Vendetta

By Harry Carmichael

John Piper's diary for Saturday December 7th read: Fritz Haupmann. Call 2.30 re factory insurance cover with Cresset.

When Piper arrived at the house and saw his client lounging in an armchair listening to Mozart, he had no reason to think that this was one day he would never forget. It was not Haupmann's premonitions of disaster that so impressed themselves on Piper, nor even the startling beauty of Gizelle Haupmann. . . .

Disregarding the warnings Haupmann had been given at seances held by a London spiritualist association, Piper endorsed the additional insurance that Haupmann asked for. No sooner were the policies issued than it became ap¬parent that something more tangible than ghostly spirits was bent on injuring Fritz Haupmann. Somebody hated him: somebody was prepared to conduct a ruthless vendetta against him and all he held dear.

Harry Carmichael's latest novel builds up by way of numerous adroit twists, shifts of suspicion and rising excitement to a sensational climax.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
• Release date: Sep 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9781448205578

Harry Carmichael

Leo Ognall (1908-1979), who wrote several novels under the pseudonyms Harry Carmichael and Hartley Howard, was born in Montreal and worked as a journalist before starting his fiction career. He wrote over ninety novels before his death in 1979. Harry Carmichael's primary series, written from 1952-1978, The Piper and Quinn series included characters such as John Piper (an insurance assessor) and Quinn, a crime reporter. His other works include: The Glenn Bowman series, 1951-1979; The Philip Scott series, 1964-1967.

Book preview

Vendetta

by

HARRY CARMICHAEL

Contents

Title Page

Dedication Page

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Chapter XX

Chapter XXI

Imprint

We have seen the best of our time: machinations, hollowness, treachery, and all ruinous disorders, follow us disquietly to our graves.

King Lear,

Act I, Sc. ii.

Chapter I

The Note in Piper’s diary for Saturday, nth December, read:

Fritz Haupmann, Fernlea, Adelaide Gardens, Ealing. Call 2.30 re factory insurance with Cresset.

It was just a reminder of a business appointment. He had kept many others like it. As he memorised the address, he had no thought in his mind that this was one day he would never forget.

He left his office about noon, lunched at a place in Shaftesbury Avenue, and spent another fifteen or twenty minutes over his morning paper. Then he went window-shopping for a while to get some ideas for Christmas gifts. At half past one he collected his car from the garage.

The roads were not busy that dull, cold Saturday afternoon and he made better time than he had expected. It was not quite two-fifteen when he swung off Western Avenue into Donnisthorpe Lane, just two-twenty when he reached Adelaide Gardens.

Three minutes later he pulled up outside the house called Fernlea. He was early for his appointment but he hardly thought that Fritz Haupmann would mind. On the phone Haupmann had said he would be available any time from two o’clock onwards.

"… I prefer to discuss this matter in the privacy of my own home instead of at the factory. Since I had a word with the Cresset Insurance Company I’ve thought of something else I’d like to talk over with you…."

Piper wondered how much, if anything, Haupmann had been able to bring with him when he came to England. According to the office file he was a naturalised Austrian.

Spoke good English with just a faint accent and sounded like a man of education. First took out insurance with the Cresset late in 1945, so he was probably a refugee.

One idle thought ran on into another while Piper sat looking at the handsome wrought-iron gates, the paved drive leading up to the house with its built-on garage.

Nearly every Continental I’ve met has been the same. They come over with practically nothing and build up a prosperous business in no time at all. This fellow’s certainly got an imposing home.

All the houses in Adelaide Gardens were impressive. They stood well back from the pavement, sheltered by overhanging trees and tall box-hedges, all of them dwellings of substance and dignity. Piper told himself that in these surroundings a man might well forget the past, however harsh it had been.

He picked up his briefcase, locked his car, and walked up the drive. He was still thinking about refugees and the remarkable way they adapted themselves to conditions in a strange country.

A new 3-litre Rover stood outside the front door, its chrome and coach-work immaculate. There was another gleaming car in the garage. Judging by appearances, Fritz Haupmann’s shoe factory was a prosperous concern.

Through the windows of a ground-floor room Piper could see fine furniture, a glowing fire, a pool of light from a standard lamp half-hidden by the fireplace. A massive radiogram stood against the opposite wall. There was a vase of chrysanthemums on a table nearby.

