Swiss stared at him, open-mouthed. ‘Crikey. Cavendish? What did he move to Cavendish for?’
James was clueless and said he was hoping Swiss would have some insight into that. Swiss declared that he didn’t.
‘I didn’t know him well. I used to steer clear of him, if I could. Always ranting on about sin and morals. I mean, I’m a churchgoer, James; I go along on a Sunday and all, but he was strict, strict Presbyterian.’
They sat in thoughtful silence for a while.
‘How did you get to know him?’ asked James at last.
‘Work. He owned a steel works in Glasgow and then opened up a factory in Yorkshire and moved there. He used to invest in stocks and shares and always liked to meet the people he invested with.’
‘That’s where you came in?’
Swiss nodded. ‘My company looked after a few of his investments. I didn’t deal with him directly, that fell to my colleague, Quinn.’ He let out a tut. ‘I suppose the sons will be in line for a windfall, then?’
‘Windfall?’
‘God, yes. The man was rolling in it. Never spent anything unless he had to. Must have a quarter of a million in stocks and shares through us alone. Those two sons are set up for life, and those girls too.’
James recoiled. ‘What girls?’
‘There were two cousins, lived on the coast. I remember the last time he had any dealings with us, he’d indicated that he should perhaps include them in his will. Part of his wife’s family I believe.’
James raised an eyebrow. ‘Now that is interesting.’
Swiss checked his watch and pushed himself up. ‘Sorry, James, but this is lunch hour and I have an appointment back at the office. You can walk back with me if you like?’
James followed him through to the front desk. ‘No can do. I’ve to pick Beth up at Liberty’s and then head over to Richmond.’ He held a hand out. ‘Good to see you, Swiss. Mustn’t leave it so long next time.’
‘Always here,’ he replied and handed James a business card. ‘But next time, telephone ahead and we’ll lunch – bring your wife, too.’
James thanked Graves for the safe-keeping of his overcoat and hat. In forty minutes he and Beth were back in Richmond. He opened the boot of the car and placed Kushal’s suitcase inside. On closing it, he held Kushal’s arm.
‘I say, if I wanted to know if someone was still living in India, would you have the contacts to establish whether or not they were?’
‘Most certainly. Give me the details later and I will begin my enquiries.’ He grinned. ‘This reminds me very much of the spring, with you and this investigation business.’
In the car, Beth sat in the rear with Kushal and the pair of them chatted as if they’d known each other for years. When they arrived home, Beth insisted on giving Kushal a tour of the house and where he would be sleeping. Shortly after, the Indian declined the offer of tea and, instead, requested he be taken straight to the police station.
‘That is why I am here, so that is where I should be.’
Kushal had been gone for a couple of hours when James began preparing the fire in the lounge. He stacked up some wood and newspaper and piled some coal on from the scuttle. A sound stopped him. Was that a knock on the back door? He made his way into the kitchen and opened the side entrance. A cool breeze greeted him and nothing more. He was about to close it when something caught his eye. On the step was a small box wrapped in brown paper. Curiosity drove him outside where he scrutinised the front of the house and the drive leading to the main road. Whoever left it had disappeared faster than a greyhound from a trap.
He picked the package up and frowned. The writing on the paper was neat and considered. James turned the parcel over for clues but found nothing to indicate where this had come from or who had delivered it. Returning to the kitchen, he closed the door and wandered, deep in thought, through to the hall.
Beth came down the stairs, fastening an earring. ‘What’s that, sweetie?’
‘I’ve no idea. Someone left it by the door leading to the kitchen.’ He pulled the string: the paper fell away to reveal a shoebox. He slipped the lid off to disclose a pile of letters. Beth pulled one out.
‘This is from India.’ She shuffled through half a dozen. ‘These are Calvin’s letters to Boyd.’ Her brow knitted. ‘Who sent them? Boyd?’
James shrugged. ‘I haven’t a clue. If it was, why not knock on the front door and hand them to me?’ A slip of paper fell to the floor. He picked it up. ‘It isn’t signed. It asks that we keep the letters safe.’
James replaced the lid.
‘Do you think you’re supposed to read them?’ asked Beth.
‘It doesn’t invite me to do so. And they’re private. It doesn’t seem right to read them.’
‘If they’re private, why not bury them in the garden? Why leave them here?’
James suggested they make tea and chat with Kushal about it. ‘I value his thought process. He always seems to do the right thing. And I also forgot to mention something. A nice surprise for us.’
