by Jim Eldridge
‘We need to talk to the cleaners again,’ said Abigail. ‘Now.’
‘Ada Watson lives just a few streets away,’ said Sharp. ‘I’ll go and ask her.’
‘Would you mind if one of us accompanied you?’ asked Abigail.
‘I’d welcome it,’ said Sharp. ‘You know the questions to ask.’
‘You go,’ said Daniel to Abigail. ‘I’ll stay here and wait for Inspector Feather.’
Ada Watson’s address was a small terraced house in a narrow street not too far from the museum. Herbert Sharp’s knocking at the door was answered by a girl of about nine.
‘Is your mother in?’ asked Sharp.
The girl looked at Sharp and Abigail with suspicion.
‘Why?’ she demanded. ‘Who wants to know?’
‘Who is it, Isobel?’ came Ada’s voice from inside the house.
‘It’s Mr Sharp, Mrs Watson,’ Sharp called out. ‘From the museum.’
Ada appeared at the door, wearing an apron and wiping her hands on a towel.
‘I’m just doing a wash,’ she explained. She looked down at the girl. ‘You can go now, Isobel.’
Isobel gave Sharp and Abigail a sour look, then departed into the house.
‘She’s a pain, that girl,’ she said. ‘If she was mine I’d give her the back of my hand, but I’m looking after her for a neighbour who’s in hospital.’ She cast a glance down the passage to make sure Isobel wasn’t within hearing, then lowered her voice and confided: ‘They don’t reckon she’s got long, and Isobel knows it, so I don’t like to be too hard on her. But what can I do for you? Is something wrong again at the museum?’
‘I’m afraid there is,’ said Sharp. ‘A man’s been found dead in the anteroom off the Grand Hall.’
Ada stared at them, bewildered.
‘Dead?’ she repeated, shocked.
‘Raymond Simpson,’ said Sharp. ‘One of the attendants. A young man.’
Ada shook her head. ‘I didn’t know him. We don’t really have anything to do with the attendants; we’re gone before they get there. How did he die?’
‘We won’t know until the police have examined the body,’ said Abigail. ‘But we’re sure he was murdered. He was found wrapped in a roll of cloth. There’s no other reason the body would have been hidden in that way.’
‘It was left beside a dinosaur skeleton,’ said Sharp. ‘Did you see anything like that this morning?’
‘No,’ said Ada. ‘But I don’t do the anteroom. That’s Dolly and Tess Tilly. But they didn’t say about seeing anything like that. And they’d have said if they’d seen something out of the ordinary.’
‘It would be best if we had a word with them,’ Abigail said to Sharp.
Sharp nodded and asked Ada, ‘Do you have their address?’
‘They’re over Paddington way,’ replied Ada. ‘If you hang on, I’ve got their address written down somewhere. I won’t be a minute.’
With that, she hurried indoors, muttering to herself in amazement: ‘Murder. Whatever next?’
‘I hope Miss Scott will be all right,’ Dawson Turner murmured to Daniel. ‘I know she’s doing her best to hide it, but she’s very upset.’
Daniel and the trustee were standing not far from the reception desk, waiting for the arrival of the police, where Evelyn Scott, the subject of their conversation, was giving instructions in an urgent tone to the man on duty, who nodded obediently.
‘She seems very organised in a crisis,’ commented Daniel.
‘Oh yes, she is. There’s no doubt about that,’ said Turner. ‘I’ve only been on the board of trustees here for just over a month, but already I’ve been impressed by her efficiency.’ Suddenly his attention was caught by the arrival of a well-dressed man in his fifties. ‘Mason!’ Turner called. To Daniel, he said: ‘Mason Radley. Another of the museum’s trustees. An excellent man.’
Radley hurried to join them.
‘I thought it was you I saw here earlier, Mason,’ said Turner, cheerfully.
‘What do you mean, earlier?’ demanded Radley, puzzled.
‘Just before they found poor Raymond’s body,’ said Turner.
‘What are you talking about?’ asked Radley. ‘I’ve only just arrived. Who’s Raymond? And what’s this about his body? I came because I had a letter from Miss Scott about some damage to a dinosaur skeleton, and I find the place in uproar. Areas closed off.’
