Late Delivery, page 7
‘Well, the production of postage stamps is a branch of the security printing industry – like the printing of paper money, cheque forms, and other valuable documents. It is highly specialised work, carried out by firms with long experience and impeccable records in security printing. The British record is in fact so good that numerous foreign Governments have bank notes and stamps produced here. Our stamps are printed in millions; in the commoner denominations, in hundreds of millions. There are stringent precautions against fraud, in the watermark of the paper, the precise nature of the ink, and other matters that I need not go into. The postage stamp division of the Post Office commissions the original designs for stamps, then places orders for the numbers required. Special issues commemorating centenaries or other national or international events are dealt with separately, but the ordinary denominations of ordinary stamps are in continuous production, usually over a number of years. It is the British tradition that the head of the monarch appears on all issues of postage stamps. When a king, or queen dies, new designs of stamps are commissioned and, again by tradition, the portrait of the new monarch is shown facing the other way from the old. During a reign, as a monarch ages, it may be felt desirable to have a new portrait on our stamps; if you are familiar with nineteenth century stamps you will recall the various portraits of Queen Victoria used during her long reign. But if a new portrait of a king or queen is used, it will not be reversed – that awaits succession by the heir to the throne.
‘When stamps are printed they are delivered in bulk to the buying department of the Post Office and distributed as necessary to Head Post Offices throughout the country. Head Offices are in turn responsible for supplying sub Post Offices, that is the shops, and occasionally other institutions, which are authorised to conduct Post Office business. If this stamp is genuine, and if it was in fact bought at Netherwick sub Post Office it will have been supplied from the Head Post Office at Hungerford. The Area Security Officer there is George Jervis. I expect you’d like to see him.’
‘Yes, but I want to learn a lot more from you first. Are stamps supplied to sub Post Offices on a regular weekly basis, or does the Postmaster just ring up and order when he needs them?’
‘Mostly on a regular basis. People’s postal habits don’t change much, and a sub-office will have a fairly constant trade in stamps, week in, week out. Of course, something may happen in a small community to produce an exceptional demand – a conference in the locality perhaps, or an influx of summer visitors. Then the Postmaster may need to order additional supplies. But an experienced Postmaster, or Postmistress, generally knows beforehand when there’s likely to be any extra demand, and can ask for the ordinary supply to be increased.’
‘Can you tell me the day of the week that Netherwick gets its stamps?’
‘I can’t offhand, but I can soon find out.’ He rang for his secretary again, ‘Margaret, can you get hold of George Jervis at Hungerford and find out on which day of the week stamps go to the sub Post Office at Netherwick? If you can’t get hold of George, ask the head Postmaster.’
While the girl was doing this Piet turned to the system of production. ‘You say that stamps are printed under strict security. But in the best of systems things can go wrong. Have there been any recent incidents of theft or fraud?’
‘Not to my knowledge – and I would know of anything serious enough to be reported. All batches of new stamps are, of course, inspected. There have been instances of stamps being issued with some defect, but they are very rare. And the defect is usually trivial – some slight variation in ink, or an occasional irregularity in printing. Stamp collectors are always on the lookout for such things, for a stamp’s value depends on its rarity. Both the Post Office and the stamp printing firms are concerned to prevent the issue of defective stamps. That is why the rare, undetected defect may be of such value.’
‘Forgery?’
‘Very rare with British stamps. There are so many checks, from the paper to the special inks used. And the distribution of stamps makes forgery scarcely worthwhile. Stamps are sold only through the Post Office, and a forger would have difficulty in disposing of his stock.’
‘I wasn’t thinking of that so much as the possible forgery of a stamp with a deliberate defect to make it valuable.’
‘I don’t say it couldn’t happen, but again there are many difficulties. Serious collectors and stamp dealers know a great deal about the technical aspects of the stamps they collect, and study them in minute detail. They are concerned with the precise number of perforations surrounding a stamp, with the texture of the paper, with everything that goes into production. I think it would be harder to deceive an experienced stamp collector than many art experts about the authenticity of paintings.’
