“Another quad, possibly—we had no need to perform a head count for the whole college. An outsider I doubt, as we had the porters on high alert the next day.”
“An excellent precaution, although we must ask if Gabriel really is only accessible through the official entrances. Students being students, they often regard access and egress as a challenge.”
Professor Lewis-Duckworth considered for a moment, teacup in hand but not moving closer to his lips. “I would say it was entirely secure. “The main quads wouldn’t be accessible unless one was a mountaineer and could scale the outside, then come over the roof.” He suddenly laid the cup down. “It occurs to me that someone quite determined could have scaled the lodge garden wall, the one that runs along All Saints Lane. But then they’d have had to come through the lodge itself and the French doors to the garden are always locked after dark.”
“And where do they deliver the college coal to?”
The warden, having almost dropped his cup, laid it down carefully. “Coal? I believe there’s a central depository somewhere adjacent to the porters’ lodge, but that’s not really my purview. Why?”
“Coal cellars have been used to access colleges in the past,” Orlando said, knowingly. “We were eliminating the option.”
Jonty appreciated how the question had surprised the warden, although his money would have been on gaining access through the lodge, if someone were bold enough to attempt it. They’d need to get into that garden and look. “Back to Denison himself, and your suspicions about his death. Have you been friends long?”
“About a year, I’d say. Shall I refresh your cups? It’s a long story.” As he poured, he explained. “I saw Denison play, some twenty years ago, and he was remarkable. So much so I begged tickets for this next performance, which had sold out, and he proved just as good, if not better. When I learned he’d moved to Oxford, I became determined to meet him. I was like the worst sort of simpering maiden, besotted with an actor, you might say. We fans of great performers can be incorrigible.” That showed remarkable self-awareness, and perhaps revealed an aspect of his character he might not have wanted revealed. What if that admiration had a romantic element as well as a musical one? It might partly explain the warden’s determination to find the truth behind the man’s death. “I was shocked to find out Denison no longer played, and to see the change in his condition. Still, he was most gracious and welcoming.”
“Do you know when the deterioration in his condition started?” Orlando asked.
“A few months prior to his moving here, apparently. A friend of mine saw one of his last concerts and said that he wasn’t quite the force he had been. Such a shame.” The warden took a sip of tea, that wonderfully fortifying substance. “We agreed to meet again, having hit it off from the start of that first meeting and subsequently became great friends. I admired the fact it never seemed to pain him to talk of his glory days. He quite revelled in regaling me with stories from the time, although one could never be certain they were true.”
Orlando shot Jonty a swift, intrigued glance. “He enjoyed telling tales?”
“I wouldn’t go so far as implying he was a liar, but he certainly took pleasure in embroidering a plain story with golden thread, if you get my meaning. It didn’t detract from my enjoyment of his company.”
More evidence of hero worship. How accurate a witness would the warden prove in these circumstances? Jonty pressed on. “You spoke in your letter of espionage. What evidence do you have that Denison was tied up in it?
“Only the evidence of his own lips, for obvious reasons. He told me about his time playing in America and how he’d become involved, as somebody who wouldn’t have raised suspicions.” Lewis-Duckworth drained his cup, clearly unaware that an outsider might have been exactly the person to raise suspicions in such a situation.
“Could this simply have been another example of his embroidering a plain tale?” Jonty asked. “His musical adventures across the Atlantic having turned out to be too underwhelming to be the stuff of enlivening after dinner chats?”
“That’s possible, of course,” the warden conceded, “but some of the detail he provided accorded perfectly with what I know of the situation there at the time. I had another friend, also now departed, who made a close academic study of the Molly Maguires along with other related organisations and individuals involved in what might be termed underground activity. He also studied the efforts of the authorities to counteract it. He touched on the employment of agents in such cases and how their services had been used over the years in various ways.”
“Denison’s account matched what your colleague had learned?” Orlando’s voice reflected his pleasure that they were dealing in something factual rather than speculative.
“Yes. Corroborative evidence, you might say. I have to confess that being able to talk about such matters again was one of the things which cemented my friendship with Denison. A mutually beneficial arrangement, you might say, with him no longer able to play so needing to find other means of amusement. I think it possible that his past came back to be avenged on him. The last conversation I had with him, the week before he died, he appeared agitated. He made some remark about making the most of opportunities, as this might be the last time we were able to meet. I told him he’d outlive us all, which wasn’t simply an old chestnut. He looked as well as I’d seen him for months.
“And yet a week later his heart apparently gave out?” Jonty said.
Lewis-Duckworth glanced out of the window, evidently choosing his words carefully. “The doctor’s judgement is not to be trusted. I can state that because he recently misdiagnosed one of the dons here, almost causing the man’s death. We won’t have Dr. Bundy on the premises as a result.”
From what he’d heard so far, Jonty didn’t blame them for taking such a stance. “Did Denison give a reason for being so morbid?”
“In part. He told me that he’d got himself too deeply involved in something shady—my guess was the espionage, but that is merely a supposition—and it had come back to haunt him. He might have said more, but his housekeeper entered the room and I know he didn’t like talking about his past in her presence.”
