The Advocate's Wife

by Norman Russell

  ‘And what did he do? Your husband, I mean?’

  ‘He left his seat, and crossed the room to where this man was sitting alone, having a meal. He brought out the watch and showed it to him. The man denied that it had ever been his watch. My husband was rather embarrassed, and returned to his seat.’

  ‘Did your husband tell you who the man was?’

  ‘Well, no, Inspector, because of course he didn’t know who he was! He felt sure he was the man by the Serpentine, but he didn’t know his name, or who he was. After all, it was twenty-five years ago that he had seen him, and if the man chose to deny the fact, there was nothing much that James could say. But it was curious, for all that.’

  Box was silent for so long after Mrs Hungerford had finished her story that she wondered whether he had been listening to her at all. She made a little nervous sound, and Box woke from his reverie.

  ‘What? Yes, Mrs Hungerford, very curious, as you say. Did you mention this incident to Sir William Porteous?’

  ‘Well, no, Mr Box. It had nothing to do with my husband’s murder. But since this terrible attempt on Sir William’s life, following so soon after his successful prosecution of the man who tried to steal my husband’s watch, I’ve wondered … You may think I’m just a foolish woman, Inspector, but this incident by the Serpentine is something unknown to the authorities, and I feel much relieved now that I’ve told you about it.’

  ‘I’m much obliged to you, Mrs Hungerford,’ said Box. ‘I think you’ve told me something of great value, though I’m not at liberty to tell you more. I remember seeing that watch, briefly, when it was shown to the jury at the trial. I expect you’ll keep it as a memento of your husband.’

  Mrs Hungerford smiled rather uncertainly.

  ‘As a matter of fact, I gave it to Sir William Porteous, Inspector. He had acted against that wicked man for no fee, and had helped me financially at a very difficult time. It was the very least I could do to repay that good, kind man.’

  ‘Sergeant Knollys,’ said Box, ‘I want you to listen while I propound a theory: a theory about Gideon Raikes. Interrupt me if you think I’m going wrong. Add anything you think relevant.’

  It was a quiet moment at King James’s Rents. Although they could both hear the muffled sounds of activity through the wall in the hive of inner offices, they knew that they would be left in peace for at least half an hour.

  ‘Once upon a time, Sergeant Knollys, there was a promising young lawyer called Gideon Raikes. He was trained to the law at Gray’s Inn, and joined the old legal practice of Foxley and Forwood of Carter Lane, just beyond St Paul’s Churchyard. Working in the same practice was another young man called Henry Colbourne. All this was in 1867.

  ‘All went well, until Raikes blotted his copy book by accepting a bribe from a client. Why did he do that? We don’t know. It seemed, though, that Henry Colbourne could have helped Raikes, but refused. So what did Raikes do? Now this bit’s pure supposition, and is for your ears alone: Raikes is unable to cover up his defalcation – I’m a bit uncertain here – and is ruined. He determines to seek revenge on Colbourne, who seems to have been an insufferable prig.’

  ‘So what did he do, sir?’

  ‘On the night of November 1, 1867, Raikes contrived to waylay Colbourne as he was walking up Garlick Hill. He garrotted him with a scarf, and then stole his watch, to make it look like a common theft—’

  ‘How do you know that this Colbourne was walking up Garlick Hill? That would bring him up from Upper Thames Street. What was he doing down there? Or was he walking down Garlick Hill, from the Cannon Street end? You did say I could interrupt, sir.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I did. And it’s a very good point, Sergeant. What was he doing in that part of London, anyway? But let me finish my tale for the time being. Next day, or some other time soon after the event, Raikes goes to Hyde Park and drops the watch into the Serpentine.’

  ‘How on earth do you know that, sir?’

  ‘Because, Sergeant, James Hungerford’s widow came here, and told me. When Raikes drops the watch in the Serpentine, he’s observed doing so by a boy, James Hungerford. Raikes never forgets the boy’s face. After that he goes abroad.

  ‘Years later, Gideon Raikes returns to England, a rich and successful insurance promoter. He builds up a dangerous empire of crime and corruption, and the events of 1867 begin to recede.’

  Box paused to light one of his thin cigars. He sat for a moment, watching the flames leaping in the office grate.

