last possession of value.

  Malcolm loaded the luggage into the Silver Ghost and drove toward London. “Will you be going to the manor house, sir?”

  “Not today,” Holdsworth said from the back seat. “We will stay at the Rosewood Hotel tonight, taking the train to Leeds in the morning. We’ll be at the house by nightfall.”

  “You know that you were not expected until the eighteenth, sir. None of the staff will be there.”

  “I understand that, Malcolm. Once we’re settled at the hotel, you can take the auto up. Contact Noreen and have her supply us with enough food for a couple of days and prepare the boiler with hot water. The two of you may then resume your holiday as planned,” Holdsworth added, retrieving his gold watch from his vest pocket. “We’ll all meet at the manor house on the eighteenth.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Sir Holdsworth stepped into the hotel’s lobby as Malcolm placed the luggage on the sidewalk. Returning to the auto, Spellman walked up to the driver's side. “Hey buddy, make sure you and Noreen aren’t at the house when we get there Wednesday night. We’ve got a confidential business matter to deal with.” He slapped Malcolm on the forearm, giving a wink. “You can go now.”

  “We’re checked in,” Holdsworth said as he returned to the sidewalk. Porters had already picked up the luggage and were on their way to the room. “I say, where’s Malcolm? I wanted to give him some last-minute instructions.”

  “He told me he had something to do, and left,” Spellman lied. “He said he’d see you on the eighteenth.’”

  “Dash it all! He knows better than to run off like that.”

  “Go easy on the guy, Chadie. After all, he’s on holiday.” Spellman grinned.

  “We have an appointment with Rupert Shepperson at ten tomorrow morning,” Holdsworth said, still upset with Malcolm.

  “The man from the British History Museum?” Spellman asked, hoping there were no prying ears.

  “Indeed. He’ll bring the ‘items’ with him.” Holdsworth felt equally cautious. “Rupert wants to conclude the trade as soon as possible.”

  “As I do,” Spellman said, walking up to the hotel entrance. Once inside, Spellman took Holdsworth’s arm and led him to a quiet corner of the lobby. “How do we know we can trust this chap of yours?”

  “I explained before,” Holdsworth snapped, shaking his arm free of Spellman’s hold. “Rupert is an expert in Greek antiquities. I’ve known him for years; he’s bloody good to his friends.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. I’m going to the bar to get rid of my sea legs.”

  * * *

  Tuesday morning came with a hangover for Spellman and another sleepless night for Holdsworth. The Englishman didn’t like being in the middle of this. However, if he didn’t follow through on his end, he would lose everything.

  It appeared Shepperson was also in a hurry to make the exchange. Holdsworth and Spellman arrived at the Sweetings Restaurant just after nine o’clock, carrying a brown leather valise. The restaurant owner met them as they entered, “Mr. Shepperson is waiting at your table, gentlemen.”

  Only a sliver of light came through the front window blinds. Holdsworth gazed about the dining room. “Where is everyone?”

  “We don’t open until two this afternoon, sir,” the owner answered. “I am a friend and confidant of Shep. I allowed him the use of the booth in the back for your meeting.”

  “Did he tell you why we’re here?” Spellman asked.

  “No, sir. He said I didn’t need to know.”

  “Then, let’s keep it that way,” Spellman advised, with a hard glare at the owner. “You can go about your business as long as you don’t listen to our conversation.”

  “I was about to do that, sir,” The owner answered, pulling back the curtain to the booth. He glowered at Spellman and walked to the kitchen.

  The short, plump Rupert Shepperson sat with his back to the wall. He eyed Spellman suspiciously when the two men entered.

  Holdsworth saw the doubt on his friend’s face. “It’s okay, Shep. He is trustworthy. I’ve been in the fields of Africa with him for quite a long time.”

  “Sorry, old chap. I’m a bit put out about this whole affair. Sit down and pour yourselves some tea,” Shepperson offered, pointing to the teapot and cups on the table.

  “Ain’t no time for tea,” Spellman said, as he straddled his chair backward. “Show him what we got, Chadie.”

  Holdsworth glared at the uncouth American whom he was beginning to loathe. “You must do something about your rude demeanor, old boy,” he said as Spellman slid a plate toward him. “It’s not good for business.”

