On the way, Frances saw that Westbourne Park Road had been fortunate indeed in escaping with some slight damage to trees and roofs. The stout houses had stood up well, but further on, the commercial heart of Bayswater had suffered badly. Several of the shops which not been protected by shutters had had their windows blown in. Planks had already been hammered across open frontages, fringed with splinters like savage teeth, and carts were taking away shovelled heaps of broken brick, slate, glass and terra cotta. Everywhere was a misery of drifting debris, and unhappy people creeping on their way to important business, looking about them at their changed world with expressions of fear and wonder. Some humourist had chalked on a wall ‘The Bold Bloods are to blame’.
Both policemen remained uncommunicative during the journey. Sharrock stared at Frances as if expecting her to pepper him with questions, but faced with the risk of exciting his suspicions by saying the wrong thing, she decided to remain silent.
The front of the police station showed no obvious external sign of damage, but inside there was a great deal of activity, and constables darted back and forth with worried faces. Inspector Swanson, who had been commanding operations in the manner of a military gentleman, took Sharrock aside as soon as he appeared, and there was a rapid discussion. Whatever Swanson had to impart, the news was met with a serious frown and at last Sharrock puffed out his cheeks and nodded. Swanson hurried away.
Sharrock had a word with the desk sergeant, then he conducted Chandler and Frances to the interview room, the constable accompanying them and standing at the door. They sat down, facing the Inspector across the table.
‘I don’t suppose I will have the opportunity of speaking to Mr Rawsthorne,’ said Chandler.
Sharrock leaned back in his chair, looking as though he was waiting for something before he began the interview. ‘He isn’t here.’
‘Can anyone tell me where he is?’ asked Chandler with mounting irritation.
‘At this very moment?’ Sharrock consulted his watch. ‘On his way to the cells of Marylebone police court, where he is to appear later this morning. I have just been informed that he has been charged with theft, fraud, embezzlement, and misappropriation of funds. That’s just the first few we could think of and others might follow.’
Chandler sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘I must say this is all very distressing.’ He glanced at Frances. ‘You seem to have very little to say for yourself. What am I to do?’
‘Like you, I am awaiting the Inspector’s questions.’
The door opened and a second constable arrived. To Frances’ consternation, he was accompanied by Wheelock and Marsden. Both were seated, and the constable departed. Marsden was making no attempt to conceal his pleasure at the situation and Wheelock appeared unusually jaunty for a man who had just spent a night in the cells under suspicion of murder and then had the roof fall in on him. There was a scratch on his cheek but he seemed otherwise uninjured.
‘What is this?’ exclaimed Chandler, leaping to his feet. ‘Inspector I am more than happy to assist you in your enquiries regarding Mr Rawsthorne, but I really cannot see why these – gentlemen – are present.’
‘Mr Wheelock, of course, you are already acquainted with, and this is Mr Marsden his solicitor,’ said Sharrock evenly. ‘Now then Mr Chandler, you must sit down and the questioning will begin.’ Chandler complied, but with great reluctance.
‘I would like you to tell me where you were at six o’clock on Wednesday night?’
‘I don’t see the relevance of that question.’
‘Just answer it please.’
Chandler looked at Frances.
‘Just tell the Inspector the truth,’ she advised.
‘I am always truthful. But I cannot see why I am being questioned as if I was a criminal. Very well, if I must. Wednesday – that was the night before last. In fact –’ realisation dawned. ‘That was the night my aunt was killed, and as I have been informed, the time of her death.’
Sharrock was silent.
‘Well, if you expect me to supply Mr Wheelock with an alibi, or provide any evidence concerning the tragedy, I cannot. I have already told you where I was at that time. I was in my lodgings, alone. I knew nothing of what had occurred until I received a message from Miss Doughty and took a cab to the police station. You have my address. What more do you need?’
Mr Chandler’s lodgings were, Frances knew, barely five or ten minutes walk from any part of the route between Mrs Wheelock’s home and Mr Rawsthorne’s office, at some point on which the killer had entered her carriage. If Chandler had carried out the murder he had had ample opportunity to return to his lodgings and remove or destroy all traces of his dreadful work.
Wheelock chuckled gently to himself and Chandler flashed him a look of astonishment. ‘I fail to find any amusement in this situation. It only confirms my opinion that even if you are not a murderer you had no regard at all for my aunt.’
‘If she was your aunt,’ sneered Wheelock.
‘What in the name of heaven do you mean by that?’
‘Just to make this clear,’ interrupted Sharrock, ‘Mr Wheelock here has informed us that after your visit to his home his wife revealed that she believed you were not her great-nephew at all but an impostor. If that is the case and you realised during your visit that you had given yourself away then it would provide you with a motive for murder.’
Chandler could only stare at him in speechless amazement. He glanced at Frances.
‘You will receive no assistance or comfort from Miss Doughty,’ said Marsden. ‘She is in any case acting for my client.’
And there it was, thought Frances, the punishment for her sins. She had made a terrible error and now she was going to suffer for it.
