I left the room before Umberto’s body was taken away.
It surprised me to see Sykes, waiting downstairs. We looked at each other and I suppose he did not have to ask about Umberto.
‘Mrs Sugden came to tell me. The desk porter let me sit in his room. I thought I’d drive you home. Saw your car outside.’
We walked to the door. Although the sun had risen so promisingly, it was now hidden. We climbed into the car. For no particular reason, I remembered when Sykes first came to work with me. He was mortified that he had never driven. Now he did so at every opportunity, occasionally far too fast.
I swear he sometimes divines what I am thinking.
He speeded up in the direction of Headingley. ‘Go on, say it.’
‘Say what?’
‘Home James, and don’t spare the horses.’
‘Slow down! We’re not in a race.’
‘You can’t get the help these days. I drive too fast, Mrs Sugden pulls a gun.’
‘She told you?’
‘She did. I could hardly credit it.’
‘I’d like to know who her victim was, and what he was up to. I wonder whether he went somewhere to have his wound dressed.’
‘Don’t know about that. He’d be asked awkward questions if he went to the dispensary.’
‘But it’s possible.’
‘Worth a try I suppose. One of the dispensary orderlies owes me a bit of a favour.’
‘Then call in the favour.’
‘I’ll try.’
We drew close to the end of my street. ‘Keep going, Mr Sykes.’
‘Where to?’
‘I want to see Dr Potter’s manservant again.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘They were close. Given that Dr Potter mentioned Marian Montague to me, I wonder if he said anything about her to Morgan, that’s the manservant.’
‘It’s too early to see anyone yet. Normal people are sleeping.’
‘I suppose you’re right. Come round for me in a couple of hours and we’ll go together.’
Twenty-Three
We drove north from Headingley, along a back lane deserted by all but a milk cart. I gave Sykes impressively good directions to Big Bothy. He parked in the lane, where I had stopped on my previous visit. We walked the path to the strange octagonal house that Dr Potter had called home. Perhaps it was because of knowing its occupant’s fate, but it looked strangely forlorn. A bicycle rested by the wall next to the door. Morgan had mentioned that he used it for shopping and that occasionally Dr Potter cycled to work.
Mr Morgan must have seen us walking along the path because he was waiting in the doorway. The poor man looked so lonely, framed in a halo of isolation.
‘Good morning, Mr Morgan. Excuse the disturbance.’
‘It is no disturbance, Mrs Shackleton.’
‘This is Mr Sykes who works with me. I wondered whether we might come in and have a word.’
‘Of course.’ The men shook hands. ‘Come you through.’
It seemed heartless to come questioning him. Not only did I want to know about Marian Montague, whom I desperately hoped was Sophia Wells. If I were to clear Umberto’s name, I needed to find out what enemies Dr Potter may have made.
Morgan led us into the parlour. I sat down on one of the chintz chairs. Sykes made as if to sit in the opposite chair, but stopped mid-air.
Morgan produced a newspaper. ‘Excuse the cat hairs. Dunce will sleep there and there’s nothing to be done about it.’ He placed the paper on the chair seat.
‘Where is Dunce now?’ I asked.
‘Out for a stroll.’
Polynesia parrot tilted her head to one side and began to recite her two times table. The cage door stood open. She flew out and onto Morgan’s shoulder. Sykes stared. I have never before seen him mesmerised.
‘And what can I do for you?’ Morgan asked.
‘When we spoke last, you said you thought that Dr Potter had a surprise in store last Friday.’ He looked at me with interest but did not muster a reply. ‘I want to tell you what was in Dr Potter’s mind. He intended to bring home a clever monkey for enrolment in his arithmetic class.’
Morgan’s troubled face lit with sudden understanding. ‘Ah so that was it. I should have guessed he was planning something along those lines. What kind of monkey?’
‘A Capuchin.’
‘I see. I knew he was excited about something. That explains the scheme of work for counting by digits. Where is the creature?’
‘I am taking care of him.’
