Once they were all inside, Grove closed the door and pushed the back of a chair under the handle to prevent unwanted entry should anyone be hiding in the house, then he crossed to the windows and threw back the curtains, letting daylight flood into the room.
Frances ran over to the motionless figure on the bed, convinced that she would find him dead and cold, but to her surprise Sir Hugo’s hands were merely cool. He was breathing, and seemed not to be in any distress, but the rise and fall of his chest was barely visible.
Frances burrowed her fingers under the flowing beard to unfasten Sir Hugo’s collar, which was tight around the fleshy neck. ‘Open the windows, he needs air!’
Grove complied.
‘Is he ill or asleep?’ asked Cedric.
She shook the unconscious man gently, then when he did not respond, more firmly. ‘Sir Hugo!’ she said, very close to his ear, then gave the back of his hand a hard pinch. It was impossible to rouse him. ‘This is no natural sleep. Cedric, look about the room for any bottles that might tell us what he has taken.’ Cedric obligingly began to search the nightstand, a little dressing table and a wardrobe. ‘Do you know if he took any medicines?’
‘No. Of course, if he did suffer from an indisposition he might not have told us. He liked to think of himself as very robust for his age. Jepson might know.’
Grove came to examine the unconscious man. ‘Laudanum?’
Frances leaned towards the unconscious man’s mouth and sniffed carefully. ‘No, or I would be able to smell it. It’s very distinctive.’ She sniffed again. ‘But I can tell that he has drunk coffee.’ She pulled back one heavy eyelid. A glance at the constricted pupil told all she needed to know. ‘He has been drugged. Morphine, in all probability.’ She glanced around. ‘Cedric, have you found anything?’
‘No. An impressive collection of liniment, antiseptics and bandages, but nothing for internal use. He wouldn’t have swallowed any of this, would he?’
Frances shook her head. ‘If he had, the symptoms would have been quite different.’
Grove placed his hand on Sir Hugo’s wrist. ‘His pulse is very feeble, and his breathing so shallow it is hardly there. Can you help him?’
‘If he was conscious I would give him an emetic, but he is much too far gone for that. He should be taken to a doctor at once, and we must try to keep him alive until then. Let us rub his hands and feet, to stimulate the circulation.’
‘Jepson’s the nearest,’ said Cedric. ‘He’ll be on the cricket field to watch his son racing, and I think he is Sir Hugo’s physician. Shall I fetch him?’
‘Can we trust him?’ asked Frances, starting to rub the unconscious man’s hands. She was painfully aware that a doctor, the very person most likely to have a supply of morphine, could well have been responsible for Sir Hugo’s condition. It was a dilemma but a decision that only Grove could make.
‘I know nothing against him,’ said Cedric. ‘There’s another doctor in Acton; Barraclough. But we don’t even know if he is at home.’
Grove was removing Sir Hugo’s shoes and stockings. ‘I suggest we risk Jepson. Any delay could well prove fatal. Garton, you know Jepson better than I. Could you fetch him here and order a cab? And please do it without attracting attention or letting anyone know what you are about.’
Cedric looked a little stunned at being given orders in that way, but recognised the importance of swift action. ‘Very well. Frances, will you come with me?’
‘I need to stay here,’ said Frances, busily massaging the patient’s chilled hands. ‘Go! Quickly.’
Cedric gave a glance of grave mistrust at Grove, who was vigorously rubbing Sir Hugo’s feet, and hurried away.
There was a strange silence in the air as they both worked to help revive the unconscious man. When Mr Grove had been in his disguise as the horrid Filleter Frances had usually had something to say. Now she had to search for words. ‘I don’t know how the morphine came here, but it has a bitter taste,’ she said at last. ‘I think I can guess how it was given to him. If the coffee was set out last night for him to warm this morning, there was a long period of time when many people, both club members and visitors, were in the lodge, and anyone could have added morphine to the pan. And whoever did it has since destroyed the evidence. But who would have done this and why?’
