‘This is a dashed odd business, Ross!’
‘Yes, sir. You will see that the artist has initialled and dated her work. That sketch was made the night Emily Devray died.’
‘In court, the defence will say anyone may write any date on a sketch. Let us accept, for the sake of argument, that the date is correct. What do you make of the scene it shows? Are we supposed to think this is her dead body, being pushed through the streets at night, by the footman?’
‘I believe it is, sir. That is Lady Temple’s wheelchair, to be sure. I don’t believe for a moment Michael would be pushing her ladyship through the streets in the middle of the night and at this time of year.’
‘Can’t see who or what it is in that chair,’ grumbled Dunn. ‘It’s covered over completely. Damn funny shape, too.’
‘It isn’t someone sitting in a normal position,’ I agreed. ‘But we know that the body had to be wedged in as best Michael could do it, with or without George’s help, owning to rigor having frozen her in a huddled state.’
‘Yes, yes, it is all very plausible. But this, as evidence,’ Dunn tapped the sketch, ‘is on a par with your friend, Dr Mackay’s, bloodstains. They and this drawing may well chart the progress of a murder. But there is nothing here we can produce in court.’ He leaned back. ‘What do you propose to do?’
‘I would like to talk to George Temple again.’
‘On the basis of this?’ Dunn tapped the sketch again. ‘We cannot bring him on this alone – even with the bloodstains. That lawyer, Pelham, would have him out of here in five minutes. We would have the devil of a job defending ourselves if Lady Temple saw fit to make a complaint, declaring we have been harassing her godson.’
‘I don’t believe she would do that,’ I said. ‘Fear of scandal, you see. People would say “no smoke without fire”. She and Pelham would seek to hush things up.’
‘And she has the influence to do just that! We need more. We cannot arrest George Temple as things are.’
‘I would still like to talk to him again. If he knows Michael was seen – there is no need to name the witness, in fact, it’s better we don’t. But it would rattle Mr Temple. He might— he might be more forthcoming.’
‘You cannot go to that house again, Ross, on this basis alone!’ Dunn warned.
‘I understand that, sir. What I propose to do is write a note to Mr Temple, asking him to meet me in the snug of the Queen Catherine tavern tomorrow afternoon.’ Belatedly I asked, ‘Would that be in order, sir?’
‘Oh, very well! But be careful, Ross. The young man may or may not be a murderer. He may or may not be a fool. It would be unwise to leap to a conclusion on either point.’
* * *
Lizzie had described the Queen Catherine tavern to me in some detail. As a result, when I walked into the place the following afternoon I felt I had been here before. There, by the hearth, sat the two old men smoking their pipes. I was sure they must be the same pair Lizzie had seen here.
Business this afternoon was not brisk. A cold rain, mixed with sleet, was falling outside. It had helped to disperse the fog of the previous day, but visibility was still very poor. Pedestrians were wrapped to the eyebrows in coats and mufflers, hats pulled down over their ears, and many sheltered by large umbrellas. They walked as fast as was possible, given the slippery conditions underfoot, and kept their heads down.
I wondered if George Temple would come in answer to my note. In his godmother’s house there would be warm fires. Or he might prefer to join his friends at some other, more select, establishment. He would certainly choose almost any other way to spend his afternoon than sitting with me and discussing the murder of Emily Devray. I felt almost sorry for him. He had worked so hard to distance himself from the whole affair. The moment of sympathy for him was quickly over. Come, Ross! I told myself. That young fellow was not Emily’s friend. Was he then her enemy? The word was perhaps too strong. But, I thought, he had feared her and her influence. All the time she was under that roof, he could not relax. Even if he were not guilty of her murder, sooner or later he would have sought some way to get her out of his godmother’s house.
The only other customer in the taproom, in addition to the two pipe-smokers, was a poorly dressed woman of indeterminate age with a red face and greying hair pinned up under a small flat hat decorated with squashed artificial flowers. She wore a stained apron over her skirts and was wrapped up well in a knitted shawl. Asked to place a wager on her occupation, I would have guessed immediately she was a charwoman. Her stint scrubbing floors was over, she had been paid, and was stopping on her way home just to ‘wet her whistle’ with a drop of, probably, gin. She’d already had more than a drop of this restorative. Her gaze was vague, taking me in with a complete lack of any interest. The door to the snug was open and the little room appeared to be empty.
