The Pershore Poisoners (4 page)

‘Can you describe him for us?’ asked Ravenscroft. ‘Unfortunately Mr Jones was buried before we could inspect the body.’

‘Well I suppose he was quite ordinary really, probably forty years of age I would say—’

‘More like fifty, Talbot,’ interrupted Mrs Talbot.

‘Fairly stout in build,’ continued the lodging-house keeper.

‘Rather thin.’

‘Fairly reddish, with a fresh-faced complexion.’

‘Very grey-looking surely, Talbot.’

‘Did this Mr Jones come alone to your establishment?’ interrupted Ravenscroft realizing that the couple would never agree in their description of their former lodger.

‘Yes, he came alone,’ said Talbot.

‘How long did he intend staying?’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘When he arrived did the gentleman tell you how long he intended staying with you?’

‘He said he would probably stay for two or three weeks; he could not be sure,’ replied Talbot.

‘There was something rather strange about him now I come to think of it,’ said Mrs Talbot.

‘Yes, go on,’ encouraged Ravenscroft.

‘He did not appear to have much luggage with him. No trunks or large cases, only a small bag not much bigger than a Gladstone. I remember remarking to Talbot that it seemed a bit strange at the time.’

‘I see. Do you still have this bag, or any of the deceased’s possessions?’ asked Ravenscroft hopefully.

‘Burnt them all, didn’t we, Talbot?’ remarked the woman.

‘I see,’ said a disappointed Ravenscroft. ‘I wonder if you could describe the contents of the bag?’

‘Nothing much, mainly old clothes, a bible and such like.’

‘Was there anything of a personal nature – letters, papers, a diary perhaps?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ replied Talbot looking up at his wife.

‘An engraved pocket watch or knife?’

‘No, there was nothing of that nature,’ said Mrs Talbot
starting to busy herself in laying out the cutlery on the table.

‘Strange,’ said Ravenscroft. ‘I wonder if you would be so kind as to describe the events of the evening, before everyone fell ill? I understand you ate a meal of Brown Windsor soup, pheasant pie and cheese. Is that correct?’

‘Yes. They said it were the Brown Windsor that made everyone ill, but it weren’t my fault, and it’s no use you suggesting otherwise,’ said Mrs Talbot resuming her defensive manner once more.

‘Nothing wrong with Mrs Talbot’s cooking,’ said Talbot springing to the defence of his wife.

‘It were that meat. We always have the best cuts for our guests, but that silly girl Maisie, she went to the butchers who sold her that old meat. I thought it looked a bit strange at the time, and before I could do anything about it she had mixed it all up with everything else in the pot,’ continued the landlady looking away sheepishly.

‘And did everyone partake of this soup?’ asked Ravenscroft leaning forwards.

‘Yes, I believe so,’

‘Even the deceased gentleman?’

‘Yes,’ replied a hesitant Talbot.

‘Mrs Talbot?’ asked Ravenscroft addressing the woman.

‘Yes, but it weren’t my fault if he ate too much. We was not to know that he would go and die on us like that,’ said Mrs Talbot. ‘We was not to know that he had a dicky constitution, were we?’

‘No, of course not. Tell me, were all your guests present at this meal?’ asked Ravenscroft.

‘Yes.’

‘And what happened when you had all dined?’

‘They all went back to their respective rooms,’ answered Talbot.

‘And when did you begin to feel unwell?’

‘Two or three hours afterwards. It weren’t till the morning of course that we found that all the others had been unwell as well.’

‘Could you tell us the names of your guests, and how long they have been with you?’ asked Ravenscroft. ‘Crabb, make a note if you please.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Crabb removing his pocketbook and pencil from the top pocket of his tunic.

‘Well. There is the old Jewish Professor, Jacobson, he is in number one, with his wife. They have been with us for nearly five years now. Strange couple: he must be three times the age she is. Then there is that nice gentleman Mr Cherrington in number five. He has only been here for the past three weeks: a perfect gentleman, quietly spoken, no trouble at all. Count Turco, he is a musician from Italy, bit excitable like all them foreigners, always playing that violin of his, but such beautiful melodies, I could listen to them all day I could,’ said Mrs Talbot relishing the opportunity to tell Ravenscroft all that she knew. ‘Then there are the Misses Fanshaw in number four, two respectable ladies in their seventies who have been with us for over ten years. In number three there is Mr Claybourne. He is what you call a commercial gentlemen. He spends only two or three days with us every week during his travels. I believe he lives mainly in London. That is all I should think.’

