“He was already friendly with Fernandez, I expect,” said Cribb.
“Of course he was-and determined that my experience should not spoil the friendship. Harry was a fine man in many respects, and a dutiful husband, but he brushed aside my feelings in this matter. He insisted that we both behaved towards Mr. Fernandez as if nothing had happened. In fact, he took to inviting him to dinner, to show me that he possessed qualities I had not appreciated before. I admit that after several such evenings I started to revise my opinion of our visitor. I began to wonder whether I had exaggerated the incident in the passage. Mr. Fernandez has a very charming manner and he could not be faulted at our dinner parties. Harry was delighted, and I was greatly reassured-to my cost.”
“There was another incident?”
“Worse than the first. I should rather not speak about it now.”
“It made no difference to your husband’s friendship with him?”
“Harry did not find out. I had no encouragement to tell him. It was a chance encounter that led to something more. I tried to forget about it, but John Fernandez is not easily put down. He has often pestered me since. These days I find such approaches more tiresome than frightening, but he is still an odious man. After Harry and I had gone our own ways, he exerted more and more of an influence over him. This is the result.”
“You blame Fernandez for your husband’s death?”
“Most certainly. Harry had no interest in fishing until John Fernandez introduced him to it. He used to laugh at the man for getting up so early on Saturday mornings. I did not know until this morning that he had come so much under his influence that he was doing the very thing he used to hold in contempt. Find your murderer by all means, Sergeant, and hang him, but I shall always know who really was responsible for Harry’s death.”
CHAPTER 22
In which Thackeray acts on information received-A boarding party-And a party of quite another sort
A rowing boat drifted slowly with the current, the oarsman holding his blades clear of the water as his passenger, Constable Thackeray, trained a pair of binoculars on four small squares of light, the windows of a houseboat just distinguishable against the dark mass of Christ Church Meadow. The sun had set more than an hour before. The sky was overcast and the river had the solid look of tar macadam.
“Are you sure?” Thackeray asked, putting down the binoculars.
“Sure as a dose of salts,” affirmed his companion, a small rotund person of the type generally found where there are boats and water. Through the darkness his cheeks gleamed like the last two apples in a barrel. He had walked into Oxford Police Station at half-past eight. Hearing his story, the desk sergeant had brought him in to Thackeray, in charge of the search during Cribb’s absence at the mortuary.
It had been difficult to tell whether he genuinely had information. Searches on the scale of this one could be relied upon to excite certain members of the public into concocting totally spurious accounts of things they thought the police would like to hear. Cribb’s way of testing his informants was to put a few sharp questions to them. Thackeray, not equal to that, had muttered imprecations of appalling violence instead. “Honest to God I saw them,” the boatman had insisted. “One like a blooming great bear, one small cove with a large head and thick glasses and a thin one with glasses. And a dog.”
The dog had settled it. Thackeray had swiftly formed a posse of six regular constables and two specials and marched them down St. Aldate’s to Folly Bridge, where they had commandeered two skiffs. With the boatman showing the way in his rowing boat and the skiffs respectfully astern, this small flotilla had moved downstream past the spectral college barges until they had drawn level with the houseboat.
Everyone now waited in midstream for Thackeray’s signal. He held the glasses to his eyes again. If this proved to be a mistake, if the occupant of the houseboat turned out to be some Oxford worthy preparing to retire for the night, it would not be easy explaining what nine constables were doing aboard his floating home. It would not be easy explaining it to the constables. Or Cribb.
“I can’t hear the dog,” he said, wanting reassurance.
“It wouldn’t bark all the time, guv.”
“I can’t see anything through the window either.”
“It was a dog, not a blooming horse,” said the boatman.
When he had reached the inescapable conclusion that there was nothing to be salvaged from the adventure by giving up at this stage, Thackeray told the boatman to move alongside the houseboat. As they approached, he was able to see that it was actually a barge some thirty feet in length, with a broad deck on which the “house” was constructed, in fact a diminutive version of the Ark, except that the roof was flat, forming an upper deck with a wrought-iron balustrade around it.
