The Pershore Poisoners (12 page)

‘Pimlico, Mr Cherrington, Pimlico not Paddington,’

‘Wherever it was then,’ replied Cherrington showing slight signs of annoyance.

‘You don’t remember, Captain Quinton, how Inspector Robertson and a young constable interviewed you after the poisoning of the young woman?’

‘Of course I don’t. I’ve never heard of the
Pimlico Poisoning
case, or this Robertson person, or indeed this Quinton fellow. Quite clearly you are confusing me with someone else, inspector. You say all this was over twenty years ago? Clearly your memory is at fault, Ravenscroft, after all this length of time,’ said Cherrington before inhaling deeply on his cigarette.

‘Very clever, Mr Cherrington, but it will not do. I remember the case as though it were yesterday. You may have changed your appearance since then, but I still recognized you, Captain Quinton,’ persisted Ravenscroft feeling slightly uneasy that he was in danger of loosing his earlier advantage.

‘Look, Ravenscroft, you have got all this horribly wrong.
I am certainly not this Quinton that you seem to insist I am. I have never been to Pimlico in my life, and I have certainly never poisoned anyone either then, or now. Perhaps it would be better if you went,’ said Cherrington rising from his chair.

‘One moment, sir. If you are Mr Cherrington as you claim, then you will not have any objection if my constable makes a search of your rooms?’

‘As a matter of fact I do. I consider that would be a gross infringement of personal property. This is all nonsense, Ravenscroft, utter nonsense. I have said quite plainly that you have confused me with this man Quinton. When you realize your mistake, I will be prepared to accept your apology.’

‘Very neat, Captain Quinton,’ smiled Ravenscroft.

‘Will you stop calling me Captain Quinton. My name is Cherrington. I have always been Cherrington. I have never been this Quinton. I have poisoned no one. Now I suggest you go otherwise I will have recourse to my lawyer,’ said Cherrington growing more and more angry.

‘Ah, Mr Sefton Rawlinson, no doubt,’ mocked Ravenscroft standing up and confronting his suspect.

‘Who on earth is Sefton? For goodness sake, Ravenscroft, let’s have an end to all this nonsense. I have an urgent appointment to keep at the bank.’

‘Ah yes, your funds from India.’

‘Yes, that is correct. Now if you will excuse me.’

‘I don’t believe there are any funds arriving from India. In fact, Mr Cherrington, I don’t believe you have ever been to India let alone grown tea out there, or anywhere else for that matter,’ said a heated Ravenscroft.

‘You are quite wrong about all this, Ravenscroft, quite wrong.’

‘I don’t think so, Quinton. I suggest that my constable and I accompany you to your bank. We will see if these so called
funds actually exist.’

‘There is no need for all this.’

‘Oh, I think there is. Would you like to lead the way Captain,’ insisted Ravenscroft.

Cherrington gave a quick look of annoyance, and then a half smile, as he lead the way out of the room.

‘Ah good morning to you, Mr Cherrington,’ said the clerk behind the counter.

‘Good morning, Baylis. I understand that my funds have arrived from Delhi?’ asked Cherrington.

‘Ah yes, sir. If you would care to wait a moment, sir, I will ask Mr Mortimer the manager to speak with you,’ replied the clerk.

‘That is most kind,’ smiled Cherrington glancing in Ravenscroft and Crabb’s direction. ‘You will see that you have been mistaken in these slanders, Ravenscroft.’

The detective said nothing, but could not help feeling uneasy.

‘Good morning Mr Cherrington,’ said the manager appearing from the inner room and shaking his client’s hand vigorously. ‘And how may we be of assistance to you today?’

‘I understand that my funds have finally been transferred from Delhi,’ said Cherrington.

‘I am sorry, I don’t quite understand who these two gentlemen are?’ asked the manager giving Ravenscroft and Crabb a suspicious glance.