‘You have forgotten Miss Martin,’ said Talbot hesitantly.

‘Ah yes, we should not forget Miss Martin. Would that we could. Would that we could, Talbot. I’m sure that you would like to if you had half a chance,’ said the woman rising to her full height and giving her husband a disapproving look.

‘Now then, Letita my dear, that is all in the past,’ said Talbot looking down uneasily at the floor.

‘And is there anyone else who resides in the house, who was
there that night?’ asked Ravenscroft.

‘Only Maisie, the housemaid. You saw her when you came in,’ replied Mrs Talbot continuing with her table laying.

‘And you say that everyone ate the soup, and that you were all ill afterwards?’ asked Crabb looking up from his pocketbook.

‘That’s what we said, young man. Why don’t you listen? Why do you have to keep going on about it,’ snapped the landlady.

‘Well thank you, Mrs Talbot. We may need to question your guests later. We won’t take up anymore of your time. We can see you are busy,’ said Ravenscroft standing up. ‘Oh, one more thing just before we go. I wonder if we might see the room where the late gentleman resided.’

‘What you want to do that for?’ asked Mrs Talbot.

‘It may be of assistance to us.’

‘We ain’t cleaned it yet,’ protested Talbot.

‘That is of no consequence, but I can see you are both busy people, so perhaps your housemaid could accompany us there,’ suggested Ravenscroft.

‘Suppose it won’t matter. Maisie! Maisie!’ shouted Mrs Talbot. ‘Where is that idle silly girl?’

‘Sorry Mrs Talbot,’ said the maid rushing into the room holding a cleaning cloth.

‘Maisie, show these gentlemen Mr Jones’s old room,’ instructed the landlady.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ said the maid. ‘If you would care to follow me, gentlemen.’

Ravenscroft and Crabb followed the girl up two flights of a narrow creaking staircase, until they reached a small landing with two doors facing each other.

‘In here, gentlemen,’ indicated the maid opening one of the two doors.

‘Thank you. Who occupies the room opposite?’ asked
Ravenscroft as he and Crabb entered the bedroom.

‘Miss Martin, sir.’

‘I see. Come in, Maisie, and close the door behind you if you will.’

‘Yes, sir,’ replied the girl complying with Ravenscroft’s request.

‘Now then Maisie, you know why we are here?’

‘’Cus Stebbins told you what I said.’

‘And what exactly was that Maisie?’ asked Ravenscroft giving the girl an encouraging smile in an attempt to put her at her ease.

‘That the gentleman did not eat the soup, sir,’ said the girl looking down nervously at her feet.

‘Are you sure Mr Jones did not consume any of the soup? Both Mr and Mrs Talbot have led us to believe that he did.’

‘Yes, sir. Gent didn’t eat any of it. I served out the soup for everyone, but when I collected up the bowls I noticed that his was still full. He hadn’t taken so much as a spoonful.’

‘Oh, why was that?’

‘Don’t know. Perhaps he didn’t like to taste the Windsor. He was very quiet like. Didn’t say much. Seemed miles away,’ continued the maid.

‘I see. That is interesting.’

‘Didn’t eat much at all.’

‘And what happened after the meal?’

‘They all went back to their rooms.’

‘We understand that it was you who found the deceased?’

‘Yes, sir. When the gent didn’t come down for breakfast, master sent me up to knock on his door and see if he was all right, especially as we had all been ill in the night.’

‘And what happened next?’ asked Ravenscroft encouragingly.

‘Well it were all quiet, sir, so I opened the door, and that’s
when I found him. He were dead, sir. Lying on the bed. It were horrible. Horrible. Can I go now, sir? I don’t know anything else,’ replied the maid anxiously turning to leave the room.

‘One more thing, Maisie, just before you go,’ said Ravenscroft. ‘Who cleared out the dead man’s possessions?’

‘Mr Talbot. sir, after they had taken the body away.’

‘Thank you, Maisie, you may go. Constable Crabb and I will make our own way out in a few minutes.’

‘Did I do right, sir, in telling Stebbins?’ asked the maid looking anxiously at Ravenscroft.

‘You did absolutely right, Maisie. Thank you.’

The maid curtsied and left the room closing the door behind her.

‘Well, Tom, what do you make of all this?’ asked Ravenscroft.

