The Pershore Poisoners (15 page)

It was with a new resolution that Ravenscroft set out for Pershore the following morning, having slept soundly the night after his return from the capital.

‘And how was your old colleague?’ asked Crabb as the horse and trap crossed over the bridge at Upton on their way to Pershore.

‘Not well I am afraid. It seems that the illness which has long plagued him will shortly claim its victim,’ replied Ravenscroft.

‘I am very sorry, sir.’

‘Nevertheless I think it was of some comfort to him to know that we have Quinton within our grasp once again. I am convinced more than ever now that Cherrington, or rather Quinton, is responsible for the deaths of Miss Martin and Jones.’

‘How can we prove it, sir?’ asked Crabb somewhat tentatively.

‘I intend searching his rooms from top to bottom until I find the evidence. Then we will arrest him and take him to the police station. Perhaps a certain amount of prolonged hard questioning in a small, cold room will elicit a confession from him. I will not give up until I have that man hanging from a noose. I owe it to Robertson before he dies,’ said a determined Ravenscroft.

After a few more miles of travel the cab drew up outside the
lodging house.

‘Hm, Talbot’s sign appears to be in a sorrier state; about to fall on someone at any moment,’ said Ravenscroft as he strode up to the front door and rang the bell.

‘Good morning to you, sir,’ said Maisie.

‘Good morning, Maisie. Is Mr Cherrington at home?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Good. We will see ourselves up. I think it would be advisable if Mr Talbot were to mend his sign outside the premises before it kills someone and we have another murder on our hands. Has Mr Claybourne returned yet?’ asked Ravenscroft stepping into the hall.

‘No, sir.’

Ravenscroft and Crabb marched up the two flights of stairs and banged on Cherrington’s door.

‘Ah Mr. Ravenscroft, come to arrest me have you?’ said Cherrington with sarcasm after he had opened the door and observed the two policemen.

‘I have come to make a search of these rooms, Mr Quinton,’ said Ravenscroft pushing past the man.

‘I object most strongly. This is insufferable,’ protested Cherrington.

‘You may protest as much as you like sir, but I have reason to believe that you are concealing vital evidence. You would oblige me sir by accompanying my constable here to the police station, whilst I undertake this search.’

‘The devil I will!’

‘Crabb, put the bracelets on him,’ instructed Ravenscroft.

‘Look here, Ravenscroft, there is no need for that.’

‘Mr Quinton, either you now accompany Constable Crabb to the police station, under your own free will, and wait for me there until I have conducted this search or, if you continue to hinder our investigations, my constable will take you there in
handcuffs. I do not think you would wish to be seen being led off to the police station handcuffed like a common felon,’ said Ravenscroft firmly facing his suspect.

‘Oh, very well Ravenscroft. I will go with your constable to the station. I choose not to go under duress because it amuses me to see how much more of a foolish ass you can make of yourself with this absurd behaviour,’ taunted Cherrington.

‘Crabb,’ said Ravenscroft.

‘You won’t find anything here. A complete waste of time, Ravenscroft,’ called out Cherrington as he and Crabb made their way onto the landing.

Ravenscroft closed the door and began his search.

The wardrobe and chest-of-drawers in the small bedroom revealed a number of suits and clothes, mainly of an expensive nature. Ravenscroft searched all the pockets for any pieces of paper that would yield information about his suspect, and emptied all the drawers to see if any items had been hidden there, but he found nothing. Next he turned his attention to the bed where after stripping back the sheets, he looked intently underneath the mattress and beneath the brass bedstead itself.

He then returned to the living room and turned his attention towards the collection of books on the sidetable, but was disappointed that there was no diary nor were there any other papers of a personal nature. The few volumes of Dickens and Trollope likewise failed to contain any annotations or dedications, and when he flicked through the pages he was disappointed to find no cuttings or lose pieces of paper enclosed within.

Sighing, Ravenscroft stared round the living room to see if there was anything else of interest. The landscape painting of some cows and sheep by a stream, he concluded had hung in its present position for a great many years, and the contents of a small silver tray that lay on the table consisted merely of some cigarettes and a folded copy of that day’s edition of
The Times
.