‘Forgive me, sir,’ said Ravenscroft stepping forwards. ‘My name is Inspector Ravenscroft and this is my colleague, Constable Crabb. We have been investigating the poisonings at Talbots’ Lodging House.’

‘Yes, we have heard about them. An awful business,’ sympathized the manager.

‘We have a number of people to interview in our investigations, of whom Mr Cherrington is one,’ continued Ravenscroft. ‘Mr Cherrington claims that he has just returned from India, and that he is waiting for funds to be transferred from there. I wonder if you could be good enough to either confirm or deny this for us, Mr Mortimer?’

‘I am sorry, but I cannot disclose private information concerning a client, inspector. That would be quite unethical, as I am sure you understand.’

‘That is quite all right, Mortimer,’ added Cherrington. ‘I am quite happy for the inspector to be made fully aware of my financial activities. After all, I have nothing to hide.’

‘Well yes sir, I am pleased to confirm that your funds from Delhi have finally arrived this morning. I can only apologize for the delay,’ said the manager giving a slight bow.

‘That is quite all right, Mortimer,’ smiled Cherrington turning to face Ravenscroft.

‘So it is true that Mr Cherrington is in receipt of funds from India?’ asked a somewhat startled Ravenscroft.

‘Of course, sir. I have just said so,’ replied the manager.

‘Thank you, Mortimer,’ said Cherrington.

‘If you would care to draw on them at any time my bank and staff are at your disposal. We can also advise you on any investment you might care to make.’

‘Thank you. I wonder if I could withdraw twenty pounds for today?’ asked Cherrington.

‘Of course, sir. Baylis, will you be so kind as to give Mr Cherrington twenty pounds,’ instructed Mortimer.

‘Yes, sir,’ replied the clerk. ‘How would you like the notes, sir?’

‘Perhaps three five pound notes and the rest in ones, if you please.’

‘Thank you, sir, and if there is anything else I can do for you
now?’ asked the manager.

‘Well actually there is. I intend leaving Pershore at the end of the week. I will be travelling to London and staying for a while at my club. If you could transfer the remainder of my account to your branch in Piccadilly I would be obliged,’ said Cherrington.

‘Certainly, sir. If you would care to call in tomorrow I will have all the paper work arranged,’ smiled Mortimer giving another little bow.

‘Thank you, Mortimer. Until then.’

The clerk rushed to open the door for Cherrington and the two detectives.

‘Good day to you, sir,’ said Ravenscroft addressing the manager as he began to leave the bank.

‘Well, Ravenscroft, I hope that you are now satisfied? Let us have an end to all this nonsense,’ said Cherrington as the three men stood outside the building.’ Now if you will excuse me, I have a great deal to attend to before my departure. I wish you good day, sir.’

‘Confound the smug arrogance of the man,’ grumbled Ravenscroft as he and Crabb downed a tankard of ale in one of the local hostelries.

‘He certainly had an answer for everything,’ said Crabb.

‘The delight he took in humiliating us in that bank. I could have sworn that he had been spinning us a tale all about those funds coming from India, and now confound it, the whole things turns out to be true.’

‘Forgive me for saying this, sir, but has the idea occurred to you that perhaps after all … well that you were … well,’ began Crabb somewhat hesitantly.

‘You mean am I mistaken, and is he really Cherrington? No. I am more than ever convinced that he was the same man I interviewed over twenty years ago in London concerning the
Pimlico Poisoning
case. What’s more, if he was guilty then, he is almost certainly guilty now.’

‘Right, sir,’

‘I am sure he poisoned Jones because he had encountered the dead man at some time in the past, and that Jones threatened to expose him for the charlatan he is. Cherrington then had to poison Miss Martin as well because she had found out that he had killed Jones. I can see no other reason why any of the other residents of Talbots’ would have committed the crimes,’ replied a sullen Ravenscroft.

‘Not even Mrs Jacobson?’ suggested Crabb.