‘Looks as though he didn’t have the soup after all.’

‘Yes, she was quite clear on that point, despite what the Talbots said. So I think we can assume that it was not the soup that caused the poor man to die. If only we had got here yesterday we could have seen the body. Now we have no way of telling whether he died from poisoning, or from natural causes. If he was poisoned, then we have to ask ourselves, how – and why.’

‘Can’t see why the Talbots would have had any cause to kill him,’ suggested Crabb.

‘No, I cannot see any reason either. In fact why would any of them in this house have wanted to poison him? The man had only been here for just over a week. Nevertheless, I think the Talbots are hiding something from us. I don’t believe they destroyed all the dead man’s possessions, as they claim they did. Then there is all that nonsense about Talbot being at Inkerman in the Crimean War. He might be of the right age, but a man of his stature and character would have been of little use to the British army. Let’s have a look round this miserable room.’

‘Just a bed, table and chairs,’ said Crabb. ‘Pretty drab sort of place if you ask me.’

‘Nothing of a personal nature at all. Partial view of the garden through the window. Otherwise there is nothing left to suggest that it was occupied by anyone at all. Have a look under the bed, Tom. Something may have dropped on the floor.’

Crabb got down on his knees and stared into the darkened space beneath the mattress. ‘Can’t see anything here, sir. No, yes, what is that? Small piece of paper, sir.’

‘Let me see, Tom.’

Crabb handed the small fragment to Ravenscroft.

‘S. WORCESTER. SEPTEMBER 12. 3 p.m.’
read Ravenscroft. ‘Looks as though it has been torn from part of a letter. I wonder what that means? Place and time probably. Could be referring to a meeting of some kind.’

‘Might have been there for years, sir. Could have come from some other guest,’ suggested Crabb.

‘You’re probably right, Tom. Still I’ll keep it just in case,’ said Ravenscroft folding up the paper and placing it inside his wallet.

‘What now, sir?’

‘I think we should visit this Doctor Homer. He examined the deceased man, so perhaps he can throw some light on this affair.’

‘I don’t really see how I can help you, inspector,’ said the
greyhaired
general practitioner. ‘It was perfectly clear to me that the man had died from eating the Brown Windsor soup. I believe that everyone in the house had also been ill.’

It was a few minutes later and Ravenscroft and Crabb were standing in the dimly lit surgery of Doctor Homer, which was situated in a Georgian house lower down the main street of the town.

‘But they did not die,’ said Ravenscroft.

‘No, but the poor man must have eaten more than the others. Then again perhaps his constitution was not as it should have been.’

‘Forgive me, doctor, but did you not think it prudent to refer this man’s death to the local coroner?’

‘No.’

‘May I ask why not?’ asked Ravenscroft.

‘Simply because I could not see that there was any foul play involved. As I have just said, everyone in the house had apparently also been ill from drinking the soup and this man must have eaten more than the others,’ replied Homer showing signs of annoyance.

‘I see.’

‘Now if you will excuse me, I am already late for my rounds,’ replied the doctor picking up a black bag that had lain on the desk.

‘Just one more question, Doctor Homer – did you notice any bottles or any other kinds of medication in the bedroom?’

‘No. There was nothing on the bedside table, not even a glass. Will that be all?’

‘Yes, thank you for your time. We will not detain you.’

Ravenscroft and Crabb made their way back up the main street of the town towards the waiting trap.

‘Well, Tom, it would seem that we have been wasting our time after all. In view of the fact that we don’t even have a body to examine, and as we have conflicting evidence as to whether the deceased did, or did not, consume the soup on the night in question, I don’t see how we can proceed any further. In addition to all that, we have no personal items remaining to tell us more about the said gentleman, nor can we find out whether he was poisoned or just died of natural causes. Then there doesn’t
seem to be any reason why anyone would have wanted to have killed him. He had only recently arrived here, and was alone, and apparently kept very much to himself.’

‘I’m inclined to agree with you, sir,’ said Crabb.

‘Then let us return to Ledbury. No body, no personal possessions, no evidence, no motive. There just doesn’t seem to be any kind of case for us to investigate. None at all.’

‘I’m afraid it was a complete waste of time, our journey to Pershore yesterday,’ said Ravenscroft tapping the top of his egg with his spoon.

‘So you keep saying, Samuel,’ remarked Lucy.