The strains of a concertina from within the boat lifted Thackeray’s confidence as they came alongside. If there was music, the chance was good that more than one person was aboard. The spectre of the irate houseboat owner in his nightshirt ceased troubling him.
Standing in the rowing boat, Thackeray was unable to see through the lighted windows, which was a pity, because there was nothing for it now but to interrupt whatever was going on inside. He signalled to the waiting constables to approach, and then he clambered aboard with ponderous care. With good fortune the concertina would drown any sounds he made on the deck. He could do without Towser announcing his arrival.
The door of the cabin was ahead of him, ornately gilt-panelled. To its right a set of iron stairs painted white led to the upper deck. On an impulse he climbed them and stood aloft, beckoning to his support party to come aboard. With five hefty constables posted at the cabin door, he crouched and passed his hands speculatively over the surface of the deck.
In a moment he located a metal ring about four inches in diameter, inset level with the deck. By stroking his fingertips outwards from the ring, he traced the outline of a trapdoor to the room below.
He sat back on his haunches and rubbed the side of his beard, mentally invoking all the benign influences that ever favoured policemen. He drew a long breath and pulled up the trapdoor.
His first sensation was of dazzling light. Cigar smoke was billowing from the hatchway. The smoke thinned, his eyes adjusted to the light and he looked into the amazed and upturned face of a blonde woman in a black corset standing motionless on a red carpet. To state that she was motionless is not quite accurate, for parts of her were quivering, but all conscious movement had stopped, as if she were petrified by the interruption. The position of her arms suggested she had been performing a dance-and out of sight the concertina continued playing-but what kind of dance was performed in stays Thackeray did not know.
If it were not for the cigar smoke, he would have muttered an apology, put down the hatch, called off his constables and disappeared into the night. The way young women amused themselves on houseboats was no part of his present inquiry. The smoke reminded him that although the prospect through the hatch was enough to occupy one pair of eyes, there were parts of the cabin obscured from view.
The concertina stopped. “What is it?” asked a man’s voice.
The dancer unfroze sufficiently to point above her head and whisper, “Look!”
A suggestion that could only be helpful, Thackeray decided. Anyone curious enough to take it up would be obliged to stand where they could be seen. It saved him risking an accident by dipping his head and shoulders through the hatchway.
Yet the accident nearly happened when he lurched forward in surprise as two more young women appeared in view, one, like the first, in a corset, white in colour with purple trimmings, the other pulling on a silk gown with such unconcern that it was starkly clear she, at least, could not be faulted for wearing stays.
“Lawks! It’s another fellow dropping in on us,” said the one in the gown.
“Well, give him a hand, Meg. He can’t be worse than mine,” said the other. As she tossed back her head to laugh at her own wit, fumes of gi
n wafted upwards.
“Permit me to see for myself,” said a voice, a thin, clinical voice that Thackeray recognized. The three women were hustled aside by Mr. Lucifer. He was wrapped in a gown like Meg’s. “What the devil …? It’s that blighter with the beard we saw in the Barley Mow.”
“Follows you around, does he?” said one of the women. “A regular peeping Tom! Have you had your eyeful, darling?”
Insults could not touch Edward Thackeray. He was enjoying one of the grander moments of his police career. Almost single-handed, he had caught the three most wanted men in Oxfordshire.
He did not have long to savour it. Without a word, Humberstone, the biggest of the three, arrived beneath the hatch, reached up, caught Thackeray by the collar and jerked him headfirst into the cabin.
His shoulder hit the carpet and saved him from concussion, but his body crashed painfully through a small table. He lay among the splintered wood in an enclosure of legs without a skirt or trouser among them. Somewhere nearby a dog was barking.
He propped himself up on an elbow. Nothing was going to deflect him from his proper duty. “Gentlemen, I am a police officer. A warrant has been issued for your arrest and I am here to take you into custody.” He fainted.