‘Yes, I will acknowledge that there is something about that woman and her activities that concerns me, but there may be a perfectly reasonable and innocent explanation for her behaviour. No, I still believe that Cherrington, or rather Quinton, is our man. The problem is – how are we to confront him successfully with his crimes before we can extract a confession?’

‘We could search his rooms, sir? If we discovered arsenic in his possession, we would have our man.’

‘I think he would have Sefton Rawlinson, or his equivalent, onto us in no time, but the man is so devious he would in all probability have hidden the arsenic somewhere else. No, the only way we can hold him before he leaves the town would be to prove that he is Quinton and not Cherrington.’

‘How do we do that, sir?’

‘I don’t honestly know, Tom. The whole thing is a complete mess. If only we could establish some link between Jones and Quinton in the past. Of course, we have been forgetting one thing in all of this – Jones wasn’t the man’s real name!’ exclaimed Ravenscroft

‘You mean the pocket watch?’ asked Crabb.

‘Exactly. The inscription in the pocket watch said,
Charles Murphy 1872
. Assuming that the watch was actually owned by Jones, then that poses the question – why did Murphy call himself Jones?’

‘Because he was trying to conceal his real name?’

‘Yes, and people usually change their names because they have something to hide. They think by assuming another identity they can escape the past. I wonder what the man was doing with that nasty looking Webley in his possession?’

‘He could have been on the run from someone, and wanted the weapon to defend himself?’

‘A possibility, Tom, or perhaps he was planning a daring robbery or something similar, a robbery in which the gun would have been needed? Then we have also forgotten that letter, the one that people thought he was always expecting. I wonder if it ever arrived?’

‘If he had been on the run, why would he have been waiting for a letter. Would he not have wished to kept his whereabouts secret?’

‘I don’t know. Do you remember that fragment of a letter you found under the bed? I have it here still in my wallet,’ said Ravenscroft taking out the item and spreading it on the table.
‘S. WORCESTER. SEPTEMBER 12. 3.P.M.
What do you think that means, Tom?’

‘Could have come from a letter sent to someone else? There’s no knowing how long it had been under that bed?’

‘Yes, I’m inclined to agree with you. It tells us nothing anyway. I don’t know why I kept it,’ sighed Ravenscroft.

‘Is not the day after tomorrow September 12?’

‘September 12?’

‘The scrap mentions September 12.’

‘I think you are right, Tom. It is the day after tomorrow. Was this part of a letter asking Jones/Murphy, to meet someone called ‘S’ in Worcester at three o’clock on that day? If that was the case, it does not say where in Worcester, nor why. I suppose that was on the remainder of the letter which has been destroyed.’

‘What do we do now, sir?’ asked Crabb.

‘I want to know a lot more about this Murphy – and there was also a name on that gun – “John Elliott”, or something like that. If we are seeking a link between this Murphy and our Quinton, then we need to dig deeper into the man’s past. We will visit the telegraph office and send some urgent telegrams to my former colleagues at the Yard in London. Drink up, Tom.’

‘Well that is done,’ remarked Ravenscroft as he closed the door behind him and stepped out into the street.

‘When can we expect a reply?’ enquired Crabb.

‘Hopefully by tomorrow. I told the authorities that the matter was of some urgency. If we are to detain Quinton we must have the evidence before he leaves the town for good. Once he moves to London it will be a great deal harder to track him down. In the meantime I think we will return to the bank and see if we can obtain any more information regarding Quinton from the manager but I think that might just have to wait,’ said Ravenscroft as two familiar figures came slowly towards them.

‘Good day to you, inspector,’ said Miss Arabella Fanshaw.

‘Good day to you, Miss Fanshaw, and Miss Fanshaw,’ replied Ravenscroft raising his hat.

‘Good day to you, inspector,’ said Miss Clarisa Fanshaw. ‘And a lovely one at that.’

‘Indeed so, ladies.’

‘And how are your investigations proceeding, inspector?’ enquired Arabella.