‘I’m sorry. I was not aware that I had mentioned it this morning – but then I expect you are right. It must be because I have nothing to interest me at the present. I think all the criminals have left town for the fruit picking on the nearby farms.’

‘Would that we could leave as well,’ sighed Lucy. ‘It seems ages since we went on holiday. I think the children might enjoy a few days at the seaside.’

‘Anywhere in particular?’ asked Ravenscroft trying not to sound too enthusiastic.

‘I hear that Weymouth is very pleasant at this time of the year.’

‘And what are the attractions of that particular place?’

‘I believe it is quite fashionable. It has a splendid promenade and harbour, and the beaches are quite extensive. I think we could both do with a change, and the children would so enjoy it, I know,’ said Lucy optimistically.

‘I see that you have been fruitful in your research, my dear. I suppose I might be able to arrange a few days away from this den of criminality.’

‘Oh Samuel, how splendid!’ exclaimed Lucy.

‘I am due some leave, and as I said there is nothing much happening in the town at this time of the year. I’ll have a word with the Superintendent and see if we could go next week for a few days. I’m sure Tom would be able to keep an eye on things,’ replied Ravenscroft warming to the idea.

‘I shall need a new dress.’

‘Of course, new dresses are always required for excursions to the seaside.’

‘Ah, Susan, you have bought us the post,’ said Lucy acknowledging the entrance of the maid.

‘Just the three this morning, ma’am,’ said Susan placing the silver salver on the table.

‘It is to be hoped that they are not accounts to be settled. I do not think I could face another demand at the present when there is a new dress to be purchased,’ teased Ravenscroft as he dissected his egg with a spoon.

‘This one must be for you, Samuel,’ said Lucy passing over a small blue envelope to her husband.

‘Interesting. I don’t believe I recognize the hand. It just says ‘Ravenscroft. Ledbury.’ Quite poorly written with an unsteady hand. Posted yesterday,’ said Ravenscroft examining the outside of the envelope.

‘Why don’t you just open it and see,’ instructed Lucy.

Ravenscroft reached for the letter opener. ‘Perhaps it is that strange aunt of yours. The one you keep telling me about, who is always threatening to come and visit us. Aunt Alice, or Agnes, or whatever her name is. Then again it could be from an admirer.’

‘You don’t have any admirers,’ interjected Lucy.

‘One must live in expectation. Perhaps we should leave it until the evening,’ said Ravenscroft laying down the envelope before taking a mouthful of egg.

‘Well if you won’t open it, I will,’ said Lucy reaching out
across the table.

‘No, I think I shall open it after all,’ said Ravenscroft swiftly picking up the envelope and opening the flap with the opener. ‘Quite extraordinary!’ he exclaimed after a few moments reading its contents.

‘Well, who is it from?’ asked Lucy impatiently.

‘I don’t know. The letter is unsigned, on blue paper. It just says –
Jones was poisoned. It was the tawny
. That is all,’ replied Ravenscroft passing over the letter to his wife.

‘Jones was the name of the man who died from eating the Brown Windsor?’

‘Yes, but the maid told Tom and me that he did not eat any of the soup – and this letter would tend to suggest that the poor man was poisoned by another means.’

‘The tawny port?’

‘Yes, but if this man did die from poison in his port, why did no one else die from drinking it?’ asked a puzzled Ravenscroft.

‘Perhaps he was the only one who liked port?’ suggested Lucy.

‘Yes, that could be the case I suppose. It looks as though Tom and I will have to go back to Pershore, and find out who wrote this letter, and see if we can recover that port before anyone else drinks it,’ said Ravenscroft rising swiftly from the breakfast table.

‘I suppose this could mean the end of our holiday,’ sighed Lucy.

‘Not at all, my dear. I am sure that we shall be able to clear all this up in a day or so. We’ll go next Monday. Yes, Monday it shall be. I’ll write to the Superintendent. Meanwhile, why don’t you consult the Bradshaws in respect of our journey, and also see what suitable establishments there are in Weymouth.’

‘Well, Tom, here we are again,’ said Ravenscroft as he and
Crabb walked up the path to Talbots’ lodging house.

‘Be interesting if we can find out who sent you that letter.’

‘We must hope that no one else has drunk any of the tawny. Ah, I think that is Mr Talbot himself standing on the doorstep. Good day to you, Mr Talbot,’ called out Ravenscroft.

