Free The Affinity Bridge by George Mann

glanced out of the window. The cab had come to rest outside a small office building appended to a much larger complex of industrial hangers and factories. A sign above the door read: Chapman & Villiers Air Transportation Services.
    “Yes, thank you driver, this is the place.” He sighed, and caught Veronica’s eye, folding his newspaper under his arm as he did so. “Are you ready, my dear?”
“Absolutely.”
    “Well then, after you.” He watched her clamber down from the cab to the street below. He had a feeling that today, one way or another, some of the missing pieces of the mystery would begin clicking into place.
     
     
     
    The offices of Chapman and Villiers were an austere affair, housed within a separate structure that was divorced from the factory proper by a large courtyard and an elaborate set of cast iron gates. Clearly the proprietors were intent on maintaining a strict distance between their visiting clientele and the factory workers, who, Newbury guessed, would likely have a separate entrance somewhere around the rear of the complex. It appeared, from the signs evident in the windows, that the office not only dealt with the company’s commercial affairs but also served as a travel agency, of sorts, selling passage on its fleet of charter vessels to locations all over the globe, from Prussia to China, Jersey to Hong Kong. Newbury toyed with his gloves for a moment. “Well, Miss Hobbes, I do hope you have your detective’s cap on?”
    In reply, she stepped forward and pulled the office door open before her. It groaned loudly on its hinges. “Of course. After you, Sir Maurice.”
    He shook his head, taking the door from her and ushering her inside. “Come now, Miss Hobbes, let’s do things properly.”
    The main reception area was as sobering in appearance as one expected after taking in the view of the building from the outside; the walls were hung with a dark, burgundy covering that seemed to soak up all of the light, and a scattering of chairs were situated beside low coffee tables and tall, leafy plants. A set of short stairs led up to another, unseen level. A clerk sat in one corner with his back to them, talking to a customer in hushed tones about purchasing transport to the Far East.
    Their attention was most immediately drawn, however, to the man behind a mahogany desk in the centre of the room, his fingers forming a perfect pyramid before him on the polished surface, his pale face belying his apparent displeasure at receiving customers so close to lunch. When he spoke, his voice was thin and nasal. “Can I help you?”
    Newbury strode up to the desk and placed his hat down beside a sheaf of paper files. The clerk looked at the item as if it were a horse’s head, his disdain clearly evident.
    “I’m here to see Mr. Chapman.”
    The clerk made a show of looking in his ledger. “Are you sure, sir? I have no meetings scheduled for Mr. Chapman today. He really is a very busy man.” He shut his ledger as if that were simply the end of the matter. “Perhaps you’d care to make an appointment?”
    “I’m afraid you don’t seem to understand. It’s imperative I speak with Mr., Chapman today.” Newbury glowered at the man behind the desk.
    “Imperative, you say, sir? Could I inquire as to what business you may have with my employer that could possibly be so urgent? If you’re looking to make a complaint about a recent journey then you can find the forms behind you on the table there.”
    Newbury sighed. “I’m here on the business of the Crown. It is a delicate matter that I wish to discuss with Mr. Chapman in private. Of course, if you’d prefer me to air his private business out here…?”
    The man’s entire demeanour changed. His face seemed to flush with colour and his pursed lips split into a wide smile. He swallowed, and parted his hands in a conciliatory gesture. The timbre of his voice became immediately more welcoming. “Of course, sir. I quite understand. Allow me to go