by Jim Eldridge
‘Yes!’ squealed Bella. Then she gave a pout and added, ‘And there’s no need to say it in that tone of voice, Abi.’
‘I wasn’t aware I was saying it in any sort of tone of voice,’ said Abigail.
‘Well, you were. As if you doubted it. But he said it to you as well, just before he and Edward left.’
Yes, he had, thought Abigail. Dr Keen had looked suddenly very fragile as he stood at their doorstep and said, ‘I have just asked Bella to marry me, Miss Fenton. And she has said yes. I hope we have your approval.’
I am not her parent! Abigail had wanted to shout at him. I am not her old maid aunt. I am her sister!
‘And who knows, Abi, but the same may happen to you!’ Bella smiled, and Abigail wanted to shout at her for the patronising way she said it.
‘With whom?’ demanded Abigail.
‘Why, Mr Hardwicke, of course. I believe he is very taken with you. He would make a wonderful beau.’
Daniel had wondered how it would be at the boarding house, whether Hughes would make a point of avoiding him, but the opposite had been true. Hughes was obviously keen to find out what the situation was with ‘the vultures of the press’, as he called them. So as Daniel sat down to breakfast on Saturday morning, he found himself being interrogated by Hughes: who were the people who were after dragging his name through the mud? Was it just the local paper, the Gazette, or were they from the London papers?
Daniel did his best to reassure him that so far they had been able to keep the press under control, and if there were any developments the professor would be the first to know.
‘But be assured, we will protect you and your good name,’ Daniel told him.
‘What about this reporter whose body they found in the Cam?’ Daniel reflected it was interesting how Hughes had gone from someone who proclaimed he never read about current events in the papers to devouring every paragraph. ‘Was he one of those who were planning to write about me?’
An interesting question, thought Daniel. Although he felt it was extremely unlikely that Hughes could have been Blades’ killer, he really didn’t seem the type. The fact that both Daniel and Drabble still considered him a valid suspect for the murder of Ransome raised a question about the professor in relation to Blades’ death. Had Blades contacted the professor about the murders, asking questions, which Hughes had interpreted as a threat? But how would Blades know about Hughes’ involvement?
Aloud, he said, ‘His name was Hector Blades. Did you know him?’
Hughes shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ve not spoken to anyone at the newspapers, nor they to me. What happened to this man, Blades? An accident?’
‘We’re still looking into the cause of death,’ said Daniel. ‘It could have been an accident, although there are also indications that there might have been an assault.’
Hughes gave a darting look around to make sure that Mrs Loxley wasn’t within earshot, then lowered his voice to hiss urgently, ‘It wasn’t me. Like I said, I didn’t even know the man.’
Daniel gave him a reassuring smile. ‘Don’t worry, Professor, we never even considered that possibility.’
But I will now, he thought.
The appearance of Mrs Loxley beside their table caused Hughes to hastily turn his attention back to his breakfast.
‘Excuse me, Mr Wilson, but there’s someone to see you. Two men.’
‘Oh?’
‘From Peebles the carters.’
‘Ah! Would you mind if we used your parlour again, Mrs Loxley?’
‘I offered that, but they said they’d prefer to see you outside the house.’ She hesitated, then muttered, ‘It’s their clothes, you see.’
Daniel saw as soon as he stepped outside the house. Two men, one older, the other obviously his son, stood on the doorstep, and although they may have cleaned themselves up for this visit, their outfits were very rough, with patches on the knees of their ragged trousers and their jackets. And their boots were of the heavy variety, metal-toe-capped with thick studded soles.
‘Mr Wilson?’ asked the older one.
‘I am indeed,’ said Daniel.
‘Jim Hoy. This is my son, Bob.’
Daniel held out his hand and shook theirs.
‘We won’t come in on account of our boots,’ explained Hoy. ‘They’d ruin a good carpet.’
‘There’s a park just along the road,’ suggested Daniel. ‘We could find a bench and talk there, if that’s acceptable.’
