Unholy Writ

by David Williams

  Certainly the policeman had every reason for trusting Treasure’s judgement and acuity. He was satisfied already that the banker’s philosophical deduction about the irrelevance of Fred the Filipino was probably correct. Treasure had observed that the little foreigner’s evident abhorrence of violence made him a most unlikely suspect as Dankton’s – or anybody else’s – assailant. He had recounted how Fred had baulked at charging the largely defenceless Trapp and PC Humble on the towpath, and how he had considerately eschewed the opportunity to eliminate Treasure himself a moment later.

  Neither Treasure nor Bantree could know that in terms of an earlier experience their explanation of Fred’s conduct was not to the letter accurate, but it certainly accorded with the spirit. If the Vicar and the policeman had not been wielding wooden clubs, then Fred, with a moment more for consideration, would still have found a way of riding safely around instead of inhumanely at them.

  Treasure’s inspired explanation of how Worple had met his death was circumstantially promising enough to make Bantree confident that, given half an hour with the impostor Happenwack, one part of a complicated case could be closed with the certainty of a conviction. Quite how Happenwack fitted into the rest of the affair was still unclear. The brazen confidence of the man demonstrated in general by his presence in the country and in particular through his two confrontations with Treasure evoked a degree of grudging admiration from the Inspector.

  Happenwack’s real name was Leslie March, and in deference to the cloth and living character he had assumed, Bantree was disciplining himself to think of the man by his real name. March was – predictably in the circumstances – an actor, and first cousin to the real Reverend Happenwack, to whom he reportedly bore a close physical resemblance. In the previous year March had obtained a work permit to perform in Britain for six months. Most of this time he had spent treading the boards in minor parts at the Oxford Playhouse, but he had also appeared at theatres in Guildford, Leatherhead and Windsor. His address in England throughout the period had been a cottage in Woodstock where he had lodged with the owner – a certain Eustace Dankton.

  Shortly after his return to the USA, March had been arrested and convicted on drug charges. He would unquestionably have been sent to jail had it not been for the intervention of his cousin, who had not only gone surety for his good conduct but also taken responsibility for his erring relation’s rehabilitation. March had been living with his cousin ever since. Two weeks earlier he had left the clergy house at Roundtop to begin rehearsals for a play with a repertory company in Boston – or so he had told his unsuspecting cousin. In fact, March had left the country using Happenwack’s identity and his passport – a document seldom required and not missed until the New York State Police had demanded to see it a few hours earlier.

  All this information had been awaiting Bantree and Wadkin when they had arrived at Didcot Police Station. Following the arrest of March by the Reading Police, a search of his belongings had disclosed not only two passports – his cousin’s and his own – but also a ticket for the TWA flight to Boston the next day reserved in his own name. One suitcase fully packed with personal belongings and another lightly filled with cotton wool were colouring the nature of the further enquiries in progress at Reading.

  The mild admonition that Bantree decided to direct at Treasure for interrupting the questioning was, in the event, never delivered. Suddenly the door to the ante-room was thrown open, and an obviously angry Scarbuck entered, brushing aside the prohibition of a uniformed policeman who was now standing behind him looking appealingly toward his superior officer.

  ‘All right, Constable, close the door, will you,’ said Bantree. ‘Now, Mr Scarbuck, I’m afraid we’re not quite ready …’

  ‘Well, I’m not ready either to be shut up like a flaming prisoner in my own lounge … my salon,’ the red-faced Scarbuck corrected himself, ‘while you entertain this desiccator and murderer –’ he indicated Moonlight – ‘and his toffee-nosed friend. He’s destroyed half the churchyard, as good as done in poor old Dankton, and as like as not made off with millions of pounds’ worth of my property – or else blown it to smithereens. And all you can do is sit here chatting with him. Put him behind bars! I’ve half a mind to ring the ’Ome Secretary.’

  ‘I wouldn’t do that, Scarbuck, at least not until you’ve heard the charges against you,’ said Treasure quietly.

  Scarbuck swung round to face the banker. ‘Charges? What charges? I’ve done nothing.’

  Bantree decided that this irregular exchange was promising enough to warrant extension. He remained silent.

