‘I know nothing about that. To be perfectly blunt, Dr Courtine, I don’t care how or why the builders did something in the past. As a practical man, all that interests me is whether it’s going to stand in the future.’
There was an awkward silence.
‘And in addition to that, Gambrill believed that Burgoyne was about to expose him for embezzlement,’ Dr Sisterson murmured, trying to redeem the situation.
‘I understand that the precise term is malversation,’ I said, remembering my first conversation with the old banker. The Sacrist looked at me in surprise. I was beginning to explain the distinction when I was interrupted by the young surgeon: ‘I am rather intrigued, gentlemen. You said it was assumed at the time that Gambrill killed Burgoyne, in some mysterious way raised this slab to its position, sealed it in place, and then disappeared. Where does this discovery leave that theory?’
‘It makes it much clearer,’ I said. ‘There was a third person involved. And that must have been someone who had the skill to seal Gambrill up in the tomb. In other words, it must have been a mason.’
I waited to see if the Sacrist knew what I was implying.
‘Thomas Limbrick!’ he exclaimed.
‘Who was he?’ Dr Carpenter asked.
‘A young mason who worked for Gambrill,’ the Sacrist explained.
‘He was the son of a former Deputy Mason who had been a workmate of Gambrill’s,’ I added. ‘A man who had been killed in an accident on the tower which cost Gambrill one of his eyes. His widow accused him of murder.’ As I said that, I remembered that I wanted to ask the Surveyor about the condition of the spire and whether I could go up the tower stairs which Gazzard had told me were closed.
‘And after Gambrill’s disappearance,’ the Sacrist added, ‘young Limbrick inherited his enterprise.’
‘And his widow,’ I said.
‘So he had all those motives for killing Gambrill,’ said the Sacrist. ‘But why did he wish to kill the Canon?’
The doctor had turned back to the body and was kneeling beside it while listening to us. ‘If he did,’ I said.
‘Excuse me, gentlemen,’ said the Surveyor. ‘This is all very fascinating but unfortunately the Foundation doesn’t pay me to stand here and discuss ancient history. I have work to do.’
‘Before you go, Mr Bulmer,’ I said, ‘I’d like to ask you about the spire. I have a particular reason to ascend the tower and look at it. Is it really too dangerous?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ he said, turning quickly to look at me. ‘I don’t understand your meaning.’
‘I am informed that the tower is closed to visitors because of its structural weakness. I wondered if an exception could be made in my case.’
He stared at me with his eyes bulging: ‘I can assure you that the tower is perfectly safe. Frankly, to suggest otherwise is such a serious criticism of my professional competence that I am quite at a loss for words.’
‘I must have misunderstood,’ I said.
I saw that a vein in his great naked forehead was throbbing. ‘That is entirely possible, Dr Courtine.’ He repeated slowly and with particular significance: ‘Entirely possible. Let me, however, make one thing clear. You are not, despite the excellent condition of the tower, permitted to ascend it under any circumstances.’ He glanced significantly towards the gaping hole in the wall and added, addressing himself to Dr Sisterson rather than myself: ‘The Cathedral can’t afford any more damage.’
He nodded at the three of us and with a brief ‘Good day, gentlemen’, hurried towards the nave and the west door.
‘I’m afraid I offended him,’ I said to the Sacrist. ‘I think he blames me for bringing this disaster upon the Cathedral. But the spire and the tower were certainly in danger of collapse in Burgoyne’s time.’
‘It’s a strange business. They are perfectly sound now and yet nobody quite understands why.’
‘Nobody understands why?’ I laughed. ‘Can you explain what you mean?’
‘At the Restoration of the Monarchy, the Foundation set about repairing the damage that had been inflicted on the fabric during the civil turmoil. Contrary to all expectations, it was found that the tower and the spire were in no need of repair. And about forty years ago a survey established that they had been very cleverly and effectively strengthened at some point between about 1600 and 1660. Yet no record of such work exists.’