Hoy nodded. ‘That suits us.’
As they made their way to the small park, Daniel asked, ‘I’m interested in the delivery you made to the Fitzwilliam the Monday before last.’
‘The one nearly two weeks ago?’ queried Hoy, set on getting things right.
‘That’s the one. You picked up the consignment at Tilbury, is that right?’
Hoy nodded. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘That’s regular for me and Bob, that is. Tilbury up to the Fitzwilliam. Cos they know we’re careful with ’em. We load ’em on the wagon gentle like, not throw ’em on like some people.’
‘Who did you collect them from at Tilbury? Is there a storage facility there? A warehouse of some sort?’
Hoy shook his head. ‘Stuff like this is precious. They like us to be there waiting when the ship arrives. I mean, the stevedores do the actual unloading of the ship, that’s their job, but we’re there waiting on the dockside with the wagon. Too much stuff goes missing if it goes in storage.’
‘So how do you know what you’re collecting?’
‘We have a signed ticket that says “Delivery for Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge, to be collected”. We show that to the clerk at the docks and he tells us where to wait with the wagon.’
By now they’d reached the small park. At this early hour there were very few people in it, so they were able to find a bench near the entrance.
‘What happens then?’ asked Daniel.
‘The people who are handing the stuff over go to the clerk and he tells them where to find us. We show him our ticket, and then he takes us and our wagon to where the stuff is piled up on the dockside, waiting for us. We load it on the wagon and sign his docket, and that’s it.’
‘Can you remember who you saw when you collected this last consignment?’
Hoy thought about it. ‘He never gave us his name, but he was a toff. Which is unusual.’
‘A toff?’
Hoy nodded. ‘Usually it’s a gangmaster, or one of the leading hands, who deals with us. But this last time it was the bloke himself what found ’em. The artefacts, as you call ’em.’
‘How do you know it was he who found them?’
‘He told us so. “Take good care of these,” he said. “I’ve spent a lot of time finding them in Egypt. I don’t want anything to happen to them on the last leg.” Of course, we assured him we’ve done this a lot and nothing’s ever gone astray or damaged while it’s in our care.’
‘Can you describe this man?’
Hoy thought about it, then turned to his son. ‘How would you picture him, Bob? You’re better than me at this sort of thing.’
‘Like dad says, a toff,’ said Bob. ‘Tallish. About your height. Thin. Dressed well. Longish hair. Had a good tan, but I guess that went with being in a place like Egypt.’
‘How old?’
‘Thirties, at a guess,’ said Bob. He shrugged. ‘Sorry I can’t be more helpful.’
‘Oh, you’ve been very helpful,’ said Daniel. He took out his wallet and produced a ten shilling note, which he offered to the older man. ‘For your trouble.’
Hoy snaffled it between his fingers with a nod of thanks.
‘A pleasure,’ he said.
‘There’s just one more thing I’d ask of you,’ said Daniel. ‘Would you accompany me to the Fitzwilliam Museum? There’s something I’d like you to look at.’
Hoy looked doubtful. ‘We don’t normally go inside,’ he said. ‘Not in the front way. We go in the back door, and only just to deliver.’
‘That’ll
be no problem,’ said Daniel. ‘What I’d like you to look at is outside.’
Intrigued, the two men followed Daniel to the Fitzwilliam, where he showed them the poster advertising the previous evening’s debate, pinned up on the noticeboard just behind the railings.
‘That’s him!’ said Bob, pointing at the photo of Hardwicke.
‘You’re sure?’
Bob nodded. ‘It’s a really good likeness.’
‘And he was the man you picked up the consignment from at Tilbury the Sunday before last.’
‘That’s him.’ Bob nodded, and he looked at his father, who’d been studying the picture of Hardwicke.
‘Definitely,’ said Hoy.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
It was all activity inside the Egyptian Room as Abigail supervised and directed the porters and stewards in the removal of the chairs from the previous evening, and the return of various exhibits.
