by Kerry Tombs
‘I have to tell you, Mr Anstruther, that I am still not satisfied with your answers and that you remain the chief suspect in this affair. Crabb, escort Mr Anstruther back to his cell. Perhaps another night there might assist you in telling us the truth,’ said Ravenscroft firmly.
‘I’ve told you all I know. I have nothing to do with this murder. You must let me return to London. This is a scandal.’
‘Crabb,’ instructed Ravenscroft turning away.
‘This way, sir, if you will,’ said Crabb, placing a hand on the actor’s arm.
‘This won’t do, Ravenscroft,’ protested Anstruther brushing away the policeman’s grip. ‘I will summon my lawyer. I warn you, that you have not heard the last of this.’
A few minutes later Crabb returned to the room.
‘Well, Tom, what do you make of all that?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘Not much. Shifty characters these actors. Can’t believe a word they say.’
‘I must say I am inclined to agree with you, Tom. I don’t feel that he was telling us the truth when he said he was appearing with the great Henry Irving at the Lyceum Theatre in London.’
‘I’ll send a telegram there right away.’
‘Good, then we shall know whether he was telling us the truth, or whether he was just making up the story when we told him that he wasn’t the army man he claimed to be. This story about being a famous actor may yet be another fabrication he was hoping we would swallow. One way or the other I am holding him in the cells until I get the truth from him. Do you think he killed Hollinger?’ asked Ravenscroft, deep in thought.
‘Looks that way sir — bloodstained clothes in his room, his hasty flight from the inn at midnight, the army knife. Then he was seen by both the landlord and Reverend Jesterson.’
‘Yes it would seem that the man is guilty, but I am not entirely convinced. If you had killed a man in his bedroom why leave the knife behind, then change out of your bloodstained clothes and leave them behind in your own bedroom where they could easily be found? It seems rather a foolish thing to do. Far better to have taken them with you and dispose of them in a river somewhere.’
‘Perhaps he wasn’t thinking straight. Maybe in his panic to leave the town as quickly as possible, he just left them behind,’ suggested Crabb.
‘You could be right. If we assume that Hollinger had been successful in transcribing the inscription on the side of Sir Roger’s tomb, and that he had either told Anstruther what the symbols stood for, or had written it down — and that Anstruther had then killed him to prevent him from telling the others that knowledge — why then did Anstruther decide to go in the opposite direction towards Wales? Surely he would have gone to Meysey Hampton instead?’
‘Meysey what, sir?’ asked a bewildered Crabb.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Tom. I meant to tell you that Professor Salt managed to solve the puzzle. The strange letters and numbers reveal the words Meysey Hampton. Apparently it’s a village near the town of Fairford in Gloucestershire. It seems as though our Sir Roger may have had some association with the Templar church there.’
‘I see — and you think that Anstruther should have gone there instead of Hereford?’
‘One would have thought so, if he was after the treasure, unless of course he went deliberately in the other direction in order to distract us. To tell you the truth, I don’t know what to think anymore. I do know, however, that I am sure that Mr Anstruther has a lot more to tell us. It is getting late. A night in the cells might persuade him to tell us more. We had better have a word with Miss Eames, Ganniford and Jenkins and insist that they spend another night here. We will also need to step up the search for that Ross fellow in the morning. Let us also send that telegram about Anstruther to the theatre in London — and we had better send out for some food for our prisoner before we return to our homes. We don’t want Anstruther complaining that we have starved him to death.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
TEWKESBURY
As Crabb drove the trap round the winding lanes that lead from Ledbury to Tewkesbury, the following afternoon, Ravenscroft remained deep in thought, oblivious to his ever changing surroundings. Yesterday it had seemed that they had caught their killer — Anstruther, the bragging army major, who had confessed that he was really an actor by profession, had killed both the man in the tomb and Hollinger, so that he could acquire the treasure of the long deceased Templar for himself. It had all seemed so straightforward. But now Ravenscroft was not so sure. If Anstruther was the killer, why had he not travelled to Meysey Hampton as quickly as possible to seek out the treasure, instead of riding in the completely opposite direction? That would have been the obvious course of action to take. But if Anstruther was not the killer, why had he left the inn so suddenly? Why had he been in such a hurry? What secret was he hiding — and if he was not the killer, then who was?