‘One of the attendants has been killed,’ said Daniel. ‘Murdered, by all accounts.’
Radley stared at him. ‘Murdered?’ Then he frowned, suspicious. ‘Who are you?’
‘This is Daniel Wilson,’ said Turner. ‘It’s in Miss Scott’s letter. She’s hired him and his partner, Abigail Fenton, to find out who was behind the damage to the skeleton, and now they’ve got a murder to solve.’ He frowned, puzzled. ‘You sure it wasn’t you I saw earlier? I thought I saw you coming up from the conveniences in the basement.’
‘Absolutely not,’ said Radley, in firm tones. ‘As I said, I’ve only just arrived and found this … situation. It must have been someone who looked like me.’
Looking at Mason Radley, Daniel reflected to himself that there would be very few people who looked like him. It wasn’t just the suit, made of some shiny fabric, but the thatch of red hair, along with his large red beard, that seemed to stick out in all directions.
‘So, what’s happening?’ asked Radley. ‘Have the police been sent for?’
‘They have,’ said Daniel. ‘We’re expecting them to arrive at any moment.’
Radley looked uncomfortable. ‘In that case, I think I’ll make my departure. The last thing someone in my position needs is to be caught up in a police investigation. Especially as I wasn’t even here when it happened.’ He looked questioningly at Daniel. ‘Murdered, you say?’
Daniel nodded.
‘How?’
‘We won’t know until the police arrive and we’re able to unwrap the body,’ said Daniel.
‘Unwrap it?’
‘It was left wrapped in some cloth and tied to a dinosaur skeleton,’ said Turner.
‘The one that was smashed?’ asked Radley.
‘No, a different one. The smashed one was found yesterday. The dead body was this morning. When Sir Henry Irving and Ellen Terry were here.’
Radley looked at both men, stunned.
‘My God. The world’s going mad. I must leave. I’m sure Miss Scott will keep me informed of any developments.’
‘Yes, I think I’ll go with you,’ said Turner. He turned to Daniel. ‘Or will I be needed to answer questions, do you think? Only, I have an appointment with my solicitor that I need to keep.’
‘I’m sure that will be fine,’ said Daniel. ‘The museum knows where to get in touch with you if the police need to talk to you.’
‘Hurry up, Turner, if you’re coming,’ urged Radley. ‘Let’s get out of here before the police arrive.’
Daniel watched the two men hurry towards the exit to Cromwell Road, Mason Radley shepherding Dawson Turner in some haste. Miss Scott appeared beside Daniel.
‘Was that Mason Radley I saw?’ she asked.
‘It was,’ said Daniel. ‘He’d come because of your letter about the damaged skeleton, but as soon as he heard about the murder and learnt that the police were on their way, he expressed a desire to leave.’
‘Yes, I’ve noticed that Mr Radley appears to have a certain antipathy to the forces of authority,’ said Scott. ‘I don’t know why. He’s a very successful businessman. He owns a tea company, which imports tea from his own plantation in India.’
‘I know of many successful businessmen who prefer to avoid contact with the authorities,’ commented Daniel, wryly. ‘I think they worry about taxation on their profits.’ The arrival of three men caught his eye, and he smiled. ‘Inspector Feather is here,’ he said. ‘And his boss,’ he added, as he recognised the bulky and grumpy-looking figure of Superintendent Armstrong. A uniformed constable followed both men.
‘Yo
u’re here, I see, Wilson.’ Armstrong sniffed in obvious disapproval. ‘Jumping the gun a bit, aren’t you? Butting in on a case before the police have even taken a look.’
‘We weren’t here because of the dead man,’ explained Daniel. ‘The museum asked us to look into an act of vandalism. A dinosaur skeleton was smashed. Unfortunately, the constable who came said the police were unable to do anything, so the museum asked us to investigate.’
‘Us?’ queried Armstrong. ‘Let me guess, you’re still working with Miss Fenton?’
‘I am indeed,’ said Daniel. He gestured towards the curator, who had been watching this exchange. ‘This is Miss Scott, the curator of the museum.’
Armstrong nodded. ‘Superintendent Armstrong from Scotland Yard. This is Inspector Feather.’
Feather smiled and reached out to shake Miss Scott’s hand.