  “Never mind about my demeanor, Chadie,” Spellman growled. “Here, dump the rocks on this plate so he can see them.”

  Spellman moved the valise across the floor to Holdsworth with his foot. The older man opened the bag, pried the false bottom open, and retrieved a black cloth pouch from a secret compartment. He poured its contents, clattering, onto the plate, then slipped the plateful of diamonds to Shepperson. The antiquities expert held onto a small, oblong wooden box with brace hinges that sat in front of him.

  “Allow me to examine these stones.” Shepperson brought out his tools and gave a sigh as he appraised the diamonds. He held each stone up to the light, gazing through his loupe at it. Spellman and Holdsworth remained silent, noting that Rupert smiled and nodded as he went through them meticulously. “Quite exquisite. I am satisfied with the quality of the diamonds. Here are the coins.” He slid the small oblong box across the table to Spellman’s eager hands.

  Squinting at the eight small objects inside, Spellman asked, “How do I know these are the real McCoy?” He leaned back in his chair.

  “I’m the curator of Greek antiquities,” Shepperson exclaimed, his chin up. “I can guarantee their authenticity. If you don’t trust me, we can stop this transaction right now.”

 
“I’ve never known Shep to cheat a friend,” Holdsworth said.

  “You can take the coins or leave them.” Shepperson appeared angry with Spellman’s attitude. “There are others who would give anything for them.”

  “It’s a shame you can’t sell these coins yourself. They’re worth a fortune.”

  “Yes, Mr. Spellman, I know their value. However, if I were to sell them, the world of coin brokers would know at once who sold them. Remember, I’m the curator, I’m responsible for the coins. However, I can go to Stockholm and sell these gems without being caught. So, I will accept your offer.” He bagged the diamonds, then slipped them into his overcoat pocket. “The coins are yours.”

  “We’ll keep them in the same box,” Spellman said, handing it to Holdsworth. “And divide them once we get to Holdsworth Manor.”

  “It’s a bloody shame we have to break up the set,” Holdsworth muttered as he gazed fondly into the open box. “My buyer in Scotland would be quite jolly to have them all.”

  “Yeah, it’s a bloody shame, all right,” Spellman replied under his breath.

  “Oh, so you’re staying in London a bit longer?” Shepperson asked, rising from the table.

  “Only another day. I have reservations on a ship that will depart Liverpool in a week. I thought Leeds would be a good out-of-the-way spot to lay low until the ship leaves.”

  * * *

  They arrived in Leeds, County Yorkshire, the next afternoon. The train carried them through open lands and hills, giving Spellman a view he had never seen before. But he wasn’t at all interested in sightseeing. His mind was on the coins and the fortune he would make in Chicago. They summoned a cab for the trip from the train station to Holdsworth Manor and arrived just before sundown.

  At first sight, Spellman was impressed at the size of Holdsworth Manor and its ornate architecture. But, as they drew closer, he saw why Chadwick needed money. The building was in terrible disrepair. Upon entering, the shabbiness of the interior stood out to Spellman as well.

  Noreen had provided a platter of cold cuts, bread, and cheese for them. The two men ate heartily then retired to the front parlor. Holdsworth filled the air with the scent of strong Turkish tobacco as he smoked one of his pipes. Spellman pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

  “So, you’ve got your buyer lined up, Chadie?” Spellman asked, watching the rings of smoke he blew.

  “But, of course, young man. Always be prepared, that’s what I say,” Holdsworth answered, puffing contentedly on his pipe. “I told you in London, he’s a man with money, up in Edinburgh. Always on the prowl for coins to add to his collection.”

  “He’d certainly like all eight of them.”

  “Indeed, he would, but he’ll have to be satisfied with the four I have,” he said, tapping the ashes from his pipe. “I think I’ll go upstairs and bathe. I feel quite fatigued from our trip.”

  “Good idea. I’ll go change into something comfortable.” As Holdsworth left the parlor and went to the staircase, Spellman rose and walked around the house. He explored the servants’ quarters and found it empty. Next, he stepped outside into the cold night air and trod through the snow. Opening the side door of the garage, he saw only Holdsworth’s automobile. They were surely alone.

