by Jim Eldridge
CHAPTER SEVEN
Daniel waited until a quarter before seven before pulling the bell pull at the Fitzwilliam. As he had done first thing that morning, he stood by the large green door and waited. On this occasion, the door was opened with greater alacrity, and an elderly man dressed in the uniform of a nightwatchman looked coldly out at him.
‘Do I have the honour of addressing either Mr Elder or Mr Ransome?’ asked Daniel. ‘My name is Daniel Wilson. I’ve been asked to investigate the recent tragedy here. The discovery of the body in the Egyptian sarcophagus.’
The man nodded. ‘Yes, sir. Sir William mentioned that he’d contacted you. I’m Harry Elder.’ He gestured for Daniel to enter, then closed and locked the door behind them. He pointed towards two chairs in the main reception area. ‘If you don’t mind, sir, we’ll sit there and talk. That way I’m not far away in the event of someone arriving.’
As the two men walked to the chairs, Daniel asked, ‘Does that happen often? People calling after the museum has closed?’
‘Only after the first hour or so,’ said Elder. ‘People who’ve realised they’ve left an umbrella or something behind. I usually sit here for the first hour of my watch, in case, before I do my rounds.’
‘Were you on duty on the Tuesday night?’
Elder nodded. ‘I was on first shift. Joseph Ransome took over from me during the night.’
‘And what are your shift times?’ asked Daniel.
‘Six and a half hours,’ said Elder. ‘First shift is half past six in the evening until one in the morning. Second shift is one in the morning until half past seven. That’s when the day staff come on.’
‘Do you always do the same shifts? You the first, Mr Ransome the second?’
Elder shook his head. ‘One week I’m on first shift, him second. The next week we work it the other way round. So next week, he’ll be on first shift.’
‘Did you notice anything unusual during your shift on Tuesday evening?’
Elder shook his head firmly. ‘No, sir. I did my rounds as usual, and I can swear that there was no sign of any intrusion.’
‘Inspector Drabble has said that he thought the man gained access through the courtyard, coming over the roof, then down into the courtyard and breaking in through a door or a window.’
‘If he did, it wasn’t on my watch,’ growled Elder. ‘No one came in during my shift.’
‘And you didn’t let anyone in?’
Elder glared at Daniel, affronted by the question. ‘Certainly not.’
A very proud and firm man, thought Daniel.
‘Did you go into the Egyptian Room during your rounds?’
‘I always go into every room, every corridor, every nook and cranny,’ stated Elder. ‘I am very meticulous about my duties.’
‘What about during Mr Ransome’s watch?’ asked Daniel. ‘Do you think this intruder came in then?’
‘He must have,’ said Elder. ‘He didn’t come in during mine.’ He hesitated, then added, ‘Ransome’ll be here from one o’clock tomorrow morning. I’m sure he’ll be able to answer your questions about his activities better than I can.’
As Daniel walked away from the Fitzwilliam, heading for Mrs Loxley’s, he decided not to bother with calling on Ransome in the early hours of the morning, once he’d started his shift. His questions could wait until a more reasonable hour. He’d call on Mr Ransome at home, during the day.
He’d be interested to meet Joseph Ransome. There had been something disapproving in Elder’s tone when he’d talked about Ransome. Why? Was it just a clash of personalities, or was there something more? Hopefully, tomorrow, he’d find out.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Abigail entered the Fitzwilliam early the next morning, determined to get a good start on her work. The murder – tragic though it was – had severely disrupted her schedule, and she was determined to get back on track.
Alice, the head cleaner, was wielding her mop at the top of the stairs as she entered, and greeted her with a clipped, ‘Good morning, Miss Fenton.’
‘Good morning, Alice.’
Alice stopped mopping and Abigail could tell by the look of serious intent on her face that she was about to make an announcement.
‘Just letting you know, Miss Fenton, we’ve got a new girl started today. Ellie, taking Mavis’s place. But I’ve told her not to go into your rooms or touch any of your things.’
‘Thank you, Alice. That’s much appreciated.’
