The Posing Playwright

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The Posing Playwright Page 19

by David Field


  He handed the book down to Percy, who squinted as he reminded himself that Beattie was right to nag him about going to see the doctor about his eyesight. But by holding the oily-feeling book a few more inches away from his face, he could just make out the shaky handwriting of a man employed more for his signalling skills than his literacy. 7.38pm. Cart stuck on crossing. Both Distant fixed at warning, Home and Starters at stop. Down Holyhead delayed fifteen minutes while Fireman and Guard helped move the cart.

  ‘It’s a bit vague,’ Percy complained, as he finished copying the entry into his notebook, and handed it back to Holmes.

  Holmes looked at it again and replied reassuringly. ‘It says what it needs ter say. There were a delay when summat got stuck on the level crossin’ that yer can see from me winder. It were cleared, but the “down Holyhead” train were ’eld up fer fifteen minutes, an’ that’s the bit what were important fer the railway company ter know about.’

  Percy got up and stood in front of the windows. Down to his right he could see the level crossing that had been in front of him when he turned left down the cinder path to the signal box. The gates were currently open to the narrow country lane that traversed the line at this point, blocking access to trains wishing to proceed through the crossing.

  ‘If a train wants to travel through that crossing down there,’ Percy enquired, ‘what actions do you have to take? Walk down there and close the gates to road traffic?’

  ‘Not any more,’ Holmes grinned. ‘A coupla years back they put in that wheel on yer right. I just ’as ter make sure that there’s nowt comin’, then I turns that wheel an’ the gates’ll close fer road traffic. Then once it’s open ter trains I’m free ter work the signals ter allow it through.’

  ‘So when the gates are open to road traffic, you can’t work the signals?’ Percy asked as the light began to dawn.

  ‘That’s right,’ Holmes confirmed. ‘If there is a train comin’, it’ll be met wi’ a caution signal, follered by a stop. Once I’ve turned the wheel ter close the gates ter the road traffic, the signals can then be shifted so as ter tell the train driver that it’s safe ter proceed.’

  ‘So for as long as those gates are opened for road traffic, any trains in your section will be halted by signals, have I got that right?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s when the gates clunk back inter place for train traffic that the signals is freed up, but I still ’as ter work ’em, so as ter call the train through. That’s not done automatic, like.’

  ‘Perfect,’ Percy muttered out loud, and Holmes agreed with him, not realising to what he was referring. ‘It’s better than the old system, anyway. I were worn down in them days, goin’ up an’ down the stairs ter open an’ shut the gates by ’and.’

  ‘Just remind me again,’ Percy requested. ‘The signal I can see out there is which one?’

  ‘That’s the “Starter” signal for the down line ter Chester,’ Holmes advised him.

  ‘And the other two that Mr Butterworth referred to in his log entry?’

  ‘They’d be the “Distant” and “Home” signals in each direction.’

  ‘Just think about the down line for a moment,’ Percy requested. ‘There are two signals further east of here — which is which?’

  ‘The “Distant” signal’s the one furthest away — about ’alf a mile back from the salt sidin’s that yer was so interested in.’

  ‘And the other one — the “Home” signal?’

  ‘Just afore the sidin’s, comin’ from the east. About another ’alf mile closer to where we’re standin’.’

  ‘So for as long as the level crossing down there was set for road traffic, the signal furthest east from here would be set to warn the train to slow down, while the signal just ahead of the sidings would command it to stop?’

  ‘That’s right, yeah.’

  ‘And nothing could be altered until the crossing gates were altered to allow trains to pass through?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘Where will I find this Mr Butterworth?’

  ‘Same place as yer’d’ve found me if yer’d come after six,’ Holmes advised him. ‘We gorra pair o’ shared cottages up the road back there. Yer musta passed ’em on yer way down, if yer come direct from Crewe. Them’s called “Railway Cottages”, an’ yer can’t miss ’em.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Holmes.’ Percy smiled as he headed for the door. ‘I’ll be sure to advise Mr Johnson how much assistance you willingly gave me.’

  ‘A pleasure,’ Holmes assured him.