‘A penny for your thoughts, sir,’ interjected Crabb.
‘I keep thinking about the events of the last few days. Until that fellow Ross is found, I fear we will make little progress with the case.’
‘There is still Anstruther, sir. We have him in custody.’
‘Yes, perhaps a night in the cells will have loosened his tongue, and he might be more than inclined to tell us the truth today. We might have received a reply to our telegraph enquiry to the Lyceum in London. Let us hope we can solve the crime today; I don’t think we can detain Miss Eames, Jenkins and Ganniford for much longer. I fear that Ganniford, in particular, will have his lawyers onto me if I insist he remains in Tewkesbury for another night.’
‘You think that one of them might be our murderer?’
‘In all honesty, I don’t know. All I can say is that at present Ross and Anstruther seem our most likely candidates.’
* * *
As they drove into Tewkesbury, the sound of the church clock struck the hour of two. Ravenscroft alighted from the trap and made his way into the station.
‘Good afternoon to you, sir,’ said Constable Reynolds looking up from the large ledger spread out on the desk before him.
‘Good afternoon to you, Reynolds,’ replied Ravenscroft. ‘How have things been here during our absence?’
‘Not much to relate, sir. I’ve had Mr Ganniford round here this morning saying if they did not hear anything from you by later this afternoon, he and his party would be leaving on the five o’clock train. I told him that you would be back shortly and advised him against being too hasty. He wasn’t too pleased, I can tell you.’
‘No, I don’t suppose he was, but that cannot be helped. How is our prisoner?’ asked Ravenscroft as Crabb entered the room.
‘Complaining all morning. Wanted to know why he had been left alone, and asking where you had gone to. He even threatened to have his lawyer onto us. I sent out for some more food for him about twelve, and since then I have not heard anything from him. Oh, and this telegram arrived for you, sir,’ said Reynolds, handing over the envelope to his superior.
Ravenscroft tore open the envelope and read its contents. ‘This is just as I thought, Tom. Regret to inform you that we have no one in our company by the name of Anstruther. You must be mistaken. Irving. So, Anstruther was lying to us yet again. We had better have him in. Bring him to the interview-room, Reynolds.’
‘Right, sir,’ replied the constable, closing his ledger and leaving the room.
‘This would more than seem to confirm his guilt. First he says he is a major in the Guards, then an actor in Sir Henry Irving’s company. The man has told us a tissue of lies from beginning to end, and I mean to get to the bottom of all this once and for all,’ said an angry Ravenscroft.
‘You better come quickly, sir,’ said a breathless Reynolds, rushing into the room. ‘Something has happened to the prisoner!’
The three men quickly made their way down the long damp corridor, Ravenscroft leading the way into the open cell.
‘Good grief!’ exclaimed Crabb, as Ravenscroft knelt down by the figure that lay on the floor.
‘Is he—?’ began Reynolds, hovering near the doorway.
‘Dead, I’m afraid. When was the last time you checked on the prisoner, Reynolds?’ asked Ravenscroft studying the dead man.
‘When I brought in his food, just after twelve,’ replied the constable, looking anxious.
‘I would say then that he has been dead for at least two hours. He looks as though he died in some agony by the look of him; see how he has clasped his chest as he fell onto the floor.’
‘Must have had a seizure of some kind,’ offered Crabb.
‘I would have thought he was far too young and healthy for that. Is this the dinner you brought in?’ asked Ravenscroft, turning to the half-empty plate of food.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘He must have been eating it when he fell ill. Although the plate is still on the table, the utensils appear to have been dropped on to the floor.’
‘You think he could have been poisoned?’ asked Crabb.
