The Problem of the Spiteful Spiritualist

by Roberta Rogow

  Dr. Doyle looked at Mr. Dodgson, who was staring at the brass tea-tray and its accessories. “Mr. Dodgson?”

  “Is this sort of thing usual in India?” Mr. Dodgson tapped the tray. “Brasswork, inlaid with enamel designs? Captain Arkwright had something similar in his study.”

  Mrs. Lal shrugged, setting her bracelets jangling. “There are many fine brassworkers in Bombay,” she said. “Such things are commonplace. Every British Memsahib buys them in the bazaar and takes them home to show her friends in England.”

  “Quite so,” Mr. Dodgson said to himself.

  Dr. Doyle asked, “Mr. Dodgson, do you think you can discover the Rajitpur treasure?”

  “It is possible,” Mr. Dodgson said slowly.

  “Is it in Treasure House? Where is it?” Ashok Ram asked eagerly.

  “It is where Captain Arkwright put it,” Mr. Dodgson said with a gentle smile. He managed to get himself out of the chair and bowed to the old woman. “Madam, you have made certain things clear that were not clear before. Thank you for your tea, and your tale. Dr. Doyle, I believe we are expected to dinner tonight at the Bush Hotel. We must, therefore, take our leave. Mr. Ram, I am not precisely certain of the location of your missing jewels, but I may be able to assist you in your search.”

  “When—” Ashok Ram was interrupted by a wave of the scholar’s hand.

  “I shall inform you when the facts are known.” Once again, Mr. Dodgson bowed to Mrs. Lal, then let her son lead the way out of the shop.

  A considerable crowd had gathered while they were inside drinking tea. Constable Wilke’s message had been received, with results that were more than expected. A Black Maria, a police brougham, and a squad of uniformed policemen were waiting to receive Ashok Ram, while the crowd of women and children had been augmented by the menfolk coming home from their hard work on the docks, their trousers spattered with paint or plaster, their heads covered with woolen caps or bowler hats.

  Inspector Fletcher stepped forward. “Ashok Ram,” he announced, “I hereby arrest you in the name of the Queen, for instigating the robbery at Treasure House. I must warn you that anything you say may be taken down and used against you in a court of law.”

  Inspector O’Ferrall elbowed his colleague out of the way. “Ashok Ram,” he stated, with a look of annoyance at Fletcher, “you are wanted for questioning in the matter of the death of Emma Cavanaugh. You will come with us to Southsea, where you will be permitted to consult with your solicitor.”

  “This is p-preposterous,” Mr. Dodgson sputtered. “Mr. Ram has not murdered anyone.”

  “But he has information he hasn’t told us,” O’Ferrall said. “And he’s going to do it now.”

  The uniformed policemen inserted Ram into the van, while the crowd added catcalls and comments about the efficacy of the police.

  Karim Lal made a decision. Before anyone could question him about his part in the Cavanaugh matter, he slipped around the corner and through the alleyways, taking the shortest route possible to the docks, where he found a boatman ready to row to the Rajah’s yacht.

  On his yacht in the Solent, the Rajah of Rajitpur was interrupted during his tea by the news that an unknown shopkeeper wished to speak with him immediately.

  “He claims to be the person who sent a communication regarding the visit to Captain Arkwright,” the very English steward added primly.

  “Then bring him in!” Jahal ordered.

  Karim Lal approached the Rajah with a low bow. “Highness,” he quavered. “I bring evil news. I would never have dared to enter your august presence, but—”

  “Say it!” Jahal ordered.

  “The English police have taken Ashok Ram in their wagon to the place of confinement—”

  “In Portsmouth?” Jahal interrupted.

  “I think they said they would take him to the place where the crime was committed,” Lal told him. “They said Southsea.”

  “Southsea.” Jahal frowned, then told the steward, “Have my boat prepared. I must go to Portsmouth at once, to notify the Indian Office that one of my ministers is being held on a false charge. You … what is your name?”

  “Karim Lal.”

  “I am going to take steps to have Ashok Ram freed,” Jahal told the pawnbroker. “You did well to inform me of this development. It will take some time before the police get to Southsea. Is there much traffic on the road at this hour?”