Turning his attention towards the fireplace, he observed that, although the logs were cold, there was a charred collection of burnt papers in the hearth where their owner had set fire to them the previous day. Clearly Cherrington had destroyed anything of a personal nature that might have incriminated him. Ravenscroft realized that he had come too late, and cursed himself for not having carried out the search earlier. Now there would only be the questioning of his suspect that could solve the mystery.

Ravenscroft walked towards the door, but stopped when he noticed that Cherrington’s silver-topped walking stick lay in the stand by the door. He picked up the item and, observing that there was a faded monogram engraved on the handle, he took the stick over to the window so that he could examine the letters more clearly.

‘C.Q.!’ exclaimed Ravenscroft out loud. ‘Charles Quinton. I wonder what you will say now, Mr Cherrington?’

Grasping the stick, Ravenscroft made his way out of the room and down the stairs, and eagerly along the streets of the town towards the police station.

‘Good morning, Hoskings. Where is the prisoner?’ asked Ravenscroft addressing the constable who was standing behind the counter.

‘With Constable Crabb in the backroom, sir,’ answered the policeman.

Ravenscroft opened the door to reveal Cherrington seated at the table and Crabb standing by the door.

‘I hope you are satisfied, Ravenscroft, now that you have searched my rooms. I presume you found nothing?’ said Cherrington with his usual air of confidence.

‘I see, Quinton, that you had been busy yesterday burning papers in your hearth,’ replied Ravenscroft.

‘It is not a crime to get rid of unwanted items.’

‘Unless of course they are of an incriminating nature.’

‘How are we to know, inspector?’ smiled Quinton rising from his chair. ‘In view of the fact that you have been unable to discover any arsenic, pistols, knives, or anything else of a criminal nature in my rooms, I believe I am in my rights to wish you both a good day.’

‘If you are leaving us, Mr Quinton, I am sure that you will require this,’ said Ravenscroft laying the walking stick down on the table.

Cherrington said nothing as he stared down at the stick.

‘Do please pick up the stick, Mr Quinton. You will observe that it has an inscribed monogram on the handle. “C.Q.” Now I wonder what those letters represent? Perhaps you would care to enlighten us, Captain Quinton?’ said Ravenscroft.

‘You know perfectly well what they represent,’ said Quinton.

‘Yes, “Charles Quinton”. Shall we stop this pretence, captain? Sit down,’ instructed Ravenscroft.

For a brief moment Ravenscroft thought he detected a look of anger crossing over his suspect’s face.

‘Look, old boy, there is a perfect explanation for all this,’ said Cherrington resuming his usual air of light-heartedness as he resumed his seat.

‘I should certainly like to hear it, Mr Quinton,’ said Ravenscroft wondering how his suspect would explain away this item of evidence.

‘It is all quite simple. When Quinton died in India, I naturally thought that I would take over his walking stick. It was too good to discard, and Quinton had no relatives or other beneficiaries to leave it to. It would have been foolish to have discarded it.’

‘Oh come, Captain Quinton, you surely do not expect us to believe that?’ said Ravenscroft leaning back in his chair and observing his suspect intently.

‘It is the truth. It is entirely up to you, inspector whether you believe me or not,’ said Cherrington with an air of disdain.

Ravenscroft said nothing as he looked across at Crabb.

‘Well if that is all?’

‘Empty out your pockets, captain.’

‘Whatever for?’

‘I wish to make a search of your pockets. If you do not oblige us, sir, I will instruct my constable to carry out the search on my behalf,’ said Ravenscroft with determination.

‘No need for that, old boy,’ replied Cherrington placing his hand in a coat pocket and bringing forth a number of items which he placed on the table. Ravenscroft searched through the numerous coins, and lifted up the silver cigarette case, which he examined carefully for any inscriptions.

‘This case has been inscribed with the name
Charles Quinton
!’ said Ravenscroft holding up the item.

‘Very well. I confess it. I also took Quinton’s cigarette case. It would only have been thrown away, or one of the servants would have taken it. Looks as though you will have to charge me with theft, inspector,’ said Quinton.

Ravenscroft sighed, knowing that his adversary was enjoying their confrontation.

‘Sorry to have disappointed you, Ravenscroft.’

