‘That’s Duppas Park House, sir,’ exclaimed Knollys, pointing to an imposing three-storey mansion clad in gleaming white stucco. A number of carriages stood in the road beyond the gardens, and a knot of curious bystanders had congregated on the pavement of the nearby Jubilee Road.
As they approached the house, a smartly dressed uniformed police inspector caught sight of them, and beckoned them to join him near the iron fire escape at the foot of which the Reverend Edwin Vickers had met his violent death.
‘That’s Inspector Price,’ said Knollys. ‘I worked with him for a time when I was still in uniform. He must have recognized me.’
Inspector Price met them at the corner of the house. He had an eager, bronzed face, and small bright eyes that seemed to dart everywhere. There was something about him that reminded Box of a ferret.
‘Hello, Knollys,’ he said, in a lilting Welsh accent. ‘Sergeant, now, isn’t it? Congratulations. And you’ll be Detective Inspector Box. We’ve never met, but I’ve seen your picture in the daily prints more than once. Let me show you both the scene of this damnable murder.’
He led them to the foot of the black-painted iron fire escape that rose through all three storeys, from each of which it was accessed through a metal-framed French window. Box looked up, and saw that the window on the third storey stood open. Inspector Price followed his glance.
‘That’s one of the windows of Lord Jocelyn’s gallery, where he displays his old books and paintings. A robbery took place in that room, Mr Box, in the early hours of the morning, and the robber left with his loot through that window, and down this fire escape. He’d brought a dark lantern, which he left up there on the top platform.’
Price moved to a spot about a yard from the fire escape, and crouched down on the grass.
‘On reaching the ground, I believe he encountered the late unfortunate Mr Vickers, Rector of St Jerome’s church. He was an elderly man, but still hale and hearty. As Sergeant Knollys will tell you, he’d been a celebrated rugby player in his youth.’
‘What was Mr Vickers doing out of doors at that hour of the morning?’ asked Box.
‘He was an insomniac. For some reason or other, he could never get to sleep at night. Dr Freeman had been to see him that very evening, and had left him some medicine in the form of cachets. His housekeeper heard the front door slam, and knew that he’d gone out for one of his lonely night walks. She struck a match and looked at the clock. It was just on five past three.’
‘What do you think happened then, Mr Price?’
‘I believe that poor Mr Vickers grappled with the intruder in an attempt to save his neighbour’s property. He’d left the rectory carrying a walking stick. It was with this stick, Mr Box, that the intruder battered Mr Vickers to death.’
The inspector pointed to a patch of bloodstained grass.
‘His body was lying there, with the skull crushed in by a number of heavy blows. The stick was lying some feet away from where he was found. Our police surgeon’s had a look at the body, and says that death occurred at some time between three o’clock and half past. Mr Vickers was discovered this morning by a gardener who had just come in from the town to work.’
Price hauled himself to his feet, and looked quizzically at Box, as though expecting him to ask a question.
‘What do you want me to do, Mr Price?’ asked Box. ‘Do you want me to associate myself with this crime, or leave it to Croydon?’
‘This is a straightforward case, Mr Box. A burglary took place, and the intruder committed murder – for murder it was – to prevent capture. We can handle this investigation well enough, though if we need help from Scotland Yard, then, of course, we’ll call on you and ask for it.’
‘But you think the robbery’s a case for the Yard?’
‘I do. There’s something odd about the whole thing, if you ask me. Lord Jocelyn is the soul of courtesy and co-operation, but he’s very ill at ease. I think he knows who was behind the robbery, and doesn’t want to tell us who it was.’
‘What was stolen? Something very valuable, I suppose.’
‘Books, Mr Box. Some books, wrapped up in a green baize cloth.’
‘Books? Well, well, I wonder…. You’re right about this robbery, Mr Price. If what I already suspect to be the case is true, then this is definitely a matter for Scotland Yard.’
Box and Knollys were admitted to the house by a middle-aged butler, who was striving manfully to remain calm and collected in a house that had been burgled only hours since, and in the grounds of which a brutal murder had been committed.
