‘The owner,’ explained Mr Munro to Frances, ‘is a very stubborn lady and has determined on a price that is quite unrealistic. My brother tried to persuade her to reduce her demands but she will not.’
‘Who is this lady?’ asked Frances.
‘A Mrs Collins. She lives in the country with her family. The house has been empty for two months now.’
Frances turned back to Johnstone. ‘During your tour of the property did you enter the yard and examine the fuel store?’
‘I saw the yard, but I’d made my mind up by then so I didn’t pay much attention to it.’
‘So you saw nothing to cast any light on how Mr Dobree might have entered the premises? It seems he didn’t have the bunch of keys held by this office.’
Johnstone shrugged impatiently. ‘I’ve no more to tell you.’ He tugged at his watch chain and examined an antique timepiece resembling a large gold turnip. ‘If that is all, I’ll bid you good-day.’ He got to his feet and turned to Munro. ‘I’ll take the papers and call tomorrow.’ He nodded at the silent clerk, who put away his notebook and pencil, straightened the pile of documents and put them in the leather case which he tucked under one arm. Johnstone stuffed one hand deep into his pocket and plying the stick energetically with the other, marched rapidly away with the clerk at his heels.
Mr Munro sighed unhappily and sat down. ‘I really don’t know how I can help you, Miss Doughty. I was not here when Mr Johnstone toured the house or on the day Lancelot Dobree died there. I have my own business to attend to, and only call in here once a week. My brother might know more but he cannot be interviewed at present. He is very distraught. Poor Albert was his only son.’
‘Perhaps you could let me know when he might consent to see me. I know that there were further enquiries about the property, and there was a young man who said he would arrange a viewing but did not return. Do you know if he left his name?’
‘I will take a look at the records and write you a note if I find anything. Do you really think the police have made a mistake?’
‘I do.’
Mr Munro shuddered. ‘How horrible. Then none of us are safe.’
Frances’ next call was to the Duke of Sussex Tavern. She knew that in another class of establishment some inferences might be drawn from the appearance of a single woman, and took care to enter the more genteel lounge bar. She was relieved to find Mr Neilson at the bar counter.
‘Troubled times,’ said Neilson, with a shake of the head. ‘I for one won’t believe it of the son-in-law.’
‘I too believe he is innocent and I am acting on his behalf. There are two theories about the death of Mr Dobree. Either he was lured to the place he was killed by an enemy we currently know nothing about, or he left the Lodge room for another reason, and it was chance that he met his death. What I don’t understand is how his body came to be where it was found.’
‘I wish I could enlighten you, but it is a mystery to all who knew him. And now we have poor young Munro being so savagely killed.’
‘Did you know him?’
‘Only as a customer, he sometimes came in for luncheon, or for a beer at the end of the day.’
‘Perhaps other members of your staff here might have seen something on the night Mr Dobree was killed? Can you tell me who was here that night?’
‘Let me consult my book.’
Mr Neilson’s perusals showed that there were five men who staffed the tavern, as well as a cook, a maid who helped in the kitchen, served meals and did light cleaning, a scullery maid, and a charlady who did the rough work. Of those persons, only the charlady had not been in the tavern on the night Lancelot Dobree disappeared. The senior barman, Mr MacNulty, had been supervising the premises while his employer had been officiating as Tyler. MacNulty and the two other barmen, Tetlow and Adams, never left the bar rooms during the whole time the meeting was in progress. None of them had seen Dobree after he went upstairs for the meeting. The other two men, Capper and Spevin, had been working in the storeroom and the cellar. Both were sure that Dobree had not entered that part of the premises. Frances thought, however, that given the nature of the work undertaken by all five men, there might well have been times when their attention was on their work and someone who was determined to slip past them might have done so. None of the employees, confirmed Neilson, had a key to the back door. Only MacNulty had access to the safe where the copy was kept, but he was adamant that he had not left the bar during the meeting and the two barmen agreed.