‘Good morning, Miss Fenton,’ said Daniel. ‘And my congratulations on an excellently organised evening.’
‘The credit for the organisation of the event must go to Sir William,’ said Abigail.
‘True, but you created the ambience,’ said Daniel. ‘I must apologise for rushing off the way I did.’
‘Did you manage to catch the person you wanted to talk to?’
‘I did. It was a man called Algernon Cobb.’
She frowned. ‘The name is unfamiliar to me. How is he connected?’
‘I’m not sure he is any longer. I first heard of him at Heffers when I went in search of that story you told me about, “Lot No. 249”. They told me that another man had also been asking after that same story, and the description they gave me was enough for me to be able to identify him last night.’
‘But now you think he’s not involved?’
‘Not in the murders, at any rate.’ He looked at the people at work in the room, and then said, ‘Could we talk somewhere privately? Your office, perhaps?’
‘You have information?’
‘I do. But at this moment I’d rather it was kept between ourselves until I’ve verified it.’
She led the way to her office and once they were in, closed the door, and she and Daniel settled themselves on chairs.
‘It seems that Mr Hardwicke lied about when he returned to England,’ said Daniel.
Abigail stared at him, unsure of what he was telling her.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said.
‘He told you he came back last Sunday.’
‘Yes,’ she replied, still frowning.
‘In fact he arrived at Tilbury with his latest delivery almost two weeks ago, the Sunday before last.’
Abigail stared at him, and he could see that she was shocked by this revelation. He saw her swallow and recover herself.
‘I’m sure there must be a perfectly good reason for that,’ she said.
‘I’m sure.’ Daniel nodded. ‘But the point is that he was in England at the time the murders occurred. Not out of the country, as he claimed.’
Abigail looked at him, bewildered. ‘Are you suggesting that because of that he may be involved in some way?’ she demanded. ‘That’s ludicrous!’
‘But why did he lie?’ asked Daniel. ‘You said he told you that he arrived in England after Joseph Ransome was killed.’
Abigail bridled, obviously uncomfortable. ‘As I said, I’m sure there is some perfectly reasonable explanation.’
‘Would you like to ask him what it is?’ asked Daniel.
‘I certainly will not!’ snapped Abigail.
‘Then I shall,’ said Daniel. ‘Do you have his address, or where he can be found?’
‘No, I do not,’ she said curtly.
‘Then perhaps Sir William will be able to furnish me with the information.’
‘Surely you are not going to make this ludicrous accusation about Mr Hardwicke to Sir William?!’ demanded Abigail.
‘Are you so sure it’s ludicrous?’ asked Daniel. ‘All we know at the moment is that he lied about when he returned to England. I wish to know why. All I need is his address. Rest assured, I will not be telling Sir William why.’
He rose and went to the door.
She glared at him, tight-lipped. ‘I cannot believe that someone like Mr Hardwicke can be involved in these murders.’
‘That is where we differ. I keep an open mind. Everyone is a suspect.’
‘Including me?’ she challenged him.
‘No,’ he said.
He left and headed up the stairs to Sir William’s office. Miss Sattery was at her desk and nodded in greeting as Daniel entered.
‘I didn’t expect you to be working on a Saturday, Miss Sattery,’ he said.
‘The day after the evening before,’ she said. ‘There is much to put together after last night’s debate: ticket sale receipts, expenses for the speakers, overtime wages to be calculated.’
‘Indeed,’ said Daniel. ‘Is Sir William in?’
‘He is,’ said Miss Sattery. ‘He is preparing the official press release on last night’s debate.’
‘Would it be possible to disturb him for a few moments?’
She got up, went into the inner office and returned almost immediately.
‘Sir William will be delighted to see you.’
Sir William did indeed seem delighted to see him, getting up from behind his desk and shaking his hand, then offering him a cigar as Daniel took the seat on the other side of the desk, Daniel politely declining the cigar.
‘What an excellent evening!’ Sir William beamed. ‘I believe it will have helped put the Fitzwilliam on the map with the academic and archaeological communities in a good measure.’