As he went into the porch he heard faint strains of music, a phrase that seemed familiar. It sounded like Mozart. He was trying to remember the name of the piece as he rang the bell.

Memories of another time and another place filled his mind while he waited. Ann had loved Mozart ... especially the violin concerto in A. He could see her still, listening with rapture in her sweet face, listening as though she were in another world.

The recollection brought back an old ache that had grown less with the passing of the years. It was all so long ago. He had schooled himself not to think, not to torment himself with regrets for the might-have-been, but once in a while a chance word reminded him, a snatch of music recalled days gone by when his life had been filled with purpose.

He shook off the mood. It was foolish to live with the dead, foolish to sacrifice. …

There the door opened. A man in a white jacket said, Good afternoon, sir. Please come in.

He looked and sounded foreign. When he had helped Piper off with his coat, he asked, Are you the gentleman Mr. Haupmann is expecting? … He’s in here, sir.

The room was the one that Piper had seen from outside. It was warm and gracious and filled with music: a long room with arm-chairs here and there, glass shelves of Dresden china flanking the fireplace, a wide bookcasee under the window.

In a chair by the fire a man lounged with his legs stretched out, his eyes shut as if he were asleep. He had a big frame and a big head, a smooth well-fed face, hair receding almost to the crown. Even in relaxation he looked virile and powerful.

The man in the white jacket said, Mr. Piper’s here, sir. Is there anything I can get you?

Fritz Haupmann opened his eyes lazily and got up and stretched. As he held out his hand to Piper, he said, Nothing at the moment, Antonio. Just see that we are not disturbed.

Very good, sir.

When the door closed, Haupmann pointed to a chair. He said, Sit down, Mr. Piper. I’ll switch that thing off. … Are you fond of music?

Piper said, I never get tired of Mozart.

Ah, there we have one thing at least in common. He was smiling as he raised the lid of the radiogram.

The music stopped. He came back to the hearthrug and asked, Would you care for a drink?

No, thank you. I seldom take anything during the day.

As you wish. He sat down and leaned back in the chair and clasped his hands together. We’ll have some coffee later when we’ve finished our business … unless you have another appointment?

Not this afternoon, Piper said. In the ordinary way I don’t work on Saturdays except for an hour or so in the morning to look through my mail.

With hearty emphasis, Haupmann said, Then it was very good of you to give up your Saturday afternoon on my behalf. He had a curious look in his eyes, an air almost of anticipation.

Piper said, Not at all. I wasn’t doing anything special. Occasionally I go to a football match but the weather ruled that out to-day.

Yes, very raw and cold. Still, I’m glad the snow’s gone. Have you ever known it so cold in December?

I can’t remember such a sharp spell so early in the winter since, perhaps, 1940 or ’41. We don’t usually expect this kind of weather before January.

Haupmann said, I haven’t experienced anything like it since I’ve been in this country. Of course, I didn’t come here until after the war.

The remark was obviously meant as a conversational lead. Piper asked, Do you like living in England?

Oh, yes, very much … very much indeed. This is a wonderful country, Mr. Piper. I often say that the people like yourself, who were born here, don’t appreciate the amount of freedom and opportunity you have.

Most of us take such things for granted.

So I’ve learned. In the United States they have to keep reassuring themselves with endless talk about the Constitution and their rights as free Americans: here you don’t indulge in flag-waving.

America is still a young country and not yet fully integrated. They need more time to merge their different races into one national culture. After all, we’ve had over three hundred and fifty years in which to do it.

Haupmann nodded. In the same affable voice, he said, True. However. … I mustn’t occupy your afternoon like this. I presume the Cresset people told you what I had in mind?

Only that you wanted to increase the insurance cover on your factory.

That is so. I’d like to raise the amount from fifty thousand to seventy-five thousand. Can you arrange that for me?

Not personally … but I can advise the company to grant increased cover as soon as I’m satisfied that the present-day value of the property justifies it.

In a tone that held just the slightest trace of query, Haupmann said, Building, machinery, stock, fixtures and fittings are worth at least seventy-five thousand pounds at to-day’s market prices. If they were not I wouldn’t be asking the Cresset to——

Please don’t misunderstand me, Piper said. Any inquiries I make are largely in your interests. In the event of a claim, the company pays out a percentage value of the loss, based on the amount insured.

I already appreciate that.

Then you’ll also appreciate that I don’t want you to increase your premiums by fifty per cent if it isn’t necessary for your protection.

