Penny Green series Box Set 2

by Emily Organ

  The police raid on the fancy dress ball came back to my mind. I stared at Mr Sherman, struggling to comprehend what he was revealing to me.

  “Did you know Richard Geller, sir?” I ventured.

  “Not well, although I spoke to him once or twice, I believe. I occasionally saw him at the baths, but I don’t think I ever saw him at The Ha’penny.”

  “Is there a connection between Richard Geller and Simon Borthwick?”

  “Yes!” He smiled, appearing relieved that I finally understood what he was saying. “Yes, there is. I wasn’t sure how to express it in clear terms, but Richard Geller and Simon Borthwick were close friends. I only discovered this three days ago. Up to that point I felt sure you were wasting your time trying to investigate who might have been persecuting Borthwick, but now I realise there is a great deal more behind it. You still mustn’t tell anyone about this. You understand that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I understand, Mr Sherman. Do you think the deaths of Simon Borthwick and Richard Geller could be connected?”

  “As for that, I don’t know.”

  “But they must be!” I rummaged through my carpet bag to find my notebook and flicked through it. “Here we are,” I said, finding the right page. “Borthwick took his own life on Tuesday the seventeenth of June. I’m quite sure that Richard Geller was found dead on that same day.”

  I continued flicking through my notebook. “Yes! It was the morning of Tuesday the seventeenth of June. So Richard Geller was murdered that morning and Simon Borthwick took his own life that evening.”

  I stared down at the cobbles beneath my feet, trying to comprehend what this could mean.

  “Do you think it’s possible, Mr Sherman, that Borthwick knew about Geller’s death before he shot himself?” I asked.

  “It’s possible, but you’d need to find out, and I don’t know how you would go about making such enquiries.”

  “It might explain what Borthwick wrote in his letter,” I said. “It’s no wonder he was fearful if the people he believed to be persecuting him were behind Geller’s death. Perhaps he was worried that he would be next.”

  “He may well have been. We can only speculate at the moment.”

  “I thought it best to die by my own hand rather than theirs. That’s what he wrote! Someone murdered his friend and he felt sure they would attack him next. I will have to ask James what he thinks about it.”

  “No! You must not, on any account, tell the police about this.”

  “But there is new evidence here, Mr Sherman. Richard Geller and Simon Borthwick were friends. I can tell James that, can’t I?”

  “There’s no need. It won’t help him find the culprit.”

  “So why have you told me about it?”

  He paused to think. “I suppose I felt the need to explain the situation. And I certainly didn’t want you sniffing around at The Ha’penny. The regulars there must be left well alone.”

  “I think James needs to know about Richard Geller and Simon Borthwick’s friendship,” I said. “At the very least it might explain why Borthwick took his own life. What if the people who bullied Borthwick also murdered Richard Geller?”

  “There are many possibilities, Miss Green, but I don’t think you can involve the police too much in this one. No one will speak to them, anyway.”

  “But won’t the police make allowances if someone has valuable information for them?”

  “I don’t know, but I strongly doubt that anyone would take the risk.”

  “Mr Sherman, I promise that our conversation will remain completely confidential. I realise you have taken a great risk by confiding in me. But I think the police need to know about the connection between Richard Geller and Simon Borthwick. No more harm can come to them now. And if I tell James about it I promise I shall never reveal the source of my information. You have my word, sir.”

  Mr Sherman watched me for a moment, then put his pipe back in his mouth. “You’ve worked under me for a long time now, Miss Green. I know that I can trust you, otherwise I would never have asked to meet you here. But you do realise that my career will be at an end if you tell anyone it was me who spoke to you about this, don’t you?”

  “I know that, sir. You can trust me. I promise.”

  He began to walk on and I followed, still rather stunned by his revelations.

  “Tell Blakely the relevant information, then,” said Mr Sherman. “I know you work well together. But you must never let my name come into it.”

  We reached the end of the narrow street.

  “Walk on, Miss Green, and I’ll see you tomorrow. We never met here. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes. Completely.”

  Chapter 30

  “Simon Borthwick and Richard Geller were friends?” asked James. “That is an interesting development indeed.”

  We were sitting at our usual table in the Museum Tavern, and as I relayed this new piece of information I hoped James wouldn’t ask me too many questions about its source.

  “Yes, it seems they were,” I replied. “Borthwick was a regular visitor to The Ha’penny. You know of The Ha’penny, don’t you? It was raided by the police a few years ago.”

  “I remember. And knowing what sort of establishment The Ha’penny is, I can hazard a guess as to the nature of the friendship between the two men. Am I correct?”

  “I cannot be certain; however, I believe Simon Borthwick might have taken his own life because Richard Geller had been murdered that morning. Perhaps he was worried that he would be next.”

  “But can we be sure that he found out about Richard Geller’s murder that day?” asked James. “How would the news have reached him? Presumably he would have been at the Crystal Palace making final arrangements for the illuminations.”

  “His work colleagues might know whether or not he had received a message.”

  “But they haven’t mentioned him receiving bad news that day?”

  “Not to me, no.”

