The Barker's Dozen - Reminiscences of an Early Police Dog

by Robert Warr

  My master did start to investigate Mrs Beresford in order to test the theory that she might have left her husband for another man. A reasonable possibility that would cover the facts but no trace could be found of her. The press were informed, probably by Mr Johnstone, of your uncle’s enquiries and predictably, they chose to view his activities as bad sportsmanship. After a few editorials, castigating him for being a poor loser, my master was given a murder in Yorkshire to investigate.

  We were back in London when the Beresford case started, but your uncle accepted an invitation to come down to Arlesford. The case was covered in exhaustive depth by the newspapers and it became obvious that the prosecution, a most noted counsel, was doing a splendid job. Every piece of circumstantial evidence was presented to the jury as hard fact, supported by the testimony of various experts who knew nothing about the actual case.

  The defence counsel tried hard to refute the case against Mr Beresford but failed to make much impression on the ‘weight’ of the prosecution’s evidence. This was in part due to the defence barrister’s relative lack of experience but mainly because the accused seemed to be doing absolutely nothing to help in his own defence.

  Things looked very bad. The press were convinced that Mr Beresford would be convicted and they had already turned their attention on to the detective service and most particularly those officers, such as my master, who had come into the police force from the military.

  It was on the last day of the trial just before the defence barrister rose to give his final, forlorn speech when a court usher bustled up to him and handed him a note. According to the Morning Chronicle, ‘he read the note and straightened, his shoulders rising, suddenly a new man full of hope, before he implored the judge to adjourn for a few minutes as there was important new evidence.’

  Naturally, there was pandemonium and the prosecution protested against any new evidence being presented. The judge, however, lived up to his reputation as a just man and adjourned to the following day so that the defence could prepare his new evidence, which apparently consisted of two new witnesses.

  The court was silent as a woman dressed in black entered the court. Mr Beresford on sighting her became very animated and according to the Morning Chronicle, ‘appeared to be greatly distressed.’

  The woman identified herself as Madam Caroline La Fleur of Rue Saint Jean, Paris. She stated that she was Mrs Beresford’s estranged twin. The defence counsel skilfully drew her story from her and it was recorded eagerly by all the reporters who knew that a good whiff of scandal sold more papers than even a good murder.

  Madam La Fleur had not seen her sister for over twenty years and had lived in France for most of them where she had been married to a French wine merchant called Hercule La Fleur. He had been a good man and had died the previous year following a short illness. His death had removed the only person in France for whom she had any real affection and she had decided to attempt to mend her relationship with her sister.

  Her twin unfortunately had not wanted to see her again as the cause of their estrangement was still hurtful even though Mr Beresford had been keen for the two women to put the past behind them. The defence had asked what the nature of the estrangement had been and according to The Times, she had stood silently, holding the rail of the witness box ‘as if for support’, for a few moments before answering. The paper’s artist, sketching her, had managed to capture her distress. The picture showed an agonised figure gripping the rail in an extreme of passion and your uncle stopped reading for a few seconds and just stared at it.

  Madam La Fleur gathered her dignity around her like a cloak and quietly said that she had had an affair with Mr Beresford soon after his marriage to her sister. Mrs Beresford had blamed her and she had been ostracised by her relatives and former friends. Obviously, her sister had still not forgiven the betrayal.

  On the day when Mrs Beresford had disappeared, Madam La Fleur had met her brother-in-law at a small hotel near London Bridge station where they had taken tea and tried to work out some way of resolving the problem.

  The prosecution counsel tried to discredit her and failed; it is quite hard to undermine someone who has come into a court and admitted to adultery to save a man’s life.

  The defence then called the hotel’s proprietor who confirmed that Mr Beresford had been in the hotel. According to the proprietor’s evidence, the accused arrived just before three o’clock with Madam La Fleur joining him about ten minutes later. The two of them had lingered over tea and had not finished until four thirty.

