‘Do you know if anyone visited him in prison?’
Sharrock smiled. ‘I am sure the Hammersmith police are looking into that very question even as we speak.’
‘Mr Toop just mentioned that one of the bicycles stored in the coach house at Springfield Lodge was damaged. I’m not sure if you are aware of this, but it was the bicycle belonging to Mr Ross-Fielder, the son of the reverend gentlemen who was attacked by Coote. Can that be a coincidence?’
Sharrock’s eyebrows went up. ‘So is that why Mr Toop thinks it was Coote who did it?’
‘It does seem strange that it was that specific bicycle that was singled out from all the others. It had Mr Ross-Fielder’s initials on the travel bag.’ Sharrock looked at her suspiciously. ‘I know about this because my good friend Mr Garton is a member of the club.’
Sharrock was considering this information when a sergeant in the uniform of the county police appeared, clearly wanting a word with the Inspector. Frances left them to talk. The boys’ race was about to begin, and she saw that Ratty had decided to enter. A small assemblage of eager youths all aged about twelve to fifteen on a variety of bicycles had lined up ready, and at a signal, mounted their machines and set off at a pounding rate. Frances kept her eyes on the race, but made sure to listen to the conversation behind her. It was extraordinary, she thought, that as long as she did not obviously appear to be paying attention to what was being said, men were often quite happy to conduct their conversations within her hearing, assuming no doubt that these serious matters were not something she would find interesting. Sharrock, who knew Frances too well, was aware that she would be listening, and despite his overt and often repeated objections to her meddling in police affairs, knew that this frequently resulted in an arrest for which she was happy to give him credit.
‘Sergeant Hambling, sir, Acton police, just to inform you that we are here to issue handbills regarding the escaped convict Coote.’ Hambling was accompanied by several constables, who were busy distributing papers to all the visitors.
‘Still no sign of him, I take it?’
‘None, sir.’
Sharrock took a handbill. ‘I’m here to give a speech about bicycle safety so I shall make sure to advise everyone to read these carefully and keep a sharp lookout.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ The sergeant paused. ‘I happened to notice that Archie Hopper is about. I just saw him duck behind the scoreboard. He’s well known to the police in these parts. Slippery type. I’ve had words with him before, but I might do so again. We’re fairly sure he runs an off-course betting book. In fact, Coote used to be one of his messengers.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Oh yes, that’s what makes him so hard to pin down. He’s got half a dozen of them at least; some are boy runners, and the older ones are on velocipedes. We’ve questioned him about Coote but he claims to know nothing of course.’
‘Do you think it was Hopper who helped Coote to escape?’
‘We’re keeping an open mind on that. I don’t think Coote was so valuable to him that he would have done. After all, messengers are easy enough to come by, and if what I heard is true, there was bad blood between them in the end.’
‘Bad blood, you say?’
‘Yes, Hopper knew that one of his messengers was cheating him, and thought it was Coote, so he told him he wasn’t wanted. Then it turned out that it was another of his men, Cowdray, who was the cheat; the man absconded with a pile of cash. Coote never had a good word for Hopper after that, so we don’t think he would have gone to him for help.’
‘He might have blackmailed him if he knew enough about the business,’ said Sharrock. ‘Did he write to him from prison? Did Hopper visit him?’
‘No, I think the only visits were from the Reverend Ross-Fielder.’
‘What? The injured man?’
‘In a spirit of Christian forgiveness.’
‘Well that was very good of him. All the same, he is the last man who would have wanted Coote to break out of prison, so I think we can rule him out as a suspect.’
‘That’s very true, sir.’ The sergeant went about his business.
The young riders were bowling about the course in an alarming manner, both fast and reckless. Ratty, having only just ridden a bicycle for the first time that day, could not hope to compete with the more experienced riders but he did well, and managed to finish the course, which was more than some were able to. Frances cheered him as he rode to the finishing flag.
‘I suppose you overheard that?’ said Sharrock.