  Percy found Fred Butterworth in his back garden, digging the drills for his seed potatoes. He was a slightly built man in his late fifties, to judge by appearances, and he straightened up his back with evident relief as he looked down at Percy’s extended arm containing his police badge.

  ‘Yer must be the bloke what were enquirin’ down at the box earlier this week,’ Butterworth observed as he reached into his jacket pocket for his pipe and began to fill it. Percy decided to do likewise, if only to establish a rapport between them before asking Butterworth to dredge his memory.

  ‘A couple of months ago you had an incident at the crossing down near your signal box,’ Percy reminded him. ‘Just after seven thirty in the evening, when a cart got stuck on the crossing — remember that?’

  ‘’Ardly likey ter forget it, am I?’ Butterworth grimaced. ‘We ’ad the down ’Oly’ead express stood at the ’ome signal while we got the bloody thing off the tracks.’

  ‘What happened, exactly?’

  ‘Well, I ’adn’t got the two bells fer the express, so I reckoned it were in order ter let a cart across what I could see comin’ down the road, even though it were only pulled by a single ’oss, an’ bugger me if the bleedin’ thing didn’t shed a wheel, right there in the middle o’ the tracks. I shouted down to the blokes what were wi’ the cart’ ter try and get it cleared off the line, but I couldn’t go an’ help ’em, ’cos just then I gets the two bells — that’s “train entering section”, but o’ course it ’as to slow down and stop at me ’ome signal. Then the fireman comes down to see what the delay is, as the Rule Book says ’e must, and he gets the guard to help, and between ’em they managed ter lift up the axle an’ put the wheel back on. Then they pushed it off the tracks, so as I could open the gates fer the express. By the time the fireman and guard had got back to the train, it were fifteen minutes late. I wrote it all out in the train register.’

  ‘Yes, I read that,’ Percy assured him. ‘And while all this was happening, that express would have been standing at a signal further east?’

  ‘Yeah — the “’Ome” signal, near the branch line ter the salt mine.’

  ‘And there were two men with the cart?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Were they locals?’

  ‘No. The one what done the most o’ the talkin’ spoke funny, like ’e weren’t from round these parts.’

  ‘Irish?’

  ‘Wouldn’t know. But not local.’

  ‘Thank you for all that.’ Percy smiled. ‘Now I’ll let you get back to your potatoes.’

  Thirty minutes later Percy was back at the salt workings, watching the last of the brine splashing out of the Pullman coach that had been hauled onto the bank of the lake and was sitting upright on its bogie. One of the engineers standing to its side called over to him.

  ‘When we open that door, the rest o’ the water’ll come rushin’ out, so stand back.’

  ‘Very well, do it,’ Percy instructed, ‘but don’t be surprised if a body floats out.’

  Both carriage doors were opened at the same time, and fountains of greeny-white water poured from the sodden sides of the former Pullman wagon, and out with it came various items such as glasses, bottles, and two heavy portmanteaux — but no body.

  ‘You were wrong about the body,’ the senior constable murmured at his elbow.

  Percy turned and glared at him. ‘It was only ever a possibility, but the presence of those two heavy bags suggests the existence of a b
ody somewhere else, possibly in the lake. So you have to pray that it turns up somewhere else, or the man himself chooses to reveal his continued existence to the authorities, or you’ll be sending mermaids in diving suits in there to find it. Now get your men to scour every inch of the inside of that wagon, and send me a list of everything you find in there. Then go through that cottage in search of something that looks as if a garden spade gave birth to a mortice lock.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘Me, I’m going back to London, and some decent food for once. You’ve achieved something at least — I never thought the day would come when I’d look forward to my wife’s cooking.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ‘I might have known I wouldn’t be allowed a day off,’ Jack grumbled as he walked away in disgust from the open front door, leaving Percy to follow him down the hallway. Jack pushed open the kitchen door to reveal Esther and announced, with heavy sarcasm, ‘He followed me home — can I keep him?’

  ‘Not if he’s intending to stay to dinner.’ Esther smiled as she turned her head from the sink. ‘The mince will barely stretch two ways, let alone three.’