‘Lord save us,’ muttered the landlord pulling a glum face. ‘Whatever is Mrs Talbot going to say? She won’t like this at all. Not at all.’

‘I’m sorry to have to impose ourselves on you and your good wife once again, but I am afraid something serious has arisen regarding the late Mr Jones.’

‘Who’s that, Talbot?’ shouted a familiar voice from within the dark interior of the building.

‘It’s that inspector again, my dear,’ replied Talbot wiping a dirty hand across his stained red waistcoat.

‘What!’ exclaimed Mrs Talbot striding up to the doorway.

‘Told you she would not like it,’ mumbled Talbot.

‘Good morning, Mrs Talbot,’ said a smiling Ravenscroft ignoring the last remark. ‘I trust I find you in good health.’

‘What do you want? We told you everything yesterday,’ grumbled the landlady adopting a defensive pose.

‘Indeed you did, Mrs Talbot, and Constable Crabb and I were most grateful for your assistance, but something of great importance has arisen since then. We believe that you and your husband, and your guests, may be in the gravest danger.’

‘Gravest danger?’ asked the landlady.

‘Indeed so, Mrs Talbot. Perhaps if my Constable and I could come inside we could explain everything, and then this matter can be quickly resolved,’ said Ravenscroft realizing that perhaps he had only this one opportunity to gain re-admittance to the boarding house.

‘Could be important, my dear,’ said Talbot.

‘Oh, very well. You best come in then.’

‘Thank you,’ said Ravenscroft giving a sideways glance at Crabb, before the two of them followed the couple down the hall and into the dining room.

‘Well, get on with it then,’ snapped the landlady. ‘We haven’t got all day. This is a busy establishment.’

‘Can you tell me what your guests usually drink with their meals?’ asked Ravenscroft looking quickly around the room.

‘Why?’ demanded Mrs Talbot.

‘It is very important. In particular I would like to know what Mister Jones drank on the night in question?’

‘Each of our guests has their own particular bottle,’ said Talbot leading the way across the room to where a large collection of bottles stood together on an old wooden tray.

‘And what did Mr Jones drink?’ asked Ravenscroft anxious to know more.

‘The tawny,’ interjected Mrs Talbot. ‘He were very fond of the tawny. Would let no one else drink it, he said. He were most particular.’

‘And did Mr Jones partake of his usual drink on the night in question?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘When did he drink from the bottle?’

‘What you mean – when did he drink?’ asked Mrs Talbot.

‘At the beginning of the meal, or at the conclusion?’

‘He always finished off the meal with his usual glass of port,’ offered Talbot.

‘And did he do the same that night?’

‘Yes, I believe so.’

‘What happened after he had drunk the port?’ continued Ravenscroft.

‘What do you mean, “what happened”?’

‘Did Mr Jones complain of feeling unwell?’

‘No. He just got up from the table and went straight upstairs
to his room, if I recall,’ said the landlady.

‘Can you tell me which of these bottles is the port?’ asked Ravenscroft.

Talbot searched through the group. ‘It ain’t here. Bottle ain’t here.’

‘Are you sure?’ asked an anxious Ravenscroft.

‘I tells you it ain’t here. Have a look for yourself if you don’t believe me.’

Ravenscroft stepped forwards and carefully examined the bottles. ‘I see that you write the name of each of your guests on the labels of the bottles.’

‘Yes,’ replied Talbot. ‘That’s so everyone knows their own bottle.’

‘Have either you or your wife removed the bottle since Mister Jones’s demise?’asked Ravenscroft.

‘I ain’t. Has you, my dear?’ Talbot asked his wife.

‘No, perhaps that girl has thrown it away. Maisie, Maisie,’ called the landlady.

The maid quickly entered the room. ‘Yes Mrs Talbot.’

‘Have you gone and thrown Mister Jones’s bottle of tawny away?’ enquired Talbot.

‘No Mr Talbot,’ replied the maid giving Ravenscroft a fleeting glance.

‘Are you sure on that point, Maisie?’ asked Ravenscroft.

‘Yes sir. I have not taken it away.’

‘What is all this about?’ asked an irritated Mrs Talbot.

‘We have reason to believe that the poison that killed your late guest was contained within the bottle of port,’ replied Ravenscroft. ‘Mister Jones did not die from eating too much of the Brown Windsor, or any other item of food, but through taking his usual glass of port.’

‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed the landlady.

‘Lord help us!’ echoed Talbot.

