The Big Over Easy

Jack had to get him to repeat it. He wrote it in his pad and underlined it. “Twelve million shares? In how many companies?”

“Oh!” said Mr. Pewter. “I thought you knew. Every single one of them is in Spongg Footcare PLC!”

There was a pause as Jack and Mary took this in.

“So the egg had all his eggs in one basket,” observed Mary. “Is that normal?”

“It’s against all logical thinking, Miss Mary. If you have a large portfolio of shares, it is always considered prudent to spread the risk.”

“So how much is all that worth?” asked Jack.

Pewter picked up a calculator and consulted a list of stock-market prices in a copy of The Owl. He pressed a few buttons.

“At current rates a little over a million pounds.”

Jack whistled. “That’s a very good portfolio.”

Pewter didn’t agree. He leaned back in his swivel chair, which creaked ominously.

“No, Inspector. It’s a very bad portfolio. He spent about two and a half million pounds on its acquisition.”

“You’re losing me I’m afraid, Mr. Pewter.”

The stockbroker thought for a moment. “Against my advice he continued to buy even when the share price dropped hourly. He holds—held—thirty-eight percent of Spongg’s.”

Jack was not too familiar with the machinations of share dealings, but one question seemed too obvious not to be asked.

“Why?”

There was a pause.

“I have no idea, Mr. Spratt. I can only think that he wanted Spongg shares to recover and to then sell them at a profit.”

“How much could they be worth?”

Pewter smiled. “At the all-time high in the sixties, Humpty’s share would have been worth almost three hundred million. But the possibility of that, given the downward trend of Spongg’s fortunes, is infinitesimally small. He might as well have smeared the cash with gravy and pushed the bills into the lions’ enclosure at the zoo.”

Jack thought for a moment. “Did Mr. Dumpty seem naive in money matters?”

Pewter looked quite shocked. “Oh, no. He was quite astute. He had been playing the stock market for a lot longer than I’ve known him, although I understood he had a bit of trouble in Splotvia. He floated a company to exploit mineral rights, but a left-wing government took power and nationalized the land. Badly burned.”

Pewter paused for a moment and played absently with a pencil from his desk.

“So what was he up to?” asked Jack.

“I have no idea,” replied the stockbroker. “He became obsessed with Spongg’s about eighteen months ago. I never found out why. Spongg’s will go under; it’s only a question of time. Unless,” he added, “there was another plan.”

“Such as?” returned Jack, craning forward and lowering his voice.

Mr. Pewter fixed him with a steely gaze. “Winsum and Loosum Pharmaceuticals would have paid a lot of money to get hold of the shares. They’ve been trying to take over Spongg’s for years. They might pay him a good return on his investment.”

“How much?”

“Today? Ten million. Fifteen if he got Grundy in a generous mood. But I must say if that was his plan, I’m surprised he left it so long. Spongg’s demise is pretty much inevitable, and Winsum and Loosum can just wait until it goes and then pick up the pieces.”

“Solomon Grundy was at the Spongg benefit, wasn’t he?”

“He never misses them, Inspector. Along with Randolph Spongg and the Quangle-Wangle, he’s Reading’s most generous philanthropist. Did you know that he personally paid forty million pounds to keep the Sacred Gonga in Reading when the museum threatened to sell it?”

“Of course,” said Jack, “everyone knows. Thank you for your time, Mr. Pewter. You’ve been most helpful.”

“Delighted to be of service, Inspector. I am always here if you need to talk again.”

Mr. Pewter saw them to the door, and they walked back to the Allegro.

“You can drive,” said Jack, tossing the car keys to Mary.

She got in and looked around the spartan controls dubiously.

“Seventies design classic,” said Jack. “The Allegro was a lot better than people give it credit for. The clutch is on the way out, so it bites high, and don’t be too aggressive with the turn signal—I broke it the other day, and I’m still awaiting a replacement.”

She turned the key, and the little engine burst into life. Jack was right, the clutch did bite high, but aside from that it drove very well—and with a surprisingly comfortable ride, too.

“Hydrogas suspension,” commented Jack when Mary asked. “Best thing about it.”

“So,” said Mary as they made their way back towards the city center, “Humpty was buying shares in a company that is heading rapidly downhill—why do you suppose that is?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps he wanted a staff discount on corn plasters. Perhaps he liked Randolph. Perhaps he’d gone mad. Speaking of which, let’s see if we can get any sense out of Dr. Quatt. But not quite yet. Take a right here and pull up outside Argos. I said I’d drop in and check out the Sacred Gonga Visitors’ Center—we’re on duty there Saturday.”

11. The Sacred Gonga