The list had been supplied by the Cunard company, their letterhead was stamped on the top of each page.
‘Is there a letter with it?’ I asked.
‘No,’ Swift replied.
I ran my eye down the lists, there were seven pages written in a tight script. ‘What did you find?’
‘Godolphin Sinclair had a second-class cabin,’ he replied. ‘A double cabin, but only his name is listed against it.’
‘What about Randolph?’ Persi asked.
‘His name isn’t there,’ Swift said coldly.
We both looked at him. ‘Not there?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t think he went to America.’
‘He didn’t…’ Persi said. ‘But where did he go?’
‘Possibly nowhere,’ Swift said. ‘He may never have left this country.’
Finally, it made sense, that’s why there weren’t any personal letters in Randolph’s rooms.
‘Sinclair murdered him,’ I stated.
We were standing outside the church, the sun streaming through the trees, yellow and orange leaves blanketing the ground and a bird singing somewhere in the distance. A perfect autumn day, but I felt a cold chill run down my spine.
‘He murdered Randolph,’ Persi stated blankly as the extent of Sinclair’s crime sank in. ‘And took his wife, his children, his home.’ She turned to stare at me. ‘He was a monster.’
‘Why were these papers left on his desk?’ Swift was still fixed on the investigation.
‘We need to think this through, Swift,’ I told him. I was stunned and angry. We’d been running like rats in a maze since we arrived in Lanscombe Park. It felt as though we were being manipulated and I wanted to know who the hell was doing it.
‘There are some logs by the lake,’ Persi commented. ‘We can go and sit there.’
‘Right,’ I grunted.
She led us down to the shore, where a couple of fallen tree trunks had been carefully placed as part of the picturesque design.
Fogg was delighted. He darted to the water’s edge and ran straight in.
We watched in silence, each of us with our own thoughts.
‘These murders are about Randolph,’ I stated. ‘Which changes everything.’
‘Yes,’ Swift muttered. ‘It’s more likely to be…’ He glanced at Persi and shut up.
‘Who found out what Sinclair had done?’ Persi murmured, she was gazing into the distance.
‘Whoever it was, would have been driven to murderous fury,’ I said slowly, my mind turning it over.
‘Evidently,’ Swift remarked dryly.
‘Do you think Randolph is buried here?’ Persi asked.
‘Possibly, but only Sinclair could have answered that question,’ Swift replied.
‘That’s it! That’s why Sinclair was tortured.’ Persi suddenly sat up. ‘The murderer wanted Sinclair to tell them where he’d buried Randolph’s body.’
‘And to do that, they had to isolate Sinclair,’ Swift realised. ‘That’s why Monroe and Trent were eliminated.’
‘So they could force him the truth out of him,’ Persi added.
Swift nodded. ‘Yes, it makes sense. Sinclair was coshed, then dragged off the dock with the line hooked onto the life jacket. The killer would have released him in deep water. He probably circled around him in the boat to stop him reaching the shore.’
‘And the life jacket would have stopped him drowning,’ I added grimly.
‘That’s rather nasty,’ Persi remarked.
‘He deserved it,’ I muttered.
‘But why leave the papers?’ Swift frowned.
‘Sinclair had a heart attack,’ I answered. ‘He must have died before he divulged where the body is buried.’
‘Are you saying the killer wants us to find Randolph?’ Persi continued.
‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Why else leave the papers for us to find.’
‘You didn’t find them,’ Persi pointed out. ‘Mullins did.’
‘Someone would have given them to us,’ Swift asserted. ‘That’s why they were left in the office.’
I wondered if it were Mullins acting on Lady Penelope’s orders, but decided not to say anything. It was already confusing enough.
‘Why not look for the body themselves?’ Swift persisted.
‘Because it would give the game away. They may as well admit they killed Sinclair and his men,’ I replied, thinking it was pretty obvious.
‘Hum.’ He didn’t seem entirely convinced.
‘We must find Randolph,’ Persi said.
We both looked at her.
‘It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack,’ Swift replied. ‘And we need to identify the murderer, searching for Randolph won’t achieve that.’