He went on to explain that, when they were driving to the police station, Kushal had insisted that he make a traditional curry for them the following day.
‘But I don’t have any spices!’ Beth said.
‘He brought some with him.’
‘Oh, how wonderful.’
James went through to the lounge and silently pondered the day. Cameron, he discovered, had been sitting on a fortune. Had George found his last will and testament? How much was the old man really worth? If Swiss was right with his valuation, there had certainly been motive for murder. But why leave a fortune to two sons he couldn’t tolerate? And were the girls involved? The thought of Lucy and Suzie committing murder sent a shiver through him.
He studied the shoebox. Who had left it? Was he supposed to read the letters? Was Boyd as innocent as they all thought? Was there something in the letters that would incriminate him? If he had means to attend the festival, he must have had a key to his bedroom door. And if that was the case, did he also have access to his father’s room?
James sighed. ‘And where on earth does that leave Locksmith Joe?’ he mumbled to himself.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
On rising the next day, they found Kushal Patel had disappeared.
‘His clothes are still here,’ Beth said as she prepared the table for breakfast.
‘Perhaps he goes for an early morning stroll. I’m going to give George a call and see how young Boyd is. I’m surprised he kept him at the station.’
On the occasional table by the front door, he found an envelope addressed to them which he opened.
He called out to Beth. ‘There’s a note from Kushal on the table. He’s with George at the police station.’
‘Goodness, he doesn’t let the grass grow under his feet, does he?’
James picked up the receiver. ‘Are we having soft-boiled eggs?’
‘We are. I’m just waiting for the baker to arrive with fresh bread.’
As if on cue, the doorbell rang and the said baker stood there with a wide smile and a wicker basket full of loaves, rolls, crumpets and teacakes. As Beth made her order, James waited to be connected to George.
‘Ah George, I understand you have Kushal with you.’
‘Yes. He stayed until the boy went to sleep last night and was down here first thing. I must admit I wasn’t sure about it, but he seems to be getting on well with the lad. He’s certainly more comfortable than he was, although he still resembles someone with a gun pointing at his head.’
‘And what’s your thinking?’
He heard the flick of a match and gathered that George was lighting his pipe. ‘I’m going to release him. He was at the scarecrow festival but claims he just wanted to go. I think Beth gave him such a wonderful description of it, he sneaked out and saw it for himself.’
‘How did he get out?’
‘Claims that Jeannie Cameron left the door unlocked.’
James commented that it w
asn’t like George to take his only suspect at his word. George cleared his throat.
‘I just can’t see the lad being involved in this. No, Locksmith Joe is my main suspect. There’s another thing, too. Our doctor examined the body and reckons Jeannie Cameron was strangled by someone bigger than Boyd.’
‘How so?’
‘Marks around the neck. Boyd’s not big, is he? I mean, he’s only a boy. His hands are pretty small and he hasn’t much strength.’
‘Oh, I see. Indeed. I say, I heard something yesterday that may be of interest to you.’
James spent the next five minutes going over his meeting with Swiss at the Wendover. He highlighted what appeared to have been a split in the Cameron family and the apparent wealth of Christie Cameron.
An exasperated curse came down the line. ‘James, how do you do it?’
‘What?’
‘You’re always one step ahead of me. I suppose you’re going to ask me about Cameron’s will?’
‘Well, if you’re volunteering?’
‘You’re right. The old man was rolling in it.’
With some persuasion, George verified that Boyd and Calvin would benefit, along with Suzie and Lucy.
James let out a silent ‘phew’. ‘I don’t understand why he would leave a fortune to two sons he had no time for.’
‘Me neither.’
‘You say you’re releasing Boyd?’
‘At the moment. He’s to stay in Cavendish. We’re taking him home later and we’ll drop off Mr Patel at the same time.’
‘Jolly good.’ James was about to hang up when George stopped him.
‘Have you seen much of Bert lately?’
Alarm streaked through James. ‘Not as much as I normally do, no. Why do you ask?’
After some hesitation, George answered. ‘I found out that Locksmith was hauled in several years ago about a robbery and Bert’s name cropped up. Nothing proven; nothing ever is with Bert. I just wondered if he’d mentioned anything.’
James told him he hadn’t and, putting the receiver down, gave serious consideration to his old friend. What on earth was Bert playing at?
Beth popped her head out. ‘Eggs ready in three.’