Alice nodded, satisfied, and Abigail headed for the area that housed the Egyptian collection. Good for Alice, she thought. The last thing she wanted was some new cleaner blundering into her domain and messing things up. Possibly picking up a small but rare artefact and throwing it into a rubbish bin because it looked dirty. Or, worse, attempting to clean and polish the newly arrived sepulchres, and removing the precious gilding. She shuddered with the memory of it happening before. Fortunately, on that occasion, she’d come in and spotted what was happening, and ordered the cleaner out before too much damage was done. Perhaps she’d been a bit too sharp with her, she had to admit, because the cleaner – what was her name? Millie? Margaret? – had quit, saying she ‘wouldn’t be spoken to in that way’.
Abigail made her way through the items awaiting cataloguing towards her own small office at the back, where her desk – although organised, after her own fashion – was deep in paperwork, the latest items to be examined and listed. As she neared it, she was irritated to see that the door was ajar. She knew she’d left it closed the day before. She assumed the nightwatchman must have been poking around in there, and the thought made her anger rise. Her own private inner sanctum invaded.
If this was the case, it would be the creepy one, Ransome. The older one, Mr Elder, was a respectable and respectful man. She couldn’t imagine him violating her private space.
She pushed open the door, and stopped. A booted foot was sticking out from behind her desk. She saw the cloth of the nightwatchman’s uniform on the section of leg attached to the boot.
What had happened? Had the man fallen and hit his head, knocking himself unconscious?
She moved further into the office and stopped, her hand going involuntarily to her mouth. It was Ransome, the nightwatchman, sure enough; but he lay on his back, his eyes and mouth wide open, his tongue poking out from between his lips. And wrapped around his neck was a bandage, a very ancient bandage, and Abigail knew immediately it was from one of the mummies.
‘You seem to have a habit of finding dead bodies at the Fitzwilliam, miss,’ said Inspector Drabble, looking down at the body of the dead nightwatchman. A uniformed police constable stood beside him, pencil poised, notebook open.
‘I can assure you it is not intentional,’ said Abigail. ‘And it has only been two.’
‘Two more than for most people, I think you would agree,’ said Drabble stiffly.
‘Is there a point to this observation, Inspector? I assume you are not accusing me of being responsible for their deaths. If I were, I would hardly have brought the deaths to the attention of the police.’
Drabble glowered at her, then asked, ‘That bandage around his neck. It looks old.’
‘It is,’ confirmed Abigail. ‘I believe you will find it has come from the wrappings of one of the mummified bodies.’
Drabble looked puzzled. ‘You’re saying he was strangled with the bandage from a mummy?’
Abigail shook her head. ‘No, that’s not what I’m saying at all. Just that I believe the cloth is from one of the mummies.’
The clatter of booted footsteps from outside made them turn, and they saw Daniel appear in the office doorway.
‘My apologies for being late, Miss Fenton,’ he said. ‘I’ve only just got your note.’ He stopped as he saw the dead body lying on the floor. ‘Strangled?’ he said.
Drabble gave a sarcastic snort.
‘There you have it, Staines,’ he said to the constable, with heavy sarcasm. ‘The mark of a true Metropolitan Police former
inspector. He sees a dead body with a bandage wrapped round its neck and straight away his lightning brain says “Strangled!” Whereas it would take we poor mere mortal coppers a long time to reach that same conclusion.’
‘He was not strangled with that bandage, Inspector,’ said Abigail.
They both turned to her, Drabble scornful, Daniel curious.
‘How can you tell?’ asked Daniel. ‘Have you examined the body?’
‘Certainly not,’ said Abigail firmly. ‘I would not dream of disturbing the scene of the crime and incurring the inspector’s wrath. It is merely that if the bandage round the unfortunate man’s neck is from one of the mummies, then it would not have been possible to strangle him with it. It is three thousand years old and would not be able to stand the pressure of being used for such a purpose. If you do not believe me, perhaps you’d care to test it.’