‘Thank you for telling me. I always would have wondered.’ He sighed. ‘Did the purchase of the monkey in any way, shape or form have a connection with my master’s death think you?’
‘I do not think so, except that both men were in the wrong place at the wrong time. I am trying to form a clear picture of what may have happened. Would you mind if I ask you one or two questions?’
‘Fire away.’
The parrot pecked at Morgan’s ear and then began to count.
Morgan said, ‘That is enough of your showing off, Polynesia. Thank you and goodnight.’ He turned his shoulder to the cage. She hopped inside and he closed the door. ‘Now what was that you were saying, Mrs Shackleton?’
‘Did Dr Potter ever mention a helpful young library assistant, Miss Montague?’
‘I can’t say that he spoke much of his colleagues except that rascally Professor Merton.’
‘Why is he a rascal?’
‘He caused my master no end of grief. If the two of them had agreed to the removal of the library to new premises, they would have swung all the proprietors behind them. But the professor dug in his heels and was all for staying.’
‘I saw some of Dr Potter’s arguments for removal. They seemed to me sound.’
‘What arguments?’
‘Oh, Commercial Street being no longer a suitable location, now more appropriate for business and shopping. He mentioned the lack of space in the building and the prospective purchaser being prepared to pay removal costs.’
Morgan gave a small chuckle that changed his whole appearance. For a brief time, something shone in him, a glimmer of admiration for his master. ‘I knew he would come up with something sound.’
‘You mean that was not the real reason?’
‘Heavens, no. None of that mattered to him.’
‘Then what did?’
‘He was all for staying until he knew the full details of the scheme. The building was to be turned into a department store, see you, a grand emporium. In the basement there would be a menagerie, with every kind of exotic creature that graces the face of the earth. There would be an aquarium, a miniature jungle, a tropical world with its own boiler.’
‘Yes, now I do see. I suppose he did not want to tell the professor the real reason.’
‘Certainly not, because that may have given an inkling of the nature of our secret work, teaching the animals. Besides, he and Professor Merton were at each other’s throats over the vice chancellorship.’
‘They were rivals, I believe.’
‘That is one way of putting it.’
‘Was there much rancour between Dr Potter and Professor Merton about the post of vice chancellor?’
‘Oh indeed there was. Dr Potter needed all his wits about him to ensure that Professor Merton would not wriggle out of the contest and leave Dr Potter to sup the poison chalice of success and swallow the degradation of drumming up funds for university expansion.’
‘Neither of them wanted the job?’
‘Bless us and save us, no they did not.’
‘But I thought, from what Miss Merton said…’
He chuckled again. ‘My master knew how to play a cunning game. He specially went to eat mutton pie with the Mertons and cleverly drew the sociable sister on his side.’
A cob of coal crackled and split, creating an orange and blue flame. My barely hatched theory that taciturn Professor Merton had murdered his rival for the post of university
vice chancellor curled up the chimney with the rising smoke.
I glanced at Sykes, to see whether he had any questions. He stared blithely at the gigantic cat as it strolled into the room.
Morgan rose. ‘I am being a poor host. Will you take coffee? We have a bottle of Camp.’
He spoke with such pride that it would have been difficult to refuse. I agreed to coffee, and so did Sykes.
‘I will ask the Reverend Jones whether he will also take refreshment. He has come from the university, the chaplain you know, here about the memorial service, and the books.’ He left the room.
Sykes, fascinated by the talking parrot, crossed over to the cage. ‘Hello, Polly.’
‘Hello, hello,’ said the parrot. ‘Two twos.’
‘Four,’ Sykes said.
I followed Mr Morgan into the hall, intending to ask whether he needed help. It could be that some coffee other than Camp was hidden in a cupboard and I may be able to suggest a change.
The sound of voices from the study brought me to a full stop.
The man speaking to Morgan sounded strangely familiar.
I drew closer to the study door.
The voice belonged to Father Bolingbroke. ‘Oh yes, I will take these with me now, the Bible and this commentary.’
