The Death of Kings

by Rennie George Airth

‘Is there a problem?’ He echoed the chief inspector’s question. ‘Do you know, Angus, I still can’t make up my mind. I think that pendant is probably Portia Blake’s. But was it found in the wood sometime later: was it a chance discovery? Or was it taken from her body by someone other than Norris—by the real killer, in fact? That’s what the person who sent that note to Derry would like us to believe. But how did it fall into his hands? And if he’s trying to incriminate someone else, why not point a finger? Why not say who the alleged guilty party is?’

  Madden paused to let his words sink in.

  ‘Because either there is no guilty party—he’s making this up—or he knows something but doesn’t want to reveal it.’ He answered his own question.

  ‘So what’s his motive, then?’ The chief inspector frowned.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Madden shook his head. ‘We’ll have to wait and see. I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop.’

  Sinclair grunted. ‘You’re saying the pendant and the letter to Derry are only his opening gambits.’

  ‘That’s how it looks to me.’ Madden shrugged. ‘But to get back to Wing, I still don’t understand what he was doing in England at that time, what he was up to. I can’t place him in any recognizable context. We’re told he was an associate of Jack Jessup’s. But what does that mean? And then there’s the effect he had on people.’

  ‘What effect?’

  ‘Look at Tom Derry, for example. He took against Wing the moment they met, and for no good reason other than that he didn’t care for his manner. Miss Cooper had a similar reaction. She positively disliked him—and on very short acquaintance. Yet there he was, an invited guest at Jack Jessup’s dinner table. It doesn’t add up. At the very least it needs explaining. As does Portia Blake’s presence in the house that week-end. There’s also their relationship to consider—if you can call it that. Audrey Cooper said they had a “business arrangement”. What did that involve, I wonder?’

  ‘What you require, then, is someone to explain all these mysteries to you.’ Sinclair eased a stiff muscle in his back.

  ‘In a nutshell.’

  ‘Someone like Sir Richard Jessup. I take it you haven’t heard from him yet?’

  Madden shook his head. He rose from his chair.

  ‘I gave him my London address in the note I sent him, and the phone number, too. But there’s been no reaction from him so far. I rather thought he’d want to see me. By rights he ought to be curious, human nature being what it is.’

  ‘Human nature?’

  With a sigh the chief inspector re-settled himself in his chair. He opened the book on his lap.

  ‘Well, as to that, I feel bound to tell you that Mr Gibbon, for one, had a very low opinion of it.’

  8

  ‘HERE NOW, WATCH WHAT you’re doing. You’ll take a piece out of the wall if you’re not careful. There’s no rush.’

  Alice stood at the bottom of the stairs, her stern gaze fixed on the two workmen who were manhandling a large oak wardrobe down the stairway. They were moving very slowly, only a few inches at a time, but still too quickly for Alice’s disapproving eye.

  ‘Miss Collingwood wouldn’t want to see any damage done,’ she confided to Madden, who was standing in the hall a little way off ready to offer help if it was needed. ‘She was very particular about marks on the walls and such like.’

  Since there was little he could say, other than to point out that having quit this world for the hereafter, Alice’s late employer was unlikely to be taking any further interest in earthly matters, least of all the state of her walls, Madden restricted his response to a grunt. The workmen were employed by the firm of auctioneers assigned to dispose of the furniture not wanted by Helen or by Alice, who had been told to take her pick of any of the pieces she wished to retain for her own use when she decamped to Hastings. Alice had opted for a pair of bedside tables, two standing lamps and a painting of Westminster Bridge at sunset which hung in the hall above the telephone and which she confessed to having a particular liking for.

  ‘I always stop when I’m dusting to look at it.’