‘Why, in that case, is the tower barred?’
‘There’s some kind of ancient machinery up there which could be extremely dangerous to anyone who got close to it.’
I was intrigued. The record of Limbrick Senior’s death had referred to an Engin and a possibility came to me as I remembered the words from the inscription: All things revolve and Man who is born to Labour revolves with them.
‘What is it?’
‘Nobody really knows.’
‘Indeed? Even Bulmer?’ I asked with a smile.
‘He has confessed himself completely baffled.’
‘Does he know much about the construction of cathedrals?’
‘To be frank, not a great deal. He is a fine engineer, I’m sure. He built bridges before he was employed by the Chapter.’
‘Does it have a big wheel?’ He stared at me as if I had taken leave of my senses. ‘The machinery in the tower. Is there a huge wheel attached to it?’
‘Like a prison treadwheel?’ he said.
I smiled. ‘Precisely. Though not quite as large as that. About one and a half times the height of a man.’
‘I have to admit that I have never been up there. I have no head for heights. But I believe it has.’
I believed I knew what it was and, if I was right, a number of missing pieces of the puzzle would fall into place. However, it was clear that I had annoyed the Surveyor to the point where there would be no possibility of his allowing me up there.
At that moment Dr Carpenter came over. ‘The undertaker’s men will be here soon and I’ll have them take the body to the mortuary.’
‘I’ve notified the authorities,’ said the Sacrist. ‘And I assume there will be an inquest.’
‘Speaking of which,’ the doctor said to me, ‘did you know the one on Mr Stonex is to take place this afternoon?’
‘A terrible business,’ said Dr Sisterson, shaking his head. ‘I’m so sorry you were innocently caught up in it, Dr Courtine.’
I thanked him and turned to the doctor: ‘I did not. Though the Major warned me it might be today.’
‘The Guildhall at two,’ he said. ‘Probably you know that the police found banknotes hidden in Perkins’s house?’
‘Then I assume that his guilt is beyond dispute.’
‘Presumably,’ he said and turned to the Sacrist, holding up a bunch of keys: ‘What shall I do with these?’
‘Were they found on the body?’ I asked.
‘Beside it,’ Dr Carpenter said.
‘I’ll give them to Dr Locard,’ said the Sacrist as the doctor handed them to him. I noticed that they consisted of two sets, each on a metal ring. ‘As Librarian he takes custody of anything like that.’
‘I’m surprised he is not here,’ I said.
‘He was sent for, of course,’ said the Sacrist, ‘as soon as this unfortunate discovery was made, but he had other calls upon his time.’
‘I know he takes a keen interest in this story,’ I said. ‘He will be delighted to learn that the mystery has been resolved.’
‘I’m not sure that it has,’ Dr Carpenter said, turning to me. ‘Tell me, Dr Courtine, what exactly do you believe happened that night?’
‘Burgoyne was murdered by the collapse of the scaffolding precipitated by Gambrill – possibly with the help of Limbrick. But then he himself was overpowered by his deputy and his body sealed up here to die.’
‘He lifted the slab into place singlehandedly?’ said Dr Sisterson, shaking his head.
‘Yes, that could have been done.’ I didn’t explain my theory because I wanted to wait until I had proof.
‘All of that is very persuasive,’ said Dr Carpenter. ‘But unfortunately, it rests on a false premise.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked indignantly.
‘Did I understand you to say that Gambrill had lost an eye?’
‘That is so.’
‘Then this body cannot be his for both eyes are present.’
I stared at him in astonishment. ‘That can’t be right.’
‘If you doubt my clinical judgement, would you like to offer a second opinion?’ the doctor asked with a smile.
I shuddered at the thought of going any nearer the body. And I felt resentment at the way this clever young man had led me on to make a fool of myself.
I was about to say something I might have regretted but at that moment three figures entered through the south door – the undertaker’s men. Taking a hasty leave of my companions, I hurried out of the building.