‘Well, thank you, ladies,’ lied Ravenscroft. ‘We have been able to recover some items belonging to the dead man, Jones.’

‘How interesting,’ said Arabella looking keenly at him.

‘Yes, it seems that our Mr Jones was not called Jones at all. His pocket watch was engraved with the name “Charles Murphy”. I don’t suppose the name means anything to you ladies?’ asked Ravenscroft.

‘Charles Murphy, you say? No, I don’t believe my sister, nor I, have any recollection of such a name,’ said Arabella.

‘Miss Fanshaw?’ asked Ravenscroft turning towards the younger sister.

‘No, inspector,’ replied Clarisa.

‘Thank you, ladies. We will of course inform you of any
developments in the case,’ added Ravenscroft.

‘That is most kind of you. Thank you, inspector. We wish you a good day,’ said Arabella.

Ravenscroft raised his hat once more as the two sisters continued on their journey down the street.

‘Delightful ladies,’ said Crabb.

‘Indeed. Come, let us continue to the bank. But wait a moment. Who is that there on the other side of the street?’

‘Mrs. Jacobson, if I’m not mistaken,’ answered Crabb.

‘She seems in quite a hurry,’ said Ravenscroft as the figure receded into the distance. ‘What time is it, Tom?’

‘Just gone two, sir,’

‘The time I believe that Mrs Jacobson is in the habit of taking her walk. Wait until she turns the corner, then we will follow her and see where she is going,’ instructed Ravenscroft.

The two men walked quickly down the road and then peered cautiously round the corner building.

‘There she is, sir,’ indicated Crabb.

‘She appears to be walking through the Market Place. We will need to keep a sharp eye on her, if we are not to lose her amongst the crowd of buyers,’ said Ravenscroft.

‘I think she is turning into one of the buildings,’ said Crabb as the two men made their way through the busy market stalls.

‘You’re right and, if I am not mistaken, it is the Angel. She must be meeting someone there.’

‘Shall we follow her inside?’

‘Not at present. If she is meeting someone there, we need to know who it is. I think we should wait two or three minutes to allow time for this other person, who ever he or she is, to arrive. If we go in now and confront her, we may be too soon and it could warn the other person off.’

‘She could be meeting Cherrington.’

‘Or even our absent friend Claybourne, the insurance agent?
Either way, we should know quite soon.’

After a few minutes had elapsed Ravenscroft and Crabb entered through the ornate doorway of the Angel Hotel.

‘Good afternoon, sir. How can I be of assistance to you?’ asked the young clerk standing behind the reception counter, who was busily engaged in writing in a large ledger. ‘A room for the night, perhaps?’

‘Good afternoon to you. In fact we would like some information regarding a young lady who entered your premises a few moments ago,’ said Ravenscroft.

‘To what young lady are you referring?’ asked the young man adopting a more formal tone of voice, and displaying a slight twitch of the nose as he did so.

‘A tall, dark-haired lady, by the name of Mrs Jacobson,’ said Ravenscroft.

‘I am sorry, sir, I have seen no one of that name enter our establishment,’ replied the clerk looking down his nose at the two policemen.

‘Come, my man, we have been watching your premises for several minutes now, and the only person to enter here during the past ten minutes has been Mrs Jacobson,’ said Ravenscroft raising his voice.

‘I’m sorry, sir, I cannot be of assistance to you,’ said the clerk slamming the register closed. ‘Our guests rely on our total discretion and confidentiality. Now if you will excuse me.’

‘Just one minute, my dear sir. My name is Detective Inspector Ravenscroft and this is my assistant Constable Crabb,’ said Ravenscroft.

‘Well if you are policemen, as you say you are, why is your assistant not wearing a police uniform?’ enquired the clerk casting a disparaging glance in Crabb’s direction.