  Nearly a week had passed since Madden had posted his letter to Sir Richard Jessup, and with no response to it received as yet, he was starting to wonder whether he ought to consider advancing the inquiry in some other way, though the prospect was hardly appealing. While it might be perfectly possible to track down the other guests who had been present that week-end, it would be difficult to approach them without some kind of introduction, which Madden had hoped Sir Richard might supply him with. There was no reason to think they would be willing to respond to questions put to them about a long-ago murder by someone with no official backing, one who could not even claim to be a licenced private detective.

  ‘If he decides not to reply to my note, or turns me down, we may have to think again,’ he had told Sinclair. They had spoken on the phone the previous evening. ‘The trouble is Richard Jessup is the one person who can smooth the way for us. If he’s willing to cooperate, then presumably any of the others I might want to speak to will find it hard to refuse.’

  ‘Let’s wait until the end of the week,’ the chief inspector had advised. ‘Let’s see where we stand then.’

  The wardrobe, meanwhile, had descended to the foot of the stairs and was making its slow way down the short passage to the hall and the front door beyond it. Alice was backing away before it, keeping an eye on the object and obliging Madden to retreat in the same manner until he was forced outside and onto the pavement. The rest of the procession followed at its own snail-like pace until finally the operation was completed and the wardrobe stood by the side of the road ready for loading into a van parked nearby.

  Leaving Alice to oversee its final disposition, Madden went back inside. Earlier that morning the telephone had been unplugged and, together with the table on which it stood, removed from the hall to the sitting-room to give the men leeway as they shifted the various pieces of heavy furniture brought from upstairs. Now Madden retrieved the instrument and plugged it back into its socket. As he did so—and at almost the same instant—it rang. He picked up the receiver.

  ‘Excuse me, sir.’ It was a woman’s voice. ‘Have I got the right number?’ She read it out.

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘And am I speaking to Mr Madden?’

  ‘You are.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so glad. I’ve been trying to get you all morning, but there seemed to be something wrong with the line. I’m Sir Richard Jessup’s secretary. Miss Harmon is my name. He has asked me to apologise for not responding to your letter sooner, but he’s been in America for the past fortnight and only got back to London yesterday. He’d be happy to see you, he says, and wonders if you would be free to call on him at our offices in the City this afternoon. He realizes that it’s short notice, but since he’ll be away again next week, he thought you might like to take this opportunity of talking to him.’

  ‘I would.’ Madden didn’t hesitate. ‘And it’s very thoughtful of him. Would you thank him for me?’

  ‘Certainly, sir.’ She sounded relieved. ‘Our offices are on Cheapside, quite close to the Mansion House tube station. Would two o’clock suit you?’

  • • •

  ‘The building was in Watling Street. You can see the place from here. It was destroyed during the war.’

  Sir Richard Jessup pointed.

  ‘It was during the Blitz and luckily it happened at night when there was no one in the place. I managed to rent these offices from one of the big insurance companies but we’re going to rebuild our old headquarters. It’s just a bomb site now, as you can see, but I’m hoping we can get construction started in the New Year.’

  With a full head of dark hair and blue eyes that seemed to carry an electric charge, Jessup had been at the window in his office looking out when Madden entered and had turned at once to shake his hand and draw
him over to the spot where he was standing. They were on the fifth floor of an office block on Cheapside, and the view that Madden found himself looking at took in the great dome of St Paul’s Cathedral on one side and the distant silhouette of Tower Bridge on the other. The site Jessup was indicating, one of many in that part of the City damaged or destroyed by bombs, was situated directly in front of them. It was only a little way off, and by chance Madden had walked up that way from the tube station, passing through narrow streets lined with gaping pits like empty tooth sockets. Small enterprises had once flourished in these lanes, rubbing shoulders with the great banks and financial institutions: jewellers, hatters, glove makers, suppliers of stationery. All were gone now, blown to oblivion.

  ‘Come and sit down.’

  Sir Richard led his guest away from the window to a low table a little apart from his desk and surrounded by easy chairs.

  ‘Let’s make ourselves comfortable. I’ll get Miss Harmon to bring us some coffee.’