  ‘Well, the Inspector will have to provide the right terminology, but as I see it you’re guilty of criminal conspiracy with Dankton and others in failing to report a fatal accident, disposing of a dead body, and attempting to appropriate hidden valuables to which you have no title. It’s also possible you could be accused of attempting to murder your fellow conspirator. No, I wouldn’t ring the Home Secretary if I were you.’

  ‘Has he gone mad, Inspector? I’ll have him up for criminal libel – and you’ll be my witness.’

  ‘Slander, I think,’ said Treasure coolly.

  It had already occurred to the Inspector that Scarbuck might have a case. ‘All in due course, sir. The Sergeant here is making notes. Meantime, since you’re here, perhaps you could answer some questions. You mentioned millions of pounds’ worth of your property. Could you describe the property for me, sir?’

  Scarbuck dropped into a convenient armchair and sighed. ‘Well, I suppose it will all have to come out now – but I’m guilty of nothing criminal. There was treasure in that tomb thing, jewels, gold plate, and more important a Shakespearean heliograph …’

  ‘Holograph,’ Moonlight corrected.

  ‘There you are –’ Scarbuck stabbed a finger in the speaker’s direction – ‘he knows. Ask him how he knows. He’s the conspirator – in league with Dankton, no doubt. If that swine was double-crossing me he deserved all he got – but it wasn’t me who hit him,’ he added quickly.

  ‘How did you learn about the treasure in the tomb, sir?’

  Scarbuck gave another sigh of resignation. ‘Through Dankton. He found a letter, along with those diaries he pulled out of a wall somewhere. The letter was to one of this maniac’s female ancestors –’ he nodded at Moonlight – ‘only it was never delivered. The woman – Sarah Moonlight – had left the country before it was written, or so Dankton found out from some other diaries Moonlight was daft enough to lend him. So the treasure was still there – Dankton was sure of it.’ He hesitated, then continued in more subdued tones. ‘Dankton came to me with a proposition. He said whoever owned this house would automatically own the manuscript and the other things. He knew the place was up for sale but he couldn’t raise the wind for the purchase price himself. He said if I bought it he’d settle for the jewels and plate plus twenty-five per cent of what the manuscript fetched. It was only later we were advised by … well, we were advised that the tomb didn’t go with the Hall …’

  ‘It certainly didn’t,’ put in Moonlight firmly.

  ‘Well, that’s as maybe, but legally it’s what’s known as a mute point,’ continued Scarbuck, establishing that he had a greater familiarity with the law than with the English language. ‘And if you’ve got that helio – that manuscript, Moonlight, I’ll fight you for it through every court in the land.’ He paused. ‘Well, to avoid legal … er … misunderstanding, we decided to bring the stuff out of the tomb and into the Hall – and I own the Hall, so what’s found in it’s mine.’

  Treasure decided that less time would be wasted if Scarbuck was made aware he had been on a wild goose chase. ‘The manuscript and the other valuables were removed from the cenotaph in 1659, Scarbuck, so I’m afraid you were several hundreds of years too late in your search.’

  ‘That’s your opinion – and a very convenient story if you two have the stuff tucked away somewhere.’

  ‘Scarbuck, there’s documentary pro
of of what I have just told you in the diary of Sarah Moonlight for the year in question.’ Treasure avoided Moonlight’s surprised glance.

  ‘Mr Scarbuck –’ this was Bantree – ‘as I understand it, you have just admitted responsibility for the tunnelling from the swimming pool to the cenotaph. Mr Worple fell to his death into that tunnel this morning …’

  ‘I know, Inspector, but it was an accident – pure accident. I’d intended telling you about it in the morning,’ Scarbuck lied, desperation quickly replacing the tone of outrage in his voice. ‘I was not made aware of the facts until well after it all happened – and I was not party to the removal of the body. That was entirely Dankton’s doing, bloody fool. I told him to make a clean breast of the whole affair to you – that’s why I delayed telling you myself.’ He ended with a hopeful look at the Inspector.

  ‘And the lacerations on the man’s chest – they were part of the accident?’

  ‘They were, Inspector. Poor chap bounced off some stones and fell on to a tunnel borer – it wasn’t going at the time, but the blades are very sharp and they must have gone round on the impact – or so Dankton told me.’