  The case against Mr Beresford collapsed as all the circumstantial evidence came to naught before one provable fact.

  We travelled back to London before lunch on the day after the trial. The newspapers, with their normal consistency, were castigating the authorities for bringing the case to trial ‘when, it should be remembered that Thompson, our greatest detective, had expressed his doubts about the evidence.’

  On arrival at Waterloo, my master sent his bags on to his house while we went back to the Yard pausing twice during the journey so that your uncle could send a long telegram and we could both enjoy a good pie for lunch.

  My master had barely started on his letters before his superior entered the office and settled himself into one of the visitors’ chairs. He occupied himself with his pipe for several minutes while your uncle finished reading his current letter and made a few notes.

  ‘Good afternoon, Richard,’ our visitor enquired politely. ‘Did you have an enjoyable time at Arlesford?’

  ‘Very tranquil, Sir,’ my master replied with a smile. ‘From your presence I perceive that my period of quiet meditation has come to a sudden conclusion.’

  ‘Indeed it has. The press is currently castigating Mr Johnstone and the Home Secretary for yesterday’s debacle at the High Court but if we cannot resolve this case in a few days they will be at our throats again.’

  ‘Undoubtedly you have decided to give me the pleasure of solving the mystery?’ my master asked with a faintly mocking smile. ‘Were you by any chance influenced by The Times?’

  ‘Quite right, Richard, when the press calls for “the greatest detective of our times” I feel I should oblige.’ Our visitor lent back in his chair, before continuing in a more sober manner, ‘Whatever else, Richard, you must find Mrs Beresford’s body and identify her killer.’

  ‘I do not think there is a body to find.’ My master observed quietly, ‘I believe we will find that Mrs Beresford is still alive and the bloody water was just there to mislead.’

  ‘I remember that you were of the opinion that she had left Mr Beresford for another man before I took you off the case,’ your uncle’s superior had the good grace to look a little shame faced. ‘I never did enquire why you were convinced that she had not been murdered.’

  ‘Although there was a pile of clothes in the bathroom, there was no sign of any foot wear,’ my master smiled at his visitor’s slight discomfiture. ‘I find it impossible to believe that any woman of substance would walk over cold, tiled floors bare footed.’

  ‘I do believe that you are right,’ our visitor exclaimed, rising to his feet. ‘The most important thing, however, is that you resolve this case without delay.’

  No sooner had our visitor left than Sergeant Allen knocked on the door and entered the office. My master gestured to him to take a chair.

  ‘Do I gather, Inspector, that you have been given the poisoned chalice of the Beresford case?’ The sergeant reached down and pulled my ears as he spoke.

  ‘After The Times’ leader I don’t think that they could have given it to anyone else,’ my master replied with a smile. ‘I am going to have to live up to my somewhat exaggerated reputation.’

  ‘What do you want me to do, Sir?’ Sergeant Allen asked with his normal enthusiasm.

  ‘Shout through for some tea and then we can discuss what I want to do.’

  The two men drank their tea in a companionable silence. My master obviously ordering his thoughts while S
ergeant Allen was enjoying a final few minutes of peace before the serious work started.

  ‘Right Sergeant, I want you to send a couple of messages for me.’ My master tapped his teeth with his pen, and continued, ‘the first is to Inspector Graves and then I thought it would be a good idea to give Harris something to do.

  ‘I want Inspector Graves to go to the villa and see Mr Beresford. I suggest that he asks about Mrs Beresford’s friends and relatives. Most importantly, I want to know if he intends to sell the villa and if he does where he intends to go. After seeing Mr Beresford, I want Inspector Graves to see the two domestic staff and ask if they know anything about Mrs Beresford’s social circle.

  ‘Instruct Inspector Harris to go to Madam La Fleur’s hotel and interview her about her sister, especially any childhood friends. He is also to find out where she intends to be in the next few months in case we need to talk to her again

  ‘Finally, ask the inspectors to meet me here at eight thirty tomorrow morning.’

