That Will Do Nicely (8 page)

What Pascoe didn't know and couldn’t probably have foreseen, was that Ed Dodge and his daughter had chosen not to stay with the herd in London, but had gone for a day-trip to France. The couple had arrived in Dover late on the Saturday morning and had taken the courtesy bus to the
hover port. There, they had taken advantage of a 30 minute wait for their flight, by changing their travelers’ cheques. As luck would have it, the Bureau-de-Change, run by Thomas Cook was one of the busiest in the world and handled thousands of transactions each year. The experienced counter-clerk who served Dodge, had never seen or heard of  "Dallasbank" and was loathe to part with any money until he had checked. Eventually, finding no notification of dubious cheques labeled "Dallasbank" and satisfied that Dodge and his daughter seemed to be typical American tourists with their passports in order, the cashier gave them the benefit of the doubt.

While the Dodges were embarking on the
hover -craft to Calais, the Thomas Cook clerk searched again through his 'bible' for any reference to the "Second National City Bank of Dallas." He found none, but being diligent and having nothing better to do until the next flight arrival, he also checked for the "First National City Bank of Dallas" which apparently didn't exist either and this really struck him as odd. Why name a bank as the "Second National" if there wasn't a "First National," the cashier wondered. He retrieved the cheques from his cash drawer and sorted them into two piles; one for the American Dodge and one for his daughter. An examination of the cheques showed him that while both groups of cheques had sequential numbering, there was a reasonable gap between the serial numbers of those cheques changed by Dodge and those changed by his daughter. There were no water marks, but he knew that not every cheque carried one and the ink did have had a definite texture and the paper was of good quality. In all, the clerk spent twenty minutes examining the cheques before replacing them in his till.

Several hours later, the manager of the
Hover  port branch, although officially on holiday, stopped by the office and the cashier brought the suspect cheques to his attention. The manager, a genial faced giant of a man with naval beard and moustache had more than 30 years’ experience in foreign exchange. He didn't recognize the bank either, although he noticed that the name was typically American. He examined the cheques under a fluoroscope to see if the ink or fibers in the paper fluoresced, but they didn't and he found nothing. He had a gut-feeling about the cheques, but because it was the holiday period, knew he could not contact his own head office until the following Tuesday. Knowing that he would have to take eventual responsibility for the cheques, he decided to play safe and instructed his staff not to accept any more cheques- drawn on "Dallasbank".

The Dodges, oblivious of the problems they had left in their wake, changed more che
ques at the French Hover  port, without further problem.

In Paris, 180 miles south of Calais, T.T. Ford also had no problems changing che
ques at the "Charles de Gaulle" airport or the "Gare du Nord" railway station. In all, it was an uneventful weekend for the small French contingent.

Later in the weekend, the pace hotted up considerably at the Change Alley office. The number of visitors had increased steadily from the Saturday afternoon onwards, with more than 20 people stopping by to deposit their cash. Only two of their callers had exchanged all their che
ques - the rest divested themselves of cash they didn't want to carry around anymore.

  Sam took the easy way to the Change Alley office, arriving by underground at Bank Station. She emerged from the labyrinth at the corner of Cornhill and Threadneedle Street. The contrast between the tunnels of the underground and the Wren styled buildings could hardly have been more pronounced; their very fabric radiated power. By keeping Mansion House across the road to her left and the Bank of England to her right, she turned right into Threadneedle Street and right again into the Change Alley complex.

Britain at the height of empire, ruled the world from this corner of London and even today, no other location offers quite the same blend of wealth, history, solidity and stability. The wealth of its buildings, is echoed by the bustle of bowler-hatted bankers, rushing through the city streets that comprise the square mile of the City of London.

The alley itself seems little more than a service corridor in comparison to its noble
neighbors, but in fact contains the offices of many companies in the City. Sam had chosen the location well - the affluence of the area and the atmosphere it generated were the most important assets they could have possibly have wished for, for their scheme to work. Everything looked and felt right! The building which housed their office was as anonymous as the others which surrounded it and was clad with the same, nondescript, off-white tiles.

