Foreign Bodies

by Martin Edwards

  The constable seemed at first about to take some action, as he suspected that the unimposing man who had flagged him down was perhaps either guilty of or at the least an accomplice to the crime he had been summoned to investigate. But when Mr Monk drew a sheaf of well thumbed papers from his pocket and presented them to the officer, that worthy converted his aggressive posture to one of deferential politeness.

  ‘Your name, my good man?’ enquired Mr Monk.

  ‘O’Leigh, at your service, sir. Patrick O’Leigh’, said the constable, whose red hair, blue eyes and rasping brogue conspired to indicate his Irish ancestry.

  ‘Very well, Patrick O’Leigh, I shall accompany you up to the Manor. You may test your mettle against the challenging case that awaits you there, but any instructions I may give you, you must follow without question’.

  ‘Indeed I will, Your Honour’.

  ‘I see you understand my position. And now I must consult with my good friend Jimmy here’.

  Jimmy examined the little man with a mistrustful gaze. ‘I ain’t your friend’, he said roughly.

  ‘But I am yours, Jimmy, for I intend to allow you to earn six shillings’, came the response. ‘And the constable will assure you that you would do well to obey me’.

  ‘The gennelman’s a mucky muck with the secret police’, the constable whispered, his attitude fawning.

  ‘So you now understand’, said Mr Monk, ‘but you must keep that knowledge to yourself’.

  The boy said nothing, but stuck out his hand for the promised payment.

  ‘I shall give you three shillings in advance’, said Mr Monk, laying the silver on the lad’s palm. ‘You will receive the balance when this case has been satisfactorily concluded and you have kept my confidence’.

  ‘When will the case be concluded?’ asked young Jimmy.

  ‘When it is no longer necessary for you to hold your tongue’, the little man replied. ‘Now attend me closely. You will find the tracks of an automobile on the east side of the Manor. There was considerable rain last night, so the tracks will be easy to see. They curve around to the rear of the house. Is there a back gate?’

  The boy nodded.

  ‘Then you will find that the tracks go through it. You must follow them on your bicycle until you lose them…or until you discover where they lead. When you bring me a useful report, then—’

  The boy kept silent, but his eyes spoke volumes.

  ‘—then instead of receiving three additional shillings, you shall have six!’

  ‘Rather!’ said the boy, and he clambered aboard his machine and hastened off along the path.

  ‘Where are you off to?’ Mr Monk called after him.

  ‘The back gate!’ cried Jimmy, and he disappeared from sight behind a stand of shubbery.

  ‘A clever lad’, remarked the little man, nodding approvingly. ‘Now be off with you, Patrick O’Leigh, and do your best to be just as clever’.

  A moment later, the constable passed through the gate into the park. Mr Monk followed him, then veered off onto a narrow side path through the bushes, a path he suspected would ultimately lead him to the east side of the house. This suspicion proved well founded, as he soon stood before a side entrance to Kingwood Manor, at the precise spot where, as the servants paced to and fro, he had noted the ruts of an automobile’s wheels baked into the previous night’s mud.

  Just then he heard loud voices and footsteps from within. He scurried around to the front of the house and slipped through the door—which still stood open—into a marble foyer, from which a broad staircase led to the upper floors.

  At the foot of the stairs stood a man and a woman, and the respectful posture of the servants in the foyer made it clear that they must be Lord Kingwood and his daughter.

  As Mr Monk made his entrance, the lord of the manor was addressing those of his people who stood there assembled. ‘It is impossible to understand what has occurred here’, said Lord Kingwood, ‘and I urge you all to suspend your judgements for the time being. All we know for certain is that John Perkins, my old butler, has disappeared and that his wife has been murdered, and that two valuable canvases have been cut from their frames in the painting gallery’.

  His Lordship, who understandably seemed quite upset with these facts, paused briefly and then demanded, ‘Which of you was the last to enter the gallery?’