Drabble frowned, then went to the dead body and took a free end of the bandage in one hand, then held it tightly a few inches further down. He gave a tug, and immediately the bandage frayed and parted.
‘See, Inspector?’ said Abigail.
‘But if he wasn’t strangled with it, why leave it wrapped round his neck?’
‘That, I leave to you,’ said Abigail. ‘You are the detective.’
CHAPTER NINE
With the body taken to Dr Keen and the police departed, Abigail had her office back. Daniel sat in the visitor’s chair and studied her.
‘Are you sure you’re alright?’ he asked. ‘That must have been a terrible shock for you.’ He held up his hand to stop her as she was about to say something. ‘And, please, don’t tell me about the bodies you’ve seen in Egypt. Finding a dead body, especially a murdered one, is always a shock, and I’ve seen many in my career.’
She hesitated, then nodded.
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘Somehow it’s worse when it’s someone you know. Even if I didn’t know Mr Ransome well, we used to see one another occasionally, if I was working late and he was on the early shift, for example.’
‘Have you any idea why someone would want to kill him?’
She shook her head. ‘Two bodies in such a short space of time. And both murdered.’ She looked enquiringly at Daniel. ‘Is it the same murderer, do you think?’
‘I must admit it would be too much of a coincidence if it wasn’t,’ replied Daniel, adding thoughtfully, ‘but then, as I’ve discovered over my years as a detective, anything is possible. The telling thing is that there seems to be no sign of a break-in. The same as with the previous victim.’
‘Perhaps Mr Ransome let his killer in?’ suggested Abigail.
‘That does seem likely.’ Daniel nodded. ‘Which raises the question, did he do the same before?’
‘But why would he do that?’ asked Abigail. ‘The police talked to him after that event, and he said nothing untoward had happened during his watch.’
‘He was hardly likely to say if it had,’ Daniel pointed out.
‘What’s our next move?’ asked Abigail.
‘To see Dr Keen,’ said Daniel. ‘His opinion on how Mr Ransome was killed will be vital. And I’m also hoping he might have the photograph of the mystery dead man for us.’ Carefully, so as not to startle her into rebuffing him again, he asked, ‘I hope you will accompany me? After all, Dr Keen obviously greatly values your observations.’
‘I think that may be an exaggeration,’ said Abigail, but Daniel saw by the slight flush that came to her cheeks that she was flattered by his comment.
Once again they were in the mortuary in the basement of Gonville and Caius, standing beside Dr Keen as they looked down at the dead body of Joseph Ransome. Abigail was relieved to note that so far only the dead man’s upper garments, his tunic, shirt and undervest, had been removed. She did not fancy another altercation with Bella if she revealed that, yet again, she had inspected the naked body of a dead man in the presence of Bella’s hoped-for paramour.
‘Cause of death: strangulation,’ said Dr Keen. ‘But not by the bandage around the neck. That seems to be stage dressing for the crime. He was strangled by the use of a pair of hands.’
‘Strong hands?’ asked Daniel.
‘That’s a good question,’ mused Keen. ‘Because I also found traces of chloroform in his nose and mouth, which suggests he was anaesthetised first.’
‘So the murderer wanted to make sure the nightwatchman was unconscious before he—’
‘Or she,’ interrupted Abigail. ‘The use of chloroform to disable Mr Ransome suggests the murderer needn’t have been a strong man, it could have been a woman.’
‘I’d be careful about saying that,’ said Keen drily. ‘Inspector Drabble has already mentioned that you discovering both victims is … well, a very large coincidence.’
‘Inspector Drabble is an idiot,’ said Abigail.
‘That may be, but there are certain facts about this case that raise questions for him; in particular that both men were found in the Egyptian Room, and there were no signs of a break-in on either occasion.’
‘He suspects an inside job,’ said Daniel. ‘That someone inside the Fitzwilliam may well be responsible.’
‘That’s the impression I get.’
‘If that’s the case, as the bodies died at night, that would suggest the nightwatchmen,’ said Abigail.
‘Or someone who knows the nightwatchmen’s rounds,’ said Daniel. He turned to Keen and asked, ‘By the way, did you get a chance to take the photograph of the other victim?’