‘I think it could,’ I disagreed. ‘If we find the body, we can use the information to lure the killer out.’
‘Yes, you must see that, Jonathan,’ Persi insisted.
‘We can’t waste what little time we have.’ Swift had become obstinate. ‘We should be able to outwit the murderer.’
‘Well, we haven’t done so far,’ I remarked.
‘What about the passenger list?’ Persi suggested. ‘Whoever requested it would have had to give their name and address. We could question the staff, one of them may know something.’
‘Yes,’ Swift was impressed. ‘Would you do that, Persi?’
‘Yes, I will.’ She was on her feet.
‘Persi…’ I stood to face her.
She gave me a reassuring smile. ‘No-one’s going to harm me.’
‘No.’ I was sure she was right. ‘But we’re about to kick over a hornet’s nest. It will be traumatic.’
Her smile faded. ‘Yes, I know… but I’m going to do it, nobody can be allowed to get away with three cold-blooded murders.’ She gave me a kiss on the cheek, turned and walked back towards the house.
‘She’s plucky,’ Swift remarked.
‘Hum,’ I sighed. ‘Right, the killer wants Randolph found.’ I looked about at the rolling acres of gardens, woodland, fields and lake. ‘Hell, where do we begin?’
‘Consider the facts.’ Swift moved into detecting mode. ‘Sinclair had the lake dredged and extended, he wouldn’t have risked doing that if there was a body in it.’
‘That leaves about a thousand acres of land to dig up then,’ I replied.
‘Not necessarily.’ Swift had his hand to his chin. ‘Bodies are heavy, it’s unlikely he’d have gone very far.’
‘Yes, but where do you think he was killed?’ I replied.
He eyed me. ‘Good question. Either the house, or workshop.’
‘The house has been completely renovated,’ I mooted. ‘It must be the workshop,’
‘Is there a crypt underneath?’ he asked.
I considered it. ‘Doubtful, it’s in a hollow and would be prone to flooding.’
‘What about outside?’ He stood up. ‘Is there anywhere Sinclair left untouched?’
‘The castle,’ I replied. ‘Lady Penelope said Sinclair never made any changes there.’
‘Right.’ He brightened up. ‘We need spades.’
‘Just a moment.’ I held a hand up because I’d thought of something. ‘Randolph would have been wearing a belt with a buckle or possibly had coins in his pocket.’
Swift was quick to catch on. ‘You mean we should use the metal detector?’
I nodded. ‘That patent letter in your hand has the design attached.’
‘We can’t make one.’ He turned the pages over to stare at the drawing.
‘No, but there are probably prototypes in the workshop. Come on.’
We headed back inside and went straight to the trestle tables that bore Randolph’s old inventions. The covers seemed to have lain untouched for years and were thick with dust. We both sneezed as we removed them to uncover jumbled wires, coils, cogs, various rods of copper, rusted iron, brass and bronze. There were wooden forms supporting small engines, pistons, a crude amplifier and devices that I co
uld only guess the use of. I thought I’d be able to identify a simple metal detector, but now I wasn’t so sure.
‘Lennox,’ Swift called. ‘What’s this?’
I went over. ‘That’s something like it.’ I felt a spark of excitement.
Swift held up a makeshift model. ‘It looks like the drawing.’
‘It’s too rudimentary. Let’s find one that works.’ I began moving the tangle of parts.
‘Wouldn’t he have taken it with him?’ Swift was having doubts.
‘Well, Randolph didn’t, but Sinclair might have,’ I remarked dryly. ‘It doesn’t matter, there would be more than one.’
He turned back to rummage some more.
I picked up a small metal cage and discovered it had a cable attached to a wooden box. ‘This could be it.’ I pushed aside a mess of wires.
Swift looked dubious. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes,’ I told him. There was a grimy gauge fixed to the side of the box. I opened the lid. It held the usual copper coils and connectors. ‘All of the electrics are in there, but there’s no battery.’
‘What size does it take?’
‘Six volts, I think.’
