Murder at the British Museum

by Jim Eldridge

‘Honest?’ hazarded Daniel with a smile.

  ‘Let’s say he does everything by the book.’

  ‘Joe has contacts with constables all over London.’

  ‘Who are always grateful for a small remuneration in exchange for information,’ said Dalton.

  ‘But you haven’t written anything about the letters before,’ said Abigail. ‘At least, I’m sure we would have known if anything had appeared in the newspapers.’

  ‘I thought it might be counterproductive,’ said Dalton.

  ‘What do you know?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘I know there was a stake-out with the police waiting to pick up anyone who turned up to collect a ransom of £1,000. And that no one turned up. Which suggested it was a hoax. So that’s why I kept a lid on it for the moment. I thought there might be a bigger story. And it looks like I might be right. I got a message today telling me that an arrest was made of a young man called Edward Chapman. And I remembered that was the name of one of the young men who did the damage that day when I was at the museum.’

  ‘We never told you his name,’ said Abigail.

  ‘You didn’t need to,’ said Dalton.

  ‘Someone inside the museum,’ said Daniel.

  Dalton smiled again. ‘It’s always useful to have good contacts. So, the story?’

  ‘You might want to talk to John Feather,’ suggested Daniel.

  ‘And I will,’ said Dalton. ‘But it would be useful to get the story from you before I do.’ He smiled. ‘Remember, Daniel, you owe me for not writing about those two young toffs who did the damage at the museum. Mr Chapman and his pal.’

  ‘Payback?’ enquired Daniel.

  ‘I call it fair’s fair,’ said Dalton. ‘And there’s no reason anyone should know it came from you. John Feather knows I have my snouts inside the force. He’ll guess my information came from them. At least, that’s what I’ll tell him.’

  ‘I can’t do that to John,’ said Daniel. ‘He’s an honest copper. But what I will do is give you the story as we know it, but I’ll tell him I did that. Then it’s up to him what he says to you.’

  ‘Was Armstrong in on the bust?’ asked Dalton.

  Daniel shook his head.

  ‘So, it wasn’t connected with the murders,’ said Dalton.

  ‘Inspector Feather deserves the credit for this,’ said Daniel. ‘He was the officer in charge.’

  ‘So why are you two here?’

  ‘Let’s say we had information that was of help to Inspector Feather.’

  ‘These threatening letters were sent by this Edward Chapman?’

  ‘That’s the allegation. It will be up to the trial to say whether he’s guilty or not.’

  ‘And how was he caught? Because my information says no one turned up to collect the ransom money.’

  ‘Good dogged police work on the part of Inspector Feather,’ said Daniel.

  ‘And a tip-off from Daniel Wilson and Miss Abigail Fenton,’ said Dalton. ‘How did you do it? How did you work out it was Chapman?’

  ‘Let’s just say information came to us,’ said Daniel. ‘Just like it comes to you. But, like you, we can’t reveal our sources.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Dalton. ‘Will it annoy Superintendent Armstrong if I mention you in the article?’

  ‘That depends on what you say about us,’ said Daniel.

  Dalton grinned. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

  ‘What will he say about us?’ asked Abigail as Dalton walked jauntily away.

  ‘Something calculated to annoy Armstrong,’ replied Daniel. ‘Joe doesn’t like him, and he knows the superintendent doesn’t like me. But Joe’s a fair man. He’ll make sure that John Feather gets the proper credit.’

  ‘So,’ said Abigail, ‘with one crime officially solved – the extortion demands – what’s our next move?’

  ‘Jedding,’ said Daniel. ‘With what you got from your friend Charles, it’s obvious that Pickering did steal Jedding’s work. The question is: did Jedding kill Pickering and then kill himself in a fit of remorse? In which case, who killed Whetstone on his behalf? Or did Jedding not kill Pickering, in which case who did – and again, did they do it in revenge for what Jedding had suffered at the hands of Pickering and Whetstone?’

  ‘It’s the timing of Jedding’s suicide that’s the puzzle,’ said Abigail. ‘He killed himself shortly after Pickering was stabbed to death, which does tend to suggest he did it because of guilt.’