  “Who told you about the relationship between the two men?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “He won’t be in any trouble with the law.”

  “I told him that, but he doesn’t believe it. He’s too fearful.”

  “That’s understandable, I suppose. I need you to reassure him for me, though. I should like to speak to him.”

  “James, I made a promise that I would never reveal his identity. I’m sorry. I know I can trust you to do the right thing, but if you knew who it was and someone such as Chief Inspector Cullen found out there would be huge trouble, I feel sure of it. It’s too risky. He’s frightened, James. It is someone I have known a while, but I have never seen him frightened before.”

  James scowled. “Genuine evidence would help us greatly with this case.”

  I was still trying to comprehend the secret life Mr Sherman had revealed to me. He was taking quite a risk in pursuing such a lifestyle. I wondered what it must be like to constantly live in fear of being found out. I was beginning to understand some of Simon Borthwick’s mental torment.

  “I have an idea with regard to evidence,” I said. “I visited Borthwick’s home and I know that his private papers are still kept there, but they’re about to be passed to his family. Perhaps you could request access to them? There may be letters between himself and Richard Geller which would confirm the nature of their relationship. And there might be something else that could be of use to us. I did try to sneak a look at his papers when I visited, but his housekeeper wouldn’t allow me to do so without his family’s permission, which was the right thing for her to do of course.”

  “That’s a good idea; I’ll make some enquiries. It will be easier to request access to his papers now we know that the two men knew each other. But what I still don’t understand is the motive behind Richard Geller’s murder. It was well planned.”

  “Perhaps it was someone who had a grievance against men like him,” I said.

  “It’s possible.”

  “Maybe Gell
er and Borthwick had both been threatened,” I said. “The difficulty we have is that many men who knew them will be reluctant to co-operate with the police for fear of incriminating themselves.”

  “That’s true. Perhaps they would speak to you.”

  “I’m not sure they’ll speak to anyone on the subject unless they know them well. The risk is too great.”

  “But we need to get to the bottom of this. You’d think they’d be willing to do so to help us find Richard Geller’s killer.”

  “You’d think so, but perhaps they’re frightened of the people who did this to Richard. Perhaps some are worried they could be next.”

  “I’m still trying to understand the motive of the culprits here,” said James. “Were Geller and Borthwick targeted because of who they were or what they did?”

  “That’s what we need to find out.”

  “And something else has occurred to me,” said James. “What if Borthwick murdered Richard Geller?”

  “Why should he do that?”

  “I don’t know. But it’s possible, isn’t it? Borthwick could have murdered Richard and then, filled with remorse, taken his own life later that day.”

  “If that’s what happened, Richard’s murder is solved.”

  “But I suspect it isn’t as simple as that,” said James. He took a sip of his stout. “Did you ever hear again from the anonymous letter writer who wished to meet you at Lincoln’s Inn Fields?”

  “No, strangely enough I didn’t,” I said, busying myself with my sherry. I hated lying to James.

  “How odd,” he replied. “I wonder if it was because I was there.”

  “It might have been,” I said. “Or maybe he just wanted to waste my time. I’ve no doubt he’ll try again soon.”

  “You’ll let me know if he makes contact again, won’t you?” asked James. “We need to find out who has been sending you those letters.”

  “I suspect it’s all connected, isn’t it?” I said. “Now we know that Borthwick and Geller were acquainted, surely it’s all part of the same investigation.”

  “Yes, I think it is. And we certainly don’t want Chief Inspector Stroud leading it, do we?”

  Chapter 31

  “Scotland Yard?” asked Jack Copeland when James and I arrived at his laboratory within the Southwark works. “Why is Scotland Yard now involved in Simon’s death?”

  He occupied himself with a large glass jar on the table in front of him, as if he hoped we would go away. The laboratory had an acrid smell to it, as though something had recently been burnt there. James and I watched closely as Copeland inverted the glass jar over a small wired contraption.

  “May I ask what you’re doing Mr Copeland?” he asked.

  “Experimenting with a new type of filament.” The reply was muffled by his drooping moustache.

  “Would it be a terrible inconvenience to pause your experiment and speak to me for a moment?” asked James.

  Mr Copeland sighed and turned the switch on a small metal box close by. The wire contraption lit up with a bright light before immediately extinguishing. Mr Copeland sighed again.

  “Is that box a battery?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he replied curtly. “I suppose you’re both going to keep bothering me until I answer your questions.” He fixed us with his bulbous eyes.

  “We are, I’m afraid,” replied James. “We believe Simon Borthwick’s death is connected to another incident which occurred on the same day. We need your help.”

  “How? What incident?”

  “Were you with Mr Borthwick at any time on the day he died?” James asked.

  “Yes, of course I was,” replied Copeland irritably before turning to me. “I’ve been buying the Morning Express hoping to see your article about Kensington Court in there, Miss Green, but I confess that I must have missed it. Has it been published yet?”

  “Not yet, Mr Copeland.”

  “Perhaps you’ll have the courtesy to inform me once it is, so I can stop wasting my time searching through the newspaper every day to find it.”

  “I will do, Mr Copeland,” I replied, thinking it best not to add that the article hadn’t yet been written.

