An Unwelcome Guest

by Emily Organ

  “Do you know who was with him that evening?”

  “I couldn’t tell you, Inspector.”

  “Was Augustus there?”

  “I really wouldn’t know.”

  “Is there a possibility that he might have been?”

  “Yes, it’s possible. I think a group of them had been out together that evening.”

  Chapter 47

  “We need to find this Augustus fellow,” said James as we travelled back to Waterloo by train. “I don’t like the sound of him at all. And I intend to ask the Islington Coroner for details of the inquest into the death of Anna O’Riley’s fiancé, Mr Campbell.”

  “Presumably his death was recorded as an accident.”

  “I’m sure it would have been. But don’t you agree that there could have been something suspicious about it?”

  This sounded like unnecessary work as far as I was concerned. “We’re still trying to establish who murdered Mrs O’Riley and Mr Gallo,” I said. “We mustn’t get distracted by this other death.” I noticed that the man sharing our train compartment was reading the Morning Express.

  “But what if Augie, as he calls himself, is behind all three deaths? According to Mrs Radnor he was rather fond of Anna O’Riley.”

  “And it seems the affection wasn’t reciprocated. Do you think that he had something to do with Mr Campbell’s death, killing him out of spite?”

  “Exactly. It must have upset him a little,” continued James. “His recent letters suggest he had maintained a rather twisted affection for Anna, even many years later. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

  “The man’s general behaviour definitely strikes me as odd.”

  “If he was upset that she did not return his affection all those years ago, he must have been even more upset when he heard that she had fallen in love with Walter Campbell. I cannot imagine him liking the man, and Mrs Radnor didn’t consider it inconceivable that Augie was present that evening. That’s why I should like to hear further details from the incident. The coroner’s records should be able to tell me what I need to know.”

  “But why would this Augustus chap murder Mrs O’Riley? And Mr Gallo, too? How did he even know she was with him that night? How did he get inside the hotel?”

  “I cannot explain why he would wish to murder the pair of them. Not yet, anyway. But I dare say that he gained entry to the hotel because he was invited there. I’m fairly sure that we already know him.”

  “Mr Goldman?”

  “It could be. Unfortunately, we’re going to have to ask Fenton for his help in this area.”

  “Where does Mrs Mirabeau fit into all this? It seems incredibly suspicious that she has chosen to protect herself by hiring a lawyer.”

  “She has something to hide, there’s no doubt about that. And we need to know who Anna O’Riley was working for. We know she worked alongside Mrs Adams, but someone requested that she find out more about Gallo’s paintings, and that person must have instructed Mr Cooke to carry out that investigation. We need to go back to Cooke and make him speak up.”

  We glanced out of the window, watching another train move alongside us as we travelled through busy Clapham Junction. Once it had passed by the rooftops came into view again, and the recent snow gave them the appearance of having been lightly dusted with flour.

  “There is a good deal more snow on its way, apparently,” said James. “They say that it’s coming from the north.”

  “Doesn’t it always come from the north?” I said with a smile.

  I welcomed the opportunity to talk about something other than the Gallo case and relaxed back into my seat a little, allowing my shoulder to rest gently against James.

  “All cold air comes from the north?” he said.

  “Yes. Wet air comes from the west and warm air comes from the south.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “I don’t know, to be completely honest. I think I heard it somewhere once.”

  “What about the east?”

  “That’s a good question. I’m not entirely sure.”

  “Has Mrs Garnett had a lock put on your window yet?

  “Yes, she had a man come and do it yesterday. I feel much safer now.”

  “That’s good news. And your door is kept locked all the time?”

  “Yes. Even when I’m in the room.”

  “And you still have no idea who broke in?”

  “No. But if they were trying to frighten me it won’t work.”

  “It frightens me a little,” said James. “I want to be able to protect you.”

  “Thank you, James.”

  We exchanged a smile, and I suddenly wished that we had the train compartment to ourselves.

  “I’ve been meaning to tell you that I asked for the charges against Mr Jenkins to be dropped.”

  “But he hit you!”

  “And I deserved it.”

  “No you didn’t. You’d already been ordered to pay him six hundred pounds. That was punishment enough!”

  “If the case proceeded against him I would only have had to face him again in court. There was no need for it. Hopefully I shall never set eyes on the man or his daughter ever again.”

  “Let’s hope not.”

  I rested my hand on his and glanced at the man reading the Morning Express once again. He was holding the newspaper up so that it shielded his face. I might have been mistaken, but it almost appeared as though he were listening in to our conversation. I gave James’ hand a gentle squeeze and nodded in the man’s direction. James surveyed him and seemed to share my suspicion.

  “Excuse me, sir,” said James. “My watch appears to have stopped. Do you have the time, please?”

  “Half-past twelve,” came the reply.

  The newspaper hadn’t moved an inch.