  ‘So, we find out who felt so strongly about the way Jedding had been treated that they killed Whetstone. Which means we go back to Balfe Street and see if we can persuade Mrs Jedding to let us know who was closest to her late husband.’

  ‘She wasn’t very forthcoming when I saw her,’ said Abigail. ‘In fact, she refused to talk about him and slammed the door in my face.’

  ‘Maybe we’ll have better luck this time,’ said Daniel.

  Abigail had to admit that she felt reassured on her return to Balfe Street to have Daniel with her. He exuded a confident strength as he walked through the narrow streets, and although the curtains twitched as they did before, at the sight of him the children playing in the street scattered and disappeared.

  ‘They know I’m a copper,’ said Daniel. ‘Even though I’m not, they can sense the walk and look.’

  This time there was no answer at the Jeddings’ house to Daniel’s knock. Daniel tried knocking at the houses on either side, but again there was no response.

  ‘Like I said, they think I’m a copper,’ said Daniel.

  ‘The man at the rag-and-bone shop at the end of the street was approachable,’ suggested Abigail.

  ‘Let’s hope he’s still of the same opinion’ said Daniel.

  They made their way to the rag-and-bone shop and found the owner sitting on a chair outside his shop.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ said Abigail.

  ‘Afternoon,’ said the man. ‘Back again, eh?’ He looked at Daniel. ‘And this time with company. Copper?’

  ‘Not any longer,’ said Daniel. ‘Private investigator, along with this lady.’

  ‘Investigating the murders at the British Museum.’ The man nodded.

  ‘You’ve heard about the second one,’ said Daniel.

  The man shrugged. ‘You’d be surprised how fast word spreads. Another stabbing, they say.’

  ‘And they’d be right,’ said Daniel. He looked up at the sigh above the door. ‘Am I addressing Mr Flood?’

  ‘Billy Flood,’ said the man. ‘That’s me, and proud to put my name over this shop. People round here know me for a fair and honest man to deal with.’ He looked at Abigail. ‘Last time you were asking about poor old William Jedding.’

  ‘This time we’re looking for Mrs Jedding,’ said Abigail. ‘But there’s no answer at her house.’

  ‘That because she’s away,’ said Flood.

  ‘Away?’

  ‘She got fed up with all the looks she was getting over poor old William topping himself the way he did. The shame of it. So she took herself off.’

  ‘Do you know where?’ asked Daniel.

  Flood looked at him and said warily, ‘I might. But I’m a trader. Information is the same as any other commodity.’

  Daniel took a coin from his pocket and held it concealed in his fist.

  ‘And what’s the price?’ he asked.

  Flood studied him, then said, ‘Let’s say I hope that’s something better than a shilling you’re holding.’

  Daniel opened his hand to reveal a florin, a two-shilling piece. The man reached for it, but Daniel closed his hand again and said, ‘I need something better than a promise first.’

  ‘The Isle of Dogs,’ said Flood. ‘She’s got a cousin there.’ He gestured at Daniel’s closed hand. ‘That’ll get you her name and address.’

  Daniel handed the florin over. The man pocketed it then said, ‘Daisy Rennie. 12 East Ferry Road. Close to the football ground. Do you know it?’

  ‘The Athletic Ground,’ replied Daniel. ‘Home of Millwall Athl
etic. Formerly Millwall Rovers.’

  ‘Football fan,’ said Flood with a smile.

  ‘Not necessarily. Let’s just say when I was in the force we spent many a time at most of London’s football grounds, so I got to know most of them.’

  ‘Football and money, Inspector,’ said Flood. ‘It can be a deadly combination.’

  ‘Like I said before, I’m not on the force any more. Not an inspector.’

  ‘But you were,’ said Flood. ‘Inspector Wilson. I remember you. Your picture was in the papers when you was part of old Fred Abberline’s squad, especially around the time of the Ripper. Never caught him, did you.’

  ‘Not for want of trying,’ said Daniel. He tipped his hat. ‘Thank you for the trade, Mr Flood. I hope it doesn’t turn out to be a fool’s errand.’

  ‘I only pass on what I hear. I can’t guarantee it.’

  ‘And where did you hear this piece of information?’