  Spellman went to his assigned room, but not to relax. He had other plans. Down the hall was the master bedroom. He listened to water flow into the bathtub. He continued to listen while removing his socks and shoes. He listened as he rolled up his pant legs and shirt cuffs.

  Down the hallway, he stood quietly, his ear to Holdsworth’s door. He waited until he heard Holdsworth turn off the water, a sigh escaping the old man’s lips as he slipped into the tub.

  Spellman opened the door, swiftly walked through Holdsworth’s bedroom, and into the bath.

  “Dash it all, Spellman, can’t a man have some privacy?”

  In one quick movement, Spellman reached into the water and grabbed Holdsworth’s ankles, jerking them up, forcing his victim’s head below the water. He stepped into the tub and planted his right foot firmly against Holdsworth’s neck.

  Holdsworth squirmed, struggling desperately to push himself up, but Spellman was too strong for him. The old man grabbed the leg holding him down but was unable to budge it.

  Spellman clenched his ankles firmly. “You're giving me one hell of a fight, you old codger. Did you think I would let you have all eight of the coins?” He laughed as his victim writhed in agony under him. “Go ahead, keep trying to kick free,” Spellman said through gritted teeth. Finally, Holdsworth became still. Spellman continued to hold him, another full two minutes.

  Finally, he stepped from the tub, removed the shower curtain, and wrapped the body in it. In his own room he dried off and redressed. Putting on his overcoat, he returned to the bath and dragged Holdsworth down the stairs to the back entrance. He peered outside once more, gazing around the grounds. Malcolm wasn’t lying; no one was on or around the property.

  Spellman felt elated. He’d just committed the perfect murder and knew he would get away with it. He laughed as he dragged the frail body across the frozen ground to the gazebo he’d seen when they’d arrived. Removing a few boards at the bottom of the gazebo was easy enough. Shoving the naked body of Holdsworth was just as simple. The skinny little runt slid right in, out of sight.

  Spellman returned to the house. He rehung the bathroom curtain, emptied the tub, and cleaned up the excess water splashed about the room. His next step was to slide Sir Holdsworth’s luggage under the gazebo as well. He then set the boards back in place.

  His final step was to go to the study, find something written in Holdsworth’s hand, and copy a note to the butler. The note stated that Holdsworth would stay in London indefinitely. Just in case the butler became curious, the note didn’t say where Holdsworth would be staying.

  He tacked the note to the butler's pantry door then went upstairs for his own luggage. He especially wanted to check on the small valise. All eight coins were present and accounted for. They sat in the hidden compartment, where the diamonds had been placed before the transaction.

  “It’s over.” Spellman got into the Silver Ghost, which Malcolm had left for them, and drove toward Liverpool. He would soon board the HMS Aquitania; yes, he had lied about that too. He didn’t have to wait even a few days. The Aquitania was leaving Liverpool tomorrow on its last leg of the trip to America. It was due to arrive in New York on the twenty-first.

  Unless an iceberg blocked their way, he would be a free man with a fortune in ancient coins securely hidden in his valise.

  Chapter Two

  The Soldier Meets the Investigator

  I waited anxiously for the arrival of Lieutenant Patrick Brady of the Cleveland Police Department. As I paced the floor, dispelling excess energy, I peered through the curved frosted windows of my library, searching with my one good eye for Brady’s car.

  I unfolded the slip of paper Brady had sent and reread it:

  My old friend,

  I have a special favor to ask of you. A distinguished young man is coming to live in Cleveland. He received the transfer notice with little warning and now needs a residence for a short time until he finds his own dwelling.

  If you would be so kind as to consider this request, I will be dropping by with the gentleman tomorrow afternoon.

  With my regards,

  Lt. Patrick Brady

  I looked around the library and adjacent hallway, thinking that this old, stone mansion has stood on Sumner Street for decades. It has too many empty bedrooms. So I agreed.

  The only other information Brady had shared with me was that my guest had spent time with the New York Police Department as a detective. I trusted the lieutenant as a family friend and knew he wouldn't saddle me with a wayward wanderer. However, his description of the man as unusual and engaging bothered me. I waited anxiously to see what he meant by that. I have the unfortunate habit of being prematurely judgmental when I meet someone. First impressions are important to me. I say unfortunate, but a lot of the time, I pin the man for what he is right up front. If I don’t like the guy, out he goes.