CHAPTER 23
Humberstone at bay-Pinning it on Towser-Cribb learns about insurance
“What are they going to say about this at the Providential?” Cribb asked.
“About what in particular?” Humberstone replied, managing to preserve his loftiness of manner while wearing a silk kimono. He was sitting handcuffed in the charge room at Oxford Police Station facing Cribb across a table. A uniformed constable sat nearby, notebook in hand.
“Why, about three respectable members of its Claims Department visiting a houseboat named, I understand, the Xanadu, and being found there in the company of three ladies of very uncertain reputation.”
“I can think of no reason why the Providential should hear about it. Is this a threat of some kind? I don’t care for your tone, Sergeant. You may not approve of the ladies on the Xanadu, but there is nothing unlawful in what we were doing.”
“I grant you that,” said Cribb, “but assaulting a police officer isn’t lawful. We regard that very seriously in the Force. Constable Thackeray is going to get an uncommon nasty bruise on his shoulder as the result of your attentions.”
“I merely pulled the man down through the hatch. How could I have known he was a policeman? It’s a sorry state of affairs if a gentleman can’t challenge a fellow who intrudes upon his privacy. If your constable wanted to be treated in a civil fashion, he should have knocked at the door and introduced himself, instead of peering through the skylight.”
“Are you suggesting Thackeray didn’t tell you he was a police officer?”
“Not until I had him on the floor. He was too busy goggling at the girls, old boy. It’s lucky for him I had the dog locked in the galley, or he might have had some more injuries to complain of. Policeman! If he told you he announced himself before I had him helpless on the floor, the bounder’s lying.”
Cribb sniffed. “And I suppose the two officers who attempted to apprehend you as you bolted through the door are just imagining they were hurled into the river-or perhaps you didn’t notice they were wearing uniforms?”
“There’s no need to be sarcastic with me, Sergeant. The events aboard that houseboat were very confused, believe me. Between the dog barking and the women screaming and your policeman jabbering something about a warrant, it’s not surprising that we made for the door. And with Gold and Lucifer pushing at my back, I may have met your officers with something of an impact. I’m sixteen stone in weight and once I’m moving it isn’t easy to stop. I’m sorry about the wet uniforms and the man with the broken nose. I’m sorry about Constable Thackeray’s shoulder. But if you burst in upon people as he did, unexpected things are liable to happen. Now perhaps you’ll tell me what it was all about.”
For a man in Humberstone’s situation, it was a polished performance, Cribb had to concede. Anyone who could fell three policemen trying to arrest him and put it down to circumstances beyond his control was a cool customer. It was already past midnight. Here he was, figuratively squaring up like a prize fighter, ready to trade punches by the hour. It would be unwise to mix it with him when there were two others to come. Best take him quickly through the evidence and then try conclusions with Gold and Lucifer.
“When I saw you last, Mr. Humberstone-it was in the Barley Mow, if you remember-there was talk of a dead man, a tramp, down the river a bit, at Hurley.”
“You mentioned it,” said Humberstone with caution. “I didn’t attach much importance to it. You didn’t tell us you were a detective, or I might have taken more interest. It’s a queer thing when you think about it that a member of the public can be locked away for impersonating a policeman, when there’s policemen all over England masquerading as members of the public.”
“The tramp was murdered,” Cribb went on, refusing to be drawn. “Someone took him on a boat and very likely got him drunk. They pushed him over the side and held him down until his lungs filled with water. We found the marks of someone’s hands on his neck and shoulders. There were other marks, Mr. Humberstone. There must have been a struggle aboard the boat before they got him into the water. We found a dog bite on his leg.”
“My word!” said Humberstone in an exaggerated squeak. “I begin to understand how Scotland Yard works. You suspect Towser. I hope you will allow him to get in touch with his solicitor.”