‘Your wallet, sir.’

‘Come now, Ravenscroft, surely some things can remain private?’

‘Your wallet if you please, Captain Quinton,’ said Ravenscroft firmly, but knowing that this was probably his last opportunity to obtain an admission from his chief suspect.

Cherrington reached into the top inside pocket of his coat and took out his wallet. ‘There are just a few notes, a receipt from Talbot for the room, nothing more,’ he said handing over the items to Ravenscroft.

‘I should like to see the rest of the wallet if you please.’

Cherrington looked away quickly, as Ravenscroft reached for the wallet and peered inside.

‘I told you there was nothing else there,’ said Cherrington.

Ravenscroft ran his hand inside the empty wallet. ‘Ah, what have we here, Mr Cherrington? There appears to be something behind the lining.’

Cherrington moved uneasily in his chair as Ravenscroft took out a small piece of folded paper which he then proceeded to open.

‘A rather faded newspaper account headed
Pimlico Poisoner: Acquitted’
. Well, Captain Quinton this is most interesting. I suppose you are going to tell me that this was Captain Quinton’s wallet, and that you appropriated it for yourself, and that you did not know that this newspaper cutting was here, hidden in the lining? However, you and I know that will not suffice, especially as the wallet has the name
Cherrington
neatly engraved on the outside,’ said a triumphant Ravenscroft. ‘It is all over with you, Captain Quinton!’

‘All right, all right. Stop going on, man,’ protested Ravenscroft’s suspect burying his face in his hands. ‘Yes, I am Captain Charles Quinton.’

‘Thank you, sir. You should have discarded the cutting, like all the other papers you destroyed,’ said a satisfied Ravenscroft.

‘What do you want from me, Ravenscroft?’ asked a crestfallen Quinton.

‘The truth, Captain Quinton. That is all we have ever wanted.’

Quinton reached for the glass of water on the table and after swallowing its contents he turned to face his accusers. ‘I remembered you Ravenscroft, that first day we met on the stairs at Talbots’, as that young policeman who had arrested and charged me with the death of my first wife all those years
ago in Pimlico, but I hoped that you would not recognize me. After the trial I attempted to resume my position in London society, but everywhere I went people were whispering behind my back or shunned me until I was driven out of the capital. For a while I tried living in Manchester and Liverpool, and then retired to the country, but it was the same everywhere I went. Then I decided to go to India. I thought that perhaps no one out there would have ever heard of the
Pimlico Poisoning
case. I started the tea plantation and the business prospered. I met and married Isabella, and we were happy for some years, until the fever took her away from me. Realizing that there was nothing left for me in India, I decided to return to England, but thought it better if I took the name Cherrington – it is an old name from my mother’s side of the family – so that I could begin again, without the past haunting me. That is why I tried to make you believe that I was Cherrington, but you persisted with your questions, never accepting what I was telling you, always trying to dig up the past. Why couldn’t you leave things alone, Ravenscroft?’

‘The answer to that, Captain Quinton, is that two murders have been committed here in Pershore. When and where had you previously encountered Jones, or should I say Murphy?’

‘Good God, man, why will you not believe me when I tell you that I had nothing to do with that man’s death? I had never seen him anywhere before. You must believe that,’ pleaded Quinton.

‘I believe that you poisoned Jones because he was threatening to expose you as Quinton—’

‘No, no,’ protested Quinton.

‘And that you then poisoned Miss Martin because she was blackmailing you,’ persisted Ravenscroft.

‘No, no. This is all nonsense,’ replied Quinton covering his face with his hands once more.

‘Is it?’

‘Look, Ravenscroft, I have never hurt anyone in my life. I did not poison my wife in Pimlico. I was aquitted by the jury and walked away from the Old Bailey as a free man. I came here to Pershore upon my return to England, because the place held fond memories for me and because I was waiting for my funds to arrive from India. I had never seen either Jones or Miss Martin before, and I certainly had nothing to do with their deaths.’

‘Well, I have to tell you, Captain Quinton, that I do not believe you.’

‘I know it was stupid of me to deny that I was Quinton. I realize that now. But if I had told you the truth you would naturally have concluded that I had committed these murders.’