  The servants, men and women alike, stared at each other in bewilderment. Then the young man with whom Mr Monk had previously spoken stepped forward.

  ‘Mr Perkins forbade us to go into that room’, said he. ‘Only he had the key. And the rest of us were only engaged last evening’.

  ‘So John Perkins was the only one who could have had access to the gallery?’ said Lord Kingwood, shaking his head in perplexity. Then he glanced sharply around the foyer and asked, ‘Have the police not yet arrived?’

  The Bridgetown constable stepped forward and introduced himself, and Lord Kingwood and his daughter led the man upstairs to the second floor, where the painting gallery was situated. The servants remained in the foyer, whispering amongst themselves.

  Mr Monk had observed these proceedings in silence, half concealed behind one of the columns which supported the foyer’s ceiling. He had admired the thin, aristocratic appearance of Lord Kingwood, unbent despite the man’s advanced age, and the sympathetic face with its high forehead and a full moustache that extended to the corners of his mouth. His daughter was almost as tall as her father, and possessed the same regular features.

  When the two of them and the constable had ascended out of sight, Mr Monk approached the young servant, who seemed surprised to see him still there. The little man led him off to a corner and engaged him in a conversation which seemed to be of no little significance, for the servant’s face revealed increasing concern as the exchange unfolded.

  Not half an hour later, Mr Monk slipped outside. The first human creature he encountered was the lad he had set on the trail of the automobile that appeared to have left Kingwood Manor via the back gate on the previous evening.

  ‘I followed the tracks to the banks of the Thames’, the boy reported, ‘and there they ended’.

  ‘Was there a boat landing at that point?’

  ‘A narrow wooden dock, sir, yes. And now…’

  Jimmy held out his hand, and Mr Monk dropped six shillings upon it. ‘That makes nine shillings in all’, he said. ‘Would you like to try for twelve?’

  ‘Indeed, sir!’ came the rejoinder.

  ‘Then get back on your bicycle and deliver this sealed envelope to the telegraph office in Bridgetown. Here is the money to send it off, but you must tell no one, do you understand?’

  The boy nodded, and eyed Mr Monk—who had delivered these instructions in a tone that did indeed suggest him to be a ‘mucky muck’ with the police—fearfully.

  An instant later, the young messenger was on his way, pedalling furiously.

  And Mr Monk planted himself on a bench in a corner of the foyer to await the constable’s return.

  IV

  The manly Patrick O’Leigh descended the staircase alone; Lord Kingwood and his daughter had remained upstairs.

  He brought with him a message for the servants from their employer—that they should go on with their duties as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred—and then stepped outside.

  Mr Monk accompanied him.

  ‘What will you do now, my good fellow?’ the little man enquired.

  ‘At His Lordship’s request, I am off to notify the coroner and the doctor’, Patrick replied.

  ‘If I am not incorrect’, said Mr Monk, ‘the coroner is Sir Francis Foreman, who resides in Willow Court?’ When the constable nodded his agreement, the little man went on: ‘That is quite some distance from here’.

  ‘Three quarters of an hour by bicycle’, said Patrick.

  ‘If
Sir Francis steps immediately into his automobile’, Mr Monk remarked, ‘then it will be at least an hour before he reaches us’.

  ‘Longer than that, sir’, said the constable. ‘Sir Francis lives quite simply. He has no automobile. But His Lordship will drive over to fetch him at mid-day. Meanwhile, he will notify Scotland Yard. The telephone in the Manor is out of service, so he will have to go to Bridgetown to place the call’.

  ‘You did not inform him of my presence?’

  ‘Certainly not! You specifically instructed me not to do so’.

  ‘Good man! It would not have been so terrible if you had. But then the servants would have learned the truth, and I would have been sorry of that: it is better that I remain unidentified, which will allow me to hear things that might be concealed from an officer of the police’.

  ‘Is there anything else you have to say to me, sir?’

  ‘Nothing, my friend. You may hop onto your bicycle and set off for Sir Francis Foreman’.

