Bland Beginning (28 page)

“By now, however, he was above his neck in trouble, for he was in the hands of Jacobs. Jacobs knew everything – he was party to the thefts, and knew where the forgeries had come from. He was in an ideal position to levy a little blackmail. I realised on Thursday evening, when John was telling me his story, that Jacobs was the key to the case, because he plainly knew the true origin of the pamphlets. When, on Friday morning, I understood that Caesar Rawlings was the murderer, I knew that Jacobs was in danger. I went down to Blackheath, but I was too late. Rawlings had strangled Jacobs, and made a clumsy attempt to make his murder look like suicide.” He sighed. “That’s all, really. Thirsty work talking so much. Have some more beer.”

“But,” Vicky asked, “what did he do it all for? We didn’t want his money. At least –” She hesitated.

“Your guess is as good as mine, but remember that he had enjoyed a property, and the use of money to which he had no right, ever since his father’s death. Remember that he had a son, whom he obviously loved. I don’t think you need look further for a motive. And remember also that, from his point of view, the first steps he took were mere peccadilloes. He hoped that he would be able to get the pamphlets back by theft and purchase, and if he had done so, from his point of view there would have been no trouble at all. It was only your inquisitiveness, and Jebb’s infernal nosiness – as he considered it – that made him tell a pack of ridiculous lies, and finally take the irrevocable step of murder.”

Anthony was frowning. “I still don’t see how you knew he was the murderer on Friday
morning
.”

“The poems, darling,” Vicky said airily.

“Yes; I can see it’s awfully clever and all that, to have seen what those things meant, but I mean they weren’t evidence, were they?”

“They were sufficient to convince me,” Bland said, “that Caesar Rawlings was probably an illegitimate child, and once I had realised that, everything else fell into place. But there were two pieces of quite concrete evidence, which led direct to Caesar Rawlings. One of them was the evidence of the book that wasn’t there. Caesar Rawlings had lost his copy of the early edition of
Passion and Repentance
– or said he had. And there was something very special about that copy – Rawlings told you, John, that it was a
presentation copy.
That was one of those inspired pieces of authentication in which he specialised, and which turned out to be extremely foolish. As Jebb said, the existence of association copies, given by the author to his friends, is one way of helping to determine the authenticity of a doubtful edition. And this, curiously enough, was the
only
presentation copy of this book that was ever mentioned. Now, when the Inspector discovered by paper tests that the book was a forgery the question arose: how could a presentation copy exist? The answer was, of course, that we only had Rawlings’ word for its existence, and that the very fact that he had been trying to authenticate a forgery was damning evidence against him.

“Once the book had been shown by Wrax to be a forgery, also, the question arose: what of the authentication of it by that story told in Blackburn’s essay? That story was either a true authentication or a deliberate lie. Blackburn referred it back to Cobb as authority for it, but who was Cobb’s authority? Isn’t it obvious that it must have been either Martin Rawlings or his son? And since – as was shown by the fact that the book was forged – the story was a lie, the person who told it must be the forger.

“But there was one piece of evidence that was quite damning. Jebb kindly left the name of his murderer on the blotting pad.” He went over to a bookcase. When he came back he was laughing as he showed them an illustration. “Is that the face in your medallion?”

“Why, yes,” Anthony said. “But what –”

Basingstoke was laughing too as Bland took his hand away and showed them what was written underneath it:
Julius Caesar. Profile of the Bust in the British Museum.
“It wasn’t hard to guess what Jebb had in mind in making this symbolical drawing of his visitor, Caesar Rawlings, when you remembered the nature of the drawing he made earlier in the day – Ruth amidst the alien corn.

“What fools we were.” Basingstoke stroked his chin ruefully. Bland protested.

“The essential thing, unless you were in command of all Inspector Wrax’s apparatus of investigation, was to discover the meaning of the poems. Once that was done, lots of little things fell into place – including, by the way, Rawlings’ knowledge of facts about Jacobs’ death, which he couldn’t have got from the newspapers. On Saturday afternoon I dropped a little note in the marquee, so that Rawlings should know that he was finished. He had some pills on him, and used them when he was at the wicket. A cricketing death,” Bland said solemnly.

It was almost dark in the great room. “Poor Uncle Jack,” Vicky sighed. “I always liked him. He was very nice to me.”

“He was a murdering rat,” Ruth Cleverly said.

Basingstoke got up. “I must be going.” He looked at Ruth.

“All right. I’m coming too.”

“I’m going to look for a job,” Basingstoke said to Bland with a straight face.

Vicky advanced with her hand held out. “So we’re the heirs to the Rawlings fortune – though we shall come to a arrangement with Philip, of course. And it’s all through you. You must come to our wedding. Anthony and I are going to be married next week.” Anthony muttered something.

“I shall be delighted,” Bland said. “Where are you spending your honeymoon?”

“Anthony is playing for Southshire on their Northern tour,” Vicky said serenely, “and, of course, I shall be with him.”