‘I did, but I haven’t had a chance to develop it yet,’ said Keen. He gestured at the dead body of Ransome. ‘I intended to do that this morning, but …’
‘Understood,’ said Daniel.
‘I’ll see if I can get it done today,’ said Keen. ‘Perhaps if you’d call back at – say – five this afternoon?’
‘Thank you,’ said Daniel.
As Keen pulled the sheet over the body of Ransome, he said to Abigail, ‘By the way, Miss Fenton, please pass on my thanks to your sister for the handbill informing me about the public meeting on Sunday. Unfortunately I have another engagement, otherwise I would be delighted to attend.’
‘This Sunday?’ said Abigail in surprise.
‘Yes. Voting rights for women,’ said Keen. He smiled. ‘Do I assume your sister has omitted to tell you about it?’
‘She did mention it, but not the details,’ said Abigail. ‘We have both been very busy. I shall make sure to pass on your thanks to her.’
‘And my best wishes for the occasion. It is a cause I support, and not just for women. Despite the recent Representation of the People Act, nearly half of men in this country don’t have the vote, either, unless they pay rent of at least £10 per year. There are large numbers of the population whose tenancy is part of their employment. It’s a restriction to stop the poor from voting and should be challenged. Alas, with most of our politicians only concerned about their own vested interests, the likelihood of social justice can only come from people like your sister in their demands for equal suffrage.’
Afterwards, as Daniel and Abigail walked back to the Fitzwilliam, Daniel commented, ‘So you weren’t aware of this meeting on Sunday?’
‘There was talk of a public meeting, but not that it would be this Sunday,’ replied Abigail. ‘My sister doesn’t always share her activities with me.’
‘Because you disapprove?’
‘Of votes for women?’ asked Abigail. ‘Not at all. It’s just that sometimes I question my sister’s motives.’
Daniel, intrigued, was about to ask her to explain, but before he could she asked him, ‘And you, Mr Wilson, where do you stand on the issue?’
‘I echo Dr Keen’s sentiments,’ said Daniel. ‘Votes for all. Votes for women, by all means, but also votes for all men. At this moment only men of a certain financial class have the vote. To exclude all women and half the men from the voting process is a recipe for social unrest.’
‘Perhaps even revolution?’ enquired Abigail.
> Daniel shook his head.
‘I doubt it,’ he said. ‘Unrest and upheaval in some areas, possibly. But as we saw with the Tolpuddle Martyrs, at the first hint of serious revolution, the ruling British establishment moves in and crushes the leaders.’
‘You sound as if you disapprove, yet you are a part of that same ruling establishment.’
‘I was,’ Daniel corrected her.
‘Is that why you left the police?’
Daniel hesitated before answering. ‘I believe that the work the police do as protectors of the population is vital. I don’t endorse it when the police are used as political tools.’
‘To suppress the population? To protect the corrupt elite?’
Daniel laughed. ‘With respect, Miss Fenton, you sound like a political tract.’
To his surprise, Abigail joined in his laughter. ‘To be frank, I was making mock.’
‘Of who?’
‘My sister, I suppose. She is becoming more radical in her beliefs.’
‘And you disapprove?’
‘I would approve if I felt she was doing so for the right reasons.’ Then she shrugged. ‘But let’s return to the matter on which we came.’
‘Indeed,’ said Daniel. ‘At least we know that the killing of Mr Ransome was premeditated, and not a reaction to being caught by the nightwatchman.’
‘How?’ asked Abigail. And then she nodded. ‘Of course, the chloroform.’
‘Exactly. Our murderer intended to kill someone at the Fitzwilliam, but was his target Mr Ransome, or was Ransome just unlucky and in the wrong place at the wrong time?’
‘You think his murder may have been done just to confuse the situation and throw us off the scent?’
‘I don’t know,’ admitted Daniel. ‘If Inspector Drabble is right and an inside person was involved in the first murder then, in my opinion, suspicion falls on Ransome.’