Authors: The Companion
Ann Granger (15 page)
‘You flatter me,’ I said drily.
‘No, I do not do that,’ was his sober reply. ‘All I have said is true. I’d lay five guineas on it on the first three. The fourth I can see for myself.’
‘Only five guineas?’ I could not resist asking.
Frank pointed at me in triumph. ‘You see? You’re quick and you have a sense of humour. Madeleine wasn’t quick, far from it, and she was utterly humourless. One couldn’t tease Madeleine; she never saw the joke or even realised there was a joke. There was no sport in it and once I knew it I gave up and lost interest in her. But someone else had interest in her, didn’t he? Or so we must now assume.’
I could see where this was leading but I chose to say nothing. It was he who had introduced the subject.
‘We are left with two possibilities, are we not? What do you say, Lizzie? Either she met this unknown man in our circle, that is to say, she met him because she lived here in this house, or she met him elsewhere. But if elsewhere, where indeed? You are a young single lady newly arrived in London, as she was. You have the morning free since Aunt Julia does not come down before noon. What might you choose to do with your time and where might you go?’
‘So far,’ I said. ‘I have been nowhere. But didn’t you say Madeleine read novels from a circulating library? Well, then, at the library. There she might have met someone.’
‘You see? You are very clever, I knew it.’ Frank nodded. ‘But so is Inspector Ross a very clever fellow. I wonder if he has thought of that. I told him of Maddie’s taste in literature. He has probably sent a plainclothes detective to each and every circulating library in the metropolitan area, there to watch and make note of anyone borrowing
A Romance of the Borders or The Corsair’s Bride
or some such tosh.’
A Romance of the Borders or The Corsair’s Bride
or some such tosh.’
I still said nothing but this time because I had been struck by something I should have thought of at once and stupidly had not. I must tell Aunt Parry at the earliest opportunity that I had met Inspector Ross before and that my own father had paid for the detective’s education. To keep the knowledge from her would not only be unfair but unwise, should it emerge later. But that did not mean I had to tell Frank, at least not before I had told his aunt.
‘You understand,’ said Frank, misinterpreting my silence, ‘that I must be high on the worthy inspector’s list of suspects? Moreover, he does not like me.’
‘Perhaps you are being unfair on the inspector?’ I suggested.
‘Good Lord, Lizzie. I know when a fellow has taken a scunner to me, even if he is only a policeman, confound his impudence!’ After a moment’s silence he added, ‘I hope you do not dislike me, Lizzie? I know you disapprove of me but that is not the same thing.’
He gave me no chance to answer, even though I had no answer. He said briskly, ‘I am keeping you from retiring. Forgive me. Good night, Lizzie.’ He stood up and bowed politely.
I got to my feet and said, ‘Good night,’ as politely.
As I closed the door I saw through the crack that he had opened the volume of verse and was leafing through it. I thought, He declares no interest in Madeleine but he had enough to take note of what she read. Now he is interested to learn what I read.
I felt uncomfortable with this piece of reasoning. But if, as Frank had gallantly declared, I was intelligent enough to puzzle things out, then I was also aware enough to know that the talent was an unsettling one. How much preferable it must be to content oneself with the pleasure palace and to be able to put entirely from one’s mind the ‘caverns measureless to man’. But I could not.
Ben Ross
IT IS my practice at the end of each day to write a detailed account of the observations I have made during working hours when I am pursuing an investigation. Call it a diary, if you like. Colleagues who have found out about this habit of mine have mocked me for it and called me pedantic. ‘What, Ben? Do you think yourself still clerking?’ But I find it useful to be able to look back and see not only where and when I have spoken to such an individual, but also to read I have recorded some little thing I noticed at the time but which later slipped my mind in the hurly-burly of events. It has proved useful on more than one occasion.
I suppose this of no interest to anyone but myself as I can imagine the mirth in any court where I might produce my little book. But I sincerely believe that the time is not far off when all officers investigating a crime will do as I do. If we do not act in an organised and scientific manner the detection of crime will never progress, and we shall for ever be tainted with the image of the bumbling village constable. Moreover, any clever lawyer will be able to muddle us in the witness box and make fools of us.
In the summer I generally take my notes home to my rooms and write there in peace. On dark evenings I stay at Scotland Yard and take advantage of the gaslight, ignoring its stink and the risk of interruption and mockery from my peers.
Looking back at my account of Thursday, the day following that on which I had taken news of Madeleine Hexham’s murder to the Parry household, I see it was taken up both with asking questions and with fending them off. In between I thought a great deal about Lizzie Martin and in particular that part of our conversation in which I had revealed my link to her father. I had meant to sound grateful to him, as I was deeply so, and to tell how pleased I was to see her. But I feared I had sounded a pompous prig and she must have found me a sober dullard, especially when compared to a glittering fellow like Carterton.
