by Simon Clark
‘This was found in the coffin of Joshua Denby. I had the body exhumed.’
‘You must have had your reasons.’
‘The Denby brothers are being systematically murdered.’
‘Ah ….’ Franco nodded. ‘The Curse of the Gods of Rome.’
‘I don’t believe in curses.’
‘Nor I, inspector. I believe in greed, fear, vengeance, the lust for power, amore, and all those human emotions that drive us to do extraordinary things. Good as well as evil.’
‘Do you recognize the photograph’s subject matter?’
‘It is Faunus, a god of my ancestors. The hand-tinting suggests the statue is made of gold. Therefore, it is one of the Gods of Rome. Do you know where the statue is?’
‘Not yet.’
‘I see by your eyes that you tell the truth. I believe you.’
‘My instinct tells me that you were once a policeman, too.’
‘Your instinct is correct. I was ordered to search for our national treasure that was stolen from us. Many Italians believe that our nation will prosper again if the old gods return to Rome.’ He handed the photograph back to Abberline. ‘Will you inform me if the Faunus is found?’
‘Such a communication would have to come from a much higher level.’
Franco nodded. ‘Now you want to hear about the man I have seen prowling the Fairfax Manor grounds and here recently?’
‘Any description you can give me might prove vital.’
‘There is nothing I can give, alas. All I have seen, from a great distance, is a figure dressed in a shapeless, black cape. His hat is always pulled down, hiding the face. He carries a rifle. I don’t even know the colour of his hair.’
‘You must have seen something that will help me.’
‘No, I’ve seen nothing. He is a figure in a cape. A shapeless blot in shadow.’
‘You are an experienced spy, Franco. You don’t make general observations – you observe the particular. You remember details.’
‘Alas... alas.’ The Italian shrugged.
‘A man of your calibre … your expertise … must have noticed something?’ Abberline pressed home his questions. ‘You did see a detail that struck you as unusual, didn’t you?’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Because a policeman always spots the unusual detail that nobody else notices.’
‘His hand.’
‘His hand?’
‘His finger, rather … one finger on his left hand. I tried to observe him through my binoculars. He saw the flash of light on the glass and withdrew. However, I saw his left hand as he pushed a branch aside.’
‘And what did you notice?’
‘What do you English call it? A wedding band? A wedding ring?’
‘Why did that strike you as unusual?’
‘Englishmen seldom wear wedding bands when they marry. Italian men, however, do wear a ring when they take a bride.’ He gave an apologetic shrug. ‘Sorry, Inspector, that is the only specific detail I can offer. Your suspect is married. He wears a gold ring on the third finger of his left hand. You must be disappointed in me.’
‘On the contrary. The ring could be important. It could be very important indeed.’
Abberline stood gazing out of the window, his hands clasped behind his back. The man was clearly deep in thought.
Thomas sat quietly on the sofa in the office. He jotted down notes in his book, including the remarkable statement that Franco Cavalli had made, ‘You, Mr Lloyd, see what I see. Inspector Abberline is an extraordinary policeman. He is the pivot on which this case of murder and theft tips from mystery to enlightenment …’
The Italian’s words resonated with Thomas. Abberline was the consummate detective. On numerous occasions he had gathered the subtlest of clues together when investigating other cases; he interpreted them; recognized their significance; he had connected them together in their correct order and solved the puzzle. With that accomplished he arrested the criminal. And yet … Thomas sensed that Abberline hadn’t identified his clues in this particular case. True, they had discovered that Sir Alfred had not been accidentally killed in the explosion two months ago. He had been the victim of a device that caused a pistol to fire into a quantity of gunpowder, which resulted in a lethal explosion. Sir Alfred had been murdered. This morning, chemical tests on the body of his brother, Joshua Denby, revealed that the man had been poisoned with arsenic three years ago. A photograph of one of the Gods of Rome had been found in the coffin; probably placed by there by Sir Alfred. That, together with the secret shrine at Fairfax Manor, suggested that Sir Alfred was a superstitious man … indeed, superstitious to the point of mania.