  Flood looked at him, shocked. ‘More info for the same money?’

  ‘Just a piece of added insurance,’ said Daniel. ‘I’d hate to go all the way to the Isle of Dogs and find out I’d been had. If that happened, I’d be in a very bad mood.’

  Flood shifted uneasily on his chair, then said reluctantly, ‘Kathleen Purvis. Lives next door to the Jeddings. She told me.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Daniel. ‘By the way, what’s Mrs Jedding’s first name?’

  ‘Peg,’ said Flood.

  As they walked away from Flood and his shop, Abigail asked, ‘Are we going to check out his information with this Kathleen Purvis?’

  ‘No,’ said Daniel. ‘She didn’t answer the door when we knocked there before, and I’ve been watching, no one’s gone into her house. Tomorrow we’ll go to the Isle of Dogs. And if it does turn out to be a waste of time, then we’ll talk to Kathleen Purvis. And I’ll have words with Mr Flood again.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  The next morning as Daniel and Abigail left their house to make their way to the Isle of Dogs, they were startled to see the figure of Ned Carson loitering by the kerb outside. He moved towards them as the front door opened, waving a copy of a newspaper.

  ‘Can I have a word, Mr Wilson?’ he called.

  Daniel murmured to Abigail, ‘Better leave this to me.’

  ‘I can handle myself,’ insisted Abigail.

  ‘Please,’ said Daniel. ‘I promise I won’t lose my temper and do something we’ll regret.’

  ‘Promise?’ she asked.

  ‘I promise,’ he said. He smiled. ‘In fact, looking at your face at this moment, I think there’s more chance of you inflicting damage on him than me. It’s lucky there isn’t a shovel nearby.’

  Abigail nodded, then walked back into the house, leaving Daniel to turn and face Carson.

  ‘I see Joe Dalton’s got a piece in the paper where he quotes you, and your friend Miss Fenton,’ said Carson, tapping the copy of the Telegraph.

  ‘And Inspector Feather,’ said Daniel.

  ‘True. But what he doesn’t say is what the relationship is between you and Miss Fenton.’

  ‘Why should he?’

  ‘Yes, well, that’s not his style, I suppose.’

  ‘But it is yours.’

  ‘The people who read the People’s Voice like the personal angle. Now, I can understand you may not want your personal life all over the papers. Nor that of Miss Fenton. So, I was wondering if there was room for some sort of cooperation between us.’

  Daniel said nothing, just watched Carson and waited. This was exactly what he’d been expecting.

  ‘You see, this is a big case. Two murders at the British Museum, one after the other. Sounds like a bastion of the Empire is under threat. Is there a bigger story here? Now I don’t know, but I’m sure that you do.’ He tapped the copy of the Telegraph again. ‘You’ve been helpful to Joe Dalton, so why not be helpful to me? After all, me and him are in the same business, informing the public. And that way I won’t feel the need to mention about your private arrangements. You and Miss Fenton aren’t married, I believe.’

  Daniel felt the urge to punch Carson, wipe the smirk off his face, but he bore in mind what Abigail had said to him. Ignore it. Instead, forcing himself to remain calm and polite, he said, ‘I believe you’re mistaken on quite a few points, Mr Carson. One is that I would give you any information in exchange for you not writing about my private life. That would be responding to threats and blackmail, which – as you know – would be condoning a criminal offence.’

  ‘Now, look!’ exclaimed Carson defensively. ‘I never said anything about blackmail!’

  ‘The second mistake is to suggest that you and Joe Dalton are in the same line of business. You’re not. He is a news reporter. You peddle gossip and innuendo for the titillation of your alleged readers. I’m always prepared to talk to a proper reporter. I’m not prepared to talk to you. Good day.’

  Daniel turned on his heel. Behind him, Carson shouted, ‘You’ll regret this, Wilson! I’ll ruin you! And your woman!’

  Angered by the reference to Abigail, Daniel spun round and was about to lunge at Carson, when he stopped himself. That would just give Carson the perfect story. Instead, he said, ‘Be careful, Mr Carson. Bad deeds having a habit of returning to haunt you. I believe in India they call it karma.’

  The door of the house opened, and Abigail appeared.