“One more thing,” Basingstoke said. “What was in that note? It must have been something awfully potent to induce him to take poison.”

“I simply told him what I knew,” Bland said, and smiled.

“But why didn’t he try to – dispose of you – as he had of the others?”

“Because I also told him that I’d taken the precaution of writing out my story and posting it to Inspector Wrax. You saw me do that on Saturday morning.”

They were standing on the steps now, outside his dungeon. The sun was dying in a blaze of red and gold. “You think of everything,” said Vicky. “You ought to be a detective. I mean,” she added hurriedly, “a policeman.”

“Perhaps I shall be,” Bland said, “one day.”

It will be obvious to those of my readers interested in bibliography that the bibliographical “discoveries” in my book are derived from that most ingenious piece of literary detection,
An Enquiry into the Nature of
Certain Nineteenth-Century Pamphlets
, by John Carter and Graham Pollard. I have taken the liberty, in my story, of anticipating by a few years some of Messrs Carter and Pollard’s conclusions. This purely fictional anticipation was rendered necessary by certain changes in the law of inheritance, because of which my story had to be set in a year before 1925; no reflection is intended upon Messrs Carter and Pollard’s original researches – by which I have been propped, indeed, as by a pillar.

(in order of first publication)

These titles can be read as a series, or randomly as standalone novels

(in order of first publication)

These titles can be read as a series, or randomly as standalone novels

(in order of first publication)

These titles can be read as a series, or randomly as standalone novels

(in order of first publication)

Published by House of Stratus

The 31st February Anderson was a bored, unhappy sales executive longing for something to liven up his monotonous life. But perhaps he wished too hard because it was not long before he found his wife lying dead at the bottom of the cellar stairs. An accident of course - so why wouldn’t the police believe him?

The Belting Inheritance When a stranger arrives at Belting, he is met with a very mixed reception by the occupants of the old house. Claiming his so-called ‘rightful inheritance’ the stranger makes plans to take up residence at once. Such a thing was bound to cause problems amongst the family - but why were so many of them turning up dead?

Bland Beginning A purchase at a second-hand bookshop seems an innocent enough event. Tony Shelton hadn’t expected it to be anything but that - and he certainly hadn’t expected it to throw him head first into the world of violence, blackmail and robbery. For it becomes clear that the book has a rather higher price than he paid for it - a price that was to lead to murder..

The Broken Penny An Eastern-block country, shaped like a broken penny, was being torn apart by warring resistance movements. Only one man could unite the hostile factions - Professor Jacob Arbitzer. Arbitzer, smuggled into the country by Charles Garden during the Second World War, has risen to become president, only to have to be smuggled out again when the communists gained control. Under pressure from the British Government who want him reinstated, Arbitzer agreed to return on one condition; that Charles Garden again escort him. The Broken Penny is a thrilling spy adventure brilliantly recreating the chilling conditions of the Cold War.

Buller’s Campaign A powerful and invaluable reassessment of the life of General Buller and of the part he played in British military history. Beginning with his struggle for the position of Commander-in-Chief of the Army in 1895, it goes on to portray his role in the Boer War, and on its path, reveals many of the Victorian Imperialist attitudes of the day. A man of numerous failures, General Buller has been treated unkindly by history but Symons here seeks to paint a more rounded picture. Whilst never attempting to excuse the General’s mistakes, he portrays Buller as a complex and often misunderstood character and reveals the deep ironies that surrounded so much of what he achieved. An exceptional book and an outstanding contribution to military history.

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England’s Pride General Gordon, charged with the task of defending Khartoum, was stabbed to death on 26 January 1885 when the Mahdi’s forces took the town by storm. Two days later, the Expeditionary force arrived to relieve Gordon but found the town firmly in the hands of the Mahdi. In England’s Pride, Julian Symons tells the story of the disastrous and tragic failure of this mission. Analysing events from both a political and military stance, and consulting a wide range of sources, he questions why the Gladstone Government had not acted sooner in the first place, and then, once orders had been given, what contributed to the complex chain of events that was ultimately to thwart the relieving force. Capturing in brilliant detail all the glory of Victorian times, England’s Pride is a vivid and dramatic book on a sorely neglected subject.

The General Strike In May 1926, Britain was gripped by what became known as the General Strike. This downing of tools lasted for nine days, during which time it divided the people, threatened the survival of the government of the day and brought the country nearer to revolution that it perhaps had ever been. In this accurate and lively account, Symons draws on contemporary press reports, letters and oral sources, along with TUC records to provide an invaluable historical account of the remarkable event and the people and places that featured so prominently in it.

The Gigantic Shadow Bill Hunter, TV personality, made his living by asking the rich and famous difficult and highly personal questions. But when the tables were turned and he found himself being asked about his own rather murky past, he wasn’t quite so sure of himself. Out of a job and little hope of finding another, he teamed up with the reckless Anthea to embark upon a dangerous and deadly plan that was to have murderous consequences.