Mr Evans’ secretary came back, with a sheet of typescript. ‘I’ve written it all down for you,’ she said.
Mr Evans studied the paper. ‘Netherwick is not a letter-writing community,’ he said. ‘The Postmaster at Hungerford had everything at his fingertips. Apart from Christmas and a slight increase in the summer holiday months, the Netherwick office sold about 100 first class stamps a week and about 250 second class. Of course there are additional sales for parcels and overseas mail, but not a great many. Stamps are sent out by the regular delivery van on Thursdays. The normal supply is one sheet of 200 first class stamps every other week, and two sheets of second class stamps every week, plus occasional sheets of other values. The Postmaster always telephones on Wednesday afternoons to say if he wants additional quantities of any particular value, or if he has adequate stocks of other values and doesn’t want any more of those for a bit. This is the system adopted by the present Postmaster, but it seems that he is simply continuing the system carried out for years by his late aunt.’
‘The murder was on April 8, a Wednesday. Can you find out if a sheet of 200 first class stamps was delivered on the previous Thursday?’
‘Easily. Do you want it done now?’
‘It can wait. I’m afraid there’ll be a considerable list of things on which I need your help. Do you agree with Sir Gordon Gregory that it is unlikely that many of the reversed head stamps could have gone through the mail without being noticed?’
‘Yes. Like you, I’m a little surprised that this wasn’t noticed, but there were special circumstances. It was smudged and charred, and whoever handled it wasn’t thinking about stamps. I see your point. If the remaining stock of first class stamps from former supplies had been used up by the evening before the murder, the Postmistress might have taken the stamp for this postcard from a new sheet. Therefore there should be 199 with the reversed head remaining.’
‘So one would think. But your security officer checked the stamps in the safe and said nothing about a reversed head sheet. He must be asked about this, but it seems inconceivable that he wouldn’t have noticed them. Where are they?’
‘You are assuming that they came from the Post Office in the first instance.’
‘Not at all. It is a reasonable assumption that they were in the Netherwick sub-office, because the stamp on this postcard came from there. It also seems reasonable that there cannot have been a single stamp like this, and that it must have come from a sheet. Where the sheet came from is another matter. I’m hoping that you can help me to find out.’
‘If this stamp was printed by a firm supplying the Post Office, examination of it will identify the firm because there are secret marks in the paper allotted to each firm of stamp printers. I can trace it back to the batch it came from, and trace that batch forward to the Head Post Offices to which it went. But if it turns out to be a forgery, we’re at rather a dead end.’
‘Not yet. You agree that the stamp was at one time in Netherwick sub Post Office?’
‘I agree that the evidence from the postcard suggests that.’
‘Why should a forger want to supply stamps to a Post Office? Why not just try to sell them to a dealer?’
Mr Evans considered this. Then, ‘I think there could be several reasons,’ he said. ‘Stamp dealers are not fools, and the instinct of any reputable dealer on being offered a stamp like this would be to call the police. You can argue that there may be disreputable dealers, ready to buy without asking questions, but they wouldn’t offer all that much –hundreds, perhaps, rather than thousands. A very rare stamp can’t command a sensational price without worldwide publicity, and interesting the main stamp auctioneers. A stamp dealer confronted with an apparently unique, or very rare, stamp is a bit like an art dealer offered a rare picture. A valuable stamp must have a history – the dealer will want to know where it came from, how it got into the seller’s possession and his title to it. If it were bought in a Post Office, in the presence of a witness, that would be important in establishing authenticity. Even if it turned out later to be a forgery it could be held to have fooled the Post Office, and if it went through the mail and obtained a postmark, that would also influence its value. In certain circumstances a forged stamp that had been through the mail might still be valuable.’
‘You wouldn’t need to buy it at a Post Office in order to stick it on a letter.’