‘If you will remain here a moment, sir,’ said the butler, ‘I will tell Lord Jocelyn that you are here.’
The hall was light and airy, with delicate white panelling, and a curving staircase of marble and brass in the art nouveau style. There was a magnificent stained-glass window on the first-floor landing, and a crystal chandelier hung down from a vaulted plaster ceiling.
The doors of the main reception rooms led off from the hall. One door, to their left, stood open, and they saw a lady in a mauve morning dress presiding over a group of rather homely women, all engaged in stitching and hemming. The lady in mauve glanced up briefly, caught Box’s eye, and bowed stiffly in what he imagined was an attempt at gracious acknowledgement of his presence. He recognized the lady from her photograph in a recent number of The Strand Magazine. Lady Marion Peto, a renowned beauty in her youth, was now a rather commonplace, matronly figure, much given to charitable works.
Suddenly, Lord Jocelyn Peto erupted into the hail. He was followed by the butler, who stood stiffly a few feet away from his master.
‘My dear Inspector Box!’ Peto cried. ‘How very good of you to come. I gather that the Commissioner spoke to your superior officer about this unfortunate business. Are you here for the murder, or the robbery?’
As he spoke, Lord Jocelyn darted towards the room where his wife was closeted with her friends, and drew the door closed.
‘I’m here about the robbery, sir,’ Box replied. ‘And before you start telling me all about it, I’d like to survey the scene of the crime myself. I should like you to accompany us, if you will, Lord Jocelyn, and it would save some time if your butler would come, as well.’
‘Certainly, Inspector. Come, Tanner, let us all go upstairs to the gallery.’
The long room on the third floor was adorned with pieces of antique statuary, old paintings, and glazed bookcases, the shelves of which were filled with ancient and valuable volumes. On a section of the wall facing the front windows of the gallery an old tapestry had been pulled aside to reveal a tall, green-painted safe set into a deep alcove. The heavy door stood open. Lord Jocelyn strode over to the safe, and made as if to speak, but Inspector Box had walked resolutely towards the end of the gallery, where the metal-framed French window gave access to the fire escape. Sergeant Knollys followed him.
While master and servant stood irresolutely near the rifled safe, Box knelt down in front of the window. He donned a pair of round, gold-framed spectacles, which made him look older than his years, pushed the window outwards on to the platform, and peered closely at the sill.
‘Lord Jocelyn,’ said Box, still kneeling beside the door, ‘there are traces of felt fibre here, on the metal sill, and one or two little strands of the same material caught on the small splinters between these polished floor boards.’
‘Is that of any significance, Inspector?’
‘Yes, sir. It tells me that the intruder wore felt over-shoes, and that in turn suggests to me that he was a professional burglar. I rather think— Ah!’
Box had turned his attention to the window lock, and even from where he stood, Lord Jocelyn could see the sudden glint of excitement spring into the detective’s eyes. Box stood up, automatically dusting the knees of his trousers.
‘Mr Tanner,’ he said to the butler, ‘I noticed when I arrived here that all three windows giving access to the fire escape are of this type, French windows with metal frames, each furnis
hed with a mortise lock. This one has a bolt at top and bottom. So what we have here, in effect, are three doors, each accessible from the outside, and facing away from the front of the house, and from Jubilee Road. A godsend for burglars, you might say. Were they always locked at night?’
‘Yes, indeed, sir. I lock all three myself every night at eleven o’clock, after I’ve secured the front and back entrances of the house.’
‘There is no key in this lock.’
‘No, sir. I thought that it would be inviting trouble if keys were left in the locks during the night hours. It would be easy, you see, for an intruder to smash one of the small glass panes, reach his hand through, and turn the key.’
‘Well, well, Mr Tanner, thank you for telling me. Why didn’t I think of that?’
Sergeant Knollys successfully suppressed a smile. Tanner seemed quite unperturbed, waiting politely for the next question.