‘That Bible, it is the one book my master said should come to me.’
‘Then so it will, but I believe it will give me inspiration for the memorial service. I know that if I read from this I will experience a powerful connection to Dr Potter, being that he held this same good book in such reverence.’
Without waiting to hear Mr Morgan’s reply, I hurried back into the parlour.
The parrot said, ‘What’s your name, your name.’
‘Jim Sykes, Jim, Jim, Jim.’
I shut the door behind me. ‘Mr Sykes, the reverend in the study is a fraud. He is not university chaplain Jones, he is Father Bolingbroke, the one I told you about.’
‘The exorcist?’
‘The same. He is trying to steal a bible. It must be valuable. It’s him. He’s the book thief. Now I know why Gothic Ornament was in the basement. I’d lay a pound to a penny it fell from his cassock pocket. That must be why he stayed in the basement so long.’
‘Three twos, two sixes…’
‘Oh shut up,’ Sykes said to Polynesia. ‘Let a man think.’
‘If he sees me, he’ll know he’s rumbled.’
The parrot tried to regain Sykes’s attention. ‘One and one makes two, two and two.’
Sykes scratched his head. ‘Leave it to me. He has to go out of the house with a book, or he hasn’t stolen anything.’
‘I’ll stay here. If he sees me, he’ll backtrack.’
Sykes left the room. In the hall, he called to Mr Morgan.
As he did, it struck me that the bike we had seen outside may not belong to Dr Potter and Mr Morgan but could have been used by Father Bolingbroke, alias Reverend Jones. He had chosen a Welsh name to ingratiate himself with Morgan.
Knowing I should stay put, on an impulse, I left the house, seized the bike and wheeled it out of sight.
Sykes must have drawn Morgan from the study because a moment after I moved the bicycle, Father Bolingbroke came out of the front door, carrying two books.
He spotted me as I spotted him. I should not have peered round the side of the wall.
‘Mrs Shackleton!’
‘Father Bolingbroke, or should I say Reverend Jones?’
He laughed. ‘Poor man, one has to be kind to the Welsh. I thought it would give him comfort if I used my mother’s maiden name. Now, my bicycle…’
There was only one way to keep him from having the bicycle and that was to leap on and cycle away, which I did, but awkwardly because it was a big boneshaker. Dunce chose that moment to saunter out onto the path, refusing to give way. I swerved. The bike wobbled.
Bolingbroke came after me. ‘What do you think you’re playing at?’
‘Stay where you are!’ Sykes called.
‘That is my Bible, hear you!’
I feared that Bolingbroke would outstrip the pair of them and so rode the bicycle in a clockwise circle, heading straight for him. He dodged. This allowed Sykes to seize him from behind and as he did so Morgan rescued the precious volumes. I came to an awkward stop, steadying the handlebars, leaning sideways to reach the ground. By the time I dismounted, Bolingbroke was in handcuffs.
I knew this was what Sykes had always longed to do: put the cuffs on someone. Finally, he had his wish.
‘Consider yourself under citizen’s arrest, sir, for the crime of theft. It will be best if you come quietly.’
Surveying our transport, I wondered how to manage the situation, with one car and a bicycle or two between us. Then I came up with the answer.
‘Mr Morgan, if you will harness the pony and trap, you and Mr Sykes could escort Father Bolingbroke to his home, where I suspect there may be a cache of stolen books. I will drive back to town and alert the librarian and the police that we have apprehended a felon.’
‘Yes,’ Sykes said. ‘It would be an uncomfortable squeeze for four of us in the car, and undignified for a man of the cloth.’
‘Not the police.’ Bolingbroke stared at his handcuffs and looked at each of us in turn, as if trying to bore a hole into our souls. ‘This is not a criminal matter. I am trying to do my best for the library.’
Morgan nursed the precious books in his hands. ‘I will find some suitable wrapping and then see to the pony and trap. Archie will be glad of an outing.’