‘Fine.’ He went over to Max’s side of the building and started a search, returning in short order with a battery. ‘Here.’
I took it from him. ‘And some paraffin.’
He muttered under his breath and went back again. Max had equipped his section of the workshop with plenty of up-to-date tools and whatnots. It didn’t take Swift long to find what was needed.
‘A wire brush,’ I mentioned.
He stalked off again, returning moments later. ‘Lennox, I’m not a damned handmaiden, either.’
I laughed and set about cleaning the corroded workings. The copper terminals had grown verdigris and I had to chip the encrustation off with my knife and brush them away with a spot of paraffin. Then I rubbed the dust from the gauge and attached the battery with cables. It let out a faint fizz of energy.
Swift grinned. ‘I’ve never used one of these before.’
‘They’re pretty erratic,’ I replied, almost as excited as he was. The case sported a leather strap, I slung it over my shoulder and carefully lowered the metal cage on its cable until it was suspended an inch or so from the ground. It looked rather like a lantern case on a long wire, which was attached to a bulky box. The one I’d used in France had been more modern, with a disc on a pole rather than the cage on a cable. The method was the same though, the sensor had to be swung in an arc over the ground in the hope of detecting metal.
‘We should test it,’ I said.
We walked back outside into the bright sunshine.
‘Right,’ Swift pulled a handful of coins from his pocket, took a silver sixpence and threw it into the distance. ‘Let’s see what it can do.’
Chapter 21
We’d walked to the area where he’d thrown the coin.
‘How deep can it penetrate?’ He was beside me, his eyes fixed on the gauge screwed to the outside of the box.
‘I have no idea.’ I was moving very slowly, swinging the metal cage in an arc in front of me, the gauge hadn’t so much as flickered.
‘How does it work?’ He was full of questions.
‘Does it matter?’
‘Hum.’ He shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘Will it be able to find the sixpence?’
I didn’t deign to reply. I was already becoming frustrated and turned another circle, lowering the metal cage until it was skimming the ground. The grass was long and still wet despite the sunshine throwing rays of warmth through the trees. ‘Where the devil did it land…’
‘Look,’ he cut in, excitement in his voice. ‘It moved, the gauge went right across the dial. Stop Lennox.’
I had already stopped. He was eager as a schoolboy.
‘Wait.’ I twirled the metal cage in small circles, trying to get the best signal.
He bent down, rummaged in the grass and lifted the sixpence in triumph. ‘Found it!’ He grinned.
‘Ha!’ I was impressed. ‘Randolph must have been a good inventor.’
‘Right,’ he clapped his hands. ‘We need to be organised, we should make a grid from string and pegs, if we start at the far end of the castle we can…’ He was still pointing to a distant spot when I walked off and went over to the edge of the ruined keep.
I began moving the metal cage, one swinging arc with each step forward. ‘Come and watch the dial.’
He sulked for a moment, hands on hips, then came to join me. ‘I can take over if you like.’
‘I’ll go as far as the rocks, then you can do it,’ I told him.
Fogg came to see what we were doing. He sniffed about, nose to the ground, stopping at the occasional pile of rabbit droppings.
Nothing happened for ages, we walked, I swung the cage, Swift watched the dial. It was all rather tedious.
‘Stop,’ Swift shouted. ‘It moved.’
‘Really?’ I stepped backwards and swung it again.
‘There.’ He pointed to the ground.
‘Spade, Swift.’
‘Oh, damn it.’ He turned and ran back to the workshop. As detectors go, I think we’d just failed the basics.
I’d pulled out my clasp knife, by the time he returned I’d scraped some grass and soil aside. Fogg kept pushing his nose in to see what I’d discovered.
‘Let me.’ Swift drove the point of the spade into the ground and carried on with enthusiasm.
‘Wait,’ I stopped him as the soil flew. ‘Let me try the cage again.’
I couldn’t find the signal as I swung it over the black earth. ‘Where…’ I muttered, then saw the gauge flick over the dial. I bent over and picked up a bent nail.
Swift’s face fell. ‘Oh.’
I grinned, I’d done this before. ‘It’s not going to be easy.’