Young Pomerance was still among the little crowd on the steps as I passed out and he plucked me by the sleeve and begged me to tell him what was happening. I informed him briefly what had been discovered and then hastened back to the Library. Quitregard had just made coffee and offered me a cup. I accepted, knowing that he was longing to hear my news and disposed, after my grim experience, to talk it over with someone. And so, anxious as I was to get back to the manuscript, I sat down and told him what I had learned. It was clear how much he relished the mystery.
‘It’s possible’, I concluded, ‘that something more will emerge when the inquest is taken, but it’s very puzzling.’
Quitregard struck his forehead. ‘Talking of inquests, while you were out, the Coroner’s office sent a constable here to tell you that the inquest on poor Mr Stonex is this afternoon.’
‘So Dr Carpenter told me. It’s at the Guildhall. Where is that?’
He gave me directions. ‘Do you know, they say his estate will be valued in the hundreds of thousands?’
‘And is it left to the Choir School?’
‘Well no, sir. I mean, apparently that was his intention but his will has not been found. His lawyer did not have it, I’ve been told. And so far, a search of his house and of the Bank has not discovered it.’
‘If he died intestate, his next of kin will inherit – assuming he has any still alive. Is anything known of them?’
‘He had a sister but they have been estranged almost since her childhood. Forty or fifty years.’
‘And a brother,’ I put in.
The young man stared at me. ‘No, he did not. That is to say, begging your pardon, you are mistaken.’
‘But I distinctly recall that he mentioned him yesterday afternoon. He was talking of his childhood in the New Deanery and the games he used to play with his sister and – he said – with his brother.’
He looked at me in amazement. ‘I have never heard of a brother. I know that he quarrelled with his sister, who was much younger, and that she left the town before she was out of her teens. I remember hearing my grandparents talk about her, for they recalled the scandal. It seems she fell in love with an Irish actor from a touring company that was playing at the theatre. She wanted to marry him and when her brother refused to let her, she ran away with him. That is the last the town ever knew of her. I have heard that she herself became ...’
‘Is it not possible that there was another brother who perhaps died or himself left the town at an early age?’
‘It’s possible, but I believe I would have heard of it. Mr Stonex and his affairs are much discussed in the town, as you may imagine. Could it have been a mere slip of the tongue?’
I smiled. ‘You mean he said “brother” when he meant to say “sister”? That hardly seems possible. It’s very mysterious. Could I trouble you to ask your grandparents if they ever heard of a brother?’
He smiled sadly. ‘Unfortunately they are no longer alive.’
‘I beg your pardon. Of course, it was a long time ago. I wonder if anyone now alive remembers old Mr Stonex. I mean, the father of the deceased. His portrait is very striking.’
‘Would you call him old, sir?’ the young man asked playfully. ‘He died in his forties.’
I laughed. ‘You might, but I would call that tragically young. And now that I think of it, the old gentleman mentioned his father’s death yesterday and talked of his grief.’
‘That surprises me. My grandfather told me that father and son detested each other. The father regarded his heir as cold and calculating.’
‘Distance softens memories,’ I said. ‘You’ll have learnt that by the time you’re my age. And it’s possible to hate someone and yet be deeply upset by his or her death.’
‘I’m sure that’s true, sir. But my grandfather used to say that Mr Stonex had a most unhappy childhood because his father resented him as a dull dog with little capacity to enjoy life. And that’s why the boy grew up hating him. The sister, on the other hand, was the favourite and adored her father.’
‘I suppose that’s one reason why they quarrelled after his death. A man like that arouses strong emotions. From what the old gentleman said about him yesterday, he was a charming, selfish, devil-may-care character.’
‘He certainly had a wild and hot-blooded youth,’ the young man said with a rather embarrassed air.
‘But then he reformed, the old man told me, when his own father died. He returned to the town and worked hard to make a go of the Bank.’