‘So you keep those three keys on your own chain?’
‘Just one key, sir. That key fits all three locks.’
‘And what happened to the other two keys? There must have been three keys onginally.’
For the first time, the butler showed faint signs of confusion.
‘Well, I don’t know what might have happened to the other keys, sir. During my time here, as Lord Jocelyn will bear me out, there’s only been the one key to these three windows.’
‘That’s perfectly true, Inspector. Both Tanner and his predecessor have fixed that key to their key rings. Do you think it’s of any great significance? Aren’t you going to examine the safe?’
‘Bear with me, sir, if you please. I’ll examine the safe in two minutes. I’ll give it my undivided attention. But not just yet. Tanner, did you lock this particular window with your key last night, at eleven o’clock? And did you shoot the bolts, top and bottom?’
‘I did, sir.’
‘Very well. Now, as you can see, this door has been unlocked with a key, from the inside. There are no keyholes on the outer side of the three French windows. So the window’s unlocked, but there’s no key in the keyhole. What does that suggest to you?’
‘Why, sir, that someone must have unlocked it later in the night, after I’d retired. But who could have done that? The key remained secure on my key ring.’
The man’s face suddenly flushed with barely controlled anger.
‘You’re not suggesting that I left it open deliberately, are you? You’re not suggesting—’
‘That will do, Tanner,’ said Lord Jocelyn, sharply. ‘No one is suggesting anything. Mr Box is simply trying to establish what happened here last night. That is so, is it not, Inspector?’
‘It is, sir. There’s no call to take offence, Mr Tanner. It’s very clear to me that someone crept in here last night, or very early in the morning, and using a spare key, opened this French window, and drew back the bolts. So, Mr Tanner, I’d like you to go now, and assemble all the indoor staff in one place, so that we can have a look at them. Sergeant Knollys will go with you. I’ll take a look at the safe, now.’
All the time he had been speaking, Box had been watching Lord Jocelyn Peto’s face, and had seen the curious amalgam of shock and vexation animating it. He was a handsome man, evidently accustomed to being admired, and he had never learnt the art of concealing his emotions. Yes, there was shock in that expression, which was understandable. But vexation?
‘Sir,’ he asked. ‘did either you or Lady Marion Peto hear any sound of this break-in during the night? I expect Inspector Price has asked you the same question.’
‘He has, Inspector. No, neither my wife nor myself heard anything untoward. Incidentally, Lady Marion was due to entertain her ladies of the Dorcas Society this morning, and I thought it advisable to let her do so, despite what has happened. Lady Marion would not be able to tell you anything useful.’
Somewhere, behind those dismissive words, Box caught a suggestion of belittlement. Perhaps this personable and noble banker had weighed his wife in the social balance and found her wanting? Such things did happen in circles where a public façade was judged to be a necessary ingredient of professional and marital success.
Box turned his attention to the safe. Two of its four shelves held a number of bound account books. Another contained locked deposit boxes, none of which had been disturbed. The fourth shelf, that nearest the floor, was empty.
Box took a hand lens from his pocket, and examined the two locks. Neither showed any telltale scratches or gouges, which would have told him of an attempt to insert force-locks into the keyholes. He inserted the top joint of his right little finger into the keyhole of the top lock, and looked at the smear of grease and metal filings that it had gathered. Lord Jocelyn’s voice broke the silence.
‘A professional burglar, you said, Mr Box. Obviously a very skilled one, as he was able to open the safe without leaving a mark on it. They listen to the tumblers moving into place, don’t they?’
‘Yes, sir. And when he’s listened to the tumblers,’ said Box, solemnly, straightening up from examining the lower lock, ‘he executes a little tattoo with his fist on the panel, kicks the door with the heel of his right boot, seizes the brass handle, and – hey, presto! – Mr Milner’s safe yields to his superior skills—’
‘Good heavens, Inspector! Is that how it’s done?’
