The Inspector Ravenscroft Mysteries Box Set

by Kerry Tombs

  ‘Oh, you’ve forgotten Miss Clements. She only stayed a month and couldn’t leave soon enough. You were all over her like a cold stinging nettle.’

  ‘I never laid a finger on her, Letitia,’

  ‘Then there was Miss Milson, she left after the first week.’

  ‘That was ten years ago.’

  ‘Why you can’t leave these women alone, I’ll never know.’

  ‘I think perhaps this is getting us nowhere,’ interjected Ravenscroft. ‘Now Talbot, were you, or were you not, having an improper relationship with Miss Martin?’

  ‘No, I was not! And any of them that says I was, is telling lies,’ protested the landlord looking directly across the room to where his wife stood.

  ‘So I’m the liar now, am I?’

  ‘Please, Mrs Talbot, can we have an end to this? Did you and Miss Martin poison Jones?’ asked Ravenscroft addressing Talbot once more.

  ‘Of course we didn’t. Why would we want to kill Jones?’

  ‘For his valuables,’ suggested Crabb who had been standing by the door making notes in his pocketbook.

  ‘What valuables? I’ve told you, there was no valuables.’

  ‘Oh yes, you mentioned that when you cleaned out the room, there was nothing there of a personal nature. Well I have to tell you that I don’t believe you. I think the dead man did have something of worth, and I think you took it for yourself,’ said Ravenscroft leaning forwards once more and confronting the landlord directly.

  ‘I’ve told you there was nothing there,’ protested Talbot.

  ‘May I remind you that it is a criminal offence to withhold vital evidence in respect of an investigation. If ever we are to find out why your lodger was poisoned I need those items. Now you have two choices — either you tell me what you took from the dead man’s room, and produce the items for us now, or I’ll take you away to the cells for the night, while my men take this house apart, inch by inch, until we find what we are looking for. Which is it to be, Talbot?’ said Ravenscroft becoming more and more annoyed.

  ‘For goodness sake Talbot, tell them. If you don’t, I will,’ said the landlady glaring at her husband.

  ‘Well Talbot? What is it to be? I’m a busy man. I have not the time to sit here all day,’ said Ravenscroft quickly rising to his feet.

  ‘All right, all right!’ shouted Talbot. ‘I’ll fetch them. They’re hidden in the backyard. I don’t want them anyway.’

  ‘Crabb, go with him,’ instructed Ravenscroft resuming his seat.

  ‘After you, sir,’ said Crabb opening the door.

  A disgruntled Talbot led the way out of the room.

  ‘The silly man. I told him all along that he should have handed the things in,’ muttered the landlady.

  ‘It would have been better if he had listened to you, Mrs Talbot.’

  ‘What will happen to him now? He meant no harm by it. I knows he is a silly old cluttock, but he didn’t kill neither Mr Jones nor Miss Martin. You has to believe that,’ continued the woman.

  Ravenscroft turned away and said nothing.

  ‘Here they are,’ said Talbot returning to the room and throwing an old bag onto the dining room table.

  ‘Hidden under a pile of coal,’ announced Crabb following on behind.

  ‘Right. Let us see what we have here,’ said Ravenscroft reaching into the bag, as the landlord resumed his seat. ‘A silver pocket watch. Quite an expensive one by the face and decoration I would say. I wonder if there is an inscription inside? Yes, here we are. ‘Charles Murphy. 1872.’ That must be the man’s real name. What is this wrapped up in this old towel?’

  ‘Good lord!’ exclaimed Crabb. ‘It’s a pistol.’

  ‘And a very nasty one at that. Percussion pocket pistol. Name of the maker on the side — “John Elliott” that’s all. Better see that it is unloaded. Yes. And this the box of bullets that go with. Was there anything else?’

  ‘No. That’s all there was,’ replied a sullen Talbot.

  ‘I don’t believe you. Was there any money on the dead man?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I tell you, I don’t believe you,’ said Ravenscoft raising his voice.

  ‘For goodness sake, Talbot, why don’t you tell him? There was two five pound notes in his inside pocket,’ said the landlady.

  ‘We will need those as well.’