  ‘Then, Sergeant, something happened. One day, in Oxford Street, Gideon Raikes was taking lunch in a restaurant. Seated in the same restaurant was James Hungerford, who recognized Raikes as the man who had dropped a perfectly good watch into the Serpentine twenty-five years previously. Hungerford obviously had a good memory for faces. He was wearing the watch in question, and approached Raikes, light-heartedly recalling the curious circumstance of the watch being dropped into the river.’

  ‘Did Mrs Hungerford tell you that bit, too? About recalling the curious circumstance?’

  ‘Yes, Sergeant, she did. Gideon Raikes, of course, denies all knowledge of the matter. James Hungerford, embarrassed, retires in confusion. When he leaves the restaurant Raikes follows him, or has him followed – there’s always some of his riffraff lurking near him. He puts Percy the Pug on to the matter, and Percy rakes up Albert John Davidson. That, of course, means the end of poor Hungerford. Davidson is supposed to steal the watch, but kills his victim out of devilry. After that, Raikes abandons the watch. It’s not worth taking any more risks on that account.’

  ‘Where’s that watch now, sir? Has the widow got it?’

  ‘No. She presented it to Sir William Porteous. That was a kind gesture, in my estimation. Now, here’s the clever bit, Sergeant. Henry Colbourne didn’t exist in a vacuum. He must have had relatives, and it won’t be difficult to trace them, if we need to. He must also have had friends, or acquaintances, and among these friends and acquaintances was a young lady – she’d have been twenty-seven at the time – a young lady called Amelia Garbutt. She knew about the watch. She knew—’

  Box drew on his cigar, and continued to look at the fire. He delicately removed a piece of tobacco from his lower lip. Sergeant Knollys, who had been leafing through a note book lying among the pile of paper on the table, looked up, and smiled.

  ‘You said this was going to be the clever bit, sir!’

  ‘Yes. And it will be the clever bit, once I’ve worked it out! Amelia Garbutt was engaged in a spot of discreet blackmail, Sergeant Knollys, and the object of her attentions was Gideon Raikes. In some way or other she was connected to Henry Colbourne, and she was blackmailing Raikes because of something she knew.’

  ‘Or something she had?’

  ‘Had? Yes, that’s a thought, Sergeant. Well done! Maybe it was a document, a statement, something that Colbourne may have written and sent off to a relative. I wonder … Do you remember Mrs Stockmayer telling us that Amelia Garbutt had sold up the effects of an uncle who had died? Maybe it was that. Maybe there was something in the uncle’s effects that was just asking to be used for blackmail.’

  ‘Mrs Stockmayer told us that Garbutt’s uncle had lived in Garlick Hill, sir. It’s an interesting thought, that.’

  ‘It is, and we’ll have a closer look at that tumbledown old street very soon. But let me finish my theory. When Amelia Garbutt moves to Essex, she writes to Gideon Raikes, and tells him that she knows something to his grave disadvantage, and would he care to do something practical about it? Gideon Raikes was seen by Sir William Porteous at Bishop’s Longhurst railway station. Presumably Garbutt had summoned him down there for a discreet meeting at the diplomatic reception at Heath House.’

  ‘Was Raikes on the guest list, sir?’

  ‘No. It may have been extreme discretion on her part, Sergeant. A neutral venue, compromising neither of them. An exchange of items in a lamp-lit garden crowded with people, and accessible from the public road – something like that. S
he gives him the document, whatever it was, and he pays her with … He has promised to give her a diamond necklace in return for the document. Sir William Porteous thinks he lost that necklace, but I believe that Gideon Raikes arranged for it to be stolen from Queen Adelaide Gate, so that it could be used to incriminate Sir William by leaving it on Amelia Garbutt’s body. Clever; but not clever enough! As Mrs Stockmayer reminded us, Sergeant, people’s valuables are stolen from them, not put on their bodies after their death!’

  Box threw the stub of his cigar into the fire, and turned to look at Knollys.