‘Of course,’ said Frances, waving at Ratty. ‘And it does lead me to believe that if Mr Coote was at one time working as a messenger for Mr Hopper, it could well be that he knew how to ride a bicycle, or at very least a velocipede.’
‘That’s possible, yes.’
‘In fact, I was told that velocipedes are sometimes used to train beginners who might be nervous, to give them confidence before they attempt the high-wheeler.’
‘So, what are you saying?’
‘I’m saying that even if Mr Coote had never ridden a high-wheeler his experience with the velocipede might have given him enough practice to do so. And if he had somehow managed to enter the coach house unobserved, he could have stolen a machine to make his escape faster. Instead of which he chose to cut the spokes on Mr Ross-Fielder’s bicycle.’
‘Yes, that does seem strange.’
‘Doubly strange, because the damage done was trivial and quickly repaired. And Mr Coote, if he is familiar with the velocipede, would have known that. All of which suggests to me that whoever cut the spokes on Mr Ross-Fielder’s bicycle it was not Mr Coote.’
‘Who then?’
‘I don’t know. If we are looking for people who dislike bicyclists then there are too many to choose from. But no one suspicious was seen in the area. The club members are very efficient about guarding their property. The only people who could have damaged the machine are therefore the club members themselves, people who came to hire machines, the servants, and Jack Linnett. If the damage had been greater I would understand it, but something so quickly repaired is more surprising. Unless …’
‘Yes?’
Frances shook her head. ‘Let me think about it.’
‘Oh dear!’ sighed Sharrock. ‘You’re thinking again. That spells danger. I’ll get the handcuffs ready, shall I?’
Frances declined to comment.
‘I see that Pounder fellow has taken to the bicycle, being given lessons by your friend Mr Garton,’ added Sharrock, nodding to where the professor was making his first attempts at the art, and doing rather well. ‘And what a surprise, Miss Smith is there looking on and admiring him, and I seem to have spotted young Tom about the place, as well as Ratty. It’s quite a little family excursion, isn’t it?’
Frances said nothing.
‘And something tells me you might prefer it if I didn’t make those observations public.’
‘Thank you, Inspector,’ she said gratefully.
He made a salute and hurried away.
Although Frances and Sarah were keeping up the pretence of not being members of the same party, they took care to remain in each other’s eyeline as far as possible. Frances saw that Sarah had noted Sharrock’s presence, and sign messages passed between them to reassure both that all was well.
Mr Grove was busy giving lessons to beginners, and Frances decided on an experiment. She managed to catch his eye and sign to him that Inspector Sharrock was about. It was clear from his response that her message had been received and understood.
Cedric was soon back at her side carrying a paper. ‘Well done young Ratty!’ he said. ‘That boy will go far! And did you see Pounder on the high-wheeler? What a man he is! I have the two-mile intermediate handicap later; this is the full list of entrants for the afternoon. Your friend Mr Grove is in the senior’s contest. By the way, I thought I saw Sharrock and Mayberry here. Are they after Coote?’
‘No, the Inspector is giving a talk on bicycl
ing safety. But the Acton police have come to give out handbills about Coote, who has somehow managed to disappear.’ Frances studied the list. ‘How do they handicap?’
‘It’s a staggered start based on experience and wheel size. There are expert independent handicappers brought in to decide so there can be no suggestion of bias.’
‘I see, so that does give a chance to the shorter man. Will Mr Toop race, do you think?’
‘No, he might risk scratching his paint. He is very fastidious about that. Keeps his machine at the lodge so he needs to transport it as little as possible. He likes a slow decorous promenade, so people can admire the machine. One day we will see him parade himself about the carriage drive of Hyde Park with all the gentry.’
Frances had been thinking about Sir Hugo and his work. ‘The next race is the novices’ one mile and that isn’t for another few minutes. If you don’t mind accompanying me, I want to go and talk to Jack Linnett again. He works more closely with Sir Hugo than anyone, and I find it hard to believe that he has been left entirely in the dark. Perhaps he knows something but doesn’t realise its importance.’