  Mrs Talbot rose from her chair, walked over to the side cabinet, opened the drawer, took out two notes and handed them over to Ravenscroft.

  ‘Were there any papers on the deceased? Perhaps a wallet of some kind? This is vitally important; we need to find out all we can about this man,’ said Ravenscroft accepting the notes, and realizing that there had probably been more.

  ‘There was nothing. He had nothing else on him. I’m telling you the truth,’ pleaded Talbot.

  ‘Very well. That will be all for now,’ said Ravenscroft wrapping the gun up in the towel and returning it to the bag.

  ‘What will happen to Talbot now?’ asked an anxious Mrs Talbot.

  ‘Nothing for the present. You have been a very foolish man, Talbot. If you had told us all this at the beginning Miss Martin might still be alive today. Think yourself fortunate that you are not up before the bench tomorrow morning,’ said Ravenscroft lifting up the bag and walking over towards the door. ‘Tom, I want you to stay here until the men come from the mortuary. I’ll take this back to the station. Good day to you, Talbot. Mrs Talbot.’

  ‘You silly man,’ chided the landlady glaring across at her husband.

  Talbot looked sheepishly down at the floor as Ravenscroft left the room.

  * * *

  ‘Hoskings! Hoskings!’ cried out Ravenscroft as he entered the police station.

  ‘Inspector Ravenscroft,’ replied the startled constable quickly emerging from the inner room, whilst trying to disguise a mouthful of sandwich.

  ‘Hoskings, I want you to put this in the safe,’ said Ravenscroft banging the bag down on the counter.

  ‘What is it, sir?’ asked the constable swallowing quickly.

  ‘A pistol and some other things belonging to the dead man Jones. Talbot had taken them and hidden them in the back yard.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Right away, sir,’ replied the policeman picking up the bag, whilst cramming the remains of his sandwich into his coat pocket.

  ‘You’ve no doubt heard that Miss Martin has been poisoned?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Have you been eating whilst on duty, Hoskings?’ asked a suspicious Ravenscroft.

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘You know it is a police infringement to eat whilst on duty?’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  ‘If I find that you have been eating it will be the worst for you. Do you understand, Hoskings?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said the constable becoming red in the face.

  ‘Now, when you have locked that away, I want you to tell me how many chemists there are in Pershore.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said the policeman disappearing from view with the bag in his hand.

  Ravenscroft remained deep in thought, drumming his fingers impatiently on the counter top until the other returned.

  ‘Well, Hoskings?’

  ‘What, sir?’

  ‘How many chemists are there here in Pershore?’ asked an annoyed Ravenscroft.

  ‘Chemists? Chemists?’

  ‘Yes, chemists, man. How many are there?’

  ‘Just the two, sir.’

  ‘Yes, and they are?’

  ‘Brights in the market place and Ollenshaws at the bottom of the road, sir.’

  ‘Right,’ said Ravenscroft turning to leave the room.

  ‘What do you want me to do, sir?’ asked the constable.

  ‘Nothing for the present, Hoskings. You can stay here.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And Hoskings?’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Make sure you don’t eat whilst on duty.’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  * *
*

  Ravenscroft pushed open the door of the chemist’s shop and found himself in a small dingy room, three sides of which were covered with tall shelves containing various bottles of coloured liquid and other medical preparations. An elderly, grey-haired man stood behind the counter busily engaged in writing in a large ledger, whilst humming a tune to himself.

  Ravenscroft coughed.

  The man continued with his activities.

  ‘Have I the honour of addressing Mr Ollenshaw?’ asked Ravenscroft walking up to the counter.

  ‘One moment, sir. Twenty six shillings and five pence . . . hum, hum . . . two shillings and three pence halfpenny . . . hum, hum . . . no, that won’t do at all . . . hum, hum . . . three shillings and one farthing . . . hum, hum . . . one shilling and two pence . . . hum, hum . . . yes, that’s better . . . hum, hum . . . now let us see . . . hum, hum . . . next week . . . hum, hum . . . hum, hum . . .’

  ‘Are you Mr Ollenshaw, or not?’ interrupted Ravenscroft becoming annoyed by the long wait and the man’s musical interludes.

  The man looked up at Ravenscroft. ‘In a hurry are we?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I am.’