I was in a fair way to dislike Carterton for reasons that had nothing to do with my investigation. I warned myself privately (not in my notes!) to beware of the temptation. No doubt he was an excellent fellow, devoted to his aunt and to his labours on behalf of Her Majesty and her business in foreign climes. It was my earnest wish they’d send him to oversee Britain’s interests in somewhere like South America or Japan or an isolated island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, where he would be out of Lizzie’s way and she out of his.
But to return to my notes. I had ordered men to be sent back to the Agar Town site to finish questioning all the workers there. It was proving a slow and thankless business. A number of workmen had already quit the site. They did not wish to be quizzed by the police and their names entered in some official account. One or two may have had some minor offences already recorded against them. Others may have belonged to that shadowy fraternity of men who had slipped out of normal society and drifted on the outskirts of it or in London’s teeming underbelly. They survived doing casual work here and there, enough to pay for a bed in a cheap lodging house and a meal. A building site offers plenty of such work. Not all were rogues and vagrants who knew nothing else. More likely they were the once respectable who had fallen from grace. There might be husbands among them who had abandoned wife and children. There might be bank clerks ruined through gambling or drink. Or
again, pathetic one-time small businessmen whose stock had failed to sell and whose creditors had defaulted. London was a city in which a man might lose himself completely if he did not wish to be found. Our murderer counted on it. But he was out there somewhere and I would have him yet.
again, pathetic one-time small businessmen whose stock had failed to sell and whose creditors had defaulted. London was a city in which a man might lose himself completely if he did not wish to be found. Our murderer counted on it. But he was out there somewhere and I would have him yet.
The task had to be done, though I knew very well what the results of my constables’ labours would be. No one at Agar Town would admit to having seen anything and I could expect to receive a visit from Mr Fletcher, the representative of the railway company, complaining bitterly that work was again held up.
He arrived in my office by half past nine on Friday morning. We were still organising the day ahead and I was anything but ready for him. But I received him, albeit with bad grace. He was perspiring profusely. The dull spring had unexpectedly taken a turn for the better and, on a whim, teased us with a sample of summer sunshine. I supposed Fletcher’s brow was beaded because he had hurried over to the Yard from Agar Town but most of all he appeared to be in a lather of rage.
‘This is outrageous!’ he squawked. He took off his oval-lensed spectacles and blinked at me before pulling out his spotted handkerchief and mopping his damp brow. ‘We are behind schedule! If the ground is not cleared by the due date, then the next stage of construction cannot begin. Everyone is waiting for the demolition work to be completed. All hangs on that! Have you any idea what that means? I see you do not. Can you put yourself in the place of the shareholders who become increasingly restless as they see the possibility that the return on their investment may be delayed? They badger the directors of the railway who in turn badger
me
!’
me
!’
His voice rose in an aggrieved wail. ‘Can you imagine the cost of the whole undertaking? Do you know what the wages of the labour force amount to?’
‘Mr Fletcher!’ I interrupted as civilly as I was able. ‘I told you I was happy for work to restart clearing the site.’
‘It is impossible to proceed at anything but a snail’s pace,’ he retorted, ‘and that is due entirely to the presence of the police. No sooner a job is under way than a fellow in uniform appears and demands the men down tools so that he may quiz them. Every day a man or two decides he wants no more of working under the eye of a constable who regards everything he does with suspicion and pesters him with impertinent questions. It is bad enough that, although few of them have any formal religion, most of the navvies are superstitious so no one wants to work in the area where the body was discovered. Those who are God-fearing don’t like being associated with a scene of crime. So each morning a few more don’t appear for work and then new men must be found and taken on.’
‘There are surely navvies a-plenty in London,’ I snapped.
‘And work a-plenty for them!’ was Fletcher’s reply. ‘You may not have observed it, Inspector, but London has for some years now been in the process of being transformed above ground and below. Beneath our feet navvies are digging out Bazalgette’s new sewers; they are tunnelling for a railway which will run underground; above and around us the railway companies build; the property speculators build; Her Majesty’s government builds! If a navvy isn’t happy at his place of work, why, he has but to pack his bag and take himself to the next site where they will be happy to hire him. The only ones who are always available are those who are shiftless, drunken or incapacitated. Do you understand now the difficulty of finding industrious and sober men to work on the new terminus? Do you understand now that such men will not stay if the whole place is crawling with police officers?’
I said nothing to this but raised my eyebrows and he seemed to realise that the last words were, to say the least, not tactful. He hastened to rephrase them. ‘If their work is hindered by your investigations, I mean. Look, Inspector – er – Ross, I beg of you, recall your men. They are wasting their time and surely, in an
investigation of this sort, time lost cannot be regained. It is certainly so in the construction business.’
investigation of this sort, time lost cannot be regained. It is certainly so in the construction business.’
There were men of his sort working in the coal-mining business, but I did not point it out to him. They looked only at profit and loss. Their aim was to sweat the maximum labour from each individual and they cared nothing for accidents and deaths. Remembering the men I had seen demolishing the upper walls with sledgehammers while perched on what structure remained, I wondered how many accidents there had been on the demolition site since work there had begun.