Once again Frances took a walk around the storeroom. It was roughly square in shape and all the shelving was around the perimeter, so there was nowhere that Capper could have been working where he would have been unable to see someone walk past, nevertheless, if his back had simply been turned, a man who had gone down the back staircase from the Lodge room on the first floor and walked very quietly might just have slipped past without him noticing. From there Dobree would have been able to pass along the corridor into the public bar and, if his luck held, not be seen in the crowds. None of this would have been possible however if Dobree had not first been able to leave the Lodge room. Neither did it explain how he had got into the yard and why he had gone there.
Frances had no wish to sit in either bar room alone, so Mr Neilson kindly permitted her to use the office to sit and write her notes. She was pondering the unanswered questions when Sarah arrived and sought her out.
‘I suppose Mr Salter was committed for trial,’ said Frances resignedly.
‘Not a bit of it. Released without charge.’
‘Really?’ said Frances, in astonishment. ‘Well I am delighted of course, but how was that achieved? Inspector Payne seemed very determined.’
‘Oh he wasn’t happy at all. It was the new solicitor Kingsley who pulled the rabbit out of the hat. You remember how at the inquest Salter said that at the time of the murder he had been staying at the family cottage, but the housekeeper had already told the police he wasn’t there.’
‘Of course we know where he was and why he lied about it.’
‘So we do.’
A thought, half alarming, half exciting, crossed her mind. ‘Don’t tell me my mother come to court and gave him an alibi?’
Sarah shook her head. ‘It was Mrs Barrett, the housekeeper of the cottage. Said she had made a mistake and he was there after all. Not only that but she said he had arrived that afternoon at four o’clock and stayed till next morning. So he has a complete alibi for when Mr Dobree disappeared and was likely killed. The magistrate asked her how come when she got the telegram from London asking if Dobree was there, she didn’t mention it to Mr Salter? She said it was because she wasn’t expecting to see Mr Dobree that night so she didn’t think anything was wrong. Said that when Mr Salter or Mr Dobree wanted to stay she always got a note the day before as she needed to air the cottage, and Mr Dobree never sent her one that time. She lives about five minutes’ walk away. By the time she got the second telegram from the family Mr Salter had already left.’
‘Did the magistrate ask if Mr Salter sent her a note about his plan to use the cottage?’
Sarah chuckled. ‘Yes, you could see he wasn’t too impressed about her changing her story. She said she was sure she had got a note, but she had lost it.’
‘But of course her tale is all lies.’
‘Oh yes, and there’s money passed hands, I’ve no doubt of it. I wouldn’t mind betting that it was Mrs Salter who told her new solicitor Mr Kingsley to pay the housekeeper to lie to the magistrates. From the look on his face Payne knows it too, but he also knows he can’t prove it.’
‘So we still don’t know where Mr Dobree intended to go that night. I wonder what will happen now? Mrs Salter engaged me to find information to free her husband, and now he is free. I have the impression that those who know him do not consider him guilty of murder so his reputation with his friends has not been sullied. But he is a man of business, too. There will always be those who will suspect him. He will have to live with that fo
r the rest of his life unless the real killer is found.’ Frances rose to her feet. ‘I had better find out what they intend me to do.’
‘What if they want you to find out who killed Mr Dobree?’ Sarah asked.
‘That of course is a police matter, but we all know of cases where a suspect is freed and the police decide to look no further. They think they had the right man, and will always be waiting and watching for him to give himself away.’
‘I’ll tell you who else was unhappy – Mr Miggs. He was there in court hoping to see a Freemason charged with murder. That would have suited him right down to the ground. Very disappointed he was!’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
When Frances and Sarah arrived on the doorstep of the Kensington home of Vernon and Alicia Salter they found the doorbell hung with a cascade of black crape tied with ribbon, a stern warning to the casual caller that this was a house of mourning and idle enquiries were therefore discouraged. Frances rang the bell, and a maid opened the door. She was a stout girl, with a plain face that was not improved by a look that suggested it would take more than a simple enquiry to achieve entry to the house. ‘May I know your business please?’