‘Indeed, Sir William,’ said Daniel. ‘A very lively debate.’
‘Which you added to immensely.’ Sir William chuckled. ‘Your defence of Miss Fenton to Professor Waldheim was an absolute tonic! It was unfortunate I had to bring the discussion to heel at that point, but I did fear that fisticuffs might break out. We could have ended up with a duel!’ He chuckled again.
‘I thought your Mr Hardwicke acquitted himself very well indeed,’ said Daniel.
‘Yes, he’s a very fine speaker,’ said Sir William. ‘And it’s good to have new blood with new theories shaking things up. It brings new people into the Fitzwilliam to find out what all the fuss is about, which is a good thing.’
‘Where did you find him?’ asked Daniel. ‘Through the university?’
‘No,’ said Sir William. ‘In fact, most unusually, his background is in civil engineering. I believe he was involved in various projects in London, particularly around the railway stations.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes. When a new railway line is to be built, the route has to be checked for possible remains. Churchyards, that sort of thing. I think he was involved in removing the remains from a cemetery near St Pancras Station, so they could put a new railway line in. I suppose that’s where he developed his expertise at excavating ruins in a sensitive manner. Very necessary when handling precious relics from tombs in Egypt.’
‘Which part of London did he come from?’ asked Daniel. He gave a smile. ‘It’s just my curiosity. You’ll find with Londoners we’re always interested in where fellow Londoners come from. There’s fierce rivalry between those from the north of the river and those south of the Thames.’
‘I doubt if it’s as fierce as the rivalry between Cambridge and Oxford,’ chuckled Sir William. He stood up and went to a wooden filing cabinet. ‘One moment – I believe I’ve got his application here, which will give us the answers.’
A short while later, Daniel was in possession of the background information he was after on Edward Hardwicke: his address in Cambridge, his former address in London, the names of his previous two employers, and the name of the college where he’d studied civil engineering.
‘But you came to see me, Mr Wilson,’ said Sir William. ‘Do you have anything to report? Any new line of enquiry?’
‘We have establi
shed the identity of the man found in the sarcophagus. He was an Egyptian academic, Dr Ahmet Madi. I don’t know if the name is familiar to you, Sir William?’
Sir William shook his head, frowning.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Most of my contacts in Egypt are administrators, senior curators, that sort of thing. The name of Dr Madi doesn’t ring any bell.’
‘We believe he arrived on the same day, and on the same ship, as the last consignment of artefacts from Egypt. At the moment I’m working with Inspector Drabble to go through the ship’s passenger list.’
‘You think the murderer might have been on the ship?’
‘It’s possible,’ said Daniel. ‘I also need to make some enquiries along that line in London, and I wondered if you would agree to my bringing in another private enquiry agent there to do some footwork in the capital.’
Sir William looked doubtful. ‘I’m not sure about that,’ he said. ‘We hired you because of your known discretion when conducting an enquiry. Bringing in another who might not be as discreet …’
‘I can assure you that the man I’m thinking of is as discreet as me,’ said Daniel. ‘Like me, he was part of Abberline’s team of detectives at Scotland Yard. I worked with him for years, and would trust him with my life. He knows that in dealing with a private investigation, confidentiality is everything. However, there would be the additional cost.’
‘But you think this man would be worth it?’
‘I do,’ said Daniel. ‘And if I’m right, it would result in us reaching a conclusion on this case much quicker.’
‘Very well.’ Sir William nodded. ‘When will you see him?’
‘I’ll go to London this evening and call on him first thing tomorrow. I shall be back in Cambridge tomorrow afternoon.’
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
When Daniel returned to the Egyptian Room, he found Edward Hardwicke there engaged in conversation with Abigail. Their conversation seemed amicable – very amicable, almost playful, thought Daniel bitterly – but as Abigail saw Daniel arrive her friendliness evaporated.
‘If you’ll excuse me, Mr Hardwicke, I believe that Mr Wilson wishes to ask you some questions.’