The Scarlatti Inheritance(43)

“Certainly.”

“I shall expect them in my hands no later than tomorrow morning.”

“But it would take several accountants a full week to compile everything. Mr. Scarlett was hardly the most precise individual when it came to such matters.…”

“Mr. Cartwright! I’ve dealt with Waterman Trust for over a quarter of a century. The Scarlatti Industries deal through Waterman Trust exclusively, because I direct that they should. I believe in Waterman Trust because it’s never given me a reason not to. Do I make myself clear?”

“You do, indeed. Tomorrow mornin’.” Jefferson Cartwright bowed out of the room as a pardoned slave might take leave of an Arabian sheikh.

“Oh, Mr. Cartwright.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t think I really commended you for keeping my son’s expenses within the boundaries of his income.”

“I’m sorry.…” Beads of perspiration appeared on Cartwright’s forehead. “There was little …”

“I don’t think you understand me, Mr. Cartwright. I’m quite sincere. I commend you. Good morning.”

“Good day, Madame Scarlatti.”


Cartwright and three Waterman bookkeepers stayed throughout the night in an attempt to bring the accounts of Ulster Stewart Scarlett up-to-date. It was a difficult chore.

By two thirty in the morning Jefferson Cartwright had on his desk a list of banks and exchanges where the Scarlatti heir either had or once had accounts. Opposite each were detailed figures and times of transference. The list seemed endless. The specific deposits might well have averaged yearly incomes for the large majority of middle-class Americans but for Ulster Stewart they were no more than weekly allowances. It would take days to ascertain what was left. The list included:

THE CHEMICAL CORN EXCHANGE, 900 Madison Avenue, New York City.

MAISON DE BANQUE, 22 rue Violette, Paris.

LA BANQUE AMÉRICAINE, rue Nouveau, Marseilles.

DEUTSCHE-AMERICANISCHB BANK, Kurfuerstendamm, Berlin.

BANCO-TURISTA, Calle de la Sueños, Madrid.

MAISON DE MONTE CARLO, rue du Feuillage, Monaco.

WIENER STAEDTISCHE SPARKASSE, Salzburgerstrasse, Vienna.

BANQUE-FRANCAISE-ALGÉRIE, Harbor of Moons, Cairo, Egypt.




And so it went. Ulster and his bride had seen Europe.

Of course, balancing this list of supposed assets was a second list of deficits in the form of accounts due. These included monies owed by signature to scores of hotels, department stores, shops, restaurants, automobile agencies, steamship lines, railroads, stables, private clubs, gambling establishments. They all had been paid by Waterman.

Jefferson Cartwright perused the detailed reports.

By civilized standards they were a conglomeration of financial nonsense, but the history of Ulster Stewart Scarlett bore out that for him this was perfectly normal. Cartwright reached the same conclusion as had the government accountants when they checked for the Bureau of Investigation soon after Ulster’s disappearance.

Nothing unusual considering Ulster Scarlett’s past life. Naturally, Waterman Trust would send letters of inquiry to the banks here and abroad to ascertain the amount of remaining deposits. It would be a simple matter to have the monies transferred under power of attorney back to Waterman Trust.

“Yes, indeed,” muttered the Southerner to himself. “Mighty complete job under the circumstances.”

Jefferson Cartwright was convinced that old Scarlatti would have a very different attitude toward him this morning. Ho would sleep for a few hours, take a long cold shower, and bring the reports to her himself. Secretly, he hoped that he would look tired, terribly tired. She might be impressed.


“My dear Mr. Cartwright,” spat out Elizabeth Scarlatti, “it never occurred to you that while you were transferring thousands upon thousands to banks all over Europe, you were simultaneously settling debts which totaled nearly a quarter of a million dollars? It never crossed your mind that by combining these two figures my son accomplished the seemingly impossible! He went through the entire annual income from his trust in less than nine months! Damned near to the penny!”

“Naturally, Madame Scarlatti, letters are being sent this mornin’ to the banks requestin’ full information. Under our power of attorney, of course. I’m sure sizable amounts will be returned.”

“I’m not at all sure.”

“If I may be frank, Madame Scarlatti, what you’re lead-in’ up to completely eludes me.…”

Elizabeth’s tone became momentarily gentle, reflective. “To tell the truth, it eludes me also. Only I’m not leading, I’m being led.…”

“I beg your pardon?”