by Kerry Tombs
I hope you can forgive me.
Please excuse my hand,
Your former colleague,
Robertson
Ravenscroft read the letter over again before burying his face in his hands. So Robertson had lied all those years ago. Anxious to secure a conviction he had manufactured the evidence. An innocent man could have been sent to the gallows, had it not been for the artful deliberations of Sefton Rawlinson Q.C. Worse still the lie, the deception, had been carried down the years, waiting for Ravenscroft to rekindle it in his present dealings with the man. Now his case lay in tatters. If Quinton had not poisoned his first wife then in all probability he had not poisoned Jones and Miss Martin either.
Ravenscroft acknowledged that he had pursued and hounded an innocent man, and that his prejudice and narrow mindedness had led to his present failure to solve the case. How could he have been so foolish?
* * *
‘I suppose we will have to let him go,’ said Crabb as he and Ravenscroft walked down the road towards the police station in Pershore.
‘Yes, we have no reason to detain him,’ replied an irritated Ravenscroft.
‘He could still be our murderer,’ suggested Crabb.
‘If he didn’t poison his first wife, what possible motive could he have for killing Jones and Miss Martin? There was nothing to conceal or protect.’
‘I suppose you’re right, sir. He could still have poisoned his wife in Pimlico. Just because Inspector Robertson wrote that false entry in the diary still doesn’t mean that Quinton was innocent of that crime.’
‘You could be right, but in view of Robertson’s confession I feel that I have hounded the man too much,’ admitted Ravenscroft.
‘There could still be something in Quinton’s past that we don’t know about.’
‘You mean that he and Jones, or rather Murphy, may have encountered each other many years ago?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘To tell you the truth, Tom, I don’t know what to believe any more. Perhaps I should resign from the case and let someone else take over. I feel I have made too many mistakes,’ said a gloomy Ravenscroft.
‘By the time they send someone else out from Worcester, Quinton will have long left the town. I am sure something will happen soon to help us solve the case.’
‘I wish I shared your optimism, Tom. Ah, here we are. Let’s go and see if Hoskings has any news for us,’ said Ravenscroft pushing open the door to the police station.
‘No one here, sir,’ remarked Crabb looking round the empty room.
‘Hoskings! Hoskings,’ shouted Ravenscroft.
The door to the inner room opened suddenly and the untidy, sleepy policeman rushed into the room.
‘Good morning, sir,’ stuttered Hoskings.
‘Good grief man, have you been sleeping on the job?’ asked an angry Ravenscroft.
‘Sorry, sir. Sorry. It was the babby,’ spluttered the constable hastily fastening the buttons of his tunic.
‘What baby?’ demanded Ravenscroft.
‘Me and the wife. Babby kept us awake all night sir. Sorry, sir,’ mumbled Hoskings.
‘Hoskings, this will not do. I care little for you, or your wife, or your baby. Your duty is to remain presentable and alert in this station whilst on duty at all times,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. It won’t happen again, sir.’
‘It had better not, Hoskings, or you will find yourself out on the street — and that will be no good to either your wife or your baby.’
‘Yes, sir. I mean no, sir. Sorry, sir,’ replied Hoskings busily tidying up the papers on the front desk.
‘Well, Hoskings, has anything happened during our absence?’ asked Ravenscroft in a quieter tone of voice, realizing that perhaps he had been a little unkind in his references to the policeman’s offspring.
‘Yes sir. A telegram arrived for you, sir, earlier this morning.’
‘Yes man, where is it then?’
‘It’s here somewhere sir,’ replied the unfortunate constable searching frantically through the collection of papers.
‘For goodness sake, man,’ moaned Ravenscroft.
‘Here it is, sir,’ said Hoskings retrieving an envelope and passing it over to Ravenscroft.
Ravenscroft tore open the envelope and studied the contents of the enclosed telegram.
‘Anything important, sir?’ asked Crabb after a few moments of silence had elapsed.
‘It may be something, or nothing. Hoskings, give me pen and paper,’ demanded Ravenscroft.
‘Yes, sir.’