‘No, sir, it isn’t. I hope you’ll forgive my little joke. This robbery is what we call an inside job. That safe was opened with a key – it’s all keys in this case. You’ve got a Judas in your midst, and, with a bit of luck, either myself or Sergeant Knollys will pick him out from among your servants. You see the black smear on my finger? It’s a mixture of hard wax and lead filings. The key that was used to open this safe was a recent copy of your own key.’
‘A copy? But how can that be? I keep the key of that safe constantly about my person.’ Box saw his hand stray to his waistcoat pocket.
‘What about when you go to bed, sir?’
‘I put it in my bedside drawer.’
‘So it isn’t constantly about your person, is it, sir? Most things aren’t, when you come to think about it. At some time when you and your safe key have been separated, perhaps when you were asleep, or taking a bath, or preparing to change into or out of evening clothes, your resident Judas crept in, took a wax impression of your key, and later made a mould, into which he, or an accomplice, would pour molten lead. It’s crude, Lord Jocelyn, and a lead key’s only good for one job, but it’s very effective. That’s what’s happened here.’
Lord Jocelyn Peto’s face showed all too clearly his admiration of Box’s professional expertise. He was a good-humoured, outward-going man, and Box’s account of his deductions had made him want to clap his hands. But he couldn’t do that, of course. That poor, inoffensive clergyman had been murdered on his doorstep, so to speak: the burglar had also been a murderer. And in any case, he was vexed. What on earth was he to tell this clever, eager young man?
‘And now, sir,’ said Box, ‘perhaps you’d tell me what it was that our burglar was hired to steal? This job was plotted and planned, Lord Jocelyn. The burglar came to rob you of a specific item. Would you care to tell me what it was?’
‘It was – it was a collection of old books, done up in a green baize bag. But I can’t think that the burglar could have known of its existence. Surely he came here on the off chance that there was money in the safe? I’m known to be a very rich man.’
‘Yes, I know you are, sir,’ Box replied, treating the banker to a wolfish smile, ‘and on this coming Friday I shall be one of the police officers supervising the movement of your bullion reserve from the Strand to Temple Pier.’
‘What an odd coincidence, Inspector!’
‘Yes, sir, it is. We live in a world of curious coincidences. So our burglar turned murderer stole some old books, did he?’
‘Yes. Old books, you know, from centuries ago.’
‘Like the Complutensian Polyglot Bible, Lord Jocelyn?’
Arnold Box had
the satisfaction of seeing the noble banker shy away from him like a frightened colt.
‘This is a very embarrassing situation, Inspector Box,’ said Lord Jocelyn Peto, frowning, and biting his lip. ‘Very embarrassing. You seem to know a great deal more about the Polyglot Bible than I imagined any layman could know. You even know about Sudermann. I want to tell you all, but if I do, I may compromise a third party by linking him to this wretched robbery. Can’t we just let the matter drop?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Well, well, it’s a silly, wretched business. I’d better tell you all about it.’
Box, by drawing on his memory of the meeting with Mr M.R. James, had duly dazzled the noble banker with his apparent expertise in the matter of ancient books and their wanderings.
Lord Jocelyn had preceded Box to a small writing room adjacent to the gallery, where they would be able to talk more privately.
‘You seem to know all about the rivalry between myself and Sir Hamo Strange. It’s a rivalry that extends not only to our dealings as bankers, but to our success as collectors of ancient books and manuscripts. I have been trying for many years to acquire the unique Ferdinand and Isabella Bible, and Strange, too, was obsessively eager to obtain it.’
‘And he secured the professional services of Herr Aaron Sudermann in order to achieve his ambition.’
‘He did, Mr Box. I can’t imagine how you came to know all this! Sudermann’s reputation as a procurer of antiquities is unequalled. But I used a very canny Scotsman called Macdonald. He conducts his business from a little crooked shop in Ediniburgh. It took him years to track the Bible down to Count Fuentes’ castle in Andalusia, but when he had done so, he sped there like the wind on the third of July, and pipped Sudermann to the post.’
The Gold Masters Page 9