‘I have spent many happy hours in this museum, Miss Scott,’ he said. ‘It gives me great pleasure to be able to say thank you to you for such a wonderful institution.’
Armstrong scowled. ‘Yes, well, I think that’s enough of the social pleasantries for the moment. Your note said a murder had been committed.’
‘Yes,’ said Scott. ‘His body was found wrapped in cloth in the anteroom off the Grand Hall. He’s one of our attendants; Raymond Simpson.’
‘Raymond Simpson?’ said Armstrong in surprise. Then he shook his head. ‘It can’t be the same one.’
Daniel followed Armstrong and Feather as they in turn were led by Miss Scott into the smaller exhibition room. She gestured at the head exposed by the pulled-back cloth. ‘Here,’ she said.
Daniel looked at Armstrong and saw the superintendent’s expression harden.
‘It is him,’ he announced. He turned to Scott. ‘Who found him?’
‘Mr Sharp, our maintenance manager,’ she said, before correcting herself. ‘No, it was Mr Sharp who reported it, but it was a visitor who actually discovered the body. Mr Stoker.’
Armstrong stared at her, a look of almost delight on his face.
‘Not Mr Bram Stoker from the Lyceum Theatre?’
‘Yes,’ said Scott. ‘He was here with Sir Henry Irving and Miss Ellen Terry to view the exhibition. They arrived before it was opened to the public.’
‘And where are they now?’
‘They left,’ said Scott. ‘Mr Stoker said it was imperative they leave before it was known what had taken place.’
‘I bet he did.’ Armstrong breathed with a grim expression of satisfaction. He turned to Daniel. ‘Were you here when that happened?’
‘I was here when Mr Sharp and Mr Stoker came out of this room. Mr Stoker approached Sir Henry and Miss Terry and said they had to leave. At the same time one of the trustees arrived …’
‘A Mr Turner,’ added Scott. ‘I’d sent letters to all the trustees to advise them of the malicious damage that had been done yesterday.’
‘Malicious damage?’ asked Armstrong.
‘The skeleton of an iguanodon Mr Wilson referred to. It was smashed.’
‘Forget the smashed skeleton,’ said Armstrong dismissively. ‘Let’s get back to why we’re here: this dead man. You said your maintenance manager, Mr Sharp, was with Mr Stoker when the body was found. I need to talk to him.’
‘He’s not here at the moment,’ put in Daniel. ‘He’s gone with Miss Fenton to talk to the cleaners to discover if they were aware of the body.’
Armstrong gave a sniff that suggested disapproval. ‘And Stoker? Where did he head for?’ he demanded.
‘I assume he went to the Lyceum,’ said Scott.
‘Did he? Right, then that’s where I’m headed,’ said Armstrong, determinedly. ‘Inspector Feather, you carry on with the investigation here. I’ll see you back at the Yard.’
With that, the superintendent marched off.
Miss Scott looked in some bewilderment at Daniel and Feather.
‘Surely the superintendent doesn’t think that Mr Stoker had anything to do with this,’ she said. ‘He was just a visitor, and a very distinguished one.’
‘I’m sure the superintendent just wants to hear first-hand from him what he found,’ said Feather, doing his best to reassure her.
‘I hope so, because the fact that the body was tied to a dinosaur suggests this is connected once more to the exhibition and the dispute with the Bone Company.’
‘The Bone Company?’ queried Feather.
‘Perhaps if I explain everything about that to the inspector, after we’ve carried out an examination of the crime scene,’ Daniel suggested to Miss Scott.
‘I’d be grateful for that, Mr Wilson,’ said Miss Scott. ‘If you agree, of course, Inspector.’
‘That will be fine,’ Feather assured her. ‘Mr Wilson and I are old colleagues and used to working together.’
‘In that case, I’ll leave you to do your work while I organise things. I’ll also tell Mrs Smith that you will be needing to look at the letter from Petter and Wardle. I assume you’ll want to show it to the inspector?’
‘That will be perfect,’ said Daniel. ‘Thank you, Miss Scott.’
As the curator left, Feather turned to Daniel and asked: ‘Petter and Wardle?’
‘I’ll explain after we’ve taken a look at the remains,’ said Daniel. ‘Is a doctor on the way?’