  ‘One moment, sir . . . hum, hum . . .’ said the man looking down at the ledger once more.

  ‘Look here, are you the owner of this establishment or not?’ asked Ravenscroft, realizing that he was raising his voice.

  ‘Yes, sir . . . hum, hum . . . three shillings and sixpence . . .’

  ‘My name is Ravenscroft, Inspector Ravenscroft. I have come on a matter of great urgency.’

  ‘Ah, sir,’ replied the man suddenly closing his ledger with a bang so that particles of dust drifted upwards into the air. ‘Police. You should have said so earlier.’

  ‘So you are Ollenshaw?’ asked Ravenscroft.

  ‘Snook. Simeon Snook. Ollenshaw is dead . . . hum, hum . . .’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘Are you? I’m not. He ran off with all the money twenty-seven years ago, leaving me to run the establishment on my own . . . hum, hum.’

  ‘Then how do you know he is dead, if he ran away all those years ago?’ enquired Ravenscroft regretting that he had asked the question as soon as he had asked it.

  ‘Because he was eighty years of age at the time, and if he were still alive now he would be a hundred and five, hum, hum.’

  ‘A hundred and seven, surely,’ corrected Ravenscroft.

  ‘Hum, are you doubting my word, sir?’ stared the chemist.

  ‘Eighty and twenty-seven makes one hundred and seven, not one hundred and five, but never mind that. I am making inquiries about your supplies of arsenic.’

  ‘Arsenic? Then you will also be making inquiries about that lodger who died at Talbots’?’

  ‘That is correct. I see that news travels fast.’

  ‘This is a small town, sir. Nothing remains hidden for long,’ said the man attempting a fleeting grimace.

  ‘Then you will no doubt have heard that there has been a further poisoning at Talbots’?’

  ‘One of the other lodgers? Hum, hum.’

  ‘I would like to know whether anyone from Talbots’ has been here recently purchasing arsenic from you?’ asked Ravenscroft.

  ‘Hum, hum,’ replied Snook looking up at the ceiling, his head on one side and appearing to be deep in thought.

  ‘Well?’ asked an annoyed Ravenscroft after some moments had elapsed. ‘I would not have thought it was a difficult question to answer.’

  ‘Would you not, sir? Hum, hum. The Miss Fanshaws are customers.’

  ‘Really,’ said an intrigued Ravenscroft. ‘Are they regular customers of yours?’

  ‘Indeed sir.’

  ‘And have they purchased any arsenic from you recently?’

  ‘Liver pills and water for the complexion . . . hum, hum.’

  ‘Is that all the ladies purchased?’

  ‘Yes. Hum, hum, hum, hum,’ said the man beginning to move away.

  ‘I would like to inspect your Poisons Register, if I may,’ said Ravenscroft.

  ‘Poisons Register, you say? We keep such a book of course, but it is not open to anyone to inspect, hum, hum.’

  ‘May I remind you, Mr Snook, that I am a police officer, and that I am investigating the deaths of two people in this town, whom I believe were poisoned with arsenic. As their murderer procured arsenic from somewhere, it must be a strong possibility that it could have been purchased from here. Now sir, the Poisons Register if you please.’

  Snook disappeared from view into the back room, and returned shortly bearing another ledger, which he placed on the counter.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Ravenscroft opening the book.

  ‘Everyone who requests arsenic and other poisons is included. You will find no irregularities at Ollenshaws,’ said Snook peering over his spectacles.

  Ravenscroft ran his fingers over the entries for the past six months of the register as the chemist returned to the back room humming a tune to himself.

  ‘Well I declare!’ exclaimed Ravenscroft closing the book with a bang.

  ‘Found what we are looking for, sir?’ asked Snook peering round the door frame.

  ‘Indeed I have. Yes, certainly. Thank you for your assistance, Mr Snook. Good day to you, sir.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  PERSHORE

  ‘Well, Mrs Jacobson, perhaps you would care to tell Constable Crabb and myself why you purchased a quantity of arsenic powder last week from Ollenshaws the chemists?’

  Ravenscroft and Crabb faced the young woman across the table in Talbot’s living room.