Ravenscroft wrote intently for a minute or two then passed over the paper to Hoskings. ‘Take this to the telegraph office with all speed, and see that it is despatched to the address indicated straight away.’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Hoskings picking up the paper and walking over to the door before pausing.
‘Well man, why have you not gone?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘Nearly forgot, sir. Someone was asking for you earlier this morning.’
‘Yes, who was it?’ asked an eager Ravenscroft.
‘Can’t remember his name, sir.’
‘Perhaps it was Forbes come back again?’ suggested Crabb.
‘Well, Hoskings? If you can’t remember his name, at least tell us what he looked like.’
‘He was a youth, sir. About fourteen I would say. Said he knew you. Think he said his name was Stephens, or something like that.’
‘Stebbins!’ exclaimed Crabb.
‘Yes that was it, sir. Stebbins that was his name. Cheeky young fellow,’ said Hoskings.
‘Did he say what he wanted?’ enquired Ravenscroft.
‘No, sir. Said he was going to see his girl over at Talbots’, and that he would see you later, sir.’
‘Right, Hoskings. You had better go now. And Hoskings?’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘With all speed if you will.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said the constable opening the door and leaving the station at a brisk pace.
‘I wonder what Stebbins wanted?’ said Crabb.
‘Probably just curious to know how the case is progressing. If he comes back again tell him I am indisposed. The last thing I want this morning is Stebbins telling me how to conduct my affairs.’
‘What was in the telegram, sir?’ asked an inquisitive Crabb.
‘Just another possible line of inquiry to follow. I will tell you about it later if it results in anything important.’
Suddenly the door was thrown open and a breathless Stebbins burst into the room.
‘Good heavens, Stebbins, whatever is the matter?’ asked Ravenscroft taken aback by the dramatic entrance of the young man.
‘You has to come, sir,’ panted Stebbins. ‘She’s dead!’
‘Calm down, Stebbins,’ instructed Ravenscroft.
‘I tells you she’s dead! At the bottom of the stairs. All in a heap!’
‘Who is at the bottom of the stairs?’ asked Crabb.
‘That old woman. Miss Fanshaw. She’s dead as a cold cucumber. You has to come, Mr Ravenscroft. I tells you, she’s dead!’
Ravenscroft and Crabb rushed out of the station and along the street, and pushed their way through the front entrance of Talbots’ Lodging House, closely followed by an agitated Stebbins.
A group of figures — Maisie, Mrs Jacobson, Talbot, and Miss Arabella Fanshaw — could be seen clustered round a figure on the ground at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Lord help us!’ exclaimed Talbot looking wildly at the policemen.
Ravenscroft rushed over towards the body, and bending down on one knee examined it for any sign of life.
‘Dead as a stuffed pheasant!’ declared Stebbins attempting to gain a better view.
‘Stebbins, be quiet!’ reprimanded Ravenscroft. ‘I am sorry, but Miss Fanshaw is dead.’
Miss Arabella Fanshaw let out a loud cry and looked as though she was going to faint.
‘Perhaps you would be kind enough ta
ke Miss Fanshaw back to her room, Maisie,’ said an anxious Ravenscroft.
‘Yes sir,’ replied the maid placing a hand on the shoulder of the elderly sobbing woman and leading her gently back up the stairs.
‘Talbot, I want you to go and fetch Doctor Homer as quickly as you can. Stebbins, you can go with him,’ instructed Ravenscroft.
The lodging-house keeper stared at Ravenscroft.
‘Now man!’ shouted Ravenscroft.
Talbot ran out of the house, closely followed by an eager Stebbins.
‘How can it have happened?’ asked Mrs Jacobson.
‘That is what we intend to find out,’ replied Ravenscroft.
‘Rosanna, what has happened?’ called out a voice from above.
‘I must go to my husband, if you will excuse me?’ said an agitated Mrs Jacobson.
‘Yes, of course. That would be best,’ replied Ravenscroft.
‘Rosanna, where are you?’ called the voice again.
Ravenscroft waited until Mrs Jacobson had climbed the stairs and returned to her room.
‘She must have fallen all the way down the stairs, hitting her head on the floor here,’ said Ravenscroft examining the corpse in more detail.