Feather shook his head. ‘The superintendent said he’d rather the body was taken to the mortuary at the Yard for examination. I’m here just to make notes, look for anything out of the ordinary.’
Daniel smiled. ‘I’d think a body wrapped up in cloth and tied to a dinosaur fits that description. I didn’t expect the superintendent to put in a personal appearance.’
Feather chuckled. ‘It was the words “Natural History Museum” that did it. I think he was worried that they might contact you, and he wanted to get here and stop that. That’s why he looked so sour when he saw you.’
‘Why? I saved his life. Remember that business at the British Museum?’
‘Yes, but he still resents the publicity you and Abigail are getting. All this stuff in the newspapers about the Museum Detectives.’
‘That doesn’t come from us,’ Daniel said, defensively.
‘I know that, but the super’s very sensitive.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought of “sensitive” as a word to describe the superintendent,’ said Daniel sourly. ‘Crass. Bullying, perhaps.’
‘Sensitive about his reputation,’ explained Feather. ‘And the reputation of the Yard. He’s not keen on private detectives. Thinks they undermine the reputation of the police.’ He chuckled again. ‘Especially when they have successes, like Fred Abberline, and you and Abigail.’
‘We’re lucky because we don’t have the same workload as you at the Yard. If we had to look after a dozen cases at once it might be a very different picture. And you know we don’t see it as a rivalry between us and the Yard.’
‘I know that. But the super doesn’t.’ Feather knelt down beside the roll of cloth. ‘Let’s take a look at the body.’
He peeled the cloth back further from the head, exposing the neck.
‘Strangled,’ he said, pointing to the deep indentation in the skin that ran all the way round the neck. ‘Thin cord, by the look of it.’
‘Possibly the same cord used to tie the label and the body to the skeleton,’ suggested Daniel.
Feather looked at the label and frowned. ‘“The price of treason”,’ he read. ‘Treason about what?’
‘Miss Scott thinks it relates to the purchase of skeletons and this business of the Bone Company, but I’m not so sure,’ said Daniel.
Feather continued to peel the cloth away from the body, unwrapping it, until the dead body of the young man was revealed in his attendant’s uniform. Feather examined the dead man’s hands.
‘No sign of any blood or skin under his nails,’ he commented.
‘I expect he was gripping the cord, trying to release it,’ said Daniel.
Feather stood looking down at the
dead body. ‘He’s young,’ he said. ‘Early twenties, I’d say. Who’d want to kill him?’ He looked at Daniel. ‘Any ideas?’
‘None,’ said Daniel. ‘The question is: was he the target, or is it something to do with the museum itself and the exhibition?’
‘It’s a bit extreme if it is,’ said Feather. He called over the watching uniformed police officer. ‘Constable, I want you to get the body back to the Yard. Put it in the mortuary there. I believe that Dr Holden is expecting it. Leave the cloth wrapped round it, just as it is.’
Feather untied the cardboard message and gathered it up, along with the piece of cord, then turned to Daniel. ‘Now, let’s take a look at this letter of yours and you can fill me in on this Bone Company.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dolly and Tess Tilly’s home was two rooms in the upper floor of a small house not far from Paddington Station. One was a tiny bedroom, and the other was a cramped kitchen where Abigail and Herbert Sharp now sat with Dolly and her daughter.
‘Dead?’ said Tess, and she looked in horror at her mother. Dolly shook her head and looked towards Abigail and Sharp.
‘There was no roll of cloth there when we finished,’ said Dolly, firmly. ‘Nothing out of the ordinary at all. We’d have said if there was. Told Ada.’
‘And you left at your usual time?’ asked Abigail.
Dolly nodded. ‘Half past eight as we always do.’
‘The attendant’s name was Raymond Simpson,’ said Abigail ‘A young man. How well did you know him?’
‘We didn’t know him at all,’ said Dolly. ‘We don’t have anything to do with the day workers, except for Mr Sharp. We’re always gone before the attendants come in to work. We finish at half eight and they come in at nine.’ Then she gave a thoughtful frown and added: ‘Except there have been some occasions when we’ve had to work over, if there’s been a party or something there the night before. There’s always more clearing up to do after a party or an event.’
‘A party?’ asked Abigail.