  ‘I have a perfectly plausible explanation for purchasing the powder, inspector. It is for my complexion,’ replied Mrs Jacobson somewhat nervously, avoiding the detective’s gaze.

  ‘Perhaps you would care to elaborate?’ suggested Ravenscroft.

  ‘I have rather a dark, unclear complexion. I find that if I mix a little of the arsenic with some vinegar and chalk, and then apply the mixture to my face it not only improves my complexion, but also hides any imperfections.’

  ‘I see,’ replied Ravenscroft somewhat taken aback by the matter of fact explanation.

  ‘It is not uncommon for ladies with similar problems to indulge in this practice.’

  ‘But perhaps a little unwise knowing the nature of the arsenic?’ added Ravenscroft, not entirely convinced by the young woman’s story.

  ‘I am careful to only use a little, of course,’ said Mrs. Jacobson forcing a brief smile.

  ‘I must also tell you, ma’am, that I inspected the Poisons Register at Ollenshaws for the past six months and could find no further entries in your name.’

  ‘That is indeed true. As I said, Mr Ravenscroft, I only use a small amount of the arsenic in the mixture. It lasts a long time. It must be a year, or more, since my previous purchase.’

  ‘So if I look back further in the register I would find your name again?’ asked a suspicious Ravenscroft.

  ‘I cannot remember exactly when, and where I purchased the previous amount.’

  ‘I must say, Mrs Jacobson, that I find all this difficult to accept. Two people have died from poisoning in this establishment, within a few days of each other, and I have discovered that you purchased a quantity of arsenic from a local chemist only a few days before all this happened. Rather a coincidence, would you not agree?’ suggested Ravenscroft.

  ‘I have told you the truth, inspector. What else can I tell you?’

  ‘Is your husband aware that you use arsenic in your facial preparations?’

  ‘I would not have thought so,’ smiled Mrs Jacobson. ‘What a lady does in her dressing room is her concern, as I am sure that your wife would tell you. Anyway my husband is quite blind, as I know you are aware.’

  Ravenscroft sat back in his chair. He had entered the room a few minutes previous thoroughly expecting to elicit a confession from the murderer of Jones and Miss Martin, but now realizing that perhaps his optimism had been somewhat prematur
e and that he would now have to change his line of questioning.

  ‘You mentioned that you met your husband in London, five years ago?’

  ‘That is correct. I know that many people find it difficult to accept that we are married given the difference in our ages, but I can assure you, inspector, that my husband and I are perfectly happy together.’

  ‘You met in Whitechapel?’

  ‘Yes, my husband informed you of that fact. We were staying at the same lodging house.’

  ‘Ah yes, the Crosskeys.’

  ‘That is so,’ replied Mrs Jacobson moving uneasily in her seat.

  ‘You might be interested to know that I used to be a police officer in the Whitechapel District, before my arrival in Ledbury. I know the Crosskeys quite well. It is not the kind of establishment that young respectable ladies frequent,’ said Ravenscroft studying the woman’s face intently.

  ‘I think you are mistaken. I would not have stayed in a boarding house or similar establishment that was not beyond reproach. I may have been only a simple seamstress, but nevertheless I had a reputation to uphold, as I am sure you would appreciate.’

  ‘So you were not aware of the reputation of the Crosskeys as the kind of establishment frequented by certain ladies of the night?’

  ‘No. I was not there for very long, and must admit that I was not fully aware of the nature of the lives my fellow lodgers lived. I worked quite long hours in one of the nearby factories and came home to the Crosskeys late at night.’

  ‘And where did you live before your arrival at Crosskeys?’ asked Ravenscroft, not fully accepting this explanation.

  ‘I lived in a small village in Essex. I left there and came to London looking for work.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Jacobson. I think that will be all for now,’ said Ravenscroft bringing the interview to an abrupt end, much to Crabb’s surprise.

  ‘What I have told you, inspector, is the truth. I did not poison either Mr Jones or Miss Martin. I would have no reason to do so,’ said Mrs Jacobson rising from her chair.

  ‘Nevertheless we will need to question you further as our investigation progresses. Do you still have the arsenic?’ asked Ravenscroft as Crabb moved to open the door.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then I think it would be better if we were to take possession of it.’