伯特伦旅馆之谜26
时间：2026-01-04 08:00:19
（单词翻译:单击）
Chapter Nineteen
Mr. Hoffman was a big solid-looking man. He gave the appearance of be-
ing carved out of wood—preferably teak.
His face was so expressionless as to give rise to surmise—could such a
man be capable of thinking—of feeling emotion? It seemed impossible.
His manner was highly correct.
He rose, bowed, and held out a wedge-like hand.
“Chief-Inspector Davy? It is some years since I had the pleasure—you
may not even remember—”
“Oh yes I do, Mr. Hoffman. The Aaronberg Diamond Case. You were a
witness for the Crown—a most excellent witness, let me say. The defence
was quite unable to shake you.”
“I am not easily shaken,” said Mr. Hoffman gravely.
He did not look a man who would easily be shaken.
“What can I do for you?” he went on. “No trouble, I hope—I always want
to agree well with the police. I have the greatest admiration for your su-
perb police force.”
“Oh! There is no trouble. It is just that we wanted you to confirm a little
information.”
“I shall be delighted to help you in any way I can. As I say, I have the
highest opinion of your London Police Force. You have such a splendid
class of men. So full of integrity, so fair, so just.”
“You’ll make me embarrassed,” said Father.
“I am at your service. What is it that you want to know?”
“I was just going to ask you to give me a little dope about Bertram’s
Hotel.”
Mr. Hoffman’s face did not change. It was possible that his entire atti-
tude became for a moment or two even more static than it had been be-
fore—that was all.
“Bertram’s Hotel?” he said. His voice was inquiring, slightly puzzled. It
might have been that he had never heard of Bertram’s Hotel or that he
could not quite remember whether he knew Bertram’s Hotel or not.
“You have a connection with it, have you not, Mr. Hoffman?”
Mr. Hoffman moved his shoulders.
“There are so many things,” he said. “One cannot remember them all. So
much business—so much—it keeps me very busy.”
“You have your fingers in a lot of pies, I know that.”
“Yes.” Mr. Hoffman smiled a wooden smile. “I pull out many plums, that
is what you think? And so you believe I have a connection with this—Ber-
tram’s Hotel?”
“I shouldn’t have said a connection. As a matter of fact, you own it, don’t
you?” said Father genially.
This time, Mr. Hoffman definitely did stiffen.
“Now who told you that, I wonder?” he said softly.
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” said Chief-Inspector Davy, cheerfully. “Very nice
place to own, I should say. In fact, you must be quite proud of it.”
“Oh yes,” said Hoffman. “For the moment—I could not quite remember
—you see—” he smiled deprecatingly—“I own quite a lot of property in
London. It is a good investment—property. If something comes on the
market in what I think is a good position, and there is a chance of snap-
ping it up cheap, I invest.”
“And was Bertram’s Hotel going cheap?”
“As a running concern, it had gone down the hill,” said Mr. Hoffman,
shaking his head.
“Well, it’s on its feet now,” said Father. “I was in there just the other day.
I was very much struck with the atmosphere there. Nice old-fashioned cli-
entele, comfortable, old-fashioned premises, nothing rackety about it, a lot
of luxury without looking luxurious.”
“I know very little about it personally,” explained Mr. Hoffman. “It is
just one of my investments—but I believe it is doing well.”
“Yes, you seem to have a first-class fellow running it. What is his name?
Humfries? Yes, Humfries.”
“An excellent man,” said Mr. Hoffman. “I leave everything to him. I look
at the balance sheet once a year to see that all is well.”
“The place was thick with titles,” said Father. “Rich travelling Americans
too.” He shook his head thoughtfully. “Wonderful combination.”
“You say you were in there the other day?” Mr. Hoffman inquired. “Not
—not officially, I hope?”
“Nothing serious. Just trying to clear up a little mystery.”
“A mystery? In Bertram’s Hotel?”
“So it seems. The Case of the Disappearing Clergyman, you might label
it.”
“That is a joke,” Mr. Hoffman said. “That is your Sherlock Holmes lan-
guage.”
“This clergyman walked out of the place one evening and was never
seen again.”
“Peculiar,” said Mr. Hoffman, “but such things happen. I remember
many, many years ago now, a great sensation. Colonel—now let me think
of his name—Colonel Fergusson I think, one of the equerries of Queen
Mary. He walked out of his club one night and he, too, was never seen
again.”
“Of course,” said Father, with a sigh, “a lot of these disappearances are
voluntary.”
“You know more about that than I do, my dear Chief-Inspector,” said Mr.
Hoffman. He added, “I hope they gave you every assistance at Bertram’s
Hotel?”
“They couldn’t have been nicer,” Father assured him. “That Miss Gor-
ringe, she has been with you some time, I believe?”