  ‘I can imagine the scene. “A satisfactory conclusion to our business, Miss Garbutt. Shall we take a walk through the grounds? Such a pleasant night!” Off they go through the garden, away from the coloured lights and the throng of guests, into the dark trees. He is standing behind her. He brings a silk scarf from his pocket, and in moments he has garrotted her. He places the necklace around her neck, drags her out through the garden wicket gate and up to the canal, where he consigns her to the water. Then he makes good his escape, and no one knows anything about the matter until the woman in the green silk dress is seen floating down to Bardley in the moonlight.’

  Knollys was silent for a moment. He had been impressed by Box’s graphic description of Amelia Garbutt’s murder. Then he stirred in his seat, and looked at Box.

  ‘I’ll make a few points if I may, sir. There needs to be a lot of checking. We need to visit that law practice you mentioned – Foxley and Forwood – to see what they know about Raikes’s time there. We need to find out why Raikes accepted a bribe in the first place. What did he need the money for? What had he done wrong?

  ‘And then, sir, coming back to the present, we need to find that restaurant in Oxford Street, and establish who was dining there that day. Waiters tend to know their regulars and to notice strangers. Show them some of your photographs of Raikes, show them a photograph of James Hungerford – is this all right, sir?’

  Knollys suddenly realized that he was lecturing his own superior officer. He blushed, but Box held up his hand as though to stop the blush in its tracks.

  ‘It’s very much “all right”. Go on. This is what I want to hear.’

  ‘Your story becomes very strong, sir, when you start to talk about Percy the Pug, Davidson and poor James Hungerford. That all fits in well. But we’ll need much more work done on the links – if any – between Colbourne and Garbutt before we can get a complete picture of the two garrottings. Also, if I’m right about a document of some sort, we need to look more closely at Miss Garbutt’s previous situations and homes. There’s a lot to be done there.’

  Inspector Box stood up. He eyed his new sergeant with considerable respect. Here was a man who knew how to apply the brakes to a runaway vehicle. And – yes Knollys didn’t mind his habit of boasting. In fact, he seemed to like it!

  Box began to scramble into his topcoat. When he spoke, his voice once more held all the excitement of the chase.

  ‘We’ll do all that, Sergeant Knollys. We’ll hem Raikes in with water-tight evidence. In the meantime, are you game to pay a call on that scented and celebrated connoisseur? I took the liberty of sending him a little note this morning, telling him that I’d call to ask him a few questions. No obligation on his part, of course, to answer any of them. But it would make a good impression if he would.’

  ‘Questions about Henry Colbourne, sir?’

  ‘Yes, Sergeant. Raikes, of course, will think I’ve called about Sir William Porteous. When he finds I’ve come to rake up an old, forgotten murder, he’ll be rattled enough, I hope, to give himself away. I tell you, Sergeant Knollys, we’ve got him, now!’

  12

  The Withered Hand

  Gideon Raikes’s residence in Grosvenor Square proclaimed its owner’s succulent taste through its chocolate-box pastel frontage, and its foreign striped window awnings. The house had more the air of a low-cost but superior London hotel of the second rank, than that of a private dwelling.

  As Inspector Box and Sergeant Knollys rounded the corner from North Audley Street, they saw the master of the house standing on his red-carpeted steps, talking earnestly to a rather exotically dressed young man of aquiline and consumptive appearance.

  ‘There’s our man, Sergeant,’ murmured Box, ‘perfectly turned out, as always, hair nicely curled with the tongs, suit of Parisian cut. Very handsome. He’d make a good major-domo, standing on the hotel steps. The young gentleman he’s talking to will be one of the athletes, seeking a more fragrant world than this vale of tears.’

  ‘Aesthetes.’

  ‘Eh? Yes, that’s what I said. They do pictures of flowers and curly vines, and very long sad-looking girls. I expect that young fellow’s trying to sell Raikes some of his stuff.’

  The young man raised his hat to Gideon Raikes, and sauntered off towards Brook Street. The master of the house turned on the steps, caught sight of Inspector Box, and smiled.

  ‘Good morning, Inspector Box! Thank you for your note. It was very thoughtful of you to give me notice that you wanted to call. It’s not often that we see you in Mayfair. Come into the house.’