‘What?’ Chandler cried out, aghast, ‘But that is outrageous! Miss Doughty, tell me this is untrue!’
Marsden turned to Frances with an expression of supreme satisfaction. ‘Do you deny that I wrote to you saying that my client had asked to see you, and that you complied with that request? Do you deny that you had a long interview with him and further, that as a consequence of that interview, you carried out a commission on his behalf?’
Frances was unable to meet Chandler’s look. ‘I do not deny it –’
‘Because you dare not!’ trumpeted Marsden with a smirk, ‘I have here the very letter you wrote to me confirming the fact.’
‘– but I wish to point out that the commission was in no way connected with my representation of Mr Chandler, which I believe he has found satisfactory,’ she added weakly. It was not enough to rescue her from the appalling embarrassment.
Chandler groaned and buried his face in his hands.
Sharrock appeared unmoved. ‘Mr Chandler, I suggest that you now hand over to me all proof of identity on your person. If there are any additional papers we require then we will send a constable to your lodgings to obtain them. In the meantime you will have to remain here.’
Marsden looked entirely satisfied with his morning’s work. ‘Thank you Inspector. I trust that our business here is now complete and my client will be released?’
‘Not a bit of it. He stays put. One of these two men killed Mrs Wheelock and they both stay locked up until I find out which one did it.’ Sharrock signalled the constable. ‘Let’s get them in the cells. I think we still have two that are habitable. You’re not planning to give us any trouble are you, Mr Chandler?’
That gentleman appeared too dazed to contemplate such a thing. Unable even to look at Frances, he allowed himself to be led away. Wheelock, who appeared unconcerned, was also removed.
‘You will hear more of this, Inspector,’ said Marsden, gathering his papers. ‘I trust and hope, however, that this sordid little incident marks the end of Miss Doughty’s disreputable career as a so-called detective. In fact, I happen to have a client who is in need of a washerwoman, which I am sure would suit her far better.’ He gave an acid snort of triumph and departed.
Frances was left fe
eling desperately ashamed of herself. She knew she could and should have refused to act for Mr Wheelock in any capacity, but had been lured into doing so with revelations concerning her own family, and the promise of proof. The information had brought her neither pleasure not profit, yet she could not help thinking that despite everything, knowledge was preferable to ignorance. Her only small fragment of comfort was knowing that there were papers in the possession of Wheelock’s agent that would one day spell the end of Mr Marsden. It was a moment she would savour when it came.
Sharrock gazed at her sympathetically. ‘Well Miss Doughty, here’s a nice little tangle, and no mistake! Would you care to tell me what it was you did for Mr Wheelock?’
‘No, Inspector, but I can assure you it was within the law and did not concern Mr Chandler’s claim on his aunt’s property.’
‘Is he a right one or a wrong one, do you think?’
‘I really couldn’t say.’
‘I do have one piece of advice for you.’
‘Oh?’
‘This might be one of those cases where you would be advised not to send your client an invoice.’
Frances had already reached that conclusion. ‘Will you need a statement from me about my business dealings with Mr Rawsthorne?’
‘I will. And any documents you may have which might assist us. Our evidence is sound, so any sympathy you may feel for the man will be wasted.’
‘I have no sympathy for him and will help you in any way I can. I have only recently discovered some papers concerning my late father, which suggested to me that he did not after all die penniless, as I was informed, but that Mr Rawsthorne made use of my family investments for his own purposes. This arrest has merely forestalled any action I might have taken, although I have no hope of recovering what I am due.’
‘He’ll be made bankrupt, I shouldn’t wonder. At least he won’t want for accommodation though it won’t be as spacious as he was used to. He should even have Mr Carter Freke for company.’ Sharrock gave her a questioning look. ‘And Mr Rawsthorne’s downfall was not down to you? Come on, Miss Doughty, every other big upset round here has your fingermarks on it.’
‘I have nothing further to say on the matter. I will tell my story in court if need be. But on another more pressing subject, can you advise me if there has been any news of Jim Price? The authorities are examining all the information I gathered, and I do hope that they will see sense and issue a reprieve, especially in view of the subsequent murders, all of which were committed when he was in custody.’
‘No news, and to be blunt, I doubt there will be.’
‘What of the man people call the Filleter? Has he confessed?’
‘Funny cove that, no name, no address, no nothing. Swanson said he just sat there without a care in the world and denied everything.’
‘But surely he’ll be questioned again? We only have three days. You must make the man talk by whatever means necessary.’
‘Thumbscrews? The rack? What would you suggest?’
‘I really don’t know, Inspector, I leave that to you.’
‘Well that’s all out of my hands in any case. Sergeant Brown has just dug him out of the roof fall and taken him to hospital to have him checked over for broken bones.’
‘Is he fit to be questioned?’
‘I’ve not been informed of that. Apparently he wasn’t saying much when they carried him off. But Brown will stay with him until he talks.’
It seemed to Frances that every circumstance that might have saved her client was weighted against him, and through no fault of his or anyone else. ‘Well you must not let the man escape.’