  “Was Mr Borthwick in this building for the entire day on Tuesday the seventeenth of June?” asked James.

  “No.”

  “Do you know where he was?”

  “At Sydenham setting up the illuminations for the Crystal Palace.”

  “So he wasn’t here at all that day?”

  “I think he might have been here in the early morning, but then he went off to Sydenham.”

  “Did you see him before he went there?”

  “I can’t remember now, but it’s fairly likely that I did.”

  “And you saw him that evening at the Crystal Palace?”

  “Yes, we all did.”

  “Who do you mean by we all?”

  “Myself, Donald Repton and Jeffrey Maynell.”

  “Your colleagues?”

  “Yes. Why are you asking me these questions, Inspector?”

  “I’m trying to understand Mr Borthwick’s movements on his final day,” replied James. “Can you recall what his mood was like?”

  “He was his normal self.”

  “Not upset or distressed in any way?”

  “No.”

  “Grumpy? Short-tempered?”

  “Well, he was prone to that, yes. But there was nothing in his mood to suggest anything out of the ordinary. That’s why I can only guess that his shooting himself was a spur-of-the-moment decision.”

  “Are you aware of Mr Borthwick receiving any unwelcome news that day?”

  “What sort of unwelcome news?”

  “He didn’t mention anything to you?”

  “No. Are you referring to the other incident which you mentioned earlier?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t recall him mentioning an incident of any sort. It would help me, Inspector, if you were able to elaborate on what that incident was.”

  “I’ll explain in due course, Mr Copeland. Thank you for answering my questions. Where might I find Mr Jeffrey Maynell?”

  “What a peculiar fellow,” commented James as we walked along a whitewashed corridor which was giving off a strong smell of chemicals. “I wonder if he knows more than he’s letting on. It’s rather difficult to understand what he says through those thick whiskers, isn’t it?”

  I laughed.

  “Have you spoken to this Maynell fellow yet?” James asked.

  “Only briefly,” I replied. “I spoke to his wife Lillian, but he’s not to know about that.”

  “Very well.” We reached a door marked with Maynell’s name. “Here we go,” he said, knocking briskly.

  “Miss Green!” said Jeffrey Maynell once James and I were standing in front of his desk. “I wondered when you’d finally come and find me.” He had a square, handsome face, but his pale eyes were cold.

  “I’m not sure I quite understand what you mean, Mr Maynell,” I replied.

  “You’ve already visited Copeland and Repton, I hear, and you have also met with my wife.” He got to his feet and pulled himself up to his full height.

  My stomach turned uncomfortably. How had he found out about my meeting with Lillian?

  I realised there was no use in keeping up any kind of pretence.

  “Yes, I did,” I replied. “It was very pleasant. Mrs Fish, the wife of one of my colleagues, also joined us.”

  “Very nice indeed. The purpose of the lunch was, I believe, to discuss Simon Borthwick?”

  “I wouldn’t say that was the sole purpose of our lunch. However, I have been trying to find out more about Mr Borthwick.”

  I hoped I wouldn’t land Lillian in any trouble by saying this. I could only imagine that he had already discussed the secret lunch with her.

  “So you discussed him with my wife?”

  “Not in any great detail, Mr Maynell. She merely told me why their courtship had ended.”

  “A
nd what was her explanation?”

  “Mr Maynell, there is no need to be quite so confrontational,” said James.

  “I don’t take kindly to my wife being asked questions about a former suitor!” retorted Mr Maynell. “Can you understand my ire, Inspector?”

  “I appreciate that you may feel angered by it, but there is no need to speak to Miss Green in this curt manner.”

  “What was my wife’s explanation?” Mr Maynell asked me again, ignoring James’ interjection.

  “She told me that Mr Borthwick had seemed more interested in his work than in her, and that she felt he had been rather indifferent to her.”

  “And that was all?”

  “Yes. Please don’t worry, Mr Maynell. Your wife harbours no sentiment for Mr Borthwick.”

  I noticed that his face softened slightly in response to this comment.

  “Did you know Mr Borthwick well, Mr Maynell?” James asked.

  Mr Maynell turned his nose up at the question. “Of course!” he replied. “He was my colleague for some years.”

  “Do you know who might have been persecuting him?” I asked.

  My question drew an unexpected laugh from Mr Maynell. “You think he was persecuted?”

  “That’s what his letter suggests.”

  “Ah yes. Now I’ve heard about that letter, and I’ve also heard that my wife receives a mention in it. I should like to read it for myself. Do you know where I can find a copy, Inspector?”

  “You would need to contact the coroner,” said James.

  “I see.”

  “So you don’t believe that Mr Borthwick was being persecuted?” I asked.

  “Of course not!”

  “How was your own relationship with Mr Borthwick?” asked James.

  “We were not unfriendly with each other, but neither were we close. You must remember that he had once been a suitor of Lillian’s. Nevertheless, I had no truck with the man. We stayed out of each other’s way. Anyway, I think we’ve rather strayed off the point here. Did I give you permission to question me, Inspector?”

  “No. You simply began answering.”