  My master spent the rest of the afternoon catching up on other matters that required his attention and it was not until the late evening before we left the Yard and returned home. There was a telegram waiting for your uncle that he read with a certain glee and I could tell that he was convinced that the case was solved. What puzzled me was that I had seen, or heard, the same evidence as my master but I could not see the solution to the puzzle. It was, however, clear that the missing shoes had an important part to play. I decided to chew the matter over with Fielding to see if his feline insight could explain matters.

  Your uncle was up early and ate a large breakfast, which is often an indication that he expects to be very busy later. Knowing the signs, I went down to the kitchen and stared fixedly at the cook until she gave me some extra food. I might miss lunch but there was no need to feel ravenous. Fielding once gave me the sound advice that any fool can be uncomfortable.

  Having finished my meal I charged upstairs in time to help my master finish a slice of toast and marmalade before we left for the Yard. We arrived early and your uncle with a barely concealed impatience read his mail while waiting for the other officers.

  Sergeant Allen arrived first accompanied by a constable with a tray of tea and toast. A practical man, the sergeant, who understands the necessity of eating properly. For some reason my master wasn’t very hungry, probably nervous excitement, so I found myself helping him to eat his share.

  The two other inspectors entered the room together and gratefully accepted a cup of tea. There was the normal few minutes of inconsequential chatter that you humans seem to need to indulge in before business.

  ‘Charles,’ my master asked Inspector Graves, ‘what happened when you went to see Mr Beresford?’

  Inspector Graves took a final sip of his tea before replying, ‘initially he was rather cold towards me, which is understandable considering he spent an unpleasant night in my station. After a while he accepted that we were only doing our duty and generously offered to assist me in any way he could.

  ‘Mrs Beresford did not seem to have any contact with her relatives and her husband told me that he thought that her estrangement with her sister had torn the family apart. He provided me with a list of her friends and acquaintances but there were no new names.

  ‘You were right when you suggested that he might be selling up. Mr Beresford does not want to live in a house where his wife was probably murdered and he intends to emigrate to America. He feels that there will always be some unwarranted gossip in this country and he wants a new start. Her insurance policy will, he admits, make him financially independent.

  ‘He gave me addresses for his old domestic staff. Having decided to leave the villa, he no longer needed their services and he admits that he finds the constant reminders of his old life almost intolerable. They were dismissed yesterday with generous settlements and glowing characters.

  ‘I went to see the two domestics but they could provide me with no extra information.’

  ‘Thank you, Charles,’ my master said with a smile before turning to Harris. ‘How did you find Madame La Fleur?’

  ‘I proceeded, as instructed,’ Harris began, still a sergeant in his mannerisms, ‘and found the Lady at Corry’s Hotel where she has reserved a room.

  ‘She greeted me politely but was not able to provide me with any real information about her sister’s childhood friends. This was due in part to her natural forgetfulness coupled with her strong French accent that made her speech hard to follow. The information she gave me, however, confirmed in part the statements made by Mr Beresford earlier in the investigation.

  ‘She intends to stay at Corry’s Hotel for at least another fortnight before returning to the Rue Saint Jean in Paris. I know we had to interview her but I do not think that she will play any real further part in this case.’

  ‘I disagree, John,’ my master said softly, his first use of Harris’ Christian name was rather shocking. ‘After this meeting I want you to arrest her. Perjury would be the appropriate charge.’

  There was a deep silence as Graves and Harris stared at my master who nonchalantly filled his pipe. As I have observed before your uncle is sometimes terribly melodramatic. When he starts overacting I am always tempted to bite him.

  ‘I gather, Richard, that you know something we don’t’, Inspector Graves said after allowing my master a few moments of triumph. ‘Are you going to share this intelligence or do we have to guess?’