  “Thank you. I must say that it’s quite a feat to be able to check your pocket watch without moving your hands.”

  There was a pause before the gruff voice replied. “I looked at the clock when we passed through Clapham Junction station.”

  Chapter 48

  As soon as I had read the telegram awaiting me at my lodgings that evening I travelled by cab to my sister’s home in Bayswater.

  “Look at this, Ellie!” I cried, brandishing the message in my hand. “Francis wrote it just yesterday!”

  “Yesterday? From Colombia?”

  “Yes! Isn’t it astonishing? Look, it says the twenty-ninth of November right there.”

  “Goodness! His message has travelled all that distance in just one day. I cannot understand how telegrams work. I know they lay the wires down, but how are the messages sent along them?”

  “Let’s not worry about that now. Read what it says.”

  Report of European orchid grower living in Cali. Trying to arrange meeting. Letter on its way.

  F. E.

  “He must know more than he has been able to say in this brief message, Penelope. Something about the reports he has heard concerning this European orchid grower must have suggested to Francis that it could be Father. Do you think it might really be him?”

  “I don’t want to have my hopes raised too much, Ellie, but it’s a possibility, is it not?”

  “I only wish he had been able to write more. Now we can only speculate until his letter arrives. It must have cost him a fortune to send a telegram all the way from Colombia!”

  “This was sent from Buenaventura, which is on the east coast of Colombia,” I said. “Look, here’s one of the maps Francis drew.” I opened it out and pointed at Buenaventura. “And I think Cali must be this place. He has written Santiago de Cali on the map, but I think it must be the same town. It is just west of Buenaventura, though I don’t know how far. A hundred miles, perhaps.”

  “We’ll have to wait at least a month until the letter materialises!” lamented Eliza. “It will practically be the end of the year! Oh dear, I cannot possibly wait that long. I’m beginning to wish that he hadn’t sent the telegram at all.”

  �
��Why?”

  “Because I cannot wait so very long for his letter! What if it is lost somewhere? Then we shall never find out who this man is!”

  “We will, Ellie. We’ll just have to be patient.”

  “Since when did you have more patience than me?”

  “I don’t, but I also know that there is nothing we can do other than wait.”

  “And what happens if this European orchid grower has no wish to meet with Francis? Imagine it is Father and he refuses to have anything to do with him.”

  “We discussed this before, Ellie. We’ve always known there was a possibility that Father might not wish to be found.”

  “I cannot believe that it is him, Penelope.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Look how far Cali is from the Tequendama Falls on the map.”

  “I’d say that it is between two hundred and fifty and three hundred miles.”

  “Which is a great distance when you consider how primitive the roads must be.”

  “But he’s had nine years to travel it!”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Anyway, I shall assume that it is not Father, but I feel pleased for Francis that he has identified someone who might be of interest. Now all we can do is wait.”

  Chapter 49

  I told James excitedly about Francis’ telegram the following morning.

  “That is excellent news!” he said. “Francis is doing sterling work, by the sounds of things. Hopefully this orchid grower will know something about your father’s whereabouts. Or it may even be him!”

  “I realise there is a good possibility that it isn’t, and am trying my best not to become too hopeful. I was incredibly impressed to have received a telegram all the way from Colombia. Francis only wrote his message two days ago! Can you believe it?”

  “That’s the wonder of telegrams.”

  “It was simply astonishing to be able to read his words so soon after he had written them all that distance away!”

  “I think South America has had telegraph cables for a good few years now.”

  “But don’t you think it incredible?”

  “It is, Penny, and it has brought wonderful news indeed. I hope Francis’ forthcoming letter brings you the tidings you wish to hear.”

  “You seem rather subdued, James.”

  “No, not at all. I’m very happy to hear that there may be news of your father.”

  “It’s because it’s from Francis, isn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re envious of his ability to send telegrams from the other side of the world.”

  “I’m not envious, Penny. Why should I be envious? I’m standing here looking at you right at this moment, while he is far away from you in South America. I think my position is far preferable!”

  “I sometimes feel that you become a little curt whenever Francis is discussed.”

  “That is simply not the case. Now, can we please go and speak to Mr Cooke? It’s rather cold standing out here, and we need to get the people involved in this case talking.”

  “Thank you for the introduction to the lady who calls herself Mrs Adams,” James said to Mr Cooke. “Thanks to her we were able to visit Miss Hamilton’s home and then find a long-lost friend of hers. We understand a great deal more about her now.”

  “Very good,” replied the private detective. He sat with his hands resting on his desk, the thick fingers of one hand rubbing over the knuckles of the other.

  “But we still don’t know enough,” continued James. “Why was Miss Hamilton – or Anna O’Riley as we have come to know her – with Mr Gallo that night?”

  “To find out whom he had purchased the forged paintings from.”

  “And you asked her to do that work via the coded message in the Morning Express newspaper.”