Behind the bar stood a thickset, balding man, his two meaty arms resting on the counter. Mr Tompkins, the host. He watched me approach warily.
‘Good day to you, sir,’ he said, his small dark eyes assessing me.
‘Are you expecting Mr Temple in here this afternoon?’ I asked casually. There was no need for Tompkins to know I had asked Temple to come.
‘It’s quite possible, sir. I couldn’t swear to it, mind.’
‘Then I’ll wait for him in there.’ I indicated the snug.
‘Right you are, sir,’ said Tompkins. ‘Will you take a drink while you’re waiting?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘Ah,’ said Tompkins wisely. ‘You can’t, I suppose, not while you’re on duty.’
He knew I represented the law, of course he did. ‘My name is Ross,’ I told him. ‘My wife has paid a couple of calls on Miss Eldon, your lodger.’
‘Guessed as much,’ replied Tompkins. ‘I thought you might be him. Ruby told us Mrs Ross was married to an officer of the law.’
‘Indeed she is. I hope you won’t hold it against her.’ I made for the entry to the snug, but paused on the threshold to look back. ‘Don’t warn Temple off, will you?’
‘Wouldn’t do no good, if I did, I dare say!’ retorted Tompkins. ‘You’d catch up with him some other place.’
‘I only want a few words with him,’ I explained. ‘A little informal talk.’
Mr Tompkins made no audible reply to this, but his expression spoke volumes. He knew what little talks with police officers resulted in.
The snug was heated, indeed overheated, by an iron stove with a pipe to channel the smoke outside. Some fumes still found their way into the room and the air was almost unbearably stuffy. The only light came in through one very small window and on a day like today that was very little. Within a couple of minutes, however, Tompkins appeared carrying a pair of lighted candles in pottery holders. He set one on the table and the other on a small shelf. All this was done in silence. But as he left he paused in the doorway and turned to address me briefly.
‘If you’re going to run him in,’ he said, ‘I’d be obliged if you didn’t do it on the premises. It gives a place a bad name.’ Then he was gone, closing the door behind him.
I had to wait another ten minutes, in this Stygian little cell, before George Temple arrived. It was with relief I heard his voice addressing the landlord. I guessed he was asking if I was already there. ‘In the snug!’ came Tompkins’s muffled reply.
The door opened to admit the new arrival and I rose to my feet.
‘Well, I am here,’ Temple greeted me in surly fashion. He shrugged off his greatcoat and tossed it towards the nearest free chair. Then he hung his hat on a peg and seated himself, flicking aside his coat-tails.
I retook my seat. ‘I am obliged to you, Mr Temple.’
‘I don’t know why you wanted to talk to me here!’ he grumbled. ‘There is no need for Tompkins to know all my business.’
‘I thought you’d prefer to meet me here,’ I replied as civilly as I was able. ‘You would not want me at Lady Temple’s door again, I dare say – and without Mr Pelham pres
ent to protect your interests. Nor would you fancy another visit to the Yard!’ I was tempted to add that the Tompkinses already knew quite a lot about young George’s business, and did not need me to tell them.
‘I need Pelham here, then?’ Temple asked, treating me to a shrewd look.
‘Do you have any reason to believe you will have need of him?’ I retorted.
Briefly Temple gave the impression of a man about to leap up and flee. He leaned back in his chair, causing it to shift backwards, and the legs to scrape on the bare boards of the floor. He rocked it on to the two back legs and shadow covered his face. I had seen suspects do this before and understood the purpose of the manoeuvre was to escape the ring of candlelight. Then panic was replaced by a cool insolence, as he tipped the chair on to its four legs again, and his features back into the yellow glow. He waved away my question as a triviality. But I was not fooled. George was badly rattled.