  “Yes, Highness!” Karim Lal fairly groveled in his eagerness to serve the dynamic young Prince. “There are many horsecars, drays, cabs, wagons of all kinds, and all on the road from Portsmouth to Southsea. But you must hurry, Highness, for the British police are very thorough, and they will find evidence to hold Ashok Ram in the jail.”

  “Then we must be quick to get him out,” Jahal said. “You will attend me, Karim Lal, for you know this town and can lead me to the proper offices.”

  Jahal headed for his transport back to Portsmouth, then turned to his new messenger. “Ashok told me how you and your mother suffered as a result of the theft of the Rajitpur Treasure,” he said. “If the jewels are found, I will see to it that you and your mother are allowed to return to Rajitpur.”

  “Thank you, Highness,” Karim Lal said faintly, following him out the cabin door and back to the waiting rowboat.

  CHAPTER 19

  Unaware of the events transpiring across the water, the police went forward with the arrest of Ashok Ram, to the great astonishment and delight of the crowd of small children and good housewives of Portsea. Karim Lal’s defection had gone unnoticed by Inspectors Fletcher and O’Ferrall, who bundled their prize into the Black Maria and sent him off to Southsea.

  The two policemen exchanged glances, then conferred as to what should be done with their officious and unofficial medical examiner.

  “Dr. Doyle,” O’Ferrall said with a grimace aimed at his colleague, “we’re off to Southsea. We can take you up in the carriage, if you like.”

  “Just a courtesy,” Fletcher added. “We can take your statements as we go, to save us all the trouble of sending for you later.”

  Dr. Doyle glanced at Mr. Dodgson. “I’ve no objections,” he decided. “We can kill two birds with one stone. I’ve found out what all the fuss is about.”

  “You don’t say!” Fletcher exclaimed, heavily sarcastic.

  “And once I’ve told my tale, you will release Ram immediately.”

  “That’s for the magistrate to decide,” Fletcher stated.

  They arranged themselves in the brougham, and the constable on the box edged into the late afternoon traffic of Portsmouth. It took some time before they had negotiated the narrow streets of Portsea, threaded their way through the Hard, crossed the causeway, and set back on the paved road to Southsea. The last deliveries of the day were being made, and the now-lightened wagons were on their way to stables and barns, both the horses and drivers looking forward to their evening feedings.

  “How did you find Mr. Ram so quickly?” Mr. Dodgson asked, as the brougham stopped to let a large dray loaded with beer-kegs pass.

  “Simple police work,” Fletcher said, stroking his mustache. “I had the pawnbrokers’ shops watched, and the constables alerted to send word as soon as something suspicious occurred. Ashok Ram’s description was circulated. If he tried to pawn or sell anything, we’d nab him, and we have!” Fletcher folded his arms triumphantly.

  “If that is so,” Mr. Dodgson said slowly, “then Ram would have had every reason to preserve Mrs. Cavanaugh’s life. You see, she knew where the Rajitpur Treasure was.”

  “Eh? What’s this about a treasure?” O’Ferrall asked.

  Dr. Doyle briefly explained. “Captain Arkwright had stolen a box of jewels in India. Apparently he has been living off them ever since.”

  “And this fellow Ram heard about it,” Fletcher decided. “He hires a few waterfront lads and has them break into Treasure House while the ladies are out at this séance, trying to grab the stones for himself.”

  “There is
more to it than that,” Mr. Dodgson began, but Fletcher interrupted him.

  “Why he wanted them is not the point. For whatever reason you give, Ashok Ram arranged for Treasure House to be burgled. That is a crime, sir, and for that he will be arrested, tried, and convicted.”

  “Verdict first, evidence afterward,” Mr. Dodgson murmured to himself.

  “But that doesn’t have anything to do with Mrs. Cavanaugh’s death,” Dr. Doyle argued. “How is he supposed to have done that?”

  “You yourself said it. She was poisoned, with that handkerchief.” O’Ferrall glared at Dr. Doyle.

  “Quite so, but Ram didn’t hand it to her. He was nowhere near the woman. He couldn’t possibly have poisoned her.” Dr. Doyle glared back.