  ‘Will it help if I go and get something from Farringdon Market?’ Percy asked. ‘Or, if you prefer, we can all go down to Whitehall for a meat pie. We’re both supposed to be at work anyway.’

  ‘I’ll do you a deal,’ Jack offered. ‘We share our Saturday dinner with you, and you absolve us from attending Sunday dinner in Barking.’

  ‘Would that I could, on a permanent basis, including absolution for myself,’ Percy grinned, ‘but as it happens I’ll be spending Sunday sending wires all over the north of England.’

  ‘Applying for a transfer?’ Jack asked as he slid into a chair at the kitchen table.

  Percy shook his head. ‘No — looking for Stranmillis’s body.’

  ‘You think he’s dead?’ Esther joined Jack briefly at the table.

  ‘Any risk of a cup of tea?’ Percy asked as he took the third seat. ‘We have a lot of information to exchange. At least, I hope it’ll be an exchange, and not a monologue from me.’

  ‘I’ll put the pan on to boil,’ Jack offered.

  ‘So what makes you think Stranmillis is dead?’ Esther asked eagerly as Jack filled the pan and lit the gas.

  ‘I found the Pullman carriage exactly where I suspected it might be found,’ Percy announced proudly.

  ‘In that lake?’ Jack said over his shoulder.

  ‘In that lake indeed,’ Percy confirmed, ‘in twenty feet of salty brine, where it had remained hidden since it was diverted from the Holyhead Express.’

  ‘How did they manage that?’ Esther asked, intrigued, and Percy treated her to one of his insufferable smiles of triumph and condescension.

  ‘It’s quite complicated, but to explain it in simple terms, they caused a diversion at the level crossing by the signal box that controls the stretch of line that includes the points that lead to the sidings. While the train was held stationary at a signal out of sight of the signalman who was too preoccupied getting a broken down cart off his level crossing, they unhooked the Pullman, and presumably at that point transferred the tail light to the luggage van. And as the signalman told me, the guard was too busy helping to shift the cart to know what was going on at the back of the train. Then, when the train pulled away, they used a duplicate Annetts Key which was discovered yesterday inside the cottage of the site foreman. Employing that key, they changed the points and towed the Pullman into the salt works sidings using the locomotive that’s kept in the salt works for towing wagons to the main line. It then hauled the Pullman down to the salt lake that’s formed at the site over the years, before they employed a crane they have conveniently available as part of their normal equipment to lift it into the lake. We partly drained the lake two days ago and fished the Pullman out of the lake.’

  ‘What did you find in the carriage?’ Jack placed the tea things in the middle of the table. ‘Anything significant? No body, obviously.’

  ‘No, but six heavy bags full of clothing,’ Percy advised them. ‘What does that tell you?’

  ‘That Stranmillis wasn’t reunited with his luggage,’ Jack replied.

  Esther looked puzzled. ‘But wasn’t it all part of his plan to reclaim all that clothing at some stage? The whole point of him using the Pullman in the first place was to transport his chosen belongings to wherever he intended to hide himself. So why did he instruct them to leave it all in the carriage when it went underwater? I dread to think what state that clothing must be in after a month in salt water.’

  ‘Think it through,’ Percy invited them as he poured himself a cup of tea and looked pointedly at where the biscuit tin would normally be located. Esther took the hint and retrieved the tin from the cupboard above the stove, well out of child reach, placing it in the middle of the table with an exasperated shake of the head in Jack’s direction.

  ‘Either he didn’t intend to catch up with his clothing, or he was double-crossed,’ Jack announced proudly.

  ‘And why would he go to the trouble of putting all his clothes in the Pullman, if he didn’t intend to collect them later?’ Esther challenged him. ‘But he wouldn’t have been the only one to be double-crossed, would he?’

  ‘Clearly you have something to tell me,’ Percy prompted them.

  Jack nodded. ‘The actor who was employed to impersonate Stranmillis on the boat across to Dublin is now playing the role of a corpse in a mortuary somewhere in Wales. The description fits the man who was engaged to that actress at Wilde’s theatre, and I checked on the map. I reckon he was heaved overboard from the vessel on which he’d used Stranmillis’s ticket. Why kill him when he’d already fulfilled the role allocated to him in all this? It all fits with a massive double cross that involved Stranmillis.’