‘The poor woman,’ sympathized Crabb.
‘Probably lost her footing, or she may have tripped over something on the landing. There is also the possibility that someone may have pushed her,’ said Ravenscroft deep in thought.
‘A little old lady like that. Who would want her dead?’ asked Crabb.
‘I don’t know, Tom. Perhaps Doctor Homer will be able to tell us more when he arrives with Talbot.’
‘Must be very distressing for her sister.’
‘Yes. The poor woman. In the meantime we must make sure that no one comes into the hallway here.’
* * *
‘Well, Doctor, what can you tell us?’ asked Ravenscroft after the body had been removed from Talbots’ Lodging House.
‘Very little, I am afraid. It is clear death was caused by a fall down the stairs. If you expect me to tell you whether she slipped of her own accord, or whether she was pushed, then I am afraid that you will be disappointed,’ said Homer closing his medical bag.
‘Thank you, Doctor Homer,’ replied Ravenscroft.
‘I have given Miss Arabella a sleeping draught. She has had a terrible shock. It would be better if she were not disturbed for the next few hours.’
‘Of course.’
‘Then I will take my leave, gentlemen. Good day to you both,’ said Homer making his way out of the hall.
‘We have already examined the top of the stairs. There is no obstacle there that could have caused a fall,’ said Ravenscroft. ‘She must have come down these same stairs twice or three times a day for the past ten years. Why did she slip today, I ask myself.’
‘I reckon she was pushed,’ said Crabb.
‘Yes, but if that were the case, why was she pushed — and who pushed her?’ asked Ravenscroft. ‘I can see no reason why anyone would want the old woman dead, unless of course she had found out who the murderer of Jones and Miss Martin was, and that person decided to kill her before she could tell us.’
‘Then her sister could also be in danger?’
‘That could be the case, but I think it would be insensitive to interview the lady now. She is clearly distraught by the death of her sister, and as Homer said, should be left to sleep for the present. Well, Tom, this is a turn of events. What do you make of it? Accident or murder?’
‘I still think she was pushed,’ answered Crabb.
The door to the room opened and Stebbins peered round the edge of the woodwork.
‘Not now, Stebbins. We are rather busy,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘It’s Maisie, Mr Ravenscroft. She wants a word with you.’
‘Is it important?’
‘Yes sir,’ replied Stebbins opening the door wider so that the maid could enter. ‘Go on, Maisie my girl, you go and tell ’em what you saw.’
‘All right Stebby, don’t go on so,’ said the maid entering the room.
‘Maisie, how can we help you?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘It’s about Miss Clarisa.’
‘Yes go on, Maisie,’ urged Ravenscroft.
‘Well sir, I may have seen something.’
‘You saw what happened when Miss Fanshaw fell down the stairs?’ asked Ravenscroft eagerly.
‘Well, not exactly, sir. It was just after that, sir. I don’t know if it is important, sir,’ said the maid hesitantly.
‘Go on, Maisie.’
‘I was in the kitchen at the time, then I heard this loud noise like someone or something falling down the stairs, so I rushed into the hall, saw it was Miss Clarisa, and then I looked upwards.’
‘You saw someone else on the landing?’
‘Yes, sir. I saw Professor Jacobson disappearing into his room.’
‘You saw Professor Jacobson?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘Yes, sir. I just caught sight of the back of his old jacket as the door closed.’
‘But you didn’t actually see him push Miss Fanshaw down the stairs?’
‘No, sir.’
‘You are absolutely certain on this point. You did not actually see Miss Fanshaw fall down the stairs, but you did see Professor Jacobson disappearing into his room?’
‘Yes, sir. Did I do right in telling you this, sir?’ asked the maid.
‘Yes, Maisie. You did the correct thing. Thank you.’
‘Told you Mr Ravenscroft would want to know everything, me girl. Reckon that old boy threw her off the landing,’ said a cheery Stebbins.
‘You don’t know that at all, Stebbins.’
‘You going to question him then, Mr Ravenscroft?’