  ‘But the grave was made good to prevent discovery of the tunnel, Mr Scarbuck.’

  ‘All without my knowledge, Inspector. Dankton is to blame for the whole thing … I hate having to disclose the facts in this way.’ Scarbuck shook his head sadly to emphasize the true depths of the discomfort he was suffering.

  ‘Quite so, Mr Scarbuck, but I have to warn you there’ll be further questions on the matter. Any help you can give us on other events tonight will, I expect, be taken into account.’ The implications of this remark were obvious.

  ‘I shall give you every possible assistance in bringing the guilty to book, Inspector,’ Scarbuck replied sanctimoniously, and with a side glance to ensure that Wadkin was still keeping the record.

  Scarbuck then confirmed that the tunnel had been cleared ready for Dankton to enter the cenotaph chapel after removing the light rubble remaining at the door. Having transported the valuables to a place of safety, he was to bring down the roof-shaft at the swimming pool end of the tunnel to give the appearance that the gallery had not been breached beyond that point. He conveniently forgot to mention the obviously intended abandonment of the expensive but incriminating piece of boring equipment inside the blocked tunnel.

  ‘At what time did you order Dankton to do all this, Mr Scarbuck?’ Bantree put some emphasis on the word ‘order’.

  ‘That was entirely up to him, Inspector. You must understand that I was at arm’s length from the whole operation. He did mention to me he’d wait until everyone had gone to bed.’

  ‘Until the coast was clear?’

  ‘You could say that, yes.’

  ‘He expected no difficulty with his task – I mean it was well within the capability of one man to handle the job?’

  ‘Oh, it would have been child’s play. The Filipinos had done all the heavy work. Of course, they knew nothing about what was at the end of the tunnel.’

  ‘No, you were the only one who had that information and a knowledge of Dankton’s intentions tonight. Mr Scarbuck, Dankton was to get all the jewels and plate, a quarter of the proceeds from the sale of a very valuable manuscript, and we have reason to believe that he and his partner were pressing you for a larger share. Since the remainder of the work was, as you describe it, child’s play, wouldn’t you have been better off with Dankton out of the … er … out of the picture?’

  Scarbuck reared in his chair. ‘This is a damned conspiracy!’ He glanced around at the others. ‘Here I am giving you every co-operation, and you’ve as good as accused me of trying to murder Dankton. What about him?’ He pointed to Moonlight. ‘What about the Filipino?’ he roared, rising from the chair. ‘What about Dankton’s accomplice? You’ll not get another word out of me until I’ve got a lawyer present.’

  ‘Scarbuck, sit down.’ Treasure spoke firmly but quietly. The other hesitated before obeying but he eventually accepted the order. ‘I don’t like you, and I don’t like what you’ve been up to,’ Treasure continued. ‘Nevertheless, I don’t believe you’re a murderer and I do know you’ve been duped. If you think you’re going to get out of all this without a penalty you’re a bigger fool than I take you for. Don’t make matters worse by walking away now suspected of something you haven’t done. Where were you at the time of the explosion?’

  ‘In my bedroom – I swear to God I was.’ Scarbuck’s tone registered he was ready to accept Treasure’s intervention. Bantree sensed this and waited for the banker to continue.

  ‘You ought to know that Arthur Moonlight has witnesses to prove he was in the Dower House at the relevant time.’ Inspector Bantree let this statement pass. Treasure continued: ‘The Inspector has eliminated the Filipino from his list of suspects, and Dankton’s partner was under police observation miles away when the attack took place. On your own admission you were the only person who knew about Dankton’s intended movements … or were you? Think hard, Scarbuck – this is important.’

  Scarbuck looked as though he was about to burst. ‘I wasn’t’, he cried, ‘I wasn’t the only one. Speke-Jones knew I told him after dinner tonight that Dankton was ready to –’

  The telephone on a table beside Wadkin broke in upon whatever further revelation Scarbuck had in store. ‘Reading General Hospital, sir.’ Wadkin handed the instrument to Bantree.

  ‘A moment, Mr Scarbuck,’ said the Inspector.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It was half an hour since Scarbuck and Speke-Jones had been arrested and taken into detention.

