by Jim Eldridge
He needed to talk to Hughes; that would reveal the truth about him, he was sure. But when he arrived back at Mrs Loxley’s he discovered that Professor Hughes had suddenly departed at very short notice.
‘Did he say why he had to leave?’ Daniel asked.
‘He said he’d received a letter from his niece to tell him his sister was very ill and he had to go to her at once.’
‘Did he say where this sister was?’
Mrs Loxley shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t think to ask. Why, sir?’
‘I’d promised to let the professor have something, to do with Cromwell. Did he say if he’d be back?’
She shook her head again. ‘No, sir. I asked him if he wanted the room kept, but he said no. But he paid me for the time he’d booked, so he was a gentleman on that front.’
‘Yes indeed. Did he leave an address where he can be contacted? I recall when I arrived, I signed in the visitor’s book.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Mrs Loxley. ‘He lives in Essex, I believe.’
Daniel followed her to the table in the hall where the visitor’s book was displayed, and wrote down the address in Colchester that Professor Hughes had given as his home.
His sudden flight, following from what Daniel had heard from Dolly, seemed to confirm his guilt. The next thing was to get hold of the professor.
It was the first time Daniel had called at the central police station in Cambridge. Immediately, he was reminded of some of the London nicks he’d been attached to: the same expression of serious intent on the faces of the sergeants, the constables doing their best to keep out of sight of authority to avoid being roped in for extra duties, and the strong smell of sweat and tobacco.
Daniel was told that Inspector Drabble was in his office, and after a constable had been despatched to tell the inspector that a Mr Wilson was here to see him on a matter of urgency, Daniel was escorted to Drabble’s small, cramped office at the rear of the station.
‘Your message said it was urgent,’ said Drabble suspiciously.
‘Yes. I believe we may have a suspect for the murder of Joseph Ransome.’
‘Oh? Who?’
‘Professor Wynstan Hughes.’
‘Who?’ asked Drabble, looking puzzled.
‘He’s been in Cambridge writing a book about Oliver Cromwell,’ said Daniel.
‘And why would he want to murder a nightwatchman?’
‘Because Joseph Ransome had promised to sell him a relic that was in the Fitzwilliam that belonged to Cromwell. But either this relic didn’t actually exist, or it was a fake. Either way, it’s possible that when Professor Hughes discovered he’d been duped, he fell into a rage and killed Ransome.’
Drabble shook his head. ‘Frankly, Wilson, this sounds a bit like a made-up story. Have you got any evidence to back it up?’
‘The word of someone who was consorting with Ransome, and he told them about his plan to dupe the professor. And also, Hughes was staying at the same boarding house as me: Mrs Loxley’s. In conversation with him this morning, I told him I was investigating the deaths at the Fitzwilliam. During the day, I found out about this dubious scheme of Ransome’s to fleece the professor. When I returned to the boarding house, intending to ask him about it, I discovered he’d left abruptly, claiming he’d been called away to visit a sick relative.’
‘Maybe he had,’ said Drabble.
‘A bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?’ asked Daniel.
‘Maybe,’ mused Drabble thoughtfully. ‘Who’s the person who told you about Ransome’s scheme to sell the professor this dodgy relic?’
‘I’m afraid I promised that would be confidential. Unless it comes to an arrest, of course, in which case I’m sure I can persuade them to speak out, if only to get justice for Joe Ransome by bringing his killer to justice. If the professor is that killer.’
‘There’s lots of ifs there,’ said Drabble doubtfully.
‘But what else have we got?’ asked Daniel. ‘I think it’s at least worth talking to him, asking him about Ransome, don’t you?’ When he saw that Drabble was still hesitating, he said, ‘Of course, I can always go and see him myself, but I thought – as this was your investigation – I’d bring this to you first.’
Drabble thought it over, then nodded.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I’ll have him brought here, but you can do the questioning.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Inspector,’ said Daniel.
‘Kindness has got nothing to do with it,’ grunted Drabble. ‘These university types can be prickly, reporting you if they get upset by you poking into their business. I’ll tell him you’re the person accusing him, so if there’s any comeback it’ll be on you, not me.’