However, the police are public servants and it is our policy not to offend worthy citizens. They kick up such a devil of a fuss.
‘I am sorry to hear it’s disrupting your plans,’ I said. ‘But the quicker my officers can complete their enquiries, the sooner they will be out from under your feet and you can carry on knocking things down and clearing them away.’
I frowned as I spoke. He probably thought I was frowning at him as he looked a little nervous. But I was thinking that so much had indeed been carried away from that site that anything of interest to us would long have disappeared with the rest of it.
‘I should like your officers off the site by midday,’ he said, tucking the handkerchief into his pocket.
‘That gives us hardly any time at all,’ I pointed out.
‘But they have been there since the body was found!’ he exploded. ‘And one of them has fallen into a cellar. His colleagues had to pull him out with a rope! He might have broken a leg.’
I wondered who it was had fallen into the cellar and was annoyed this had not been reported to me. I wondered also if Fletcher would have cared as much if one of his workmen broke a leg.
‘So you see,’ went on Fletcher, ‘a building site is a dangerous place.’
‘It certainly was for the dead woman, Madeleine Hexham,’ I said.
‘But, my dear man, you cannot imagine anyone there killed her!’ he shouted.
I told him my mind was open at the moment. I had formed no theories. I thought he would choke.
‘I shall take this further,’ he promised, picking up his hat.
‘As you wish, sir,’ I said.
He was wasting my time and I was glad to see him leave. I little cared where he went.
When he had left, I went into the outer office and found Morris there.
‘Who fell into the cellar?’ I snapped.
‘Biddle, sir,’ returned Morris. ‘A hole in the ground is powerfully attractive to the young and Biddle, being not much more than a boy and curious like boys are, went over to look in. It was unsafe, sir, of course and in he fell. Constable Jenkins and Adams the foreman got him out between them with a rope. I didn’t trouble you with it as he wasn’t much harmed. He ricked an ankle and sprained his wrist but he’s young and they sort of bounce, sir, at that age. We strapped up both limbs and he is managing very well. He’s a game lad.’
‘He may be an excellent officer and all the other things you say, but hobbling round that site with a bandaged ankle he will be an object of mirth and derision. If he has sprained his wrist, how on earth is he to take notes? I hope he
is
taking notes!’
is
taking notes!’
‘It’s his left wrist and he’s right-handed,’ said Morris promptly. ‘Bit of luck, that. I did tell him and the others to write everything down, sir, just like you said.’
‘Get him back here,’ I ordered. ‘Put him on office duties until he’s fit. He is a representative of the Metropolitan Police and not the Chelsea Pensioners!’
I left the building before anyone else representing the Midland Railway could descend on me and take up my time with lamentations. They would not have believed me but there was a sense in
which I was not unsympathetic towards them. I understood the problem they had very well. It was a vast undertaking: a whole new railway terminus and, so I gathered, a magnificent hotel to front it. There was some competition or other to find a design for the hotel, I had read in the newspapers.
which I was not unsympathetic towards them. I understood the problem they had very well. It was a vast undertaking: a whole new railway terminus and, so I gathered, a magnificent hotel to front it. There was some competition or other to find a design for the hotel, I had read in the newspapers.
But, at the same time, I thought, surely our murderer had taken account of all this? Had all gone according to his plans, that house should have tumbled down upon Madeleine’s body. The crushed remains dragged from the ruins might well have been quite unidentifiable and certainly the cause of death would have been impossible to establish. We might easily have thought the body that of a drunken female vagrant who had been sleeping rough there. The need to continue with the demolition work would have meant that our enquiries were rushed and perfunctory. Dead vagrants, men or women and sometimes children, were discovered regularly in London. I could see how the murderer’s mind had worked.
But Fate had played a hand. The two Irish navvies had entered the empty house prior to demolition perhaps seeking any small item overlooked in the clearance to carry off and sell, perhaps hoping to take a drink on the quiet unseen by Adams the foreman. Madeleine had been found, identified and the cause of her death discovered. Not only that, but the time of her death. Only two weeks at the most had she been dead and two months had she been missing. Where had she been in the period between? Within ten days of leaving the Parry household, she had written the letter or been induced to write it. I thought it most likely she had written it herself. If it were faked then it had been faked by someone who had known her handwriting very well. But there were those who knew her handwriting and I was on the way to see one of them: Mrs Sinclair Belling of Dorset Square.
I had sent ahead to let her know I was coming as I knew she would not receive me in the presence of any of her society friends. As it was, she saw me in her drawing room, accompanied by her son whom she introduced to me.
‘This is my son, James. My husband, Sinclair Belling, is away on business. He is in South America, and will not return before next month. His business is chiefly in banking but he has an interest in railway construction which is going on apace there. James is the man of the household in his absence.’
He might be the man of the household but he presented the appearance of a sullen youth. He was probably in his early twenties but he had a gangling frame and lank fair hair. He wore spectacles. He scowled at me and chewed nervously at his lower lip.
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