  “We’ll see what the coroner says,” O’Ferrall told him. “As for you, Doyle, your part in this is over. Get back to your patients, or write your stories.” From the sound of O’Ferrall’s voice, Dr. Doyle might have concluded that both pursuits were equally useless.

  They rode on in silence along the paved road back to Southsea, where the carriage pulled up in the courtyard in front of the Kingston Street Police Station, behind the Black Maria.

  Ram stepped out of the wagon with immense dignity. Dr. Doyle strode up to him, mustache bristling with indignation.

  “Sir, I believe you are innocent of murder, whatever else you may have done. I will not rest until you are freed!”

  “And I,” Mr. Dodgson chimed in, “assure you, sir, I will find your missing jewels and shall assist Dr. Doyle in finding the evidence that will remove all taint of wrongdoing from your reputation.”

  “Thank you for your efforts,” Ram said, with a hint of a smile behind his eyes. “However, I believe a solicitor’s advice will be more to the point.”

  “You’ll get your lawyer,” Fletcher promised.

  “Are you aware that Mr. Ashok Ram is the representative of His Highness, the Rajah of Rajitpur?” Dr. Doyle reminded him.

  Inspector Fletcher waved the Rajah away with one arm and held on to Ram with the other. “I don’t care who he works for,” he said. “He hired a pair of waterfront chummies to break and enter into a private home. That’s incitement to burglary, and it’s a crime here in England, no matter what they do in Rajitpur, or whatever heathen country he’s from.”

  Ram was dragged into the Kingston Street Police Station by the two constables, while Fletcher and O’Ferrall followed, leaving Dr. Doyle and Mr. Dodgson in the courtyard.

  Harrison of the Portsmouth Evening News was waiting in the anteroom of the station, notebook in hand, ready to embellish his next story with even more detail. He had already been able to inform Portsmouth that Mrs. Emma Cavanaugh, housekeeper to the late Captain Arkwright, had died under mysterious circumstances at a séance. He had even managed to discover the weapon, a common pocket-handkerchief, soaked in a deadly mixture of nicotine. Now he could add to the already sensational report the news that an Indian had been arrested for the crime!

  “Has this person been charged?” Harrison called out, as Ram was marched up the stairs.

  “When we have an arrest, we’ll tell you,” Fletcher shot back. Harrison had to be content with that. Scribbling madly, he went off to file his story. Deadline was approaching, and the news that an arrest was imminent would at least keep the pot boiling for another day.

  Ram was led, not too gently, into one of the bare-walled rooms, furnished with a table and two chairs, delegated by the Southsea Constabulary for the interviewing of prisoners. The prisoner was seated, with two stout constables on either side, to prevent his escape. Fletcher strutted into the room with the air of the conquering hero, while O’Ferrall stood at the door.

  “You cannot keep me here,” Ram declared as soon as he saw Fletcher. “I am the minister of the Rajah of Rajitpur. I am not a British citizen—”

  “The Queen, God bless her, is Empress of India,” Fletcher reminded him. “You may do what you like at home, but here you obey our laws, and that means you don’t hire a couple of toughs to break into the house of a respectable pair of ladies like Miss Arkwright and Miss Bedelia.”

  “And who says I did so?” Ram glared at Fletcher, daring him to produce the thieves.

  “Your own boatmen,” Fletcher told him. “They saw you talking to two men, whose descriptions we have, and who we will find in due time. You shouldn’t be so trusting, Mr. Ram. Those two will turn Queen’s evidence as soon as we arrest them. Why don’t you save us all a lot of bother and admit to hiring a pair of thieves to break into Treasure House?”

  “If I hired such persons,” Ram said carefully, “it was on the orders of Prince Jahal; and you cannot prosecute him.”

  “That’s as it may be,” Fletcher said with a shrug. “But we can prosecute them, and we can send you and your Prince back where you came from!”

  “That would not be wise,” Ram warned him. “Prince Jahal is very much in favor with Her Majesty at the moment.”

  “Then let the Indian Office sort it out,” Fletcher said. “You are in custody, and here you will remain.”