‘No.’ He left the spade sticking out of the ground and we carried on.
More nails, a horseshoe, spent cartridges, bullets from the distant past and a wire rabbit trap were our total haul by the time we reached the stone base of the curtain wall.
‘Oh, you found one.’ Persi called as she came up the hill. ‘Clever you. I thought all the electrics would be corroded away.’
‘Hello, old stick.’ I gave her a grin. She smiled back, I wondered if I should offer a peck on the cheek.
‘We aren’t getting very far.’ Swift showed her the haul.
‘Can I help?’ Persi was keen. ‘You know, this would be rather marvellous in the field. Particularly in Egypt, I’m amazed the team hasn’t thought to buy one.’
‘Did you find anything at the house?’ Swift hadn’t forgotten the investigation.
‘Yes.’ Her face clouded. ‘One of the footmen recalled seeing a letter from Liverpool, he comes from there. It was addressed to Sinclair.’
‘Sinclair?’ That was unexpected.
She pushed a strand of blonde hair back from her face. ‘It was taken to Trent’s office, he received the mail. I thought Jerome might know more, but I decided I’d better leave it to you to question him.’
‘Trent…’ Swift’s brows lowered.
‘When did it arrive?’ I asked.
‘The footman wasn’t sure, but he thought it was about a week before Sinclair’s party.’
That was food for thought, Trent probably sorted all the mail, which made it easy for him to intercept anything before Sinclair or anyone else in the house saw it.
‘We can ask questions later,’ I said and handed the box and cable over. ‘Your turn, Swift.’
‘You can watch the dial,’ he told me. ‘Unless you’d like to Persi?’
‘I’d love to,’ she volunteered.
I gave her another grin. She was standing very near me, the sunlight playing on her hair and face…
Swift cleared his throat. ‘Ready?’
‘Yes.’ She laughed. ‘We might even find buried treasure!’
I suppose archaeologists always expect to find buried trea
sure, or dead bodies. I followed behind with my hands in pockets until boredom set in.
‘Just going to stretch my legs,’ I told them, then cleared off. I made for the tower, the view across the water tugged at my soul. At home in Ashton Steeple, I had a small lake fed by a meandering brook, and there was nothing more entrancing than casting a fly into the rippling shallows on an autumn evening. I gazed at the island, the roof of the wooden hut showed as a smudge of red amongst the foliage. Sinclair would have hardly imagined when he woke up that morning that his day would end in such an ignominious fashion. I mused along the lines of how the mighty had fallen, then moved to more relevant matters, like who the devil had killed him.
Discovering that it was about Randolph blew a hole straight through our theories surrounding the inheritance. Someone discovered the truth about Randolph. The lawyer’s letter about the patent must have set them on the trail. Could it be Lydia? Was she really a cold-blooded murderer? She had always suspected Sinclair and must have been a constant thorn in his side. I’d thought her campaign against him had been born of resentment; he had usurped her father’s place, and she had never forgiven him for it. But once she’d been proven right – what would her reaction be?
Max was still top of the suspect list, he’d resented us and our investigation, and could have interfered in ways we wouldn’t even know about. Had he done that to protect himself, or someone else, like his mother?
Lady Penelope had been kind, helpful and gracious, but she gave very little of herself away. Had she really married Sinclair to save the estate? Sacrificed herself to ensure the future fortunes of her children? How would she have reacted when she discovered her sacrifice was to the monster who’d murdered her husband?
She would surely want to know where Randolph was buried – as would the St Georges. Randolph was their beloved only child, killed at the hands of the man who’d taken everything which had been his. But then they couldn’t possibly have found the lawyer’s letter, or written to the shipping company, not without help in the house. So, who would help them out…
‘Lennox,’ Swift called from the castle courtyard.
‘What?’
‘I think we’ve found something.’
‘Right,’ I was down the steps of the tower in an instant and paced quickly along the battlement. I joined them just beyond the ruins of the great hall.
The Tomb of the Chatelaine: A 1920s Country House Murder Mystery (Heathcliff Lennox Book 6) Page 19