  ‘Well done!’ she congratulated him warmly.

  ‘I still wanted to punch him when he talked about you.’

  ‘Yes, but you didn’t. And that’s what matters.’

  Their journey by rail to the Isle of Dogs entailed a change at Fenchurch Street on to the London and Blackwall Railway to Millwall Docks Station.

  ‘Looking at the names of the stations we’ll be going through, many of them seem to be associated with docks,’ observed Abigail. ‘West India Dock. East India Dock.’

  ‘That’s because the Isle of Dogs is at the very heart of London’s dockland. Ships from all over the world come up the Thames to it. It’s a perfect docking place for large ships because it’s surrounded on three sides by the Thames. It’s one of the largest loops in the river.’

  Abigail took in the passing views as the train trundled on, crossing the river and then making its way south. As Daniel had said, the area was dominated by docks and wharves, with ships of sail and also of steam moored in massive numbers.

  ‘This line is mainly used for goods,’ added Daniel. ‘All that cargo being unloaded and then onto goods trains heading for London, and every other place in Britain.’ He leant forward and pointed. ‘We’re not far from Millwall Docks now, and we’ll be passing the football ground soon.’

  ‘How do you know so much about football?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know where Millwall football club play, but it’s not as if it’s local to you.’

  ‘We always kept a watch when there was a big football match on,’ said Daniel. ‘Pickpocketing’s rife when you get a large crowd, and at Millwall games can get a crowd of ten thousand. Sometimes more. Lots of illegal business happening on the fringes which needed an eye kept on them. Also, football supporters are very tribal, so sometimes there could be trouble between rival fans. But I’m sure you know about that, being a Cambridge student.’

  Abigail looked at him, puzzled. ‘The social aspects of football supporters was not something we studied at Girton.’

  ‘I’m talking about sporting rivalry,’ said Daniel. ‘The annual Boat Race between Oxford and Cambridge has always been an absolute nightmare for the police, with gangs of rival students, usually drunk, rioting in the streets, attacking each other and generally causing mayhem.’

  ‘I can assure you I have never rioted in my life,’ said Abigail. ‘And to be honest, although – as a Cambridge graduate – I’m always interested in the outcome of the Boat Race, it doesn’t rate as of that great an importance.’

  ‘Well that’s the difference between you and a football club supporter. Most f
ootball clubs have come about through the people who live and work in a particular area playing for their firm’s football team. Millwall, for example, was formed by workers at the Morton’s Canning and Preserves factory in Millwall in 1885. Woolwich Arsenal, as the name suggests, was made up of munitions workers at Woolwich Royal Arsenal. As a result, these teams have fierce local loyalty; it’s not just a football team, it’s their workmates out there on that pitch playing for their reputation. That’s why things get so heated. Unlike the students on Boat Race night, who are just out to cause mayhem.’

  ‘I think you’re being unfair,’ said Abigail. ‘Students work very hard. The Boat Race and similar events are their chance to let off steam.’

  ‘By attacking police officers who try and keep order and protect property, and in return have their helmets stolen?’

  ‘We’re talking about a minority of students who engage in that kind of behaviour,’ said Abigail. ‘I’m glad to say I never encountered any when I was at Cambridge.’

  ‘That’s because you were at Girton, a women’s college, and without exception the hooligans I’m talking about were male. And nearly all of them from upper class families who are supposed to represent proper social behaviour, but who turn a blind eye to their delinquent sons’ behaviour and excuse it – as you say – as “letting off steam”. In my book it’s still causing criminal damage and assault.’

  Abigail laughed. ‘I do love it when you get on your high horse.’ She chuckled. ‘You sound like one of these radical politicians. I’m surprised you don’t stand for Parliament.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Daniel. ‘My experiences with politicians have not endeared me to them. I’m always reminded of the saying that you can tell when a politician’s lying because their lips move.’

  Feather answered the call from the superintendent, and as soon as he entered Armstrong’s office he knew that whatever he had been summoned for did not bode well. The superintendent was banging one of his fists angrily on his desk as he read a newspaper spread out before him.

  ‘You sent for me, sir?’ said Feather.

  ‘This is a disgrace!’ growled Armstrong.