‘Understood,’ said Daniel.
‘So, where will we find this professor?’
‘Colchester,’ said Daniel, and he handed Drabble the address he’d got from Mrs Loxley.
‘It’ll mean sending a constable all that way to bring him here,’ complained Drabble.
‘Or we could go there?’ suggested Daniel.
Drabble shook his head. ‘I like to talk to people on my own patch, where I know what’s going on. And if he is our killer, it’ll unsettle him being brought here.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Abigail was hard at work cataloguing, when a familiar voice behind her saying a cheery, ‘Good afternoon, Abigail,’ made her turn, a welcoming smile on her lips.
‘Edward! This is a pleasure.’
‘I’m pleased to hear you say so; I feared you might think my unannounced arrival was an unwelcome interruption to your work.’
‘As most of my current work consists of cataloguing your finds, I can assure you your presence is very welcome. Have you come to see how I’m doing with your items?’
‘Well … yes, but incidentally. My official reason for coming to the Fitzwilliam today was a request from Sir William.’
‘Oh?’
‘It seems that when the debate was originally arranged, Professor Waldheim had provided Sir William with a photograph of himself, which he had requested be displayed on the poster advertising the event. In the form of fair play, Sir William had acquired a photograph of Waldheim’s original opponent, Sir Geoffrey Morgan, to also go on the poster, but with Sir Geoffrey’s withdrawal, he asked me if I could provide him with a photograph of myself to go there in its place. I’ve just been delivering the photograph to Sir William, and I thought, while I was in the building, I’d pop down and see how things are going here.’
‘They are going very well.’ She sighed. ‘Unfortunately, things are being held up as a result of the investigation into the two deaths.’
‘Yes, Sir William tells me you are part of the investigating team.’
Abigail felt herself blushing with an embarrassed pleasure at being so described.
‘Yes, that is true,’ she said.
‘And how is the investigation going?’
‘There is a possible lead through a reporter on the local paper, a man by the name of Hector Blades.’
‘What sort of lead?’
‘He wrote in his newspaper a story about a murderous reanimated mummy, hinting that the mummy was the culprit. Blades claimed he was given the tip by – as he called it – an eminent Egyptologist, but I saw immediately it was the plot of a story by Arthur Conan Doyle called “Lot No. 249”. We interviewed Mr Blades to try and ascertain the identity of this so-called eminent Egyptologist, but he was reluctant to identify him.’
‘The confidentiality of the press.’ Hardwicke nodded. ‘I believe they are very strong on not revealing their sources.’
Abigail gave a snort of derision. ‘That may not be the case with Mr Blades. He let us know that he was amenable to giving us the name, providing the price was right.’
The sound of footsteps in the doorway made them both turn, and on seeing Daniel enter, Abigail gave a broad smile.
‘Why, this is very opportune! The very man to answer your qu
estion in more detail!’ She gestured towards Hardwicke and said, ‘Mr Wilson, this is Edward Hardwicke. Remember, I told you about him.’
Daniel nodded. ‘The archaeologist.’ The two men shook hands. ‘A pleasure to meet you, Mr Hardwicke.’
‘Mr Wilson is the person investigating the murders that took place here.’
‘You’re from the police?’
‘No, I’m a private enquiry agent,’ explained Daniel.
‘Daniel worked with the famous Inspector Abberline,’ added Abigail.
A moment of realisation struck Hardwicke, because he smiled. ‘Of course! Now I remember. The Ripper case. Frederick Abberline and Daniel Wilson.’ He turned to Abigail and added, ‘It was in all the newspapers.’
‘Different times, Mr Hardwicke,’ said Daniel. ‘Now, I’m happy to take private commissions.’
‘Mr Hardwicke was just asking about the investigation and I was telling him about Hector Blades and his mysterious eminent Egyptologist, and the murderous reanimated mummy from Doyle’s story.’
‘Yes. Do you know the story, Mr Hardwicke?’ asked Daniel.
Hardwicke shook his head.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t say that I do.’ He smiled. ‘But it does sound a lot of tosh.’