Bolingbroke stared in disbelief at his wrists. ‘Let us go to the police station, see what they say about the illegal use of handcuffs.’
Sykes smiled. I could hear what he would say if the question of handcuffs arose. ‘Handcuffs? What handcuffs? The man came voluntarily, as he should when caught red-handed by three upright subjects of His Majesty.’
‘You don’t know where I live,’ Bolingbroke spluttered. ‘And don’t think I’ll tell you.’
Fortunately, thanks to Miss Merton, I did know where Bolingbroke lived: on Street Lane where he paid little or nothing for bed and board with a kindly proprietress of the library. I gave Sykes the address, and then set off for the library.
Twenty-Four
‘Come in!’
Mr Lennox, poring over a ledger, pencil in hand, looked up. ‘Mrs Shackleton.’
‘Mr Lennox.’ I stepped inside and closed the door. ‘I need you to come with me to Father Bolingbroke’s lodgings. There has been an unusual development.’
‘Oh dear, is he ill?’
‘No. I can explain as we go, but it would be helpful if you bring a note of the books that have gone missing.’
Mrs Carmichael came in, carrying a file. ‘Mrs Shackleton, I saw you come in. Is there anything I can do? Mr Lennox has an appointment with the auditors shortly.’
A sharp frostiness in her manner made me realise that she thought I had designs on her lover.
‘It’s Mr Lennox I need to speak to, but you may as well hear what I have to say. I believe we will find that your book thief is Father Bolingbroke. I and my assistant, along with Dr Potter’s manservant, apprehended him at Dr Potter’s house. He was helping himself to a valuable Bible and commentary.’
Lennox’s eyes widened. ‘Potter’s Geneva Bible? You mean to say he just kept it on the shelf?’
‘Come and see for yourself. You are the expert.’
Mrs Carmichael smiled with evident relief. ‘Heavens no, you are much mistaken. Father Bolingbroke is a true scholar. The thief was … well, she was dismissed, as we told you.’
‘And no books have gone missing since? And it was a pure fluke that Gothic Ornament was found where Bolingbroke had knelt to attend to Dr Potter? And you imagine that your sacked library assistant was fully aware of the value of the volumes that were taken?’
Her mouth opened every so slightly and a flicker of doubt came into her pale blue eyes. ‘Everyone knows which books are valuable.’
‘What did any of us know about Father Bolingbroke before he came here? You were deceived. We all allowed ourselves to be deceived by him.’
Mrs Carmichael’s hand went to her lips. ‘It can’t be true.’
‘Bolingbroke was caught red-handed this morning, impersonating a university chaplain and calling himself the Reverend Jones.’
Lennox stared at Mrs Carmichael. ‘You were so sure.’
‘Yes, very sure. The book was in Marian Montague’s bag, the index cards in her waste bin. We both saw them.’
Lennox’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘She swore she was honest. I wanted to believe her, but you convinced me.’
‘You are too gullible.’ Mrs Carmichael thumped her fist on the desk, which must have hurt.
His mouth tightened. ‘And you are too quick to rush to judgement.’
‘You wanted rid of her. Don’t deny it. She had become a nuisance.’
He took a step towards her. ‘No, you wanted rid of her, out of jealousy.’
I have never been sure of why anyone would want to pour oil on waters, troubled or untroubled, but I attempted to do so. ‘This is no time for recriminations.’ I stepped between them. ‘Come with me, Mr Lennox, to Roundhay. Let us see what treasures Father Bolingbroke has in his room.’
A sudden misgiving crawled up my spine. What if Bolingbroke had already despatched the stolen books to whoever would buy them from him?
Without another glance at Mrs Carmichael, Lennox reached for his coat.
‘Mrs Carmichael.’ I spoke as kindly as I could in spite of her barely concealed hostility towards me for having brought such news. ‘Would you be so kind as to telephone the police and ask them to come to Father Bolingbroke’s lodgings as soon as possible?’
She nodded, gave a long anguished look at Lennox, and then picked up the telephone receiver. I felt a sudden pity for her.
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