The words of the secret agent resonated once again: Inspector Abberline is an extraordinary policeman. He is the pivot on which this case of murder and theft tips from mystery to enlightenment. Thomas thought: Yes, he is the pivot, but there is still an insufficient weight of evidence to tip the balance just yet. Abberline is stuck.
Thomas sketched Franco from memory, although he wouldn’t be able to write up this particular aspect of the story for his newspaper. The British secret service was notoriously reluctant to see any news story in print that revealed what they did – or what they failed to do. That included publishing the activities of foreign spies, unless permission was granted by the most senior members of government. Thomas doubted that Franco’s search for golden statues smuggled into Britain by a knight of the realm would ever receive clearance for publication. However, Thomas Lloyd hoped to write a book one day about his time with Inspector Abberline. Perhaps his notes about Franco Cavalli wouldn’t be wasted. Meanwhile, Franco had been allocated a room where he could rest before being taken to the railway station at Porthmadog.
Inspector Abberline could have been magically transformed into a statue himself – the man didn’t speak, he didn’t move. He gazed at the Welsh landscape for fully ten minutes. No doubt the man didn’t actually notice the thousands of trees or magnificent mountains. Thomas knew that he gazed on an inner-gallery of mental images: of the secret pagan shrine at Fairfax Manor; at the uncannily preserved face of Joshua Denby. No doubt he brooded over the subtlest of clues; the slightest oddity of human behaviour – or the unwitting slip of a tongue that might betray a wrong-doer.
At last, Abberline inhaled deeply. ‘Thomas.’ He spoke in a calm, thoughtful voice. ‘Thomas, I have set a trap for our suspect.’ He turned from the window. ‘And it worked.’
Thomas rose to his feet. ‘A trap? What kind of trap?’
‘A certain something to make the killer act rashly.’
‘‘You mean to say you’ve tricked the killer into revealing themselves?’
‘I believe we’re dealing with more than one individual. There has been a conspiracy to slay the Denby brothers.’
Thomas couldn’t keep still. Excitement crackled through him – a searing electricity that made him want to demand to hear the name of the murderers. Yet he forced himself to listen, rather than fire questions at Abberline.
Abberline extended one hand to Thomas, palm upwards. Two strands of cotton, three inches or so in length lay across the palm. ‘The trap.’ Abberline nodded with satisfaction. ‘I suspect one of the killers is here in this house.’
‘How do two pieces of thread tell you that?’
‘This morning I set my trap. See the cloth covering the blackboard? I threaded one piece of cotton through two small holes at the bottom of the cloth. That meant the flap of the sheet at the front of the blackboard was loosely connected to the flap at the back. The other length of cotton I trapped between the door and the door frame when we left this morning. I locked the door and took the key with me.’
‘Ah.’ Thomas began to understand. ‘When you got back, the door was still locked, but?’
‘But this piece of white thread was on the floor. I made sure the thread was tightly trapped between the door and its jamb, so it simply wouldn’t slip out.’
‘Therefore, someone u
nlocked the door, opened it, the cotton fell to the floor, and then presumably they came in here … what were they looking for?’
‘The intruder wanted to read what was written on the blackboard. Remember, I made a point of turning the blackboard to the wall before we interviewed the domestic staff. Yet I intended the blackboard to be noticeable. No doubt the staff wondered what was written there.’
‘But only a person desperate to see what was chalked on the board would risk dismissal by taking a pass key and entering the room.’
Abberline nodded. He lifted the hem of the sheet that covered the board. ‘When I returned after Cavalli had been caught I saw that the two flaps of the sheet had been parted – the cotton strand had been pulled out of the corresponding holes. Of course, the thread so loosely connected the two halves of the sheet that anyone lifting it, like so, would never have noticed the thread stretching between front and back ….’ Abberline gently raised the part of the sheet that concealed the words on the board. ‘Now our intruder could read what’s written here. But they wouldn’t realize that they’ve sprung the trap.’