‘That must remain a strong possibility,’ said Ravenscroft, smelling the remaining food on the plate.
‘Mutton pie, and two vegetables, I believe, sir. Nearly took a mouthful of it myself, only Mrs Reynolds usually makes up some sandwiches for my lunch. Very good at making sandwiches is Mrs Reynolds. Cheese and pickle is her speciality, and very good it is as well.’
‘Yes, thank you, Reynolds,’ said Ravenscroft annoyed, ‘Go and fetch the doctor right away and lock the station door behind you; we don’t want anyone wandering in here.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And, Reynolds, where did this food come from?’
‘From the Hop Pole, sir. The boy bought it over here.’
‘Right. You can go now, Reynolds, and hurry back.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Well, Tom, what do you make of this?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘Could have been poisoned I suppose.’
‘It looks that way, but why was he poisoned? If Anstruther was responsible for the deaths of Hollinger and the man in the abbey, why was he killed? It appears to be beyond any understanding,’ said a bewildered Ravenscroft.
‘Perhaps he was innocent after all,’ suggested Crabb.
‘You may be right, in which case all that he told us about his desire to leave the Hop Pole that night must have been true, although he certainly lied about his profession. But if that was the case, why was he killed?’
‘He could have had an accomplice.’
‘You mean Ross, or someone else, who decided to kill him to prevent him discovering the resting place of the golden goblet. The killer wanted the treasure for himself, but if that was the case, then why not go and just recover the treasure for yourself rather than bother with killing Anstruther? It just does not make any sense — unless of course, Anstruther was killed to prevent him telling us what he knew. If he did have an accomplice that would explain why he was silenced before he could speak out and implicate him.’
‘He could have killed himself, took poison like.’
‘Anstruther did not strike me as the kind of person who would have taken his own life. If we assume that Anstruther was entirely innocent, then perhaps he had come across something that the murderer did not want us to know, and that was why he was killed.’
‘I’m afraid you have lost me,’ said Crabb, scratching his head.
‘No matter. We may be getting ahead of ourselves. Anstruther might not have been poisoned at all. He could have died of natural causes, although I doubt it. One thing we can do, after Reynolds has returned with the doctor, is trace the route of that food back to the Hop Pole.’
* * *
A few minutes later, Ravenscroft and Crabb found themselves standing in the busy kitchens of the Hop Pole.
‘I can assure you that there is nothing wrong with our mutton pie,’ said the landlord. ‘I’ve served three portions of it today to customers, and no one has complained of feeling ill.’
‘That’s as maybe, but I need to have a word with the boy who delivered the food,’ demanded Ravenscroft, placing the half eaten plate of food on one of the tables behind him.
‘Stebbins!’ shouted the landlord.
‘Stebbins? Did you say Stebbins? I know that name,’ said Ravenscroft.
A young lad of around twelve years of age quickly entered the kitchens. ‘Why, bless my soul, if it ain’t Mr Ravenscroft again.’
‘How do you do, Stebbins? It must be a year or more since I saw you last at the Tudor in Malvern.’
‘And a right time we had of it as well, sir,’ grinned the young man.
‘I did not know that you had a position here. I’ve not seen you around the Hop Pole,’ enquired Ravenscroft.
‘Been away for the past week, sir, visiting me aunt in Bromyard, she be all cubbed up.’
‘Cubbed up?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘Bent badly, sir, to say nothing of her tissick.’
‘Tissick?’
‘Bad cough.’
‘So when did you return here?’ asked Ravenscroft becoming irritated.
‘Came back early this morning. Heard you was on the case, Mr Ravenscroft. Knew it would not be long before we became reacquainted like.’
‘And how long have you been employed here, Stebbins?’
‘Since Christmas, sir. Got a bit tired of all them old folks coming to Malvern to take the water cure. Fussy old lot. Always complaining about the food and the hills. Moan all day long they did. No matter what you did for them, they was never satisfied. Tight as well, the majority of ’em. Tips was no good. Not enough to feed a church mouse. More interesting clientele ’ere, sir.’