‘Miss Frances Doughty and Miss Smith,’ said Frances presenting her card. ‘We are employed by Mrs Salter on important private business.’
Their names were known to the maid, that much was clear, but there was a curious twist to the corner of her mouth like a barely suppressed smirk. ‘Please come in and wait and you will be attended to shortly.’
They were ushered into a wide hallway resplendent with oil paintings, the glow of many gilded lamps reflecting from polished tables. One of the portraits, its frame draped in black, was of Lancelot Dobree. It was hard, thought Frances, as she paused to gaze upon the painted features, to assess personality from such a representation, which only showed the image the subject wished the world to see. The work was undated, but she thought that it had probably been painted when he was still active in business. He had been a well set up man, with a suggestion of controlled strength and vigour in his form and pose, his mature years only serving to indicate solid respectability. His hair, which was thick and abundant and very little receded from a broad forehead, was dark grey, with side whiskers to match, the mouth firm, the eyes clear and blue. The impression was one of geniality and confidence. He was wearing a signet ring very like the one Frances had noticed was worn by Mr Fiske, and she realised the device it bore must be a Masonic emblem. His hand rested on a table on which were a number of items of Masonic significance, as well as a classical statue draped in a swathe of silken fabric. Behind the seated figure was a scroll bearing the words, ‘Charity, Brotherhood, Truth’.
The visitors were not permitted to remain in the hallway long, for on the maid’s return they were quickly conducted into what appeared to be a small reception room. ‘Kindly wait here,’ said the servant, and departed.
‘You have not met Mr Salter, but I think you will find him a quiet, gentle person,’ said Frances. ‘Unless he is adept at deception, I really don’t think he is capable of murder.’
Sarah did not comment but looked as if she needed to be convinced. ‘I wonder what they’ll ask you to do now? It’s far from over, but they might not know that.’
‘I agree. Mr Salter has been freed on perjured testimony. Such a fragile structure can crumble without warning and I think Inspector Payne is attacking it even as we stand here.’
Their wait lasted no more than five minutes, but when the door opened it admitted the Dobree manservant, Mr Jeffs, who approached them with dignity, his face cold and impassive as a statue. He was carrying an envelope, which he handed to Frances. ‘Miss Doughty, Mr and Mrs Salter wish to express their grateful thanks for all that you have done, and confirm that under the circumstances your services will no longer be required. I think you will find the enclosed cheque very generous indeed.’
‘I see,’ said Frances, thoughtfully. She put the envelope into her reticule without looking at it. ‘Might I have the opportunity of a few moments interview with Mr and Mrs Salter?’
‘That will not be possible. Allow me to show you out,’ said Mr Jeffs, holding the door of the reception room open for them, the formal politeness of his manner concealing that they had effectively just been ordered to leave.
‘You are too kind,’ Frances replied. Sarah raised a quizzical eyebrow, but Frances allowed herself to be shown out without protest.
Moments later she and Sarah stood on the pavement.
‘Well!’ said Sarah. ‘What now?’
Frances opened the envelope and took a few seconds to appreciate the amount written on the cheque. ‘To the bank,’ she said. ‘I need to pay this in at once.’ They hailed a passing cab and climbed aboard. ‘If all my clients paid me so much for a day’s work, I would soon become a lady of leisure.’
Sarah looked dubious. ‘You’ll never be a lady of leisure.’
‘I suppose not. But you do see what this means? Mrs Salter, who is undoubtedly the commanding force in this, is afraid to employ me further. She is concerned that if I continue my investigations I will be able to prove that she arranged for the bribing of a witness to give false testimony at a magistrates’ court.’
‘Do you think Mr Salter has told his wife the truth of the matter?’