“Today a second body was found, here in Oxford. The victim was a don from Merton College, Mr. Bonner-Hill. The state of his body indicates that he was murdered in the same manner as the tramp.”
“Don’t say it, Sergeant! You found Towser’s teethmarks again. A tramp and a don! That animal makes no distinctions at all. He’ll bite anyone who comes his way.”
Cribb was disinclined to smile. “No, Mr. Humberstone. This time there were no teethmarks. I happen to know that you and your friends were on the river at about the time the murder was committed-that’s the connection.”
Humberstone sat back in his chair and rested the handcuffs on the table’s edge. “At this point, you would like me to deny emphatically that we were anywhere near the scene of the murder at the time it happened. You then ask me how I can possibly know when and where the crime took place when you haven’t told me. Checkmate.”
“This ain’t a game, sir. But since we’re talking about the when and the where of it, where were you when the first murder was committed at Hurley?”
“If you want an answer to that, you had better remind me when it happened,” said Humberstone, cocking his head provokingly.
“On Tuesday night.”
“An age ago.”
“In the Barley Mow you said you put up at the Crown in Marlow, just as the characters in the book did. No, I’m doing you an injustice. Mr. Gold said that. You were silent on the matter.”
Humberstone nodded. For the first time in the interview, a look of caution flickered across his face. “Gold is usually very authoritative on matters of detail.”
“He wasn’t too convincing on the location of the Crown,” said Cribb. “Didn’t seem to know whether it was beside the river or at the top of the High Street. Are you sure you stayed there, sir?”
“That’s a question you should address to Sammy Gold, not me.”
“It doesn’t matter, sir. I’ve got a man checking the register of guests.”
“Then you’ll get your answer.”
Cribb changed tack. “Did you know Mr. Bonner-Hill, by any chance?”
“What makes you think that I should?” said Humberstone, smiling again.
“Be so good as to answer my question,” said Cribb more firmly.
“No, I did not know Bonner-Hill. When you mentioned the name just now, it was the first time I had ever heard of it.”
“You’re sure of that, Mr. Humberstone?”
“Do you doubt m
e, Sergeant?”
“I’m a little puzzled, sir. I thought you might have come across the name. It’s not a very common one. I met his widow this afternoon. She told me his life was insured with the Providential.”
“Ah.” Humberstone leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table and his chin on his hands. “You supposed that the name ought to be on the tip of my tongue, together with the million and a half others who insure with the Providential. If you suppose we spend our time reciting the names of our policy holders, you have a very mistaken impression of what goes on in a city insurance office, Sergeant. For one thing, policyholders’ names are kept confidential and for another, my companions and I are employed in the Claims Department. Bonner-Hill’s name would not be drawn to our attention until a claim is lodged. From what you tell me, we can expect to deal with it when we return to the office a week on Monday.”
“Possibly,” said Cribb. “For the present, you’re returning to the cells.”
CHAPTER 24
Mr. Lucifer’s cautionary tale-The perils of poker-The demon and the dance
Lucifer, when he appeared in a dressing gown before Cribb, was in no mood for verbal sparring. A muscle at the side of his mouth was in spasm, providing fulsome views of his teeth, and his eyebrows were rearing up like dogs on chains.
“No, I shall not sit down. I have not been so humiliated in all my life. A cell for common criminals! You shall hear more of this, my man. I propose to use every process of the law that is open to me to see that innocent members of the public are protected from such vile experiences as this.” He stepped towards the desk and glared at his inquisitor. “I remember you, by thunder! You’re the person who was sitting in the Barley Mow the other evening. You didn’t tell us you were a policeman then.”
“No,” said Cribb. “I didn’t mention it. I suppose I could have put on my helmet and whistled If you want to know the time, ask a p’liceman, but it’s not encouraged when you’re on plain clothes duty. Shall we begin, sir? It’s getting late and I hope to get some sleep tonight. I’ve been talking to Mr. Humberstone. He told me a little about the way things work in your insurance office. Have you always worked with the Providential, sir?”
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