‘No. But there are other possibilities of fraud. Local sorting, where letters were postmarked in small towns or villages, has long been discontinued, but every sub Post Office still has a postmark, which may be used for postal orders or for registered mail. It is possible that a forger may have schemed to acquire a postmark from a small sub-office, where the Postmistress might be elderly, and perhaps with poor eyesight. Mrs Denny was in her seventies.’
‘We know nothing about her eyesight; that must be gone into. You seem to be assuming that the stamp is a forgery.’
‘I can’t assume anything else. If on examination it turns out to be apparently genuine, I don’t know what to think. One would have to assume then that a sheet of stamps with such an obvious defect had passed all the checks at the printers, remained unnoticed by all the Post Office staff handling it, and been sent out to a sub-office in the ordinary way. Those seem almost impossible assumptions – but I cannot speculate until I have some more facts.’
‘Making one more assumption – that a sheet of these stamps, forged or genuine, was in Netherwick Post Office on April 7 and has not been seen since, why do you suppose we have heard nothing of them? If they were stolen at the time of the murder, they must have been taken for their exceptional value. That value cannot be realised without publicity – the stamps must be discovered. Months have gone by without a hint that the stamps exist. Why?’
‘One obvious reason is the murder itself. If the youth who has been found guilty of the murder is responsible for taking the stamps, he couldn’t do anything about them because he has been in custody.’
‘They were not found at his home.’
‘He may have hidden them somewhere else. Or it is possible that some other person was concerned with the stamps and that the murder was an unexpected irrelevance. With murder involved, one could understand someone seeking to make money out of stamps lying low for a bit. Yet another factor is the existence of this postcard. Suppose you expected to find an untouched sheet of 200 stamps and instead obtained a sheet with one stamp missing? What is become of it? Has it been posted and remained unnoticed? The chance that it was posted in a box that was set on fire may explain a lot.’
Piet got up. ‘You have understood all the implications, and already your help has been invaluable,’ he said. ‘I must leave you to pursue facts – with the utmost urgency. And I need scarcely add that nothing about the existence of this stamp must become known beyond those whose job it is to deal with it.’
Mr Evans smiled. ‘I am a security officer,’ he said. ‘My inquiries will be subject to the highest possible degree of discretion. I shall not even telephone you when I have obtained my facts – I shall come to see you.’
V
It Couldn’t Happen . . .
PIET WENT HOME a very unhappy man. All his instincts were to press on with investigations, but a Chief Constable’s time is not his own. He had to go to London fairly frequently to attend various Home Office committees, so a trip to London would raise no eyebrows. But door to door inquiries in Netherwick would; moreover it would upset his staff if they felt that he was doing things himself which properly belonged to them. Apart from Mr Evans, he had told nobody so far of this strange development in the Marshall case. He did not want to tell anybody. The problem of the shop doorbell would not go away. The simplest explanation was that nobody had asked Eric Marshall about it; if he had been asked he might have said that he had heard the tinkle of the bell, which would be strong contributory evidence that he had forced the door himself. If he said that he had not heard the bell, which would bear out his story that he had found the door open, he might be lying. Piet wanted to ask him, he would have to ask him, but he needed to know a lot more first.
Tomorrow, he thought, he could get away for a bit. The arson case made it reasonable enough for him to pay another visit to Newbury, and on the way back he could call at Netherwick. Late as it was when he got home he put the finishing touches to his picture of the church and framed it ready for presentation to the Rector.
*
The Newbury men were glad to see him, pleased that their boss was taking so much interest in their successful arrest. ‘There’s not much doubt that we’ve got the right man,’ the superintendent said. ‘We haven’t got to committal proceedings yet – his appearance in court yesterday was purely formal. We asked for a remand in custody and we got it without difficulty – he didn’t even ask for bail. The court appointed a solicitor for him, and I understand unofficially that when the case comes for trial he’s going to plead guilty.’
‘What sort of a man is he?’ Piet asked.