‘That is what is always said, sir. But my grandfather had a different slant on it and used to say that he only came back here in order to plunder the Bank and that it was on the brink of collapse when he died, and his son, the old man, had to spend thirty years repairing the damage his father had inflicted in five.’
‘That’s rather curious. I wonder what the truth of it is. I suppose we will never know.’ I sighed. ‘So many mysteries.’
‘I’ve never known so much excitement,’ the young man said. ‘Poor Mr Stonex, the body in the Burgoyne memorial, the row over Dr Sheldrick yesterday, and even the theft from his house on Tuesday.’
‘Could any of them be connected?’ I asked.
Quitregard looked at the floor. ‘I don’t see how, sir. But people are saying the strangest things about the robbery at Dr Sheldrick’s.’
‘Is someone suspected?’
‘People are saying that what was stolen could, in the wrong hands, be very dangerous.’
‘Dangerous to Dr Sheldrick?’
‘And to the good name of the Foundation. That’s what they’re saying, anyway.’
‘How could a set of miniatures be dangerous?’
He looked up and blushed. It occurred to me that I was being rather stupid. I had finished my coffee and now stood up. ‘If Dr Locard arrives, would you be good enough to ask him if I could have a few minutes of his time?’
I had decided to postpone no longer telling Dr Locard of my discovery. He had to be informed and I might as well do it now.
‘Dr Locard is here,’ the young man answered in surprise. ‘He came in shortly before you and has gone to the upper gallery.’
I was horrified, for I suddenly realized that I had left the manuscript lying upon the desk, barely hidden by a single book. If Dr Locard had found it, he would wonder why I had not reported my discovery to him, and I dreaded that he should suspect that I had contemplated concealing it from him.
I hurried up the stairs and, to my dismay, found Dr Locard bent over the table exactly where I had been sitting. As I approached, he looked up and smiled thinly. ‘I must congratulate you, Courtine. You have made a very remarkable discovery.’
The manuscript was before him.
‘I found it just before Pomerance came to tell me the news about the body in the Cathedral,’ I said in embarrassment. ‘I was about to come and tell you when that drove every other consideration from my mind.’
‘It has been a day of astonishing excitement,’ he commented drily. ‘Almost as dramatic as yesterday.’
He gestured to indicate the shelves
around us. ‘It was up here that you found it?’
‘Quite by chance. I happened to come across the records of Chancery Sessions and I was looking through them and I found it between the pages.’ I gestured at the book which was still open where the manuscript had been.
‘What a curious coincidence,’ he remarked.
I didn’t believe it was anything of the kind, but I decided to say nothing of how I had been looking into the death of Limbrick’s father, just as I imagined Pepperdine had more than two centuries earlier. ‘I’ve only had time to glance through it,’ I said. ‘It seems to be exactly what I hoped to find: part of the original version of Grimbald’s Life.’
‘I’ve scarcely had twenty minutes to look at it myself,’ Dr Locard said. ‘But I’ve noticed that no names are given. Even the invaders are merely called “pagani” while the town is referred to as “civitas”. Moreover, there appear to be some distinctly anomalous features and an idea has occurred to me. But shall we see what we can make of it together?’
I felt like a child whose Christmas gift has been seized and opened by a bigger sibling. But I had little choice and so I seated myself beside him and, like two schoolboys sharing a primer side by side on a form, we translated the text between us:
The king and the martyr were once close friends but were no longer so because the latter criticized his former pupil for his failings. In particular, he reproached him for not surrendering the throne to his nephew now that the young man was old enough. The martyr pointed out to the king in the presence of his advisers that as the son of the elder brother of the last king, the young man was the rightful ruler. It was widely known, moreover, that the king had murdered his father and his elder brother. There were many among those present who supported the king’s nephew because they believed he would be a stronger and more trustworthy king than his uncle.
‘That’s interesting,’ said Dr Locard. ‘Alfred was an unlikely successor to the throne, wasn’t he?’
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