  The constable departed, and Mr Monk strolled slowly back to the house. As he neared the front door, the servant with whom he had already spoken several times that morning came out to meet him.

  ‘Lord Kingwood wishes to see you’, said he.

  ‘Lord Kingwood? Me? How does he know that I am here?’

  ‘Perhaps he was informed by one of the other servants’, came the reply. ‘I have, of course, not mentioned that someone was looking for John Perkins’.

  These words were accompanied by an expression of some mistrust.

  Mr Monk grinned: it seemed as if these people were somehow connecting him with the unhappy events of the last 24 hours. Perhaps they even suspected him of the murder! The little man had always been appreciative of comic developments.

  A minute later, he was in Lord Kingwood’s study, face to face with the man himself.

  He had long since reached the conclusion that he must preserve his incognito as best he could, even after the eventual arrival of other functionaries from the Yard. What he referred to as ‘silent observation’ had often helped him to unravel a difficult puzzle.

  Lord Kingwood invited him to take a chair.

  ‘I have been informed’, said he, ‘that you have come here to see my old butler, John Perkins. You have, I trust, been told that present circumstances have made your request impossible to accommodate. Those same circumstances force me to pose several pressing questions to you’.

  Without rising from his chair, Mr Monk made a silent bow.

  ‘What is your name?’

  ‘Monk, my Lord, James Monk’, the little man replied, knowing full well that his name was not well enough known to the general public to reveal his occupation.

  ‘And what did you want with Perkins, James Monk?’

  ‘Nothing, my Lord.We have known each other for many years, but it has been a very long time since last we met. I came here merely to renew our acquaintance’.

  ‘And how do you know him?’

  ‘We were born in the same town: Durham’, replied Mr Monk, laughing to himself, for he had obtained his knowledge of John Perkins’ birthplace from the talkative manservant that very morning.

  ‘You have heard what has happened here, the tragic death of Perkins’ wife?’

  ‘The servants have told me all they know’.

  ‘And it has not occurred to you that your unexpected presence on the scene might be cause for some suspicion?’

  ‘Suspicion, my Lord? How do you—?’ Mr Monk’s face was an innocent question mark.

  ‘You must agree that it is rather coincidental, your arrival at the very time of these sad events’.

  Mr Monk now looked quite distressed. ‘I thought that the explanation of the events which have taken place here was quite clear, my Lord: Perkins has run off with the paintings, and his wife has been murdered. As I have said, I have not seen him for years…and a man may change greatly over such a period of time. It seems to me that one wouldn’t need to be a detective to understand what has occurred’.

  ‘And what leads you to these conclusions?’

  ‘Perkins must have decided to commit this theft long ago’, said Mr Monk. ‘Perhaps his wife was opposed to that plan. Your unexpected arrival, my Lord, must have been quite a shock to him, forcing him to accelerate his timetable—and, when his wife continued to object to his scheme, he had no choice but to cut her throat’.

  ‘What a terrible scenario!’ exclaimed Lord Kingwood. ‘But I acknowledge that it seems to take all of the facts as we know them into account. I am eager to hear the coroner’s opinion’.

  He fell silent, and Mr Monk said nothing further.

  ‘You will oblige me’, said the aristocrat at last, ‘by remaining until the coroner has completed his investigation. As an old friend of John Perkins, you may perhaps be of some assistance’.

  ‘At what hour is the coroner expected, my Lord?’

  ‘It has been agreed that I shall fetch him from his residence with my automobile this afternoon’.

  ‘I shall be sure that I am here, my Lord’.

  When Mr Monk descended the broad staircase, he saw before him the tall figure of Lady Mary, Lord Kingwood’s daughter, poised on the bottom step and about to cross the hall in the direction of the front door. Just outside the door, a stableboy in livery held two horses by their bridles.

  The little man followed in her footsteps and came to a stop on the inside of the doorway. From that vantage point, he heard Lady Mary inform the stableboy that it would be unnecessary for him to accompany her. She was accustomed to riding alone and had no fear of losing her way.