Haupmann separated his hands in a shrug. He said, Of course it is necessary. Apart from the rise in value of the property itself, I’ve installed new machines, increased my stock of raw materials, carried out improvements such as a new showroom and modernisation of the warehouse … and many other things since I originally took out insurance.

Sounds as if there’s every reason why you should increase your cover. Doesn’t pay to be under-insured. From what you say I should imagine you’ve been inadequately covered for some time.

Probably quite a long time. He was smiling faintly as he added, You’re an unusual man, Mr. Piper.

Why do you say that?

Well, it isn’t often that I come across someone who puts his clients interests before his own.

Piper said, The majority of insurance people give honest advice. In this case my pocket’s not involved. I’m an insurance assessor, Mr. Haupmann; not an agent or a broker.

So you don’t gain financially by handling my business?

No. I’m retained by a number of companies to investigate, among other things, the probity of policy holders. The size of the insurance cover doesn’t affect me.

Haupmann raised his eyebrows. He asked, Is my probity in question?

Not for one moment. These inquiries are purely routine.

I’m glad to hear it. How long will you take to complete them?

A week or ten days. I’d like your accountants to furnish me with an audited stock figure and a list of plant and equipment. Then I’ll inspect the factory premises whenever it’s convenient to you.

As soon as you like. I’m anxious—a shadow seemed to pass over Haupmann’s face—to have the new policy in force without delay.

Piper said, Immediately you let me have your stock figure I can go ahead with the inspection. All things being equal, my report will be submitted to the company before the end of next week.

Good. That’s taken a load off my mind. Now there’s the other matter I want to discuss with you.

He got up and positioned himself with his back to the fire. In a deliberate voice, he asked, How much do you think a man like me should be insured for?

Life insurance?

Yes.

Depends how much you can afford. The more the better—so long as you don’t have to scrimp all your life to be worth a lot of money when you’re dead.

You know, I suppose, that I’ve already got a policy for three thousand pounds?

I have a note of it among the papers in my briefcase. From memory, I think you took it out in 1950.

At to-day’s cost of living, three thousand wouldn’t go very far, would it?

There was a distant look of strain in Haupmann’s eyes. It showed in his voice, too, as he added, I have my wife and daughter to provide for and I feel I’m not being very fair to them.

You’ve got a prosperous business, Piper said. If anything happened to you, wouldn’t the factory provide them with a comfortable income?

Without emotion, Haupmann said, Twelve months after I was gone there might be no business. I’ve seen it happen before.

It needn’t apply in your case.

But it could. The boss dies, people make mistakes because there’s no one to put them right, and then … He snapped his fingers and gave Piper a wry smile.

That’s a matter on which you know best, Piper said.

But you know all about insurance. That’s why I’m discussing it with you.

If I can help, I’ll be only too glad. Have you thought of taking out an educational policy for your daughter?

Haupmann was mildly amused. He said, Oh, she left school a long time ago. Gizelle is nearly twenty-four.

Then she’ll be getting married one of these days and she won’t be your responsibility any longer.

Perhaps not. But I’d like to make some provision for her all the same. Never does any harm for a woman to have a little money put by for a rainy day.

Something in Haupmann’s manner made it clear that he knew what he wanted. Why he had to pretend that he needed advice was not Piper’s concern. Some men liked to talk all round the subject before they spent their money.

Piper said, No harm at all. Apart from the benefit to your dependents, a substantial life policy has another advantage: it reduces liability for death duty.

Yes, I’ve thought of that.

He’s the kind of man who thinks of everything, Piper told himself. Then he asked, How much do you think you ought to be insured for?

Haupmann said, Twenty thousand pounds.

The strained look was still haunting his eyes. Farther back there was something else, too.

Piper said, That’s quite a jump from three thousand. It’ll be expensive.

How much will it cost? His tone indicated that the price would make no difference.

I’ll soon tell you.

As he opened his briefcase and brought out the Cresset’s tariff rates, Piper added, I presume you’re in good health?

Oh, yes. Never felt better. I have an annual checkup and my doctor says I’m as fit as a horse. Saw him only a couple of months ago.

The company will still insist on an examination by their own doctor.

That’s all right. He won’t find anything wrong with me.

Then, assuming he passes you O.K., let’s see what the rates are. How old are you, Mr. Haupmann?

Forty-nine.

