she sick? I wouldn’t want to disturb her.’
The nurse laughed. ‘She’s just had a baby, Mr…er…’
‘Sorry. Hardin, Ben Hardin.’
She opened the door wider. if you come in I’ll tell her you’re here, Mr Hardin.’
Hardin waited in a spacious hall which showed all the evidences of casual wealth. Presently the nurse came back. ‘Come this way, Mr Hardin.’ She led him up the wide stairs and into a room which had large windows overlooking a small park. ‘Mrs Hendriks; this is Mr Hardin.’ The nurse withdrew.
Mrs Hendriks was a woman in her mid-thirties. She was short and dark, not particularly beautiful but not unattractive, either. She used make-up well. As they shook hands she said, ‘I’m sorry my husband isn’t here, Mr Hardin. You’ve missed him by twenty-four hours. He went to South Africa yesterday. Do you know my husband?’
‘Not personally,’ said Hardin.
‘Then you may not know that he’s a South African.’ She gestured. ‘Please sit down.’
Hardin sat in the easy chair. ‘It’s not your husband I really want to see,’ said Hardin, ‘It’s Han…Henry Hendrix I’d like to visit with.’
‘Henry?’ she said doubtfully.
‘Your husband’s cousin.’
She shook her head, ‘I think you’re mistaken. My husband has no cousin.’
Hardin smiled. ‘You may not know of him. He’s an American and they’ve never met. Least, that’s what Hank told me. That’s how he’s known back home. Hank Hendrix; only the name is spelled different with an “X” at the end.’
‘I see. But I still think you’re mistaken, Mr Hardin. I’m sure my husband would have told me.’
‘They’ve never met. A few letters is all, and those some years ago.’ Hardin was vaguely troubled. ‘Then Hank hasn’t been here?’
‘Of course not.’ She paused. ‘He might have come when I was in confinement. I’ve just had a baby, Mr Hardin, and modern doctors prefer maternity wards.’
‘The nurse told me,’ said Hardin. ‘Congratulations! Boy or girl?’
‘I have a son,’ she said proudly. ‘Thank you, Mr Hardin.’ She reverted to the problem. ‘But Dirk would have told me, I’m sure, if a long-lost cousin had arrived out of the blue.’
‘I’m sure he would have,’ said Hardin sincerely, and his sense of trouble deepened. If Hank had come to England he would have certainly looked Dirk up; all it took was a phone book. Damn it, the Jersey lawyer would have certainly introduced them. Jack Richardson had checked that flight tickets had not been bought, so where in hell was Hank and what game was Gunnarsson playing?
His worry must have shown on his face because Mrs Hendriks said gently, ‘You look troubled, Mr Hardin. Is there anything I can do to help?’
Hardin felt the copy of the will in his pocket. At least that was real. He said, ‘Has Mr Hendriks heard from a lawyer about his grandfather’s will?’
Mrs Hendriks was astonished. ‘His grandfather! My husband’s grandfather died years ago in South Africa. Or, at least, I’ve always assumed so. Dirk has never mentioned him.’
Hardin took a deep breath. ‘Mrs Hendriks; I have something to tell you and it may take a while. It’s like this…’
Max Stafford was contemplating the tag end of the day and thinking about going home when his telephone rang. It was Joyce, his secretary. ‘Mrs Hendriks is on the line and wants to talk to you.’
‘Put her through.’
There was a click. ‘Max?’
‘Hello, Alix. How is motherhood suiting you?’
‘Great. I’m blooming. Thank you for the christening mug you sent young Max. A very elegant piece of Georgian silver. He’ll drink your health from it on his coming-of-age.’
Stafford smiled. ‘Is it eighteen or twenty-one these days? I’ll be a bit long in the tooth then.’
She laughed. ‘But that’s not why I rang; there’s a proper “Thank you” letter in the post. Max, I need your advice. A man, an American called Hardin, came to me yesterday with a strange story concerning Dirk. Now, Dirk isn’t here—he’s in South Africa. I tried to ring him last night but he seems to be on the move and no one knows exactly where he is. I’d like you to see this man before he goes back to America.’
‘What sort of strange yarn is he spinning?’
‘It’s a bit difficult to explain and I probably wouldn’t get it right. It’s complicated. Please see him, Max.’
Stafford pondered for a moment, ‘Is Dirk in trouble?’
‘Nothing like that. In fact it might be the other way round. Dirk might inherit something according to Hardin, but there’s something odd going on.’
‘How odd?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, ‘I can’t get the hang of it.’
‘When is Hardin going back to the States?’
‘Tomorrow or the day after. I don’t think he can afford to stay.’ She hesitated, ‘I would like your advice, Max; you’ve always been wise. Things have been difficult lately. Dirk has been broody for quite a while—ever since I told him I was pregnant. It’s been worrying me. And now this.’
‘This Hardin character isn’t blackmailing you, is he?’
‘It’s nothing like that,’ she protested. ‘Can you come to lunch? I’ll see that Hardin is here.’
Stafford thought about it. His in-tray was overflowing and Joyce was a strict secretary. Still, this might be something he could sort out in an hour. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll be with you at twelve-thirty.’
‘Thank you, Max,’ said Alix warmly, ‘I knew I could depend on you.’
Stafford put down the telephone and sat thinking. Presently he became aware that Ellis was standing before him snapping his fingers. ‘Come out of your trance. Got a problem?’
Stafford started. ‘Not me—Alix Hendriks. It seems that Dirk doesn’t relish being a father. He’s whistled off to South Africa and left Alix holding the three-week-old baby which I consider bloody inconsiderate. And now she’s come up against someone who sounds like a con man, and Dirk isn’t around. She wants my advice.’
‘The last time you helped Alix you came to the office with your arm in a sling,’ said Ellis. ‘Watch it, Max.’
‘That