‘Did you place any strands of cotton on the drawers?’ Thomas approached the table where Abberline kept his notes and the photograph found in the coffin. ‘Because it seems to me as if the intruder wanted to search the room.’
‘I did. There are pieces of thread between the drawers and surrounding woodwork. None has been disturbed.’
‘What does this tell you, Inspector?’
‘Someone had a burning need to see what we’d written on the blackboard. Now, Thomas, look at the board closely. What do you notice?’
‘Letters have been smudged.’
‘How many?’
‘Only two. The first two letters of Leonard in the name Leonard Guntersson.’
‘Exactly.’
‘It’s not badly smudged.’ Thomas examined the name that had been written in green chalk. ‘It’s as if the person who came in here touched the letters for some reason.’
‘How it looks to me, Thomas, is that the intruder didn’t have much time. They knew they were taking a risk. They could be discovered at any moment. The drawers in the table must have been tempting to search for information. However, in order to save precious seconds, the intruder hurried straight to the blackboard.’ He pointed at the chalked names. ‘Because they suspect that the information they need is right here. That’s why they gave this board priority.’
‘Leonard Guntersson. He was a known associate of Sir Alfred Denby.’
‘We know, also, from police records that he was convicted of dealing in stolen antiquities. He spent twelve months in jail.’
‘Can he be linked to the Gods of Rome?’
‘Unfortunately not. However, Guntersson had been questioned by the police on numerous occasions about the buying and selling stolen artefacts. More accurately, I should refer to the man as “the late Leonard Guntersson”, because he died several years ago, though I don’t have a date of death.’
‘Do you think our suspect intended to rub out the name, but was disturbed?’
‘No. What it indicates,’ Abberline said, ‘is human nature. If we read something that is important to us … words that resonate emotionally. We tend to do this.’ He lightly touched the board. ‘We run our finger along the bottom of the word that is significant. In this case, it’s the name Leonard Guntersson. Look closely, the chalk is only smudged at the bottom of the letters L and E.’
Thomas nodded. ‘So, an occupant of this house found a pass key this morning. Unlocked the door. Read what was on the board, smudging the letters.’
‘And the name that nailed their attention was this one.’ Abberline pointed at the name chalked in green. ‘Leonard Guntersson, deceased.’
‘Do you have a name for the suspect?’
‘I hope to have soon.’
Abberline didn’t have chance to elaborate. At that very moment a woman’s scream reverberated along the corridor outside. A scream of panic, despair, and absolute horror.
CHAPTER 34
The woman’s scream sent both men running into the corridor. Thomas saw a maid rushing toward the nurse, who looked after Mr and Mrs Denby’s daughter.
The maid cried out in panic to the nurse. ‘Come quick! Edith’s been taken bad … the child cannot breathe!’
The nurse picked up her skirts and ran toward the maid. ‘Has Edith had her medicine?’
‘Yes, Nurse! I gave her it myself … right on the stroke of four o’ clock! Edith took two spoons!’
‘Where is Edith now?’
‘In her bedroom. Oh, please do come quick! I fear for the little mite’s life!’
The maid and the nurse ran in the direction of the stairs.
‘Poor Edith,’ sighed Thomas to Abberline. ‘I wish there was something we could do to help.’
‘I’m sure the child is in good hands. What’s important for us is that we keep to our work. We need to find the individuals who murdered William’s brothers before they kill him, too.’
Thomas Lloyd closed the office door behind them. Inspector Abberline returned to the blackboard where he fixed his sharp eyes on the name written there in green chalk: leonard guntersson. He examined where the letters L and E had been smudged.
‘The late Mr Guntersson is significant in all this,’ Abberline declared. ‘Yet for the life of me I don’t see how he fits into this case.’
Thomas checked the names in the file that Abberline had brought with him from Scotland Yard. ‘There is no date of death, yet it does state that he died of natural causes.’