‘Don’t you worry about that. From what I was told, he won’t be going anywhere for quite some time.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Frances arrived home to discover that the two elderly ladies who occupied the ground-floor apartments had decided that if they remained in Bayswater another day they would be murdered in their beds, or blown to pieces. They had accordingly paid their month’s rent and quit the premises. Mrs Embleton, though understandably anxious about finding a respectable new tenant, did not ask Frances if she knew of any, presumably on the grounds that most of the people she was acquainted with were criminals.
There was a note waiting from Chas and Barstie. Mr Adolphus Berkeley, they revealed, a jaunty young fellow with an impudent nature who liked to wear his hat askew, was one of the leading lights of the Bold Bloods, and a particular friend and rival of Mr Pargeter. The two of them often engaged in wagers on every subject under the sun. Recently they had been meeting in private and it was rumoured in the club that a substantial speculation was afoot, the nature of which had been kept secret. Chas and Barstie promised to do their best to uncover the facts.
It was a commission that would no doubt lead to success but Frances thought she had little with which to congratulate herself. Her client, who might be both an impostor and a murderer, had been arrested, and Jim Price would almost inevitably go to the gallows. She could not decide if the Filleter was guilty of all the murders although she felt sure he had killed George Ibbitson. The other murders did not bear his stamp, but he was more than capable of carrying them out, and she wondered if they had been done at the behest of another person. Now he was lying in hospital with Sergeant Brown waiting at his bedside, and all she could do was wait and hope that very soon he would be able to provide the answers she so urgently needed.
Next day, the morning newspapers both local and national gave extensive coverage to the murder of Mrs Wheelock and the arrest of her husband. They had not yet been alerted to the arrest of Mr Chandler, although some correspondents who had come to Bayswater to report on the gale had found out about the remarkable events at the office of one of the district’s leading solicitors, and had been busy questioning some of the junior staff. Frances had no wish to see Mr Wheelock again, and felt sure that Chandler would have the same reservations about her, and was therefore surprised to receive a summons to attend Paddington Green police station to speak to Inspector Sharrock.
She was conducted to his office, where there was now hardly room for two people, and he greeted her in a friendlier manner than he had done of late.
‘The reason I have called you in here for a little talk is because I have some news for you. It’s not in the papers yet but I thought you would want to know as soon as possible. In the light of recent events the Home Secretary has agreed to a stay of execution of two weeks for Jim Price.’
Frances gave a little gasp of delight.
‘That is not to say, of course, that he will not be hanged when the two weeks are up, but it shows that it is recognised that there is new evidence that should be examined.’
‘Has the family been told?’
‘I’ve just come from speaking to them now, and they have gone straight to see him.’
Frances wondered if there was enough evidence to exonerate her client, and reluctantly admitted to herself that there was probably not. The best hope at present was for the sentence to be commuted to imprisonment for life, and she wondered how a young man such as he might face this prospect. There was, in her estimation, only one way of freeing him and that was proving that he had not murdered Martha Miller. She would, of course, write to the Price family to say how glad she was to hear the news and that she would continue to do all in her power to ensure that Jim was finally freed. How she might achieve this she did not know.
‘Oh and Mr Chandler asked me to give you this.’ Sharrock handed Frances a card. ‘It is the name of his London banker. If you would present your invoice to him he will deal with it.’
‘I didn’t think –’
‘No, neither did I, but it looks like he is now, due to your efforts, able to take steps to have the marriage of Mrs Outram and Mr Wheelock declared void, for which he is grateful. He doesn’t, however, feel inclined to deal with you directly.’
Before she left, Sharrock suddenly said, ‘That young lad who works for you – calls himself R
atty.’
‘Yes,’ said Frances, hoping her assistant was not in any trouble.
‘I’ve been seeing him about, and I’m pleased to say he’s smartened himself up. Quite the young gent.’
Frances smiled, recalling the time not so long ago when Ratty had been a small boy with a grubby face bundled in an assortment of ill-favoured rags. ‘Yes, he has grown up fast.’
‘You’re sure he doesn’t know his real name?’
‘So he tells me.’
‘Because he reminds me of someone. Can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something about him looks familiar.’
When Frances left Sharrock was shaking his head with the puzzled look of someone trying to extract an old memory.
It was the third Sunday since Jim Price had been condemned to die, but not now the last Sunday in his life. That morning in church, Frances gave silent thanks for the gift of more time and prayed for some inspiration that would finally set him free. Strange as it seemed to her, she also prayed for the recovery of the Filleter but only so that he could finally submit to questioning by the police, and confess to his crimes. He wouldn’t be the first murderer to be carefully nursed back to health only to be hanged.
Sarah made them a hearty dinner, which Frances was too worried to enjoy. Had the weather been more pleasant they might have gone for a walk in Hyde Park, but it was cold and very windy and there was still some danger from broken branches. They stayed indoors and kept warm by the fire.
To their surprise there was a knock at the door and Sarah glanced out of the window. ‘It’s Hannah,’ she announced, ‘the maid at Wheelock’s.’
Death in Bayswater Page 28