I put his mind at rest. ‘I am not intending to arrest you, Mr Temple. At least, not today.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he demanded. ‘What the deuce do you want me here for, anyway? I have nothing more to add to what I’ve already told you about the day Devray disappeared. Don’t you have anyone else to quiz about this matter?’
I ignored this question to say, ‘I thought you might like to hear the latest information to come my way.’
Temple didn’t reply at once; but sat studying me thoughtfully. I studied him in return. He was, I supposed, what is generally called handsome. But his looks were spoiled by a pettishness in the set of his mouth and jaw. A spoiled brat of a child who had grown into a young man who expects the world to tailor its ways to suit him! I thought. A young man who, if a penniless girl like Emily had rebuffed his advances, wouldn’t take it kindly. But had that happened?
Temple, for his part, had reached a conclusion of sorts about me. ‘You know, Ross,’ he said. ‘You don’t look much like a police officer, or not my idea of one.’
‘They say that if you cannot place a plain-clothes officer at once, you must have led a blameless life. Tompkins knew my occupation straight away,’ I replied.
‘He sees all sorts in here, I dare say. He tells me you refused a drink. Does that mean I can’t take a drop?’
‘You may do as you wish, Mr Temple.’
George gave a sudden, loud shout of laughter. It was so lacking in genuine mirth that it was almost like a cry of pain. It was the last reaction I’d expected and I must have shown my surprise. ‘If only that were true!’ he said.
‘Go on,’ I invited him.
‘If I could truly do as I wished, I would not have to dance attendance on my godmother as I do. Oh, don’t misunderstand me. I have the greatest respect for the old lady and am quite fond of her, though she is a bit of a dragon, you know. A very softly spoken, well-bred, sort of dragon; and that, Ross, is the worst kind! The sort that huffs and puffs and breathes flames is much less tricky a foe. It shows its weapons. My godmother’s greatest weapon is her ability to cut me out of her will. My uncle left everything to her, you see. I believe he did not trust me with money. Perhaps he was right. So Lady Temple makes me a generous allowance. I will be fair to her on that.’
‘You have no money of your own? From your father, perhaps?’
‘Spent it,’ said George briefly. ‘Cards, so on, you know. It didn’t seem to matter when I was sure I’d inherit from her. She has assured me that I shall. But it depends on my good behaviour, steering clear of any scandal. It also entails my presence in the house. She likes to have me around, in a word, so that she can watch me. Make sure I don’t stray, or not too far.’
‘Or Michael, the footman, is sent to bring you home?’ I suggested.
‘That’s right,’ agreed George after a moment’s pause during which he eyed me keenly. ‘You have a way of knowing things, don’t you, Ross? Or finding them out.’
‘It is my business,’ I explained.
‘It is Pelham’s business, too,’ he muttered. ‘He has his spies and they report back to him, and he to her. Do you know why I like to come and drink here, in this rickety old place, and meet my friends here? It is because Tompkins doesn’t report on me. Or not directly, not to Lady Temple, nor to Pelham. He might send for Michael to take me home if I’ve had a little too much to drink. But he doesn’t report it to anyone else.’ He paused. ‘I’d like to know how you know about it!’
‘This is London, Mr Temple. There is little anyone can do that is not observed by someone.’
It was difficult to be sure in the poor light, but for the second time I fancied George Temple looked uneasy. ‘What is it you have called me here this afternoon to tell me?’
‘As I say, I thought you might like to know where I am, as you might say, in my investigation into the death of Miss Emily Devray. She also depended on a will, you know, that of the childless lady who had brought her up. She also had some expectations. But the lady changed her will, and Emily received very little. That’s how she came to work for Lady Temple.’
‘Really? I didn’t know that,’ Temple said with a frown. ‘But I didn’t know much about her at all, other than that she came from Salisbury. I wish you success in your investigation, of course. But there is nothing more I can tell you. Clearly, you know more about her than I do – or did.’
‘Yet we have good reason to believe she died in Lady Temple’s house, sir. Or rather, perhaps, in the little garden.’