  “That’s right.”

  “But who hired you to commission the work?”

  Mr Cooke sat back in his chair and gave a dry smile. “You know that I am bound by confidentiality, Inspector.”

  “I understand that, Mr Cooke, but two people have already lost their lives. We need to find out who’s behind this.”

  “It wouldn’t help even if I told you.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I just do.”

  “As a former police officer you have been in my position many times during your career. Surely that is enough for you to understand how important this piece of information is.”

  “I assure you that it will mean nothing to the investigation, Blakely.”

  “I must decide that!” snapped James.

  “Don’t you feel any sort of responsibility for Anna’s death?” I asked.

  “Anna?” he queried.

  “Miss Hamilton, as you knew her. You sent her to that hotel to retrieve this information and she lost her life in the pursuit of it!”

  “I couldn’t possibly have known that I was sending her into any danger.”

  “Could you not?” demanded James. “Given that you clearly know more about the situation than you are letting on, perhaps you intentionally sent her to her death. Either that or you knew that she was at risk and simply turned a blind eye.”

  “How ridiculous!”

  “But you cannot blame us for making that assumption, can you? By imparting so little to us you will appear to have been complicit in these murders before long.”

  Mr Cooke thumped his desk. “I am not complicit, Inspector! I conduct all my business with honour!”

  “Then why maintain this silence?”

  “Confidentiality, as I have already explained.”

  “It will remain confidential, even after you have divulged it to me,” said James.

  “And what about this news reporter?” he spat, giving me a sidelong glance.

  “You may be assured of my discretion,” I replied.

  He gave a sceptical snort.

  “So that is your reply, is it, Mr Cooke?” asked James. “What do you suppose I am likely to deduce from this?”

  “That I am not caught up in this sorry business, Inspector.”

  “But you most certainly are. Anna O’Riley died while carrying out a job you had instructed her to do. You cannot wash your hands of this.”

  Mr Cooke rose to his feet. At full height he was substantially taller than James, who remained calmly seated.

  “And who are you, eh, Blakely? Some young upstart who got promoted to inspector because of his father’s rank rather than his own abilities. Are you really going to stand there and speak to me like that? A man with more than thirty years’ experience in the Metropolitan Police Service?”

  “I have tried appealing to your better nature, Mr Cooke.”

  “And I have told you why I must keep the information to myself!”

  “You have, and I would say that it is a convenient excuse for a man who wishes to cover something up.”

  “I am not covering anything up!”

  “But you are protecting someone: either yourself, your client or both. Why?”

  “I am bound by the contract I have with him.”

  “Even when questioned by an officer of the law? Perhaps you are concerned that you will implicate yourself?”

  “I am not! This conversation must come to an end, Blakely.”

  “That’s a great shame, although perhaps I should be pleased that we have one more person of interest to us in this case.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “A new line of investigation to pursue.”

  Mr Cooke snorted again.

  “Thank you for your time, Mr Cooke.” James stood to his feet. “We have found the twenty-seven coded messages you placed in the Morning Express newspaper, and I am delighted to tell you that a good friend of mine has managed to decypher them all.”

  Mr Cooke’s left eye twitched.

  “I noticed that not all of them were addressed to Anna O’Riley,” continued James. “There were other recipients too, so we have
a few more people to question.”

  “There is no need for you to investigate my business, Blakely! Everything is conducted just as it should be.”

  “It is up to you to convince me of that, Mr Cooke.”

  I rose up from my seat, and James opened the office door for me to step through. We had almost closed the door behind us when Mr Cooke finally spoke.

  “I suppose there can be no great harm in telling you, seeing as he has already been arrested.”

  James pushed the door open again. “Telling me what, Mr Cooke?”

  “Shelby. He was the one who asked me to carry out the surveillance on Mr Gallo.”

  “Jack Shelby?”

  He nodded.

  “But why?”

  “Because he wanted to find out who was taking the business away from him. Shelby was supposed to be the master forger, but there was someone out there who was better than him.”

  “Who?”

  Cooke shrugged. “I don’t know. We were hoping that Mr Gallo could tell us.”

  Chapter 50

  I worked in the reading room that afternoon, carrying out research for an article about the increasing wages of domestic servants. It was difficult to concentrate on such a dull topic when thoughts of Anna O’Riley whirled around in my head. I felt immensely saddened that she had lost her life while working for a known criminal such as Jack Shelby.

  Why had Mr Cooke agreed to carry out the work for him? Why had he not collaborated with Inspector Raynes and Mr Russell to have Mr Shelby arrested? I reasoned that he had been paid a large a sum of money to remain loyal to the American criminal.

  There was still a great deal about the case that I didn’t understand, yet somehow I realised that I undoubtedly knew the murderer. It had to have been one of the people staying at the Hotel Tempesta that evening, but which one?