The Hidden Man Read Free

affairs for so long without our own local banks. We still relied on strongboxes to keep our money safe, if not on secret holes in the ground, or sliding panels in the wainscot. Goldsmiths had long accepted plate and other valuables on pawn, and some also took in cash on account for safe keeping, or on security, which they could then use to finance their pawnbroking advances. In my grandfather’s day it was done by the age old tallystick method: the amount of the deposit would be marked by a certain number of notches on the stick, which would be split along its length, one half to be kept by each side of the bargain.
    Beside these moneylending goldsmiths, here and there a scrivening lawyer could also be found (Moon of Liverpool was, I assumed, one of them) whose specialty was the investment of money on behalf of clients in interest-bearing Exchequer Bills and Debentures, or in the profits from voyages, toll-roads or waterways. But so far no one in the County had taken the next step. No one had put these two services together and formed a bank that took in deposits at interest and issued notes to the public.
    Pimbo had brought with him to the post office a brown and white spaniel pup, and as he talked – which he did a great deal – he repeatedly called it to attention – ‘Suez! Sit! Good boy!’ – in order to treat it to little balls of bacon fat, of which he kept a supply in the pocket of his coat. Between treats Suez persistently attacked the buckle of my shoe making it hard to concentrate on what its master was saying.
    But his burden was the tale of how he, Pimbo, had persuaded the Corporation, a couple of years back, to place in his keeping the entire fund of money built up and laid aside to pay for the Preston Guild, the grand civic celebrations which were held every twenty years, and which as he spoke would be coming round again in six months. Pimbo puffed out his chest like a cock pigeon.
    â€˜It is a great amount, very great, for the Guild is no cheap undertaking.’
    â€˜I hope your strong room is safe, then,’ I said in a jocular tone.
    â€˜Safe?’ he boomed. ‘Yes, my friend, it is indeed safe. Imagine the Bastille of Paris lodged inside the Tower of London. That would not be safer. My strong room’s door has inside it a gate made from thick bars of iron, closed by a pair of strong locks of the latest design. Safe? I should just like to see the man who can dig or break his way into there. But no matter, because the large part of a bank’s money is not in the strong room.’
    â€˜Oh? Where is it?’ I asked, shaking the dog off by waggling my foot.
    â€˜Circulating, Titus. Money is like blood, the town’s blood, and if it does not circulate, corruption and death must follow. So we cannot let it rot in some locked hutch in the Moot Hall, or even in my strong room, merely waiting to be expended. We must put it to work and let it engender more of itself.’
    â€˜You told the Corporation this?’
    â€˜Certainly, and they were so well convinced, you might say they were converted. They saw the light.’
    â€˜And agreed to your proposal?’
    â€˜Yes. It was an excellent stroke of business, was that.’
    â€˜So what do you do with this money?’
    â€˜That is my partner’s concern. He places it at a profit in money-making enterprises – the importing of sugar, spices, or tea from China.’
    At this point a stranger waiting just ahead of us, a prosperous looking farmer from somewhere towards Clitheroe, turned and tapped Pimbo on the shoulder to get his attention.
    â€˜And what, Sir, if the enterprise breaks and the town wants its money?’ he wanted to know.
    Pimbo looked flustered for a moment, but quickly recovered his confidence.
    â€˜No, no, that cannot be, not at all,’ he said wagging his finger. ‘You would sooner break the Rock of Gibraltar. At all events, we furnish promissory notes. Each is