Now, for a moment, George looked stunned. Even in the poor light of the flickering candles, I could see he had changed colour. ‘What makes you say that?’ he asked in a strangled voice.
‘Oh, we are tenacious fellows at the Yard and we pry, as you would no doubt describe it, into everything. Little odd bits of information add up. I imagine it is rather like making one of those screens artistic young ladies decorate, with odds and ends of découpage, I believe it’s called. They cut out colourful subjects from magazines and the like, and paste them on the surface of a screen, or a workbox, to make a whole pattern. When they are satisfied, they varnish the lot. It’s much what I or any other detective does.’
‘That sergeant of yours, Morris,’ George Temple said slowly, ‘now I’d recognise him as a police officer anywhere. It’s the way he looks at you, and the way he walks – and the way he talks, for that matter. But you, Ross, you are a puzzle. You look like a brigand, you speak like an educated man, and you hunt like— well, I don’t know. A fox? No, something stealthier. A tiger? Yes, I fancy a tiger, although I was never in India. But I can imagine you watching, sniffing the wind, prowling silently through the undergrowth, creeping up on your prey.’ He leaned forward suddenly and said harshly, ‘But I am not your prey, Ross. I am no tethered goat!’
‘What are you?’ I asked him. ‘You have described me at length, as you see me. How do you see yourself? Do you consider yourself a gentleman? A man of honour?’
‘Yes, dammit, I do! I am! You are dashed impertinent, Ross!’ George had become agitated.
‘Then, as a decent fellow, would you allow another, less favourably placed in life, to carry the burden of your misdeeds?’
‘No,’ said George, his voice sounding thick, as though the word stuck in his throat.
‘Emily Devray…’ I prompted gently.
‘I didn’t kill her!’ he burst out. ‘Why can’t you get that into your head?’
‘Did you chance to find her corpse?’
I thought for a moment George might topple sideways off his chair in a faint. I got to my feet, went to the door and called to Tompkins to bring some brandy.
We waited in silence until the landlord appeared with the brandy bottle and a couple of glasses on a tray. He eyed George and then stared hard at me before withdrawing in silence.
‘He is wondering whether to send for Michael to rescue you,’ I said. ‘You spoke of that as the pattern. When you are in a fix, Michael rescues you, takes you home to safety and the protection of Lady Temple’s house?’
George had
made some recovery. He poured himself a tumbler of brandy, held up the bottle to me with an inquiring look, and then, when I shook my head, set it down again. He tossed back the brandy and sat silent.
‘Let me ask another question, more specific,’ I said to him. ‘Did you order Michael to move the body, to hide it? By the way, you should have fetched a shawl or something to leave with the body because the absence of outerwear was the first indication that Emily died in the house. Did Michael, following your orders, put the body in Lady Temple’s wheelchair, cover it with a blanket, and later that night manoeuvre it through the garden door into the street?’
George opened his mouth and shut it again.
‘And did Michael, following your orders, push it through the darkened streets late that night, or in the early hours, leaving it where it was found behind the chophouse?’
‘You cannot possibly know this,’ George whispered. ‘It is a figment of your imagination.’
‘No, no. There is a witness, you see. I told you, a London street is always full of eyes, watching. They themselves may not be seen. But they miss nothing. And besides, Michael is an unusual figure, almost a giant. He cannot be ignored and he is remembered. What is his history?’
George said reluctantly, ‘He is a former soldier. He was wounded in the head, when only eighteen years old, in the Crimean business. The surgeon removed the ball and, against all the odds, he survived both the injury and the surgery. But his mind was affected. Never the quickest, he became like a young child. He was discharged from the army, of course, and fell on hard times. My godmother heard of his story and offered him a place.’
‘Could he have killed Emily? Not intentionally, perhaps. But he must be very strong and, if he is mentally slow, as you say, he might not know his own strength.’
I waited. I had taken a gamble. If George really was the selfish weakling I had first taken him for, then he might seek now to throw the blame on Michael. It would be an easy way to deflect me from concentrating on him. Maybe he did consider it for a moment. I fancied I saw him hesitate. Then he shook his head.
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