  The two detectives followed Raikes into the sumptuous mansion. This was Box’s first visit to the enemy’s lair. He came with all the jaunty confidence of a renewed optimism, but was unable to avoid being overwhelmed by the richness of Gideon Raikes’s dwelling. Marble gleamed, crystal shone, the glint of gold everywhere caught the sun through rich stained glass. The carpets deadened all sound except for the mellifluous voice of the great connoisseur as he led the way upstairs.

  ‘Did you see that young man, Mr Box? Until very recently he was a clerk in the Guardian Insurance Company – that’s how I came to hear of him. He does the most exquisite black and white drawings. He’s doing some drawings for Mr Wilde. Meanwhile I’ve just agreed to buy a portfolio of his earlier work. Beardsley’s his name. Aubrey Beardsley. He’ll be famous one day.’

  He’s very chatty and genial today, thought Box. This is the man who sent Albert John Davidson on a thieving errand that ended in murder. This is the attempted assassin of Sir William Porteous. His bonhomie was a mask for something else – either fear, or rage.

  They reached the first floor, where the white-gloved Brucchiani stood ready to open the library door.

  ‘Come in and sit down, Inspector Box. And you – Sergeant Knollys, isn’t it? You’re new to Scotland Yard, I think?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Knollys replied. ‘I’ve been cleaning up a lot of scum across the river, out Croydon way. But as you know, there’s always plenty of the same stuff surfacing in London. So I’m happy to be here, so to speak.’

  There was an impenetrable insolence in Sergeant Knollys’ voice that brought a flush to the connoisseur’s face. For a brief moment a serpent’s eyes peered out from the knit brows, and then were gone. Box glanced briefly at his sergeant. Well done! he thought. Raikes had quailed in the face of Knollys’ contemptuous innuendo. Maybe it would convey to the distinguished connoisseur the unpalatable truth that his number was up.

  Raikes slid his slim gold hunter watch from his waistcoat pocket and smiled at the little enamel jester eternally nodding his head. Snapping the watch shut he returned it to his pocket.

  ‘I’ve some people coming in an hour’s time, Mr Box, so perhaps we could dispense with the niceties?’

  ‘Indeed yes, Mr Raikes. I’ve come this afternoon to ask you some questions about a case that I’m investigating. I assume that, as you are a law-abiding and prominent citizen, you will be only too pleased to assist me.’

  Raikes stirred uneasily, then placed his fingertips together. He leaned back in the gilt chair in which he sat at his great baroque desk. His face was lightened by a slightly ingratiating smile, but Box could now feel the pent-up rage behind the smile.

  ‘I am, naturally enough, most willing to assist you, Inspector. We all deplore the recent murderous attack upon Sir William Porteous. I believe that you were sorely vexed by that business? I
hear that you arrested some quite innocent men who were attempting to open a china shop, and that your superintendent was very angry.’

  Gideon Raikes looked the picture of sympathy and concern, but both men could see that he was inwardly shaking with mirth. For a brief moment, even the raging anger fermenting in the man’s soul was assuaged.

  ‘Well, thank you very much for your sympathy, Mr Raikes,’ said Box. ‘It’s very much appreciated. But it’s not been all gloom up at the Yard. Those “innocent men” you mention are all behind bars once more – except for one, who was murdered to prevent him squealing. When these people are not feeding off society, they feed off each other.’

  ‘It’s what parasites habitually do, Mr Raikes,’ said Knollys.

  ‘And we’ve got the man who planted the bomb in Sir William’s coach, and from him we’ll follow a trail to the door of the man behind it all. It’s just a matter of time, sir!’

  Gideon Raikes looked intently at Box, gnawing the side of his thumb as he did so.

  ‘And how do you think I can help you in the matter? I know nothing about the attempt on Porteous’s life.’

  Inspector Box contrived to look surprised.

  ‘I haven’t come about the Porteous business, Mr Raikes. It’s something quite different, and if you’ll bear with me, I’ll tell you all about it. But first, I’d like to ask you a question, though I very much regret that I can’t tell you the reason for asking it.’

  ‘What is that question?’

  ‘Just this, sir. Where were you on the fifth and sixth of September last?’

  Gideon Raikes raised his eyebrows and made a slight grimace. He opened a leather-bound diary on his desk and turned a few pages.