‘Because when we are engaged in detective work it is not always necessary for my assistant to wear a police uniform;
sometimes it is better if we are in plain clothes,’ retorted Ravenscroft. ‘Now sir, you have no doubt heard of the strange poisonings at Talbots’ Lodging House? I thought so. Well that is what my colleague and I are investigating. We believe that one of our suspects entered this establishment not five minutes ago. Either you confirm our observation, and tell me where the young lady went, or I will search every room in this building until I find her. This would cause a great deal of disturbance to your other guests, but if it has to be done, then so be it. I trust I make myself plain in this matter?’

‘Quite, sir. It was not my intention to withhold any information which might have been of police importance,’ muttered the young man growing red in the face. ‘But I can assure you that no one of the name of Jacobson has entered here. The lady who entered was a Miss Malltravers.’

‘Malltravers. An interesting name. And how often does this Miss Malltravers visit your establishment?’

‘About twice a week, sir, if I am not mistaken,’

‘And where does this “Miss Malltravers” go exactly?’ asked Ravenscroft.

‘I would rather not say, sir,’ replied the clerk.

‘Come now, sir, the truth if you please,’ demanded Ravenscroft looking the clerk directly in the eyes.

‘Well, sir. She usually goes to room number three. I’m afraid there is a gentleman involved.’

‘There usually is,’ remarked Ravenscroft. ‘And what is the name of this gentleman if you please?’

‘Mr Harris, sir.’

‘Thank you, and where might we find this room?’

‘First floor, go up the stairs, turn left, second door on the right,’ replied the reluctant clerk. ‘In fact the gentleman usually requests a bottle of whisky and some glasses to be sent up to his room. I was just about to take them up.’

‘Thank you. Perhaps you would care to give them to me. I will see that they are safely delivered,’ smiled Ravenscroft.

The clerk disappeared from view and returned a few seconds later carrying a small silver tray on which a bottle and two glasses were placed.

‘Thank you,’ said Ravenscroft taking hold of the tray.

‘If I could emphasize discretion, gentlemen,’ called out the clerk as Ravenscroft and Crabb quickly walked up the stairs. ‘Discretion at all times if you would be so good.’

‘Wonder who
Miss Malltravers
is meeting?’ said Crabb.

‘I don’t know, but we shall soon find out,’ replied Ravenscroft tapping lightly on the door.

‘Yes?’ called a voice presently from within.

‘It is the waiter, sir. I have your refreshment, sir,’ replied Ravenscroft adopting a different voice.

‘Come.’

Ravenscroft pushed open the door and entered the room, closely followed by Crabb. A tall, thin, grey-haired man was seated on the bed, the buttons of his waistcoat undone. A woman faced the window, her back towards the room

‘Put them on the table,’ said the man.

The woman turned and let out a loud cry of surprise.

‘Whatever is the matter?’ asked the man jumping up off the bed.

‘He … he is a policeman!’ exclaimed a startled Mrs Jacobson.

‘What the devil—’ began the man.

‘My name is Detective Inspector Ravenscroft, and this is my colleague Constable Crabb,’ said Ravenscroft.

‘The devil you are! What do you mean by barging into a gentleman’s bedroom like this?’ demanded the man growing red in the face as he confronted Ravenscroft.

‘We are investigating the deaths of two people in Pershore.
This lady, Mrs Jacobson, is under surveillance as one of the suspects in the case. We followed her here today,’ began Ravenscroft.

‘Deaths? What deaths?’ shouted the man.

‘Two people have died in suspicious circumstances at Talbots’ Lodging House, a gentleman by the name of Murphy, and a Miss Martin. I have questioned Mrs Jacobson about the poisonings, and as I have not been entirely satisfied with her answers, I considered it my duty to follow her here today.’

‘Poisonings? What poisonings?’ asked the man turning to face his distraught companion. ‘You did not mention any of this to me.’

‘I’m sorry, Hubert—’ began Mrs Jacobson.

‘Silence woman!’ reprimanded the man reaching out for his coat and walking briskly towards the door. ‘If you will excuse me, gentlemen.’