Pascoe had last visited the office two days previously, dressed in workers' overalls and with the aid of a battery-powered electric drill, had screwed an
aluminum name plate, bearing the name of DALLASBANK, to the wall outside the main entrance. The name-plate rested snug, beneath the escutcheons of three firms of chartered accountants, two stock-brokers and a solitary legal adviser. It was in good, solid and respectable company!

The office was located on the first floor of the building, close enough to the ground-floor entrance to be able to use the stairs. Its door was secured with Chubb locks and was also equipped with an electrically controlled master lock, operated in conjunction with a voice box. Pascoe had fixed a second name plate on the door to make the office look completely authentic.

Immediately inside was a small ante-room, with a separate toilet. The door facing the main door led to the inner sanctum, the room which was to be center stage for the next few days, looked professional. The premises, though sparsely furnished, had been well chosen and were ideally suited to their purpose.

The inner office was dominated by an immense walnut desk, its top inlaid with maroon, gold-tooled leather. The chairs around it matched perfectly as did the floor covering of Heugafelt carpet tiles. Sam had hung a few of her own pictures around the walls of the inner sanctum and placed a few of her knick-knacks on the desk to
personalize the place and create a little character. The desk diary, pen stand, blotter and calendar were also hers, and they gave the place soul.

Change Alley

If there were any criticism of the room's appearance, it would be of the one classless item in the office which neither blended in with nor complimented the overall quality of the room; a grey, lifeless, three-drawer steel filing cabinet, placed near the window to the left of the desk. Even the safe, tucked away in the opposite corner to the filing cabinet, had more character; its antique dials drew attention to it and it was a superb example of Victorian security.

The outer office was an altogether less elaborate affair, with its walls lined with chairs and a small desk placed across its interior corner. It resembled nothing if not a doctor's waiting room. Nevertheless, from the strategically placed desk, an efficient secretary could control all the comings and goings from both offices. The controls for the voice box and the electric door-lock were operable from either office desk, which gave them a certain freedom of movement in which to work. Clients could be admitted one at a time and seated comfortably in the ante-room until Pascoe and Sam were ready to receive them inside their main office. It had cost a small fortune for the short term lease, but the premises lent the proceedings an air of authority and trustworthiness; a commodity that was beyond price.

Pascoe, having travelled with the security guards from the hotel, arrived outside the office, just after ten past nine. He rang the bell.

"Can I help you?" burbled a  voice from the box on the wall.

"Guyton here, with the security guards." Pascoe replied, speaking into the grille. There was a brief pause before the short buzz of an electric solenoid signified the bolt being withdrawn. The door opened slightly, its handle yielding to his touch. He entered the ante-room with the guards close behind him. As he shut the outer door, the inner one opened. Sam stood up behind the desk as he entered. The guards waited in the ante-room.

"Good morning Mr. Guyton, I trust you are well."

"Yes, thank you Miss Fairbrother. We caught some of the rush hour traffic which delayed us a little." He spoke to the guards from the doorway.

"If you would like to bring those cases in here, I'll put everything in the safe and then you'll be able to take a break."

The guards put the cases on top of the walnut desk. It was then that Pascoe noticed the transformation which had taken place in the office. Sam had even taken the trouble to place a vase of fresh cut flowers on the desk. The whole atmosphere of the place had changed from the staid, heavy style of the rented office to what was now not only an efficient place of work but a pleasant one too. He approved. She had done well. She had also altered her own appearance, managing to look both efficient, yet feminine at the same time.

"We shall need the presence of one of you in the outer office during office hours and would like you to patrol the building once every hour or so." Pascoe addressed himself to the taller guard. "That should suffice for now. Occasionally, we will need escorting to one of the banks in the City at various times and will let you know those details as and when necessary. As to the hours involved, I expect your office has explained that we will require your presence between 9.30 and 5.30 p.m. daily. I expect you would prefer to spell one another every few hours and I shall leave that to you to arrange. We shall of course need both of you on our trips to the bank. Any questions?" asked Pascoe.