  Elizabeth Moonlight was presiding over a tea party in the study of the Dower House. Although it was twelve hours before the normal time for such a ceremony – with the hostess incongruously clad in a nightgown and lace negligee – all the participants were quite unconscious of time or appearances. To a man and woman they were hanging on the words of Mark Treasure, who was standing before the fireplace.

  ‘Of course, it was downright immoral of me to have read the report on the Diaries,’ he said, ‘and I apologize, Arthur, for having done so.’ Moonlight shrugged his shoulders. ‘But, after that, previous and subsequent events fell into place quite logically. Clearly, Scarbuck had come upon the James Moonlight letter or a copy of it, almost certainly through the agency of Dankton. The expectancy of vast riches accounted for Scarbuck’s having paid such a huge sum for Mitchell Hall practically sight unseen. The elaborate burrowing under the churchyard was certainly the most circumspect way of bringing the valuables into Scarbuck territory – he couldn’t know there was another, and incidentally, far shorter and better preserved way into the chamber under the Acropolis.’

  ‘But why didn’t he just raid the monument on some dark night and make off with the booty?’ asked Trapp, who was sitting beside Miss Goodbody on a sofa. ‘That way he needn’t have bought the Hall in the first place.’

  ‘Ah, on that point he was well advised, certainly by Dankton and possibly by Speke-Jones,’ Treasure explained. ‘Think what was at stake. The jewellery was possibly identifiable – from pictures of the period.’ Trapp stole a glance at Thelma Goodbody, who smirked. ‘But more important, anyone announcing he has a Shakespearean holograph in his possession had better be in a position to explain how he came upon it, and that he’s the rightful owner. For all Scarbuck knew, the thing could have been dedicated to Francis Moonlight or peppered with stage directions naming Mitchell Hall. No, if for an outlay of two hundred thousand pounds Scarbuck could prove that the manuscript was “discovered” on his property – and he was arranging to do just that – he was home and dry. No doubt Dankton was briefed to pull the thing out of a wall somewhere in Mitchell Hall – or possibly from the side of the swimming pool. And remember, Scarbuck had gone to special pains to establish in the sale deed that he was the rightful owner of the Hall and everything in it – and in his view that meant a great deal more than the fixtures and fittings.’ Treasure looked across
at Moonlight. ‘There’s the other consideration, of course, that you can’t get into the Acropolis from above without literally blowing it up and bringing the whole village out to see what you’re doing.’

  ‘A Shakespeare holograph,’ said Miss Goodbody to nobody in particular, but with reverence and awe.

  ‘Worth a packet, I should think,’ observed the practical Trapp.

  ‘Oh Timothy, it’s not what it would be worth, it’s what it would prove,’ the girl admonished. ‘Don’t you see, it could have shown once and for all that Shakespeare existed – all the myths and libels about Bacon and the rest could have been exploded. I’ll bet the play was As You Like It.’

  ‘Well, whatever it was, Sarah Moonlight chucked it out of the carriage window on the way to Winchester,’ said Moonlight abruptly. ‘Thelma’s right about the importance of the thing, but it was the money Scarbuck was after. I think three million was a bit hopeful even so. Parliament would never have allowed such a thing out of the country, so it wouldn’t have gone to America for a fancy price. Probably it would have been bought for the British Museum at a reasonable price after a “ring” on the bidding. British dealers are pretty sensible about such things.’

  ‘But I still don’t understand where Mr Speke-Jones comes in – and why he tried to murder poor Mr Dankton.’ This was Elizabeth.

  ‘Attacking Dankton was entirely in character,’ explained Treasure. ‘Speke-Jones is an opportunist par excellence. I doubt he’s ever done anything quite so criminal before, and he could have saved himself the trouble if he’d waited until Dankton had come out of the tunnel empty-handed. I think he was as convinced as the others that the holograph existed, but he simply couldn’t afford to have it revealed for some days – ideally weeks. My guess is that he knew Dankton had to close the tunnel, with that raft of rubble I told you about, after he’d emptied the chapel. That could well have been a noisy procedure that might have attracted someone’s attention – remember, Speke-Jones knew there were police about the place – we all did. So he decided to hang about by the pool and then reason with Dankton when he turned up.’