Orlando made a note of all that—although Jonty suspected the notepad was there more for show and comfort rather than usefulness—then said, “Revenge aside, who else might have benefited from Denison’s death? Did he leave a large estate? Are the other instruments he left valuable?”
“Without a provenance, who knows? As for the rest...” Lewis-Duckworth spread his hands apologetically. “He had a house, which he left to his devoted housekeeper, along with a small annuity, I believe. Otherwise I have no idea of the size of his estate. Not large, given his modest way of living, although I have no idea what constitutes a sufficient amount to kill for.”
“What would constitute enough to take a man’s life in our estimation wouldn’t be the same for somebody else, especially if they were desperate. People have been robbed and killed for very little.” Orlando spoke authoritatively, perhaps in recollection of a case that Sergeant Cohen, one of their favourite policemen, had related to them. An old woman smothered for a couple of guineas. “We will look into the matter of his will.” He closed his notepad. “Might we visit the lodge garden?”
“Oh. Yes, of course.” Lewis-Duckworth, wearing a look of bewilderment, rose from his chair to comply with the peculiar request.
***
Orlando had vague memories of visiting the lodge garden for a glass of sherry as part of the then warden’s process of welcoming batches of new undergraduates. He had no memory of traipsing through the lodge itself so there must have been an external gate either to the road or to the quad, although he could see no evidence of the former. Well kept shrubs and espaliers graced the length of the wall; in fact, the whole garden spoke of a dedicated gardener having it under his wing.
“Did there used to be a way of accessing this area externally?” He asked.
“Not that I’m aware
of. If it existed it’s long gone. Feel free to inspect the wall.”
“I’m more interested in inspecting this vine.” Jonty strolled over to the wall, peering closely at a grape vine which had been trained across the wall. He then looked upwards, and said, “Both of you are taller than I am. Could you come and examine this, please? I get the impression somebody has climbed over here, and quite recently.”
Orlando had to agree. One of the bricks on the top of the wall had been slightly dislodged, a branch from the vine had been partially snapped, and what appeared to be a wisp of trouser material was snagged on one of the retaining hooks, along with strands from what might have been strong rope.
The warden frowned. “That’s happened within the last fortnight. I know because we had a storm which left some damage in its wake. I had to repair some of the wire the vine is trained along and there were no broken branches at that point, nor was the wall damaged. We made a point of checking in case the brickwork became unstable. Might we go and inspect the other side of the wall?”
“You and I should,” Jonty suggested. “Dr. Coppersmith here can guide us to so we line up correctly with the vine.”
“Excellent.” The warden’s enthusiasm for the suggestion left Orlando unable to argue. He watched, peeved, as the other two crossed the garden, but all resentment disappeared as he saw Jonty being led down the side of the lodge to what must be a side gate. Sneaking after them, he established that not only was the gate unlocked—merely secured by new-looking bolts on the garden side—it could easily be climbed over instead of being opened. The means of access and egress to the quad had possibly been established.
That belief was reinforced when the others shouted over the wall that there was some damage to the exterior that could accord with somebody having climbed over it, although they’d have needed something to stand on—a ladder for example—to reach the top.
When they returned to the garden, to find Orlando standing by the gate, he pointed they now had clear evidence of how somebody might have accessed the college on the night in question.
“I had quite forgotten the side gate.” The warden raised a finger. “To be precise the gate itself hadn’t slipped my mind but the fact it no longer bears a padlock. The old lock and chain were so badly rusted they were barely usable, and when the gate suffered damage in the storm I referred to, we replaced the lock with bolts as part of the repair.”
It would be easy for something so everyday to elude one’s memory, but Jonty couldn’t help wondering how accurate a witness Lewis-Duckworth was proving.
Orlando was still studying the vine. “This fragment of rope could also suggest a means by which whoever climbed over the wall might have brought a violin with him. A long piece of sturdy line tied around either the instrument itself or the case in which it was contained, the whole being counterweighted on the other side to reduce the risk of losing control of the bundle and damaging it.”
“Or,” the warden suggested, “a piece of rope attached to some strong cord, one that was unlikely to fray. You could tie the rope to the branch but use the cord to draw the violin over.”
“An excellent piece of deduction.” Jonty nodded. “That’s the how possibly dealt with, but that’s not the key question, surely? We need to establish who.”
“Remember what Dr. Peters said about coin hoards and the person being unable to return to retrieve them?” Orlando turned to the warden. “I apologise. At Bride’s we were discussing...the phenomenon of buried treasure and whether those who buried it were prevented from digging it up again.”
A neat sidestep mid-sentence. Orlando had surely been going to say that they’d been discussing the case at the rival university and thought better of it. “That can’t apply in this case, if we’re considering that Denison’s death was the preventing factor.”
“Indeed,” the warden agreed. “We can eliminate Denison or anyone else who was encumbered by arthritis or a similar condition. He could never have scaled the wall, no matter how much help he received. Whoever did this would have had to be strong and athletic. And possessed with a ton of pluck.”
“Unless they knew that the fire would happen and the quad be evacuated,” Jonty suggested.