"Yes,
Sir. What do we do about our tea and lunch-breaks?" True to the form of the British working man, the guard knew exactly where his priorities lay.

"I think you will be able to work those into your off-watch times
... but we shall be pleased to offer you coffee when we take ours at 11 a.m., and 3.30 p.m. In fact I expect you could both do with one now?" Both guards voiced their agreement. Once Sam had done the honors, Pascoe escorted them into the outer office and left them to plan their change-over schedule.

"Right Fiona, all set. I expect our clients to start arriving any time after 10
a.m.  Is there anything else we need?"

"I can't think of anything at the moment, although there is sure to be something we've forgotten," said Sam.

"Pessimist! but I expect you're right." Pascoe unpacked the cheques and forms from the brief-cases and transferred them to the safe. "I think we should only keep about ten packs of cheques out at any one time. The rest can stay in the safe." They spent the next few minutes sorting wallets and cheques into one drawer and the application forms into another. Next, Pascoe took the file cards from the briefcase and arranged them in a separate drawer. "I think I had better deal with the first two or three clients, Fiona. Watch me handle the first few clients and when you've got the hang of things, you can take over. Alright?"

"Fine
.., it's the waiting I don't like."

"That's what they say about war - it's the waiting that is the worst part." Pascoe crossed the room to the window and parted the slats of the Venetian blinds to look down into the alley. It was deserted.

The door buzzer sounded action stations at 10.23 for the first time.

"Good morning, Dallasbank. May I have your name please?" Sam spoke into the intercom using her extremely refined Roedean voice.

Brent. Dinsdale T. Brent and Mrs. Brent," came the reply through the squawk box on the desk. Pascoe thumbed through the index file in an effort to find the card before Sam activated the door catch.

Door! Sam. Get the door!" He hissed as he took his seat at the desk. Sam glared at him. She hated being bossed around. As he looked up from the desk drawer, file-card in hand, the Brents entered the office. Pascoe glimpsed the guard in the outer office retaking his seat, before Sam closed the inner door. He stood up and offered his hand to the American couple.

"Glad you could make it Mr. and Mrs. Brent. I take it you found us all right? No problems?" There were none. "Down to business then. I take it you understand what we want you to do," said Pascoe turning his gaze on each of them in turn, waiting for some sign of affirmation. Both of them shrugged.

"I guess so." Brent uttered eventually.

Pascoe ran through the basic details again, as he extracted the application forms from one draw and a Falk folding plan of central London from the other.

"Right-oh, Mr. and Mrs. Brent, this is what we do. First, I need your signatures on these application forms," he said pushing a form to each of them.

"We need your ordinary signature... the one you are going to use when you cash the cheques." Each of them signed with the ball-point pens Pascoe had provided.

"Now if you would like to fill in the other details, Name, address, etc.," He waited, patiently for them to fill in the forms." How many dollars would you like to take? Remember, the upper limit is $15,000 each. You can take it all now if you wish, or $5,000 each now and come back for the rest another day. It's entirely your decision."

"What do you think hon'?" asked Brent, looking at his wife.

"Just how much do we get paid?" asked Mrs. Brent exercising a universal female talent for getting right down to things.

"A minimum of 6% Mrs. Brent,"

"I thought you promised us 15% yesterday?" retorted Mrs. Brent, as sharp about such things as her husband was reticent.

"No, what I said Mrs. Brent, was that we would allow a maximum commission of 15%. For example, for every $1,000 of cheques you take and cash, you only have to return $850 to us at the day's rate of exchange. That's an overall profit of $150 less any commission you have to pay on the exchange. Some places will charge you more than others, but the maximum you should have to pay will be 9%. You should make a minimum of 6% clear profit, which on $15,000 amounts to $900.

"Yeah, I think I've got it," said Mrs. Brent, beginning to explain it to her husband.

"Yes, that's all right. We understand," she added," You are going to give us each $15,000 and we are going to give you $14,100 back. That's right?"

Pascoe nodded.

"Where do we sign?" asked Mrs. Brent.

"How much would you like to take?"