  In spite of his distinguished appearance—he was wearing a well-cut suit with a silk handkerchief showing at his lapel pocket and a Brigade of Guards tie—Jessup still managed to project an air of informality, and given what he already knew about his host, it came as no surprise to Madden to find himself warming to the man. Although clearly at ease with his lofty position as head of a great international concern, Sir Richard seemed disinclined to make much of it, and from the outset his manner had been open and friendly. Almost as tall as his visitor, his good looks were enhanced by high cheekbones that lent his face a hawk-like aspect; but if there was something of the fierce predator in the swift glance he had shot Madden’s way as he was shown in, he had nevertheless crossed the office without a moment’s delay to shake his hand warmly, moving with the long, easy strides of an athlete.

  ‘It was good of you to come on such short notice,’ he said now as they sat down. ‘As you might imagine, I found your letter intriguing and I’m more than curious to discover what this “informal inquiry” you are making involves. To say that I have qualms at the thought that the investigation might be re-opened would be an understatement.’ He grinned. ‘Neither my family nor my board of directors would welcome it. I can still recall the fuss the papers made ten years ago, and I don’t imagine they would be any more discreet second time around. But you’ll have guessed that already and what I want to say is if it turns out there is more to this business than met the eye at the time, you can count on me not to put any obstruction in your way. I would rather know the truth.’ He looked directly at Madden. ‘As my dear wife would say, “Let the chips fall where they may.”’ He smiled again. ‘Sarah is American. But perhaps you already know that.’

  ‘I do, as it happens.’ Madden returned his smile. ‘We have an acquaintance in common—Ian Tremayne. He’s married to one of my wife’s oldest friends.’

  ‘Imagine that.’ Jessup’s face lit up. ‘I first met Ian in Hong Kong just after the war. Did he tell you . . . ?’

  He broke off as the door opened and his secretary entered carrying a tray with the coffee things on it. During the short interval that followed, Madden had an opportunity to take in the spacious office and to admire the handsome Persian carpet underfoot, which gave the room a sense of intimacy it might not otherwise have had. His eye was caught by a number of framed portraits hanging on the walls; all were of men, some be-wigged and garbed in the clothes of an earlier age, others dressed in more up-to-date apparel. Leaving it to his secretary to pour their coffee, Jessup had been observing him.

  ‘The gentleman you see in that painting behind the desk is our firm’s founder,’ he said, ‘and as ambitious and fly a young scoundrel as ever took ship for the Orient. Jeremiah Jessup was his name. He worked for the East India Company originally and was one of their agents in China when it became apparent in the early nineteenth century that the company was about to lose its monopoly on trade with India and the Far East. Along with some other bright young fellows, he struck out on his own and, like most of them, made his first money in the opium trade. When that came to an end he branched out into other fields and began trading in cotton, tea and silk. Later on the company expanded—into shipping and cotton mills and construction, all of which we are still actively engaged in. The faces you see up on the wall are of the men who have managed the firm’s fortunes since. Nearly all of them are Jessups. That’s my father over there: as you see, he’s the only one with a smile on his face.’

  The painting he was indicating had already caught Madden’s eye: the features of the man it portrayed were so like Sir Richard’s that he had assumed they must be closely related. Sir Jack—if it was indeed he—was pictured sitting at ease behind a wide desk. The smile which his son had referred to seemed somewhat rueful, boyish, even, though to judge from the older Jessup’s grey hair and lined face, he must have been well into middle age when it was painted.

  ‘We had a curious relationship. At first it was distant—my parents separated quite soon after they were married and my mother wanted nothing to do with him or his set—but later it improved, and by the end, when he died, we’d become very close. He was a man of enormous charm, but quite unpredictable, a gambler at heart. People who knew him all thought he was wonderful company, my mother excepted, but as a business man he was quite hopeless. His period at the helm of Jessup’s alternated between periods when he would take off on one of his many jaunts—to Africa, South America, Alaska; to wherever his fancy beckoned—and other times when he would focus all his energies on the company. And it was a toss-up as to which of the two was more perilous. One way or another he very nearly died for the firm.’

