'These were invented by the Scots, some twenty years ago. It is a company, quoted on the Stock Exchange, except that it doesn't do anything except own shares in other companies. Now what Ravenscliff did was put all his holdings – in Gleeson's, Gosport, Beswick and so on, into the Rialto Investment Trust, and sold shares in it, keeping only a controlling stake. Do you understand the implications of that?'
'No.'
'I am truly glad that in your daily life you have no contact with money whatsoever,' he said vehemently. 'You clearly have no instincts for it at all.'
'I am quite prepared to admit it,' I said.
'It is nothing to be proud of. Very well. Think of this. A quarter stake in the Trust means Ravenscliff controls it, correct?'
'If you say so.'
'I do. And the quarter stake the Trust holds in Beswick means it controls that. Correct?'
I nodded.
'So Ravenscliff controls Beswick with a quarter stake of a quarter stake. That is, six and one quarter per cent. The same goes for another dozen or so companies which make up the main holdings of the Trust. To put it another way, he controls companies capitalised at nearly seventy million pounds with a holding of a little more than four and a quarter million.'
Finally I understood, although the size of the figures astonished me. Four and a quarter million was such a vast amount of money it made my head spin. Seventy million was almost beyond comprehension. My landlady's house, I knew, had cost her two hundred pounds.
'So,' Franklin continued, 'your characterisation of Ravenscliff as "some sort of money man" needs to be revised a little. He was, in fact, the most powerful armaments manufacturer in the world. And also perhaps the most ingenious financier in the world as well.
'And,' Franklin went on, 'there is the founding mystery of his life, which might entertain your readers if you can solve it.'
I brightened up.
'Where did the Gosport Torpedo Company come from?'
'What do you mean?'
'Torpedoes are complicated things. Ravenscliff was a financier, not an engineer. But all of a sudden he pops up out of nowhere with a fully operational torpedo. Where did it come from?'
'Are you going to tell me?'
'I haven't a clue; nor, it seems, does your man at Seyd's. It's a cunning document, this. It goes on at great length about what it does know – which is little; and artfully buries what it doesn't, which is a great deal. It's only when you think about it that your realise this document is a confession of ignorance.'
That was the essence of my long conversation with Mr Franklin who, bless him, presented all his information in a way which was almost understandable. Even better, he clearly enjoyed it, and ended by saying that if I had any more questions, I should not hesitate . . .
I wouldn't. I now had some inkling of how little I knew, and how little everyone else knew. I wasn't alone, but no one else but me had the problem of finding anything out. Ravenscliff's way of life was intricate and veiled, almost deliberately so. He had successfully hidden the vastness of his wealth from the world, to the point where he scarcely figured in the public mind.
The thought also occurred to me that, if he could do that, how easy it would have been for him to hide a child where no one could find it.
I wasn't really sure why it was, considering the task at hand, that I devoted myself to trying to understand Ravenscliff's manner of business. I reckoned it was important to know the sort of man I was dealing with, and so far I had learned little. Only his wife had referred to his character, and I assumed her testimony was unreliable. He must have had some friends, surely? Someone who knew and understood him. While the doings of the Rialto Investment Trust would offer little insight into his passions and emotions, they might at least lead to someone who had known him. So I hoped, anyway.
The following day I had a quick lunch with a friend who worked as a jobber at the Exchange; not a grand figure in that world, but one who was around all the time, and the jobber's bread and cheese depends on knowing even the least wisp of gossip. Fortunes are made, companies rise and fall on catching a muttered comment in a pub or club or tavern before anyone else hears of it. The firm which employed Leighton was moderately prosperous, so I understood, and so must do tolerably well in listening.
Not that Leighton looked like a man who spent his time closeted in dark rooms, listening to idle gossip. If there was anyone less obviously suited to the life he led, then I have never met him. Leighton gave the impression of one born to rule an empire, or at least explore it. It would have been more fitting to come across him a few miles from the source of the Nile than the Stock Exchange.