"Oh we'll go for broke I guess... we'll both take the $15,000"

Pascoe took two wallets of che
ques from the drawer of the desk and noted the opening and closing number sequence of each set of cheques on the application forms.

"This is the difficult part, Mr. and Mrs. Brent. Can you please sign each che
que in the space provided at the bottom." Pascoe indicated the space with his finger. In all, it took them a little over twelve minutes to sign all the cheques. Everyone was glad when it was over.

"Thank you
very much. Now here is your receipt with the numbers of the cheques you have and there is the book of words which explains what to do and where to go if you get into difficulties. Now, when you've cashed them all, or don't want to carry any more money around with you, just bring everything back here to us and we'll pay you your commission in cash. Is there anything at all you're not sure of?"

"No, I think you've covered everything pretty damn well. If we run into any problems at all, we'll holler
... good and loud!"

"Then I wish you luck, Thanks for coming."

Sam moved smartly around the desk to open the door for the Brents, but in doing so, forgot she had to operate the electric button to release the catch on the outer door. For a moment everyone was trapped until Sam hit the right button. As soon as the coast was clear, they both heaved a sigh of relief.

"Coffee?" Pascoe asked, "We might just have time for one."

"Yes, I think I will. Thank you."

Pascoe poured two cups from the machine Sam had had installed and they had barely started drinking it when the buzzer sounded again. This time it was four Americans all together, the Kennerlys accompanied by Mr. Dodge and his daughter. Pascoe remembered them from the hotel. They had been the first to arrive.

Pascoe welcomed everybody, then asked the guard to bring a couple of extra chairs through from the ante-room. When everyone was comfortably seated, he started his address, amending it slightly from the first time.

This time, the men accepted the full amount, while the women, being a little more circumspect, took $10,000 each.

"We will be able to come back for more later, won't we Mr. Guyton?" asked Dodge's daughter, anxious not to miss out on the full commission.

"Yes, of course you can. It might even be possible to take more than the full amount, if not everyone turns up in the next day or so. We will ask you to keep to the areas marked on the maps though. I think, Miss Fairbrother, that everyone will be more comfortable if they complete the formalities in the outer office. There's a little more space out there." Pascoe motioned to the door and handed over the maps and application forms to Sam.

"If you would like to take them through Miss Fairbrother, I shall see to the cheques."

This time Pascoe took four sets of che
ques and wallets from the desk-drawer and when Sam indicated she was ready, he called her in to hand over the cheques.

So far
... so good, he thought, sitting down to prepare the next half-dozen batches of cheques. He listed the numbers on the application forms so as to save some time for subsequent clients, but knew it would only improve things provided everyone took the maximum $15,000. Still it was worth a try.

He was listing the numbers on the sixth form when the buzzer rang again. Two more Americans announced themselves and were duly ushered through the outer office into Pascoe's office while the Dodges and Kennerlys were still appending their signatures in the outer office.

Things continued at the same hectic pace for most of the day and did not let up until after 4 p.m. At one time, just before lunch, there had been three people with Pascoe and another nine in the outer office, three of whom were seated at Sam's desk, while another two were trying to sign their cheques on their knees. The rest waited until Pascoe or Sam could speak to them and give them their instructions.

More than once, Pascoe found himself
apologizing for the cramped conditions and explained that it was only a temporary office. The Security guards were impressed - they said as much and commented that it was nice to see a British company doing such brisk business. Pascoe hated explaining to them that he represented an American Bank but at least the guard had the good sense to keep his comment of 'bleedin' Yanks' to himself until after the clients had gone.

The guards went off duty promptly at 5.30 p.m. and they received only one more customer between then and six, at which time they thankfully closed the door. They were alone for the first time since breakfast.

"How many people did we see today?" asked Sam, sinking into the more comfortable of the office chairs. Pascoe counted the number of application forms before replying.

"Ninety-six altogether and about seventy took the maximum $15,000. The rest took either $5,000 or $10,000."

"How much does it come to then?"

"It'll take a moment to work out, because I have just remembered what we haven't brought
... a calculator. I'll have to buy one in the morning." He sat at the desk and worked the calculation out on the back of an application form.