  ‘It is really quite simple,’ your uncle began with a self-deprecating modesty.’ I formed the conclusion that Madame La Fleur was actually Mrs Beresford. Having come to this decision I decided to test my hypothesis.

  ‘I cabled our colleague, Patrice Menet, in Paris and asked him to confirm Madame La Fleur’s statements. I received his reply last night.’

  My master paused and took the reply from the papers on his desk. After a glance at his audience, he began to read.

  ‘“My dear Inspector Thompson, your cable was welcome as it gave me an excuse to take a break from the interrogation of one of the worst criminals I have ever had in our little grey cells. A chance to take the Parisian air was welcome. There has been no wine merchant named Hercule La Fleur. There is no woman of the name or description you provided living in Rue Saint Jean. A check with my colleagues revealed that an English woman named Beresford stayed at a small hotel, Le Dauphin, in Calais for several days after the date you gave.”

  ‘As you can see this confirms that Madam La Fleur is not who she claims to be and I am sure that we will soon be able to prove that she is, indeed, the Mrs Beresford who having vanished in London turned up in Calais.’

  ‘What put you on to her?’ Inspector Graves asked.

  My master picked up folded piece of paper that proved to be a front page of The Times, dominated by a court sketch of Madame La Fleur giving evidence.

  ‘Do you see her right hand?’ my master said pointing at the sketch. ‘You can see that the artist has clearly shown all of the fingers, except the right hand little finger, clutching the rail. The exception is shown only half curled. Mrs Morris told me that Mr Beresford had caused an injury like that to his wife.

  ‘It was not at all conclusive because it is possible, although unlikely, that twins might suffer identical injuries. Taken with the fact that no shoes were found in the bathroom I decided to ask Monsieur Menet to check that Madame La Fleur actually lived in Paris.

  ‘It occurred to me that having worked out a complex little plot to fraudulently claim the policy the Beresfords would be unable to live together in London without taking a risk that a neighbour would recognise Mrs Beresford. The same danger was present with the servants so I reasoned that Mr Beresford would quietly dismiss them.’

  ‘I don’t understand why Beresford went through with the trial,’ Harris mused. ‘He could have given us his alibi at the start of the case and saved himself some privations.’

  ‘The underwriters were likely to withhold payment for seven years as there was n
o body,’ my master replied. ‘Once we had him tried for the murder the state was, in effect, confirming that she was dead. A few letters to the press and they were demanding that the insurance company pay up quickly out of natural justice.’

  Soon after Harris left to arrest Mrs Beresford while Graves went to collect her husband.

  The resulting trial was a complete sensation and our fraudulent pair were given satisfyingly long terms of penal servitude.

  -----

  ‘As, I said James,’ Snuffles said with a very deep sigh. ‘The middle classes are just as dishonest as everyone else. They just have better opportunities than the very poor.’

  ‘Why did my uncle let Harris make one of the arrests?’ I asked, ‘I would not have thought that he deserved any of the credit.’

  ‘As soon as Beresford was acquitted, the odious Johnstone used him as a scapegoat,’ Snuffles growled softly. ‘My master decided that he had been badly and unfairly mauled by the press and deserved a proper chance.’

  ‘It is a great pity that nothing happened to Johnstone, ‘I exclaimed angrily.

  ‘As it happens we passed that pompous man on a staircase at the Home Office a few weeks later, and for some unaccountable reason he tripped over me and took a nasty fall.’ Snuffles wagged his tail slightly with remembered pleasure, ‘his right wrist, left leg and several ribs were broken during his tumble if memory serves.’

  Honourable Reginald Vaughn

  An extract from the journal of Miss Isobel Fraser, written for her sister, Lucy, in Boston.

  Tuesday

  You will recall that I told you of my dashing rescuer Lieutenant Reginald Vaughn. Tonight I had the pleasure of renewing my acquaintance at a soirée of Mrs Drewcott’s. It was somewhat awkward when I met him but Lady Heddon soon smoothed that out by introducing us properly.