‘The same persons who stole his notebooks. If that was all they needed they might well have killed him outright. As it is, they must want to know more as they have kept him alive in order to extract information. Even now they are taking part in the race meeting, and will return as soon as it is over to spirit him away. But I also think that whoever gave him the drug was probably not a doctor, and certainly not Sir Hugo’s doctor. It was a miscalculation of dose that has brought him close to death.’
‘But what information could they want?’ asked Frances, relieved to have directed the conversation to the mission in hand. ‘Surely not the secret of his invention of the extra wheels. I have seen them in action and they did not look at all promising.’
‘Was he working on anything else?’
‘He did talk about inventing a more comfortable saddle, I believe, but I am not sure if he had made a start on it.’
‘We would all want that,’ said Grove, and she could tell from his voice that he was smiling, ‘but I doubt that anyone would be prepared to endanger the life of an elderly gentleman for it.’
‘The only other thing that I have been able to discover is that Sir Hugo had arranged a meeting with General Farrow to take place after he had made his opening address.’
‘Farrow?’ said Grove. ‘Now that is interesting. Farrow has recently been looking at the possible military application of bicycles. He has been asked to report to a government commission on the subject. I wonder if Sir Hugo intended to discuss a new idea of his that could have importance in that area.’
‘I read an article in a periodical about the military possibilities of bicycles,’ Frances told him. ‘It was proposed that there should be whole battalions of men travelling entirely by bicycle. The only difficulty was moving over rough terrain, which could cause a spill. I had understood that Sir Hugo’s extra wheels were intended to assist older or less experienced riders, but perhaps they might have another purpose.’
‘But you thought they looked unpromising.’
‘They didn’t seem to be working as he might have hoped, but they might go better with a younger man. And perhaps he has improved them since. Maybe that was what his planned trip this morning was about; obtaining some materials he could not find nearer home – something he could use when demonstrating his invention to General Farrow?’
Grove considered the position. ‘Whoever has done this has succeeded in three things – they have Sir Hugo’s notes, they prevented him carrying out whatever it was he intended to do in London and also prevented him discussing his work with General Farrow. They have left him alive because the one thing they don’t have is the secret of the invention itself, which he might not have committed to paper, or has carefully hidden, and which they must believe has the potential to be valuable to a foreign power.’
They worked on in silence a little more, Frances finding herself impatient for Cedric’s return, and wondering how easy it would be for him to find Jepson without alerting anyone else.
She looked at Sir Hugo’s face to see if there was any change in his condition. Could it be that his cheeks were gaining a little colour? ‘Is Gideon your real name?’ she asked.
There was a long pause, so much so that she glanced at Grove, who was looking thoughtful.
‘Or can’t I be trusted to know that?’ she asked.
‘I think you can, although here I prefer to go by the name of Grove. But yes. I had better tell you all. My full name is Gideon Horatio Alexander Locke. I am the third son of Admiral Sir Alexander Locke. I was educated at Eton and Oxford, and I then went into government service. Although as yet I am only a humble foot soldier in that particular regiment.’
‘Nevertheless, what you
do is extremely dangerous.’
‘It is. Almost as dangerous as Eton. To complete my history, I am currently twenty-seven years of age, and a bachelor.’
Frances wondered why he should have provided such intimate detail. ‘You should really stop writing the Miss Dauntless stories.’
‘Why is that? Don’t you like them?’
‘Oh, they are entertaining, I grant you that, but some of my clients think I am Miss Dauntless. They think I can do all that she does.’
‘You could do all she does and more,’ he said quietly.
Frances felt her face grow warm. ‘Why “the Filleter”?’
‘Oh, he was only one of my disguises. The least comfortable one. But he could go where others could not and be accepted in circles where I could not go.’
‘You smelt as if you had rolled in a dung heap,’ she said severely.
‘I am sorry to say that there was a good reason for that.’
‘And you followed me about … why? Not to threaten me, as I once thought.’
