MR JARVIS WAS A PUNCTILIOUS little man. He was bald and round and bore a striking resemblance to an egg. His office was in complete contrast to Cedric Barmforth’s home. Fussy wasn’t the word. After greeting them, he sat down and immediately straightened his already straight blotter, aligning his pen just so.
‘Mr Adam Ainsley. You wanted to know about his finances? Not a prudent man with his money. He was sent the usual savings information, of course, but he never filled in the forms. A professional sportsman. They’re not always very wise. A tad Lester Piggotish in their financial affairs.’ Mr Jarvis smiled at his little joke.
‘Are you saying he owed money to the taxman?’
‘I don’t know. But I shouldn’t wonder. Certainly no p*****t to the Revenue and Customs came out of his account. Not s