‘Maisie, it is very important that we find this bottle. Do you think you could go and see if it has been included in any items of rubbish that may be in the vicinity,’ instructed Ravenscroft.

‘Yes sir,’ said the maid quickly leaving the room.

‘How do you know this port was poisoned, if we don’t have the bottle?’ asked Mrs Talbot.

‘We have received certain information that suggests that is the case,’ replied Ravenscroft.

‘What you mean – certain information?’ asked Talbot.

‘I am not at liberty to reveal where this information was obtained.’

‘I knows where it came from, Talbot. It’s that Miss Martin.’

‘You don’t know that at all,’ sighed Talbot.

‘Yes it will be her, I have no doubt. Our prim and pretty Miss Martin. Always anxious to spread rumour and innuendo about this establishment,’ protested Mrs Talbot.

‘Not that again,’ muttered Talbot turning away.

‘Please sir,’ said the maid entering the room. ‘I’ve looked where we keep the rubbish, but there is no bottle of tawny there.’

‘Thank you, Maisie. So it would seem that whoever put poison in that bottle must have removed it shortly after Mr Jones drank some of the contents,’ said Ravenscroft.

‘Well it ain’t any use your looking at either me or Mrs Talbot,’ said the landlord. ‘We had no reason to go round killing our guests.’

‘And I had nothing to do with it,’ added the maid.

‘I am sure you did not. Nevertheless I believe that a serious crime has taken place in the household, and that investigations need to be carried out to discover the truth. I will need to question all your guests.’

‘They are not all here at present,’ said Talbot.

‘Then we shall start now with the ones who are,’ said
Ravenscroft adopting a more formal, serious tone.

‘Shall I go and ask them to come down?’ asked Crabb.

‘No, thank you. I think we will interview your guests in their rooms.’

‘What do you want us to do?’ asked a bewildered Talbot.

‘It will be quite in order for you both to go about your usual business,’ said Ravenscroft. ‘Perhaps you will allow your maid to show us the way.’

‘Yes, yes, I suppose so.’

‘Thank you. Maisie, will you lead on,’ instructed Ravenscroft.

Ravenscroft and Crabb followed the maid onto the first-floor landing where three doors faced them.

‘Which one would you like to see first, sir?’

‘Can you tell us who resides here?’ asked Ravenscroft, indicating the first door.

‘That will be Professor Jacobson and his wife,’ replied the maid.

‘And there?’

‘That’s Mister Claybourne’s room. He is away in London at present. And that is where Miss Fanshaw and her sister reside,’ replied the maid pointing to the third room.

‘Then I think we will begin with Professor Jacobson. Will you be kind enough to announce us. But one thing before then – was it you who sent us this letter?’ asked Ravenscroft removing the paper from his pocket.

‘No sir. I didn’t send you no letter.’

‘You are sure on that point?’ Ravenscroft looked intently into the maid’s eyes.

‘Yes, sir. I know nothing about any letter.’

‘Thank you, Maisie. If you would kindly announce us.’

The maid tapped gently on the wood.

‘Yes, Maisie,’ said a woman’s voice from the partially opened door.

‘There is a gentleman here who would like a word with you and Professor Jacobson, ma’am,’ said Maisie.

‘Permit me. My name is Detective Inspector Ravenscroft, and this is my colleague, Constable Crabb. We are making inquiries regarding the sudden demise of Mr Jones,’ said Ravenscroft. ‘Thank you, Maisie, you may go now, I think we can find our own way around.’

The young woman paused momentarily, looking intently at Ravenscroft, before opening the door wider. ‘You had better come in, gentlemen.’

‘Who is it, Rosanna?’ called out an older voice from within the room.

‘Two gentlemen enquiring about poor Mr Jones,’ said the young lady addressing an elderly grey-haired man with a long flowing beard who was seated in a leather armchair.

‘Detective Inspector Ravenscroft and Constable Crabb,’ repeated Ravenscroft entering the book-lined room.

‘Forgive me, gentlemen, if I do not stand. Rosanna, please offer the gentlemen chairs. You say you have come about our late lodger. Talbot mentioned that you had visited him yesterday. How can we help you?’ asked Jacobson staring out across the room.

‘Thank you,’ replied Ravenscroft accepting one of the chairs, as Crabb stood by the door. ‘Can I ask whether you were both present at the evening meal on the night that Mr Jones died?’