‘No. To be on hand if you needed assistance. I used more than one guise. Most of the time you didn’t see me. My one regret is that I was absent from London on a mission and therefore unable to foil that attack on you outside your own house. But you dealt with it most admirably yourself.’
‘I took no pleasure in it.’
‘I would not have expected you to.’
‘So last year, when you were the Filleter, and you were under arrest and being held in the cells at Paddington Green Police Station, and there was that dreadful storm – the story I was told by the police about your being badly injured in a roof fall – that was just a ruse to get you away?’
‘The roof came down, that much was true, but the worst of the damage was to an empty cell. I had told the Scotland Yard men who I was and once they checked my credentials they knew they had to release me, but they needed a good reason to do so in order to avoid suspicion. They couldn’t just report me as having escaped. The storm came along at just the right moment. Even Inspector Sharrock didn’t know about the deception. I have to say I was tempted to dispose of the Filleter altogether, but he’s far too useful.’
‘You once told me – that is, the Filleter told me – that you had killed people.’
‘That is true. I have. My work sometimes demands it. But you know that yourself, now.’
There was another period of silence.
‘What will you do when we have Sir Hugo safely away?’ Frances asked.
‘I will return to the field, but for your own safety we must maintain the pretence that we have not met. I suggest you inform Miss Smith of our conversation. I wouldn’t care to have her arrest me again. Once your friend has knelt on a man he can never forget it.’
‘But your enemies, whoever they are, they will know you are free. Won’t they attack you again?’
‘It’s a risk, but I will be in a crowd, and this time, I promise, I will keep my wits about me.’
‘You still have no memory of who struck you?’
‘I’m sorry to say I don’t. It may return. I hope it does. I should like to meet him again on more equal ground.’
‘Do you have a headache? You don’t appear to be dizzy.’
‘There is a slight bump, but that is all. The skin is not broken. I was wearing the club cap at the time, which is well padded, and that saved me from any worse effects.’
Frances frowned. She hoped that the injury was trivial, since if it was not there was nothing a doctor could do. ‘Cedric wants to send me home but I don’t want to go. You’re not going to try and send me home?’
‘I wouldn’t dare.’
There were footsteps on the stairs and Cedric hurried in. ‘Mr Jepson is here, and I have a cab waiting with instructions to take a man to his surgery in Acton. I have told Jepson we think it is an accidental poisoning and he is keeping quiet out of respect for Sir Hugo.’
Surgeon Jepson, who followed Cedric into the room, was a slightly stout gentleman of middle years, bespectacled, and with the confident manner of an experienced medical man. He gave a little gasp of concern on seeing Sir Hugo, then at once took the patient’s pulse, lifted a heavy eyelid, and completed the examination with a stethoscope which he brought out of an inner pocket. ‘And you found him like this only minutes ago?’
‘Yes,’ said Cedric. ‘We were concerned when he wasn’t at the race meeting.’
‘You did the right thing; he’ll have to be removed to my surgery at once. Gentlemen, between the three of us I think we can lift him and bring him downstairs.’
It was an awkward but necessary co-operation as the surgeon, Cedric and Grove together carried Sir Hugo downstairs to the waiting cab.
‘Cedric, could you go with him, and let me know any news?’ asked Frances.
Cedric paused for only a moment before he agreed. ‘Please take care,’ he begged. He leaped into the cab beside Jepson and the patient, and the vehicle rattled away at a good pace.
‘Now there is something a bicycle cannot do,’ said Frances. ‘Or even a sociable.’ She tried to imagine how a sociable could transport a sick man; it was not an easy proposition. Perhaps there was still plenty of opportunity for horses, after all. ‘And now, Mr Grove, you must come back inside and I will clean the wounds on your wrists and take a look at that bump on your head.’
‘Oh, they are nothing,’ said Grove, about to pull the lodge door closed. To his surprise she blocked the doorway and faced him with cold determination.