  ‘It could have been Stranmillis himself who organised his death,’ Esther pointed out. ‘Either way, Jack and I were planning on going down to the theatre again on Monday and giving his fiancée — Emily Baxter — the bad news, and enquiring of her whether she can suggest anyone who might have wanted him dead for reasons other than his part in the Stranmillis disappearance.’

  ‘Why wait until Monday?’ Percy asked. ‘What’s wrong with today or tomorrow?’

  ‘The theatre’s closed on Sundays,’ Esther advised him, ‘and today is the matinee performance, the final day when Emily’s stepping into the role left vacant while the main actress gets over her illness. That gives me the excuse to return to the theatre on Monday and make the alterations needed to the stage costume that the two women have been sharing. Then Jack and I were planning on taking her out to morning tea and breaking the news to her as gently as we can. While we’re at it, we can ask her about other reasons why her fiancé might have been killed.’

  ‘And we’d better not lose any more time over that,’ Jack added, ‘even if it means that Esther will have to reveal her real part in all this. Rumour has it that the play won’t be running much longer anyway, after the revelations about Wilde’s private life.’

  ‘Indeed, we haven’t even touched on that yet,’ Percy reminded them as he selected his fourth biscuit. ‘I only read about it in the newspapers, but you were there, Jack. Why did Wilde give in so easily?’

  ‘I don’t know officially,’ Jack replied, ‘and obviously neither he nor his counsel sought to consult me in the matter. But Carson had a whole busload of young men waiting in the wings to tell horrific tales about how Wilde had plied them with presents, meals, champagne and suchlike, then seduced them. If I’d have been Wilde, I’d have given in too, rather than have all that aired in public. I think that Stranmillis may have been the victim of blackmail, which would explain why he chose to disappear, before somebody else perhaps decided to make his absence more permanent.’

  ‘What makes you suspect blackmail?’ Percy asked.

  ‘Well, during the trial there was a reference to a shady character called “Allen”, who allegedly tried to blackmail Wilde regarding a love letter
he’d sent to Bosie Douglas. I paid Mr Allen a visit, unofficially of course.’

  ‘You broke into his house, you mean?’ Percy demanded with a look of concern.

  ‘No, I pretended to be a client,’ Jack reassured him. ‘There’s no doubt that Allen is a blackmailer, but a very successful one who specialises in the wealthy and the well placed in society. His rooms on the fringe of Mayfair are more appropriate for a successful lawyer or banker, and he was boasting about his many connections, plus his friendship with Wilde — contrary to the picture that Wilde sought to paint in court — and he as good as offered to blackmail anyone I cared to name.’

  ‘Talking of house calls, fancy a trip to Cambridge Terrace before we come back armed with dinner, courtesy of Farringdon Market?’ Percy asked Jack.

  ‘Why is that address familiar?’

  Percy looked unimpressed. ‘Esther’s right — you have a memory like a colander. Cambridge Terrace is the town house of the possibly late Lord Stranmillis. He’s hardly likely to be home, and we should have subjected it to a minute inspection at the very start of this business. We may find something there that points the finger at the root cause of the initial disappearance, and perhaps even the reason for his possible demise.’

  ‘You still think he may have been done in?’

  ‘It begins to smell that way. And talking of smells, this pipe of mine has spent too long in my jacket pocket. Let’s head out and bring back something alluring for dinner.’

  The factotum who answered Percy’s commanding summons at the house on the eastern fringe of Regents Park somehow seemed to have been expecting their arrival, and looked only briefly at the police badges they held up in front of his face before stepping back and inviting them in.

  ‘We haven’t heard from the master for several weeks,’ the man advised them. ‘I’m Lancaster, the master’s manservant, and I helped him pack a number of bags of clothing before he set off on his trip to Ireland. Is he in some sort of trouble?’

  ‘Do you have any reason for believing that he might be?’ Percy demanded.

 

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