Fatal Venture Read Free Page B

A N Malthus, 777 Jordan Square. London, W8. He wondered if they should continue their talk, but as it happened the decision was taken from him. The man whose place he occupied arrived from the first lunch and he had to move.
    “You taking the second lunch?” Bristow asked. “Then let’s carry on there.”
    But the restaurant car was crowded, and though they sat together, they could no longer speak in private. And after lunch Morrison’s duties claimed him. It was not till an hour later, on the deck of the
Canterbury
that they were able to talk again, and then there was only time to fix a meeting in London for the following weekend.

2
WANTED, A BACKER
    It was on a Monday that the Greek Islands cruising party returned to London, and at intervals all through that week Morrison thought over the strange interview the journey had included.
    He was impressed with the case Bristow had made. While remaining pessimistic about the ship’s certificate, he had no doubts as to the tourist side of the affair. The popularity of the piers at seaside places – the nearest approach to large ship cruising that the average man could achieve – proved that the scheme would meet a real need. If Bristow could produce his ship, he, Morrison, could fill her.
    The more, indeed, he thought over it, the more profitable the scheme began to appear. It was overheads that killed the great steamship lines, and here there would be comparatively little. Only the ship herself would be needed. No great sets of offices would have to be maintained. The existing tourist agencies would do the booking, and the purser’s rooms on board would accommodate the clerical staff.
    On the other hand, the scheme had obvious drawbacks. It was hard to believe that, if it contained no snag, someone wouldn’t have already tried it. Then existing tourist concerns and seaside resorts would see in it a rival and do all in their power to damn it. It would, moreover, be extraordinarily vulnerable. Tom would say to Dick or Harry: “I thought of going on her, but I can’t forget she was sold for breaking up. Tell me in confidence, old man, do you think she’s safe?” A hint of that kind would grow like a snowball. Or someone might be put up to state baldly that the ship was dangerous, knowing that a slander action, even if unsuccessfully defended, would in itself achieve the aim.
    But during this week Morrison had not only ruminated; he had acted. First he had enquired about Bristow. He had found a clerk in the office of his firm’s solicitors who knew a member of the staff of Bristow, Emerson and Bristow, and at the cost of a film and supper he was able to put his questions direct. From these it emerged that the man he had met in the train really was the firm’s junior partner, and that he bore very much the character Morrison had imagined. Bristow, as seen through his subordinate’s eyes, was clever and efficient, good at his job, determined and decent up to a point. “He’s alright if everything goes his way,” the young man explained, “but if he gets crossed, he’s the very devil. But he’s straight enough, if that’s what you want to know.”
    This being the point at immediate issue, Morrison decided to go ahead with the costs, trusting Bristow to pay him a reasonable sum for the work. He also determined to make a few enquiries about Malthus, the man who had been asleep – or awake – in the train. He could check him up in the various books of reference, and perhaps might find someone who knew him.
    Getting out the costs proved a bigger job than he had expected, and he had to bribe with theatres and dinners certain other acquaintances – this time from shipping offices – before he could get his information. However, what with this and the figures he found in his own firm’s books, he was able to prepare what he believed was a reasonable statement.
    The figures were impressive. If they were correct, there was a fortune in the scheme. Morrison began to