‘My dear brother Frederick suffered an injury in a fall which he said was nothing. But it wasn’t. His blood was poisoned. I nursed him until he died. Now you are to go back into the house and have those cuts dressed, and I will not take no for an answer.’
For a few moments he gazed at her with an unreadable expression, then he obeyed without a murmur.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Once inside the house Frances was the unbending model of decorum. She ordered Mr Grove to be seated in the breakfast room while she fetched what was needed from Sir Hugo’s bedroom. A brief examination of the bump on his head suggested that he had probably been fortunate, and no action was needed. Next, seated beside him at the long table she cleaned and dressed the cuts on his wrists, a process to which he submitted meekly. Since he wore cyclists’ celluloid cuffs Frances was able to remove all external traces of blood, so he could conceal the injury and avoid searching questions. Her ministrations were carried out in silence, and she directed her attention to the work. Only once did she glance up at him and saw him gazing at her watchfully. She quickly lowered her eyes again.
‘There, it is done,’ she said at last.
He rose to his feet. ‘Thank you. I hope not to put you to such trouble again, although I can’t guarantee it.’
Once the medical materials were returned to their proper place the house was closed up. Grove hurried back to the field, and Frances, after a short interval, followed. She was extremely anxious while she waited for Cedric’s return, as she was far from confident that Sir Hugo would recover, but took the opportunity to send the necessary information to Sarah. Even from across the expanse of field she could see her assistant’s shocked expression as Tom passed on the message.
There was a certain amount of unrest amongst the crowds as it was now well past eleven o’clock and the opening speech had not been made. Every time the band stopped playing there was a hum of cheerful anticipation, to be followed by a groan of disappointment as it embarked on another melody.
Finally, Mr Toop, looking overheated and unhappy, mounted the dais and signalled to the band with a fretful wave to cease, which, after a few more bold thumps on the drum, it did. The impatient crowd realised that the event was at last about to start and began to move towards him. Toop took up a speaking trumpet.
‘Ladies, gentlemen – may I beg your attention please!’
Conversation gradually hushed. ‘Now I know that in the past we have been honoured at our meetings to have the opening speech de
livered by Sir Hugo Daffin, a gentleman whom we all hold in the highest esteem. I have just been advised that this morning Sir Hugo has been detained in London on important business, and he will therefore be delayed in joining us. We anticipate, however, that he will be here in time to watch the afternoon races and award the prizes. However, we must proceed, and I am delighted to say that our distinguished visitor General Farrow has agreed to formally open the event. Please give your warmest welcome to General Farrow!’
There was enthusiastic applause and Toop left the dais with some relief.
Frances could not help glancing about, trying her best to look like an innocent observer simply appreciating the scene, but she really wanted to know where Mr Grove was. Given the number of gentlemen present all in club uniform it was not an easy task, but at last she saw him, over at the bicycle enclosure. Was there, she wondered, someone on the field who would be astonished and alarmed to see him? There was safety in numbers but all the same he was taking a risk.
General Farrow mounted the steps to the platform. He was a solid looking man of about fifty, straight if not tall, with close cut hair going grey. He took up the speaking trumpet, and after a glance, put it down again, as if disdaining its assistance. The crowds listened attentively. ‘Thank you, Mr Toop, the honour is all mine,’ he said in a voice that would have carried to the furthest extent of a field of battle. ‘As I look about me and see so many fine examples of British manhood, all devoted to the health and vigour that has made our country great, I see our future and I know it will be a good one. The bicycle is the supreme form of road travel. Fast and modern, making all that went before it obsolete. Our county’s greatness rests on two wheels, and it is safe in the hands of its young men. Today we can look forward to a display of strength and expertise that can leave no one in any doubt of this. It is my great pleasure and privilege therefore to declare the annual summer race meeting of the Bayswater Bicycle Club open!’
There was enthusiastic cheering, and Farrow, with a short bow stepped down. Mr Toop ascended the platform once more, and took up the speaking trumpet.
Murder at the Bayswater Bicycle Club Page 14