‘I don’t know. To do so would reassure her that he is innocent, but it would also raise suspicions of infidelity. Since I do not know the lady well, I am unsure whether murder or a mistress looms larger in her catalogue of crimes. Neither do I know whether Mr Salter told his wife or his new solicitor that he revealed to me where he was on the night of Mr Dobree’s death.’
‘If he did, they’ll know that you know the housekeeper’s new story was a lie. They might think you suspect it in any case.’
‘Which makes me a dangerous person to be silenced.’
Sarah said nothing but clenched her large fists.
‘They think that my silence can be purchased, but the truth is, I have no interest in uncovering their schemes, which would be far more damaging to Mr Salter. I have interviewed his wife only once, but I judge her to be a lady who arranges the world as she would wish it to be. Her husband’s presence at the cottage that evening has become the truth and Mrs Salter will choose to believe it. She may have persuaded herself that her father was killed in a street robbery and is not troubling herself over the inconvenient details that engage my mind. Whatever the damage to her husband’s reputation she believes her wealth will smooth it over, and of course she may be right.’
‘So that is an end of the case?’
‘It seems so. I was asked to find a missing man, which I did. I was asked to exonerate Mr Salter and that has taken place. There is nothing more for me to do. The murder of Lancelot Dobree is now a matter for the police, and not me.’
‘Hmm,’ said Sarah.
Once the cheque was safely banked, Frances wrote another letter to her mother.
Dear Mother, I hope you are continuing well.
You will be overjoyed to hear that all the difficulties your brother has lately experienced have now been happily resolved. The result has been a great relief to everyone concerned.
I do hope that when my current business is completed you will permit me to pay you a visit. I can understand why you have been reluctant to see me, but I cannot find it in myself to blame you for following the dictates of your heart. The past is past and I now believe that all differences can be mended.
Your loving daughter,
Frances
Frances sealed the letter wondering why love should be so complicated and difficult.
That afternoon saw a greater than usual number of clients coming to Frances’ door. Rumours that she was again investigating crimes had brought a train of hopefuls. There had been a recent outbreak of petty thefts in the vicinity; jewellery and watches taken from homes and hotel rooms, and this had prompted several visitors, but Frances said she could do no more than ask her agents to look for the stole
n items in the pawnbrokers.
Tom and his ‘men’ often saw and noted suspicious behaviour in the streets, and they already had their eye on a slippery character who, it was alleged, took pleasure from going up to women and attacking their clothing with scissors. His latest victim, outraged at the cutting of a flounce from a favourite gown, wanted the man stopped, since his depredations had defied even the efforts of her dressmaker to restore, and the garment was ruined. Frances wrote to Tom, saying that the man, of whom they now had a good description, should, if seen, be followed carefully to discover where he lived, but not approached, and then reported to the police.
More seriously, there were unhappy women looking for a separation from their husbands, or even, for the more desperate, a divorce. A new law enacted in 1878 enabled a wife to obtain a separation if her husband had been convicted of assaulting her, the main difficulty being proof, since such crimes usually happened behind closed doors. Even if witnessed, it was often hard to get someone to testify on behalf of the wife, since the husband could discourage witnesses with threats or bribes. Sarah was adept at giving frightened women the resolve to report assaults to the police, getting them to make statements while their bruises were still fresh and swollen. A face marked in several colours and with wounds at different stages of healing would demonstrate the persistent nature of the cruelty. Once the wife had found the courage to speak out, Sarah found that reluctant witnesses could be persuaded to talk.
As Frances interviewed her new clients and determined how their appeals could be dealt with, she reflected that solving their problems was a far more rewarding occupation than drawing up family trees to satisfy a client’s vanity, or scouring the newspapers to make notes of rival tradesmen’s claims. She was busier than she had been for a very long time, and she found she liked it.
Frances Doughty, lady detective, was back in business.
A True and Faithful Brother Page 11