‘Tell me, Stebbins, what happened this morning when you took the food to the prisoner?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘Something afoot then?’
‘Just answer the question, Stebbins.’
‘Well, your constable comes across about ten and says he wants some food for his gent in the cells, and I was to bring it across at twelve.’
‘And?’
‘Well, that’s what I did. I took the food across to the station just after twelve.’
‘You collected the food from in here?’
‘Yes, sir. Cook served it up on a plate. I put it on a tray, covered it over with a cloth, and I took it across, sharp like.’
‘Now, Stebbins, this is most important. When you took the food across, did you stop anywhere, speak to anyone, or put the tray down?’ asked Ravenscroft, a serious expression on his face.
‘No, Mr Ravenscroft. I went straight there and delivered the food to Constable Reynolds.’
‘Are you sure on that point, my lad?’ asked Crabb, looking puzzled.
‘Cross me heart, and tell you no lies, gents,’ replied a straight-faced Stebbins, crossing himself.
‘What about the jug of ale?’ asked Ravenscroft, after a moment’s deliberation.
‘Didn’t take him no ale.’
‘What ale, sir?’ enquired Crabb.
‘There was a jug on the table in the cell. Thank you, Stebbins, that will be all for now.’
‘Right you are, sir. If you wants to know anything else, you just lets us know. Stebbins is your man.’
‘I will remember that,’ smiled Ravenscroft.
‘I’ll keep a look out and let you know if I hears anything,’ said the grinning youth as he left the room, followed by the landlord.
‘You do that, Stebbins. I will be obliged,’ shouted Ravenscroft.
‘Well, sir. Looks as though it wasn’t the mutton pie that killed him then,’ said Crabb.
‘I sincerely hope not, or we will be in serious trouble. Whilst we have been busily engaged in talking to Stebbins, that cat over there has just finished off the remains of that pie!’
‘Now then, Reynolds, tell me about the ale,’ asked Ravenscroft, after he and Crabb had hastily returned to the station.
‘What ale, sir?’
‘The ale that was delivered to the prisoner, man. I clearly saw a jug on the table in the cell. Did it arrive wi
th the food?’
‘No, sir. The lad brought in the food, and left it on the counter.’
‘And then?’
‘Well, I took it down to the cells and gave it to the prisoner.’
‘And the jug of ale?’
‘That was on the counter when I come back.’
‘Let’s get this right, Reynolds. You took the food down to the prisoner and when you returned you found the jug of ale on the counter.’
‘That’s correct. I just assumed that the lad had forgotten it, and had returned with it during my absence,’ replied a perplexed Reynolds, becoming increasingly redder in the face.
‘And what did you do next?’ asked Crabb.
‘I took it down to the prisoner.’
‘How long were you away giving the prisoner his food?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘About ten minutes, sir. Prisoner wanted to know what was going on, and where you were, so I told him.’
‘Where is this jug and its remains now?’
‘I washed them up, sir. There was only a bit left in the bottom. Gone off, I’d say, so I threw it away.’
‘Thank you, Reynolds,’ sighed Ravenscroft.
‘Must have been the ale then, sir,’ said Crabb.
‘It appears that way. Whoever killed Anstruther must have known that you would have taken the food down to the prisoner, Reynolds, and all he had to do was wait until the room was empty and place the jug on the counter. You are sure you saw no one entering or leaving the building at around that time?’
‘No, sir. I’m sorry,’ replied the crestfallen policeman.
‘What now, sir?’ asked Crabb.
‘Let us go and break the news to the rest of the party.’
* * *
‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed Ganniford.
Ravenscroft and Crabb had just revealed the news of Anstruther’s demise to Miss Eames, Ganniford and Jenkins in the snug of the Hop Pole.
‘So you see why I cannot permit any of you to leave until this matter has been cleared up,’ said Ravenscroft, standing with his back to the fire.
‘What a terrible thing to happen,’ said Miss Eames, bringing a handkerchief to her eyes.