“Possibly. I really know so very little about it. I take no personal interest,
you understand. In fact—” he smiled disarmingly—“I was surprised that
you even knew it belonged to me.”
It was not quite a question; but once more there was a slight uneasiness
in his eyes. Father noted it without seeming to.
“The ramifications that go on in the City are like a gigantic jigsaw,” he
said. “It would make my head ache if I had to deal with that side of things.
I gather that a company—Mayfair Holding Trust or some name like that—
is the registered owner. They’re owned by another company and so on
and so on. The real truth of the matter is that it belongs to you. Simple as
that. I’m right, aren’t I?”
“I and my fellow directors are what I dare say you’d call behind it, yes,”
admitted Mr. Hoffman rather reluctantly.
“Your fellow directors. And who might they be? Yourself and, I believe,
a brother of yours?”
“My brother Wilhelm is associated with me in this venture. You must
understand that Bertram’s is only a part of a chain of various hotels, of-
fices, clubs and other London properties.”
“Any other directors?”
“Lord Pomfret, Abel Isaacstein.” Hoffman’s voice was suddenly edged.
“Do you really need to know all these things? Just because you are looking
into the Case of the Disappearing Clergyman?”
Father shook his head and looked apologetic.
“I suppose it’s really curiosity. Looking for my disappearing clergyman
was what took me to Bertram’s, but then I got—well, interested if you un-
derstand what I mean. One thing leads to another sometimes, doesn’t it?”
“I suppose that could be so, yes. And now?” He smiled. “Your curiosity is
satisfied?”
“Nothing like coming to the horse’s mouth when you want information,
is there?” said Father, genially. He rose to his feet. “There’s only one thing
I’d really like to know—and I don’t suppose you’ll tell me that.”
“Yes, Chief-Inspector?” Hoffman’s voice was wary.
“Where do Bertram’s get hold of their staff? Wonderful! That fellow
what’s-his-name—Henry. The one that looks like an Archduke or an Arch-
bishop, I’m not sure which. Anyway, he serves you tea and muffins—most
wonderful muffins! An unforgettable experience.”
“You like muffins with much butter, yes?” Mr. Hoffman’s eyes rested for
a moment on the rotundity of Father’s figure with disapprobation.
“I expect you can see I do,” said Father. “Well, I mustn’t be keeping you.
I expect you’re pretty busy taking over take-over bids, or something like
that.”
“Ah. It amuses you to pretend to be ignorant of all these things. No, I am
not busy. I do not let business absorb me too much. My tastes are simple. I
live simply, with leisure, with growing of roses, and my family to whom I
am much devoted.”
“Sounds ideal,” said Father. “Wish I could live like that.”
Mr. Hoffman smiled and rose ponderously to shake hands with him.
“I hope you will find your disappearing clergyman very soon.”
“Oh! That’s all right. I’m sorry I didn’t make myself clear. He’s found—
disappointing case, really. Had a car accident and got concussion—simple
as that.”
Father went to the door, then turned and asked:
“By the way, is Lady Sedgwick a director of your company?”
“Lady Sedgwick?” Hoffman took a moment or two. “No. Why should she
be?”
“Oh well, one hears things—Just a shareholder?”
“I—yes.”
“Well, good-bye, Mr. Hoffman. Thanks very much.”
Father went back to the Yard and straight to the AC.
“The two Hoffman brothers are the ones behind Bertram’s Hotel—finan-
cially.”
“What? Those scoundrels?” demanded Sir Ronald.
“Yes.”
“They’ve kept it very dark.”
“Yes—and Robert Hoffman didn’t half like our finding it out. It was a
shock to him.”
“What did he say?”
“Oh, we kept it all very formal and polite. He tried, not too obviously, to
learn how I had found out about it.”
“And you didn’t oblige him with that information, I suppose.”
“I certainly did not.”
“What excuse did you give for going to see him?”
“I didn’t give any,” said Father.
“Didn’t he think that a bit odd?”
“I expect he did. On the whole I thought that was a good way to play it,
sir.”
“If the Hoffmans are behind all this, it accounts for a lot. They’re never
concerned in anything crooked themselves—oh no! They don’t organize
crime—they finance it though!
“Wilhelm deals with the banking side from Switzerland. He was behind
those foreign currency rackets just after the war—we knew it—but we
couldn’t prove it. Those two brothers control a great deal of money and
they use it for backing all kinds of enterprises—some legitimate—some
not. But they’re careful—they know every trick of the trade. Robert’s dia-
mond broking is straightforward enough—but it makes a suggestive pic-
ture—diamonds—banking interests, and property—clubs, cultural founda-
tions, office buildings, restaurants, hotels—all apparently owned by some-
body else.”
“Do you think Hoffman is the planner of these organized robberies?”
“No, I think those two deal only with finance. No, you’ll have to look
elsewhere for your planner. Somewhere there’s a first- class brain at
work.”
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