‘My pleasure,’ said Cedric. They linked arms and strolled over to the blacksmith’s enclosure, where Jack was busy looking over bicycles for some of the racers. ‘Going well?’ asked Cedric. ‘I might bring my steed over for a quick look before the race. Can’t take any chances, eh?’
‘That’s true, sir.’
‘Is there any word from Sir Hugo?’
‘No sir, not that I know of.’
‘All Toop said was that he was away on business and I know how long these things take. So how is the work going on with those side wheels? When I last saw you testing them, Sir Hugo said he wanted them made larger. Did that improve matters at all?’
Jack’s grimace was all the information they needed on that point. ‘Well, to be truthful, sir, it made it worse. I’m not at all sure we’ll have any success with them.’
‘Perhaps he would be better advised to try something else to improve the lot of wheelmen. How long are we to wait for Mr Rook’s new saddle? Perhaps Sir Hugo could devise one of his own. I for one would welcome a more comfortable seat.’
‘I’ve heard many a gent say so, sir.’
‘Perhaps he might invent a bicycle for ladies,’ said Frances, teasingly.
Jack smiled, though he made every effort to be polite. ‘Oh, I don’t know about that, Miss. That would be very hard for a lady to ride. And ladies already have tricycles.’
‘But I think he should. The tricycle is all very well, but it is so much more cumbersome than the bicycle. Why should ladies, who weigh less than men, be expected to ride a heavier machine? That makes no sense to me at all. A bicycle that ladies can ride would be such a boon to the female sex. If Sir Hugo invented a ladies’ bicycle, it would be very popular, but he should do it soon, before anyone else can steal the idea. That’s the way things are done, isn’t it?’
Jack blinked at this deluge of notions. ‘So I understand, Miss. But that’s all beyond what I know about. I just do what Sir Hugo asks of me.’
Frances had been lied to so many times she thought she could write a book about it. She had learned to notice the way some liars faced her with open-eyed expressions of childlike innocence, the way that others gave her a sideways glance with a twitch of the lip, unable to conceal a sense of mischief at what they had done, while others simply avoided her gaze with an evasive tilt of the head. Jack Linnett was the third kind.
‘He’s hiding something,’ she said, as she and Cedric strolled away.
‘Any idea as to what that might be?’
‘Well this is just a theory, but it does look as if Sir Hugo has something of value, and Jack has been asked to keep quiet about it, in case anyone steals the idea. Supposing he had agreed to reward Jack if he makes a profit from his invention?’
‘Ah, yes, he might well have done, with all the work the lad has done for him. Even a small share could make a big difference to his fortunes.’
‘And his chances with Miss Hicks. But Jack has a great deal of respect, even affection for Sir Hugo. He wouldn’t willingly reveal his secrets. So he pretends to know nothing.’
‘If we only knew who stole Sir Hugo’s red notebooks. Of course, if he recovers, as we hope very much he will, he might be able to recall someone acting suspiciously and that could lead us to the person who drugged him.’
‘Morphine is an interesting choice,’ Frances observed.
‘Who can obtain it easily?’ asked Cedric. ‘Medical men, of course, medical students, chemists. Can it be purchased?’
‘Morphine is extracted from opium, and sales of opium preparations can only be made by a qualified pharmacist and must be entered in a poisons register. In practice, members of the public without a medical qualification who ask to buy morphine will only draw attention to themselves.’
Cedric was thoughtful. ‘I know you want to protect Sir Hugo’s reputation, but don’t you think, now that Sharrock is here, that we ought to tell him what has happened?’
‘No. Not yet. Please trust me, Cedric. I can’t. And I beg you not to. The main thing is that Sir Hugo is safe.’