“An accomplice inside? That’s possible, given how small the blaze was and almost planned so that life would not be at risk.” Orlando consulted his notebook. “At what time did this blaze occur? I don’t think we’ve been told.”
“Around two o’clock in the morning,” the warden replied, “although I’d contest that there’d have been less chance of detection without the fire, given the number of people milling about.”
Orlando put away his notepad, having jotted down a few figures and words: he clearly wanted the interview to wind up. “If the violin was being donated to the college, why wasn’t it simply delivered by the hand of the solicitor’s clerk or the like, I fail to understand.”
Jonty had been mulling over an idea on that front. “Was Denison fond of jokes? Could he have asked somebody to play this trick on you so that he’d create a mystery after his death? I can imagine that a man who liked to embroider tales might indulge in such a flight of fancy.”
“Entering into college folklore in the process?” The warden clearly didn’t dismiss the notion. “That might well be so. I’m not aware of his being a practical joker, but what makes any man decide upon doing something peculiar? Take a goat into a porters’ lodge, for example.”
With a groan, Jonty noted the little snigger from Orlando. Would his misspent youth pursue him everywhere he went?
Chapter Four
“How did he know about the goat?” Jonty asked, as they set off from Gabriel to fetch the motorcar. “Did you tell him?”
“For once I’m entirely innocent of the accusation.” Delighted it had happened, though. “I believe that one of the dons from the college next door is now at Gabriel and I daresay he couldn’t wait to share the tale.”
“Hmphm.” Jonty, narrowed eyed and clearly peeved, resembled a dormouse that had been prematurely woken from hibernation and was not at all happy at the fact. The expression wasn’t unattractive. “Anyway, what was all that about?”
“What was all what about?” Probably not a lot of point in playing ignorant, but it was worth a shot.
“Don’t prevaricate. You know what I mean. All that nonsense at the start of the interview. I thought I was going to have to conduct the entire discussion.” Having crossed the road, he stopped, peering intently at Orlando.
“Ah. I was tongue tied. I could no more have spoken for those first few minutes than got up and danced the tango.” Orlando sighed. “I haven’t felt like that in years.”
“I haven’t seen you like that in years.” Jonty cuffed his elbow. “All will be well. Just be yourself. The 1911 Coppersmith, not the one who was here in 1855.”
“Very funny. I’m not that old.” Orlando almost managed a smile. “I’ll try my best. I do appreciate your being here to help. I may not show it, but I feel it.”
“Daft beggar.” Jonty pulled at his lover’s arm in order to clear the way for an approaching nursery maid and her perambulator. “Would you rather we simply got in the car and went home? We could pretend there was an espionage element and as a result we’ve been asked by His Majesty’s government to stand down while they ensure that Denison is avenged?”
Orlando, overwhelmed by both Jonty’s concern and powers of invention, shook his head. “No, that would be cowardly, no matter how deeply this affects me.” he encouraged Jonty to walk on. “Do you know I feared I’d lost my ability?”
“I never realised. Was that while we were talking to the warden?”
“No, back at St. Bride’s, when we were discussing the case with our colleagues over lunch. I’d not done simple things like laying out a timeline for them, nor had I considered several questions in the matter before they raised them.”
“You daft old thing.” Jonty—given that he couldn’t take Orlando in his arms—cuffed the man�
�s shoulder affectionately. “Of course you’re not losing your powers. In any other circumstances you’d have taken very little notice of omitting timelines or wotnot. You’d have called it a slip of the memory owing to that excellent marmalade pudding they served. One dollop of that would be enough to dull any man’s brains. Anyway, this afternoon you held your own with Lewis-Duckworth. Once the cat had let go of your tongue. And he clearly was impressed with you.”
“Was he?”
“Of course, you numbskull. You caught him out with the garden gate. How would somebody know that the gate was no longer locked, by the way?” Jonty asked. “Possessed of inside information alongside their ton of pluck?”
“Or possessed of a stroke of luck, their original intention being to ignore the lock and simply climb over. Compared to the wall that would be simplicity itself.” They’d reached a kerb: Orlando halted as an omnibus came past. How had Oxford become so full of people and traffic? He was certain it was never so busy when he was a student there, but perhaps he’d simply not noticed. “Inside knowledge must have been involved, though, to know about the gate itself. It’s not visible from the quad, giving side on to the little alleyway it leads into. A don or a dunderhead would be aware of it.”
“Or a visitor to the lodge who’d been taken to admire the garden?” Jonty stuck out his lip, pensively. “What about this spying business? The corroborative evidence and all that?”
“I’m not convinced. If Lewis-Duckworth’s friend had been researching into it, he may have published a paper on the subject, or given a talk. He may even have discussed it with Denison himself, for all we—or the warden—know.”
“Excellent.” Jonty cuffed his arm again. “I told you: no evidence of you losing your powers. While you’re still in such an acute mood, let’s go and see this devoted housekeeper, Mrs. Evans. Domestic staff know all the secrets of the household.”
“Ah, but do they always tell them to complete strangers who knock on the door?”
Lessons in Playing a Murderous Tune: A Cambridge Fellows Mystery novella (Cambridge Fellows Mysteries) Page 4