‘I agree,’ said Abigail. ‘We’ve decided it’s a smokescreen to conceal the identity of the real murderer.’
‘And you think it could be this eminent Egyptologist that Mr Blades talked about?’
‘If such a person even exists,’ said Daniel. ‘I believe that Mr Blades is perfectly capable of inventing so-called experts to add colour to his newspaper column.’
‘So there are other avenues you are investigating?’
‘Indeed.’
‘Today, Mr Wilson was following a lead at the Lamb and Flag, a public house with a very low and dangerous reputation, weren’t you, Mr Wilson,’ said Abigail enthusiastically.
Daniel hesitated momentarily, then said apologetically, ‘Alas, initially promising, but it seems to be a dead end.’
Abigail looked at him in surprise.
‘But I thought …’ she began.
‘It’s usually the way with investigations.’ Daniel shrugged ruefully. ‘A promising lead that leads nowhere. But we shall continue looking.’
‘Of course, and I wish you well,’ said Hardwicke. He looked at the clock and gave a smile. ‘Actually, I have to return to see Sir William. I promised I would check if there was anything more he needed of me before the debate. Will you be coming, Mr Wilson?’
‘The debate?’ asked Daniel.
‘I told you about it,’ said Abigail. ‘It’s going to be the highlight of the Fitzwilliam’s season. Mr Hardwicke is going to be debating with Professor Waldheim on …’ She looked at Hardwicke. ‘What will be the topic? Has it changed since Sir Geoffrey withdrew?’
‘Still the same,’ said Hardwicke. ‘“Piazzi Smyth and the Pyramid Inch”. Waldheim will be pushing Smyth’s antiquated and now disproved theory, while I’ll be pitching for Flinders Petrie.’
‘It sounds like it will be highly entertaining,’ said Daniel politely.
‘And instructive!’ said Abigail.
‘Abigail – Miss Fenton – has kindly agreed to accompany me to the debate and evaluate my performance afterwards.’ Hardwicke beamed.
As Daniel heard these words, he felt a pang of jealousy, but he forced himself to give a smile and say, ‘I am sure Miss Fenton’s assessments will be both invaluable and insightful.’
‘I know you are to accompany me at the debate, but would it be alright if we met at the Fitzwilliam, rather than my collecting you from your home?’ asked Hardwicke. ‘It will give me a chance to run through my notes before I face Professor Waldheim. He’s quite a ferocious advocate of Piazzi Smyth’s theories, so I want to make sure I’m on solid ground.’
‘Of course,’ said Abigail.
She waited until Hardwicke had gone, before turning to Daniel and asking expectantly, ‘What did you think of him?’
Truth to tell, not a lot, thought Daniel. In fact, he felt there was something suspicious about Hardwicke, but quite what he couldn’t put his finger on.
Be careful, he warned himself. It could just be jealousy over the way her eyes sparkled when she looked at Hardwicke, her open admiration for him. It annoyed him.
‘He seems very personable,’ said Daniel.
She pursed her lips as she said disapprovingly, ‘And yet I got the impression you didn’t want to tell him anything about the investigation.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘The way you responded when I asked how it had gone today at the Lamb and Flag. You said it was a dead end, but I’m sure that was not the case.’
‘What gives you that impression?’
‘Mr Wilson, I may have only known you for a short time, but I can read you like a book. When you first entered the Egyptian Room this afternoon, you had a look on your face that suggested you had information to impart, but that look vanished when you saw Mr Hardwicke was here.’
‘I’m wary of imparting information to people I don’t know,’ said Daniel.
‘You didn’t know me when you invited me to work with you,’ Abigail pointed out.
‘That’s true,’ admitted Daniel, ‘but I had a feeling about you. After all, you discovered the body. Both bodies. As far as I’m concerned, everyone else is suspect.’
‘But surely not Mr Hardwicke!’ burst out Abigail. ‘That’s ludicrous! He wasn’t even in the country at the time of the murders. In fact, he only got back to England yesterday, when he came here to see if his artefacts had been received.’