‘Yes, Stebbins. May I suggest that you take Maisie back to the kitchen. You can see that she is somewhat distressed by this event,’ suggested Ravenscroft.
‘Right you are, Mr Ravenscroft. You come with me, old girl,’ replied the young man placing his arm round the young maid’s shoulder and leading her out of the room.
‘Well, that’s a surprise,’ remarked Crabb.
‘Yes, I think we should go and question the professor without delay.’
* * *
‘Come in, gentlemen, we were expecting you,’ said Rosanna opening the door so that the two detectives could enter.
‘Thank you, Mrs Jacobson. Professor,’ said Ravenscroft addressing the old man seated by the fireplace.
‘This is a sad business. Poor Miss Fanshaw,’ said Jacobson.
‘Indeed, sir. When I entered just now Mrs Jacobson, you remarked that you were expecting us. Why was that?’ asked Ravenscroft eagerly.
‘You know that my husband was on the landing when Miss Fanshaw fell?’ said Rosanna.
‘The maid told us,’ replied Ravenscroft.
‘My wife had just gone into the room. I was following on behind when I heard this great noise,’ began Jacobson.
‘My husband drew my attention to what had just happened. I immediately turned round and rushed out on the landing where I saw Miss Fanshaw at the bottom of the stairs,’ added Rosanna.
‘Forgive me, I do not quite understand. You were both going into your room, Mrs Jacobson first, with you Professor behind, when you heard the sound of Miss Fanshaw falling?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘That is correct, inspector,’ replied the old man.
‘When you were on the landing did you see anyone else there before you entered your room, Mrs Jacobson?’
‘No. There was no one there.’
‘And did you hear anything, Professor?’
‘I heard the sound of a door closing. Most likely Miss Fanshaw’s room.’
‘And then?’ urged Ravenscroft.
‘I assumed that someone had just come out of the room. Then I heard this sound, like someone falling.’
‘And what did you do next, sir?’
‘I stood still for a moment, trying to ascertain what had happened. I called out, but no
one replied, so I came into this room and told Rosanna what I had just heard.’
‘I see,’ said Ravenscroft looking at the old man and trying to work out whether he was telling the truth. ‘Tell me, professor, when you were on the landing did you hear any other movement?’
‘I do not understand, inspector?’
‘When you heard the fall, were you aware of anyone else on the landing?’
The old man thought carefully for a moment before answering. ‘No, I do not think there was anyone else there.’
‘Thank you,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘I know what you are thinking, inspector. You are a policeman. I have known policemen in St. Petersburg. They all think alike. You think that I pushed Miss Fanshaw down the stairs?’ said Jacobson.
Ravenscroft said nothing.
‘I see,’ smiled Jacobson. ‘You will not say because you do not know. Perhaps I can help you, inspector? Ask yourself, why would I have wanted to kill Miss Fanshaw in such a dreadful fashion? I am blind, inspector. I would not have seen the good lady. Neither my wife nor I had any cause to hurt Miss Fanshaw. We have all lived under this roof, together, for the past five years. If either of us had wanted to harm the lady do you not think that we would have done the deed before now?’
‘Perhaps Miss Fanshaw knew who had poisoned Mr Jones and Miss Martin,’ suggested Ravenscroft.
‘And you think that person was either my wife or I?’
‘I would not like to say,’ replied Ravenscroft only too aware that he was no longer asking the questions.
‘I can assure you, inspector, that we are both completely innocent regarding this incident. I am sorry if we have disappointed you,’ said Jacobson drawing the shawl closer round his person.
‘I think we have answered all your questions, inspector,’ said Rosanna. ‘If you will excuse us, my husband needs his rest.’
‘Of course. Thank you both for your information. Good day to you.’
* * *
‘He was very sure of himself,’ said Crabb as he and Ravenscroft closed the front door of Talbots’ behind them.
‘Yes, it was almost as though he and his wife had rehearsed what they were going to tell us. It was all too neat and tidy for my liking, but I suppose it could be the truth.’
‘Ah, Ravenscroft!’ exclaimed a familiar figure walking briskly towards them.
‘Mr Quinton,’ acknowledged Ravenscroft.