  Shortly thereafter, she galloped across the park in the direction of the road. The boy watched her go, shook his head, and led his own mount back toward the stables.

  There was a smile on Mr Monk’s face, as if he had seen something that had mightily amused him.

  He wandered now through the park, following the path in the same direction Lady Mary had taken. Not many minutes passed before he espied Jimmy coming toward him on foot.

  ‘I’ve been back for ages’, exclaimed that worthy young man. ‘I couldn’t find you’.

  And, according to his new custom, he held out his hand, palm upward.

  ‘Here are the three shillings I promised you’, said Mr Monk. ‘But you remain obliged to keep your knowledge of my true identity to yourself. Otherwise you will forfeit the next three’.

  ‘The next three! But that would make fifteen in all’, Jimmy calculated, his face beaming with delight.

  ‘Indeed, we are well on our way to a pound’, confirmed Mr Monk.

  ‘I’d bite my tongue off, sir, before I’d tell a soul that you’re—’

  ‘Be still, lad! The trees and bushes have ears. You don’t need to shout your promise for me to believe it. Now back to the house with you, and keep your mouth shut tight!’

  The boy continued on his way, hands in his pockets and whistling a tune that could not be deemed exactly musical.

  The little man consulted his pocket watch.

  ‘They should be here within half an hour’, he murmured. ‘That will be just in time’.

  He stretched out on the grass by the side of the path, in the shade of a tree, took a sandwich wrapped in paper from one of his pockets and began to eat.

  For as yet that day he had had no time for breakfast.

  V

  The rumble of an automobile’s engine could be heard in the distance. It approached at top speed but came to an abrupt halt when Mr Monk arose and revealed his presence.

  ‘Good morning’, said the little man. ‘Have you found anything?’

  The figure behind the wheel—who, despite his civilian clothes, was none other than Inspector Higgins—replied, ‘We’ve fished a body out of the Thames, a little south of the point where you instructed us to begin the search. There were heavy
stones tied to its feet’.

  ‘Then good fortune has been with us’, said Mr Monk, taking the empty place beside the inspector and nodding at the pair of plainclothes officers who occupied the automobile’s rear seat. ‘What was the condition of the body?’

  ‘The skull had been smashed in. The man must have already been dead when he was cast into the water’.

  Monk nodded. ‘As I expected’, said he. ‘And now, Inspector, there is a side road just ahead. Turn in there, out of sight, and reverse your direction. Unless I am much mistaken, Lord Kingwood will be coming this way rather soon. When he goes by, follow him until’—he paused for a moment, then went on—‘until the loving father catches up with his daughter. Quickly, Inspector, we haven’t much time!’

  Twenty minutes later, Lord Kingwood left Kingwood Manor at the wheel of his own automobile, apparently off to fetch the coroner as planned. Five minutes later, Inspector Higgins and his passengers were on his tail, far enough behind to stay out of sight.

  At the junction where Lord Kingwood should have turned right to reach the coroner’s home, he instead carried straight on.

  Mr Monk chuckled aloud.

  He chuckled again when, fifteen minutes later, Lady Mary came into view around a curve in the road, still on horseback. Lord Kingwood slowed down as he drew abreast of her.

  ‘Now, Inspector, with all possible speed! Weapons at the ready!’

  The police car streaked forward.

  Within moments, they had closed the gap which separated them from the other vehicle, and four revolvers were aimed directly at father and daughter.

  ‘Hands up!’ shouted Mr Monk.

  At the same instant, one of the plainclothesmen leapt deftly into the front seat of Lord Kingwood’s automobile and took command of the wheel.

  ‘I say hands up, Your Lordship!’

  Both automobiles came to a halt, and both father and daughter raised their hands. The second plainclothesman climbed out of the back seat and grabbed the horse by its bridle.

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’ demanded Lord Kingwood with some difficulty.