‘That may be true, but nevertheless, I’m reluctant to share information that may help us catch the killer – or killers – with someone I’m not sure of. As I said with regard to your sister, it’s not her herself I’m wary of, but the people she may talk to and pass on that information unwittingly.’
‘I still think you’re being overcautious in relation to Mr Hardwicke,’ said Abigail. She looked at him quizzically. ‘You said killers, plural.’
‘I did,’ nodded Daniel. He told her what he’d learnt about Professor Hughes arranging to buy a stolen Civil War artefact from Ransome, and the fact of his unexpected departure from the boarding house when he discovered that Daniel was investigating the murders.
‘We could be looking at two different murderers here. Say our mystery dead body was killed by person A, for reasons we still don’t know. But say that Hughes is killer B. He paid Ransome money for something that he found was a fraud. If it was something that Ransome told him he’d got hold of illegally, he couldn’t go to the police. So, in his rage, he kills him.’
‘But why use the bandage?’ asked Abigail. ‘That suggests someone who wanted to put suspicion on a mummy being involved in some way, either as the killer – as in the Conan Doyle story – or at least as the weapon.’
‘No, you’re right. It doesn’t fit,’ said Daniel thoughtfully. ‘It’s too convoluted for a man who says he’s only interested in the English Civil War. Egyptology isn’t in his thinking. But why would he flee in this way if he’s innocent?’
‘Worried he might be charged with some kind of crime over the relic he was buying from Ransome, whatever it was?’
‘Possible.’ Daniel nodded. ‘And then we have Harry Elder.’
Abigail looked at him, dubious. ‘I thought you said Mr Elder was innocent.’
‘So I believed, until I heard a story about him attacking another man because he insulted his religion. And it appears that Mr Elder’s sister works at a local chemist, so he would have access to chloroform through her.’
‘You think his rage against Ransome’s low morals, and his sneering attitude, drove him to attack him?’
‘I don’t know,’ admitted Daniel. ‘It’s feasible, but I can’t see Mr Elder coming to work equipped with chloroform. It shows cold-blooded planning, and Mr Elder strikes me as a man who can be provoked, but who would respond immedi
ately.’ Then a thought struck him. ‘Unless the chloroform wasn’t forcibly administered on Mr Ransome!’
Abigail frowned, puzzled. ‘Then how did it get onto his mouth and nose?’
Daniel hesitated, then said, ‘I’m told that some people use narcotics to … er … increase their pleasure during lovemaking.’
She stared at him. ‘You mean he may have taken it himself?’
‘It’s possible,’ said Daniel. ‘I’ll need to talk to the young lady he was with on the night. If he did, she may have been aware of it. Possibly taken some herself.’
‘How degenerate!’ she said coldly.
Daniel shrugged.
‘We are not all the same in our tastes and preferences,’ he said.
‘What it all comes down to is that we are no nearer to identifying the killer,’ said Abigail. ‘With that being the case, it puts both Mr Elder and Professor Hughes back in the picture. And there is still the possibility of it being a jealous lover related to Ransome’s nocturnal assignations.’
‘But I can’t see that relating to the first death,’ said Daniel. ‘The man in the sarcophagus.’
‘Neither can I,’ she agreed. ‘So we are no further forward.’
‘Hopefully we’ll find out more once I talk to Professor Hughes. Inspector Drabble is having him brought to Cambridge from Colchester for me to question him.’
‘Why you?’ she demanded. ‘Why not me?’
‘Inspector Drabble is reluctant to question the professor himself in case there are repercussions that adversely affect his reputation among the academic world here in Cambridge. As you are part of that same academic world …’
‘Yes, I see.’ She nodded. ‘You’re protecting my reputation.’
And not allowing you to upset the way I carry out questioning, thought Daniel, but aloud he said, ‘Yes. If you don’t mind.’
‘Not at all,’ said Abigail. ‘I appreciate the consideration you’ve shown.’ She cast her gaze around the artefacts that were crowding into the room and gave a sigh. ‘I had better return to my cataloguing. I want to get as much done before Friday’s debate. Will you be coming?’