‘It’s time to use a trick an old detective taught me … a trick that utilizes imagination.’ Abberline took a piece of chalk and drew a square in the top right hand corner of the blackboard where there were no names. ‘The detective insisted that human beings notice more details in the world around them than they realize. He told me that when we are stumped for an answer, which I am now, that it is time to employ his imagination technique. He said that I should draw a picture frame.’ He tapped the chalked square on the board. ‘Then I should look at it, and visualize a face inside the frame. Sometimes, if we are lucky–’ Abberline gave a grim smile – ‘our imagination walks hand-in-hand with instinct, and we see the suspect in our mind’s eye.’
He took three paces back from the blackboard where he gazed steadily at the chalked outline of the square for a moment. Then he slowly closed his eyes.
Suddenly, he grunted. Opening his eyes, he walked to the board and chalked a name there.
Elsewhere in the house there was commotion. The nurse, the maid, and Edith’s parents would be gathering by the girl’s bed. Thomas Lloyd had failed to dispel mental images of fraught faces as they watched the child fighting for breath. Her hair would be damp from the hard physical effort of drawing air into her diseased lungs. There would be cries. Anguished shouts. Calls for more medicine. Windows flung open to admit the fresh breeze. Mr and Mrs Denby would pray that their daughter could catch her breath, that the crisis would pass, that she would relax back onto the pillow with her breath coming in easy lungfuls … not choking … not a painful gasping for breath.
Here, in the room that served as Inspector Abberline’s office, the atmosphere was serene. The detective gazed in wonder at the name he’d written inside the square that he’d just moments ago chalked on the board.
Thomas read the name, ‘Miss Groom?’
When Abberline spoke it was with a note of surprise. ‘The only face I could visualize in that square was Miss Groom. At first I thought my instinct had duped me. The housekeeper? No, I told myself. It can’t be.’
‘You said you used imagination to visualize the suspect’s face. Surely, you have simply guessed?’
‘No, Thomas … not a guess. The clues are there. They are slight. In fact, they are the subtlest of clues. But they are there. They exist!’ He used the chalk to blaze a white streak beneath the name. ‘Miss Groom. She has been employed by the Denby family for sixteen years.
Of the domestic staff, only she and the butler would have access to the household pass keys. Therefore, she could have unlocked the door this morning, read what was on the blackboard then locked the door again before going about her duties.’
‘Equally, the butler must be a suspect. He has worked for the Denby family since he was a boy. He would have a key to this room, too.’
‘But no clues attach to the butler. However, they do attach to Miss Groom. Remember when she came in here yesterday? I’d deliberately kept the blackboard facing outwards so the wording could clearly be seen, instead of turning it to face the wall as I’ve done in the past. Do you remember what happened?’
‘She viewed the room with a great deal of displeasure. She clearly dismissed us as untidy louts.’
‘So she did, but she also gave the blackboard, and what what’s written upon it, very close attention.’
‘I see … another trap?’
‘In a manner of speaking. I wanted to find out if the list of names would be of particular interest to anyone entering our office. She stood absolutely still when she noticed these names. In fact, her body went rigid as she stared at the board. There was no way of knowing which name seized her attention, of course. But, just for a moment, nothing else in the world mattered to her. I then turned the board round so she wouldn’t have the opportunity to read more.’
‘And, later, she returned to the room to check the names?’
‘I believe so. Moreover, we’ve now identified the name that was important to her.’ He pointed at the name printed in green. ‘Leonard Guntersson.’
‘Miss Groom, therefore, knows him.’
‘I think she must. The name means something to her.’
Thomas frowned. ‘Is that enough to suggest that she is implicated in the Denby murders?’
‘Not in itself. After all, she may have simply been curious about our work.’
‘Perhaps she knew Guntersson by chance? Maybe she worked for him in the past?’
‘I might agree that in other circumstances all this could be coincidence, and that she was merely being nosy, and that she returned to this room while we were out in order to satisfy her idle curiosity. However, she knowingly risked dismissal. William Denby made sure the staff knew that they were forbidden to come in here unless invited by me. No, the truth of the matter is this: Miss Groom has been deceiving us. In fact, she has made it her business to deceive everyone in the house.’