‘Normal enough to look at, but I should say three parts mad – totally mad when a burning fit comes on him. He’s a schoolmaster in his middle thirties, teaches history. No question of putting any pressure on him for a statement – he wants to talk and go on talking. Says that as a boy he loved the story of the Fire of London, seemed to him justice on a wicked city. Says that farmers deserve to have their barns burnt because they keep battery hens, though as a matter of fact none of the farms that he’s set fire to are poultry farms. Wants to burn mail in pillar-boxes because there may be indecent letters in them. His headmaster is shocked – says he’s a good teacher, very quiet, but liked in the school. He’s a case for a lunatic asylum, and if you ask me I’d say he was too dangerous ever to be let out.’
‘You may be right, but it’s dreadful to think of such men being locked up in their sane periods.’
‘Sure enough, sir, but it’s even more dreadful to think of the people who may be burned to death in his fires.’
‘It’s a horrible world to police,’ Piet said. ‘Justice must be tempered with every possible mercy, but when some people scream about the way we do our job they forget the vile things we’ve got to try to protect society against.’
‘You’re certainly right there, sir.’
Feeling a bit deceitful, Piet disappointed the Newbury men by declining an invitation to stay for lunch on the plea of urgent work awaiting him. By cutting out lunch he reckoned that he could call at Netherwick and get back to his office at about the right time as if he had been out to lunch. He’d looked up the name of the Rector – the Rev. Mark Davidson. He had been at Netherwick, now incorporated with a number of neighbouring parishes, for nearly thirty years.
The Rector’s elderly car was standing outside his house – a piece of luck for he could easily have been out about his multifarious duties. The door was opened by the Rector’s wife, who had not seen Piet before. ‘What name shall I give?’ she asked.
‘Tell him I’m the artist he met the other day, come to keep a promise,’ Piet said.
This brought the Rector from his study. ‘This is extremely good of you,’ he said. ‘Have you really come to give me that beautiful picture?’
‘If you will accept it.’
The Rector took Piet to his study, unwrapped the picture and exclaimed at how beautiful it was. ‘I must call Marjorie,’ he said. ‘She will love it.’
After Mrs Davidson had admired the picture the Rector said, ‘A generous parishioner gives me a case of sherry at Christmas. Marjorie and I seldom drink it, but I think this is a proper occasion for celebration. Will you join me in a glass of sherry? It is remiss of me, but I don’t think I yet know your name.’
Piet would have preferred not to give his name, but he might yet have to come to Netherwick officially and it might be embarrassing to conceal it. Not giving the Dutch spelling of Pieter, which occasionally appeared in newspapers, and trusting that the Rector would not know much about Chief Constables, Piet said, ‘The picture is signed P.D. It stands for Peter Deventer. The family was Dutch originally, but we have been in England for several generations.’
‘How interesting! I shall feel that we have a link with the great Dutch school on our wall. What has brought you back to Netherwick?’
‘I came primarily to give you your picture. But I want to do more painting in the village, and it helps just to wander round and look about me. I find it almost unbelievable that a place so peaceful should have met that dreadful tragedy.’
‘Alas, beauty and peace cannot escape sinful man.’
‘You would have known the Postmistress, I suppose.’
‘For nearly thirty years. She was a devout churchgoer. Nowadays, when the country clergy have so many churches to look after, we have to make more and more use of lay help. She was one of a regular team of helpers who read Lessons, and offer intercessions, at our services.’
‘I thought she was well over seventy. Wasn’t her eyesight failing at all?’
‘Mrs Denny? She never wore glasses in her life and her eyes were as bright as those of a girl of twenty. She was very sharp, too. In these days, I fear, even children from well conducted homes are not above trying to slip a packet of sweets from a shop into a pocket without paying. They could never do that with Mrs Denny. If they tried it on she would notice them and give them such a talking to that perhaps they would never try to steal again. We used to say that Mrs Denny was as good as a policeman in the village. Her shop was like a local club, too. Everything that happened in the village was discussed there, and in winter, with that big old-fashioned grate of hers blazing away, it was a cosy place for a chat. She is sadly missed.’