  O’Ferrall shook his head, as Fletcher stamped out of the room. “Now look what you’ve done,” he said sorrowfully. “Inspector Fletcher likes his cases neat and tidy, tied in a bow, so to speak. Now, I am not so quick to judge a man before he’s seen his solicitor. You’ve got one, I hope?”

  “My cousin has a man of business in London,” Ram said. “It is he who arranges our affairs in England.”

  “Then you’d better get him down here, because it looks very bad for you, sir. Robbing a house is one thing, but murder …!” He gazed at Ram with the eyes of a bulldog who has been deprived of a juicy soup bone.

  “I tell you, Inspector, I had nothing to do with the death of that wretched woman!” Ram exclaimed.

  “But you knew her,” Inspector O’Ferrall said, ticking off the particulars on his fingers.

  “I met her for the first time at Treasure House yesterday. You were present at the meeting. Did I evince any sign that I recognized her? I took her for some sort of servant when she opened the door to me—”

  Inspector O’Ferrall interrupted the tirade. “You had correspondence with her.”

  “A single letter, couched in general terms, setting an appointment. It was my understanding that it had been sent by Captain Arkwright.” Ram was keeping a tight grip on his temper.

  Inspector O’Ferrall shook his head. “It was a connection, all the same. That fellow in the shop …”

  “Karim Lal? An acquaintance, nothing more.”

  “We’ve had our eyes on that shop for a while. Interesting things go in and out of there. You should choose your friends more carefully, sir.”

  “I know nothing of Karim Lal’s present occupation. He only wrote to me to inform me that something of value had been brought to him, something in which I was interested.”

  “This treasure?”

  Ram looked startled. “How did you learn about that?”

  “Dr. Doyle told us all about it. Arkwright and his mate, Cavanaugh, stole a box of jewels, and hid them somewhere. Mrs. Cavanaugh found them and brought one to your friend, who told you about it—”

  “Which should be proof enough that I did not kill her. In fact, I had every reason to preserve her life, since she was the only one who could have told us where the jewels were. Why should I remove the only one who could lead me to the treasure?”

  O’Ferrall sighed. “I suppose you’re right, there,” he admitted. “Of course, you could have sent your chums to find them. Once they were out of Treasure House, you could get rid of the Cavanaugh woman, and the sooner the better.”

  “But nothing was taken from Treasure House,” Ram reminded him.

  “So Mr. Dodgson said,” O’Ferrall agreed. “I’ll have a word with Fletcher, and then we’ll see what’s what.”

  He left Ram seething under the cold eyes of the two constables, and joined Fletcher, who was waiting for him in the hall outside the room.


  “He’s the one who ordered the burglary,” O’Ferrall said with a decided nod. “Probably picked up some waterfront scum, paid them a few shillings, and then went off to General Drayson’s little séance, cool as a cucumber. You’ll never get him to confess to anything else.”

  “Why not put the murder on him?” Fletcher asked jocularly. “He’s an Indian. I’ve heard they get up to all sorts of nasty tricks with poisons there.”

  O’Ferrall shook his head. “Not nicotine, they don’t. Besides, he’s right. Why would he kill the only one who could find his treasure? You may have your thief, Fletcher, but I’m short one murderer.”

  “You’re not fool enough to believe that meddler, Doyle,” Fletcher scoffed.

  “That meddler’s been right more than once,” O’Ferrall countered. “If he says Mrs. Cavanaugh was poisoned with nicotine, then nicotine it probably was, and that would rule out our Indian friend. Where would he get the stuff? How could he find a handkerchief to soak it in? And when did he give it to Mrs. Cavanaugh? Take that to the coroner and you’ll be laughed out of the court.”

  “We may not even be able to hold Ram for the theft,” Fletcher said sourly, as two men in the uniforms of the Royal Navy marched around the corner and approached the cell, accompanied by His Highness, the Rajah of Rajitpur.

  “I am informed that you are holding my Chief Minister, Ashok Ram, on a charge of robbery,” Jahal snapped out. “I demand his release immediately.”

  “With respect, sir,” Inspector Fletcher began, “Mr. Ram has just confessed to hiring two thieves to break into a house to remove something—”