  He laughed without restraint.

  ‘But you didn’t come here to listen to me go on about my forebears. Before you put any questions to me—and I’m sure you have a few—could you tell me briefly how this all came about? You mentioned that pendant in your letter and explained that you were acting on behalf of one of the two detectives who had charge of the case. But could you be a little more explicit? And take all the time you need. I’ve cleared my afternoon of appointments.’

  In reply, Madden spoke for the next twenty minutes without interruption, explaining first about the anonymous letter Tom Derry had received and then describing his visit to Kent and his subsequent interview with Audrey Cooper. At that point he paused to take the pendant from his pocket along with the letter which Derry had received and passed both across the table to Sir Richard.

  ‘As you can see from the flaw, we’ve established that that’s probably the same stone as the one Portia Blake owned.’

  Jessup held up the piece to the light. He examined it closely, turning it this way and that.

  ‘Fascinating,’ he said.

  ‘But there’s still no explanation for how it came into the hands of whoever sent the note to Derry. Or what his motive was for doing so. Always supposing it was a man. It could equally have been a woman.’

  His words brought an answering grunt from Jessup but no immediate response. Sir Richard was now studying the note Madden had just handed him.

  ‘The wording’s peculiar, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘“I leave it to you to establish the truth . . .” Does that mean he doesn’t know himself if the pendant has any significance? He’s just trying it on—seeing if he can stir up some trouble?’

  ‘That’s one possibility,’ Madden agreed. ‘As things stand, the officers I’ve spoken to at Scotland Yard have no intention of re-opening the investigation, and I see their point. There simply isn’t enough to go on. I might add that I have no personal stake in this. I used to be a police officer, but that was a long time ago. I’m acting purely on Mr Sinclair’s behalf. He’s unable to get about at the moment. But he’s an old friend and I’d like to help him if I can.’

  ‘And his reason for wanting this matter looked into again—is it only because of the pendant turning up in this way?’ Jessup put the letter down. ‘Or has he got other
doubts as well?’

  ‘Of a sort.’ Madden had thought before replying. ‘It’s my opinion that both Mr Sinclair and Derry were left puzzled by Owen Norris’s behaviour during his interrogation. He was the man arrested and ultimately convicted. They felt they had never got to the bottom of him—they were never sure what was in his mind when he first confessed to the murder and then denied it later on at his trial. On top of that Angus Sinclair is strongly opposed to capital punishment, and the thought now, even though it’s only a suspicion, that he may have been party to sending the wrong man to the gallows has been enough to spur him into action. And before you ask, I’ve formed no conclusions myself about this case. It’s quite possible Norris was guilty as charged. But I’ve come to agree with Angus that there’s still a question hanging over it.’

  ‘Why?’

  The question was shot at him like a bullet, and the hawk-like glance that accompanied it was Madden’s first intimation of the searching intelligence that lay behind his host’s engaging personality. Once again he had to ponder his reply.

  ‘I can’t give you a simple answer,’ he said finally. ‘I can only say that I suspect it wasn’t by chance that Miss Blake found herself at your father’s house that week-end: that in all likelihood her visit was arranged, though I don’t know how, for a reason, and that the person behind it was Stanley Wing.’

  ‘Ah . . . !’ Jessup expelled his breath in a long sigh. His piercing gaze remained fixed on his visitor. ‘I’ve been sitting here listening to you, Mr Madden, and wondering why you had come to see me. What it was you thought I could tell you that might help with your inquiry. Now I understand.’

  A smile played about his lips.

  ‘Stanley Wing . . .’ His tone was thoughtful. ‘What can I say? Only that I’m not surprised.’

  Without warning he stood up suddenly and strode to a table in the corner of the office where a collection of framed photographs stood. Selecting one of them, he brought it back and handed it to Madden.