As she said this, however, Frances couldn’t help wondering if she or any of her party was truly safe.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The morning programme continued with four short races for senior riders, the first three finishers from each to go forward to a final champion of champions contest, which would end the day’s programme. These sprints certainly showed who the best amateurs were. Spinning ahead of the field in magnificent style was Rufus Goring, who, enthused Cedric, had calves like a Greek statue, hard as marble and perfectly formed. Ross-Fielder was a lesser though proficient rider, and young Jepson also gained a place in the final twelve. Mr Grove was a highly competent bicyclist, and might have won his race, but on seeing another wheelman in difficulties, suffering from the heat and in danger of causing an accident, he stopped to assist him, and so lost any chance of competing that afternoon.
At the pavilion, preparations were in hand for the salad luncheons, although tea and coffee, which were being served throughout the day to thirsty visitors, were always available. While Cedric took a practice turn about the course, Frances decided to take a seat on the veranda, order refreshments, and see if she could have a word with Mrs Pirrie.
‘Your cousin is a very courteous and well-spoken young gentleman,’ said Mrs Pirrie, bringing Frances a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits.
‘He is, I am very fond of him,’ said Frances. ‘I do hope he does well in his race this afternoon. What lovely prizes there are, and how generous of Sir Hugo to donate them.’
‘Oh, generous to a fault, Sir Hugo,’ said Mrs Pirrie, loading empty cups and plates onto a tray.
‘There was one name I couldn’t help noticing,’ Frances added. ‘The Morton Vance memorial cup. Cedric told me about what happened to poor Mr Vance. It must have been a terrible shock for all of you.’
Mrs Pirrie paused in her work and uttered a deep sigh. ‘It was, that. A year ago, now, and it’s all fresh in my mind like it was yesterday.’ She shook her head. ‘I shall never forget it.’
‘Were there no witnesses to what happened?’ Frances asked, careful to maintain the semblance of someone who had not spent the last two weeks making a detailed study of the evidence. She judged that Mrs Pirrie had probably told her tale many times during the last year and had quite extinguished her usual supply of those who had not heard it at least once. Now here was a new person she could tell. The temptation would be irresistible.
Mrs Pirrie wiped her hands on her apron and sat down at the table with Frances. ‘No. None at all. The gentlemen had been out on their bicycles a bit before, but when it happened they were all back at the lodge having tea. Well, nearly all. But none of them saw anything. There was one funny thing, though,’ she added thoughtfully.
Frances waited, hardly daring to interrupt, but adopted an expression of open-eyed
anticipation that she knew was so rewarding to the storyteller.
‘I was back and forth with the tea things and I remember looking out of the front parlour window because I thought I noticed something moving outside, and that was when I saw it.’
There was a pause for dramatic effect. ‘Saw it?’ Frances could not restrain herself from exclaiming.
‘It was a sociable on the carriage drive with a lady and a gentleman in it.’
‘Really? So they might have been witnesses. Was it coming in or going out?’
‘Going out. I thought at first that it was Sir Hugo’s, as he does have one he keeps for hire, but I was told later it wasn’t.’
Frances nodded, reflecting that the ledger she had examined confirmed that there had been no hirings that day.
‘And then it was a while after that when Mr Ross-Fielder came back with the news of what he had found. Oh, and what a state he was in!’ She shook her head in sorrow. ‘Quite beside himself, he was.’
‘Mr Ross-Fielder didn’t go out riding with the other club members?’
‘No, he came along later.’
‘And Mr Vance? Was he not with them?’
‘No. He went out after the others had gone.’ Mrs Pirrie looked grim. ‘In fact, he was supposed to have gone out with the others but it was all down to his brother, Mr Phineas Vance, that he didn’t. They worked in the same office but Mr Phineas is the senior man, and they had a bit of a falling out that day. Oh, nothing serious, only about something that ought to have been done and was forgotten about. It was a Saturday and they should have closed the office early, but he said that Mr Morton must stay behind and finish his work and that was what made him arrive late. If Mr Phineas hadn’t insisted, they would both have gone out together and young Mr Morton would still be alive. When Mr Phineas found out what had happened and how it was partly his fault, he broke down and cried like a baby.’
‘How small a thing, a little quarrel like that, and he will blame himself for the rest of his life,’ said Frances sympathetically.
Murder at the Bayswater Bicycle Club Page 16