Fifty next … Here it is. For ten thousand and over, the rate is three pounds, four shillings per cent per annum. On twenty thousand. …

It’s six hundred and forty pounds a year, Haupmann said.

Your mental arithmetic’s pretty good, Piper told him.

Nothing clever in calculating three and one-fifth times two hundred. Will you advise the Cresset that I want my policy increased to twenty thousand and I’m ready to attend their doctor as soon as they notify me?

Yes, I’ll do that. They’ll send someone with a proposal form and he’ll help you to fill it in.

Since I’m already insured with the Cresset, I’d have thought they wouldn’t need to go through the usual formalities.

This isn’t a formality. It’ll include one proviso you may not have anticipated.

And what is that?

A suicide-exemption clause.

Haupmann drew down the corners of his mouth in a look of surprise that was largely assumed. He said, You must have good reason for mentioning that. Do I seem the kind of man who’d be likely to commit suicide?

Your temperament doesn’t enter into the matter, Piper said. It’s a standard clause in this type of policy… especially when the sum assured has been increased in one leap from three thousand to twenty thousand.

I suppose people have been known to insure themselves for large sums of money with the idea of taking their own lives? There was the hint of a smile on his smooth, fleshy face but his eyes were as cold as the grey sky outside.

It’s happened more than once, Piper said.

Haupmann nodded. After a long silence, he said gently, I like you, Mr. Piper. You say what you have to say … and I don’t blame you for suspecting my motive. If I were in your position——

I didn’t say I suspected anything. That would be presumptious of me. I just thought I ought to mention that the company will insert a suicide clause.

But I’d have seen that for myself when I came to fill in the proposal form … wouldn’t I?

You might not have noticed it. Most people sign official forms without reading them.

So you made sure it wouldn’t be overlooked in this case … m-m-m?

You asked for my advice, Piper said.

Quite true.

Haupmann sat down and crossed his legs and began swinging one foot to and fro. In a far-away voice, he said, I wonder if I ought to tell you just why I’m doing all this. Of course, you might laugh at me. …

Piper said, I’ve never seen anything funny in a man insuring his life.

But I doubt if you’ve ever handled a case like mine. The circumstances are not quite—— He cut the last word short. With a little warning shake of his head he sat listening.

Outside in the hall there was a murmur of voices, two people talking not very far away. One sounded like the man in the white jacket. The other was a woman with an attractive voice.

As the door opened, Antonio was saying … a gentleman called Piper, Miss Gizelle. Mr. Haupmann told me they were not to be disturbed.

Then go away and don’t disturb them. And remember that my mother wants tea no later than half past four. …

Then she came into the room. She said, Excuse me, Father. I’m sorry to intrude but there’s something I have to ask you.

Chapter II

In That first moment, Piper thought he had never seen anyone quite like Fritz Haupmann’s daughter. Her impact on him was almost startling.

She was the Nordic type: flaxen hair and wide blue eyes, the pink-and-white complexion of a true blonde. Her figure was smoothly rounded, her legs long and slim. From head to foot she had a lush beauty that aroused long-forgotten desire.

When he stood up she smiled at him as if she recognised the look in his eyes. He told himself that she knew his thoughts, that it was not the first time a man had revealed his mind when he looked at her.

Against his will he glanced down at her left hand. She wore no rings. He felt a hot embarrassment when she caught his eye and her smile acknowledged what he was thinking.

Haupmann said, You’re not intruding at all, dear. I’d like you to meet Mr. Piper … my daughter, Gizelle.

She said, How d’you do …

Her hand was soft and cool. She let Piper hold it a little longer than was customary.

He was annoyed with himself at the effect she had on him. To let a girl’s smile turn his head was stupid. At thirty-five he ought to know better. …

Gizelle Haupmann asked, Haven’t I seen you somewhere before, Mr. Piper? Your face seems familiar.

Piper said, I don’t think we’ve ever met. If we had I’m sure I’d remember it.

No, I didn’t mean we’d spoken to each other. But I have an idea—the deep blue of her eyes became clouded with doubt—that I’ve seen you, or someone very much like you, not long ago. I wonder where it could’ve been?

A chance resemblance, perhaps.

She went on looking at him for a moment longer, her full lower lip held between her teeth. Then she said, I suppose it could be that.

Her smile returned—a radiant smile that made her eyes dance. With laughter in her mouth,