‘Splendid.’
Following her into the kitchen he updated her about Boyd. She closed her eyes in relief.
‘Oh, thank goodness. I couldn’t bear the thought of him being locked in a cell any longer. I’m so pleased Kushal was there. I’m sure he was a tremendous help.’
James edged open the door leading to the gardens. The sky was battleship grey and the tops of the trees swayed in the wind. The early morning frost had turned to damp.
‘These letters of Boyd’s are enticing me. I have no idea whether I should or not, but I rather fancy taking a gander. What do you think?’
Beth spooned the eggs into their eggcups, buttered some toast and cut it lengthways into soldiers. ‘I know what you mean. But, yes, I feel the same way. Let’s go through them with Kushal.’ She looked past James to the gardens. ‘It’s not going to be much fun out there today. They’re forecasting wind and showers this afternoon.’ She handed him his plate of eggs and toast. ‘And we have the theatre tonight.’
‘Oh yes, I’ve been looking forward to that.’
Several weeks ago, James had rung his cousin, Herbie Harrington, who knew ‘people’ in the theatre world and managed to secure four sought-after tickets to see The Mousetrap. The Merryweathers were coming with them.
In the dining room, James turned on the wireless and tuned it to the Light Programme. Bing Crosby crooned ‘Zing-a-little-Zong’.
Beth cracked the shell of her egg and pointed her spoon at him. ‘Do you think it was Locksmith Joe who killed the Camerons?’
‘I do,’ he said and added that the police believed all roads led to Locksmith. He’d opted not to tell Beth of George’s suspicions concerning Bert having been mentioned in connection with a robbery involving the convict.
‘They can’t see who else it could be, but I find it odd that he would risk killing Christie at home. Why not wait until he goes out? It must have been him at the scarecrow festival I saw. He certainly had the appearance of a man ready to throttle someone and he had the same build as in the description in the paper.’ James dunked a toasted soldier into the soft yolk. ‘But something doesn’t sit right. I’m sure George isn’t as convinced as he says he is.’
‘So are you still going to read those letters?’
‘Yes, but I won’t let on to anyone that we’ve done so. I feel as if I am betraying a confidence.’
Later that afternoon, the three of them gathered in the kitchen and followed Kushal’s instruction for cooking chicken curry. James was given the job of measuring out the spices, while Beth prepared the chicken, onions and mushrooms. Their friend heated fat in a large pan and added the spices and onions. The aromas of cumin, turmeric and chilli permeated the kitchen. He instructed Beth to boil water for rice, added the final ingredients to the pan and stirred in a chicken stock. Beth breathed in the spices.
‘Mmm, Kushal, this smells divine.’
James followed suit. ‘I say, can we have a taste?’
Kushal handed him a spoon. ‘I hope it is not too spicy for you.’
James took a spoonful and closed his eyes. ‘Goodness, that really is delicious. I wonder if we could nab the recipe from you?’
‘I am pleased to share it with you. I will write the recipe for you before I leave.’
After lunch, Beth and Kushal perched on the edge of their seats waiting, in anticipation, for James to lift the lid off the shoebox. James hesitated and sought the approval of both Beth and Kushal. ‘Are you sure we’re doing the right thing, reading these?’
‘Why else would they have been left?’ asked Beth.
Kushal gave him a reassuring smile. ‘The owner of these documents knew that he or she ran the risk of them being read. We are not giving a public speech. The contents will remain between the three of us.’
He lifted the lid.
In all, there were around forty letters bunched inside with varying degrees of wear. It was clear that some had been read more often than others. The envelopes were coloured grey with a blue ‘Air Mail’ logo printed on them. James took a deep breath and opened the envelope with the earliest stamp. Beth and Kushal looked on as James carefully unfolded the flimsy paper and immediately commented on the handwriting and how neat it was.
‘Right, here we go:
Dear Boyd,
I have finally arrived in Bombay! Boyd, sailing is the most wonderful thing but, after so many weeks at sea, my legs feel like warm jelly and the world still moves when I stand still. It’s like those men you see stumbling out of pubs having had one whisky too many, although you probably don’t remember that. You were too young. But, I’m finding my feet now and beginning to explore the area.
I have a couple of rooms close to the Victoria railway terminal and I’m a short walk away from the Gateway of India. I’ve enclosed a photograph of it which includes information on the back for you to read.
Our ship was full of elegant men and women who dispersed across the city as soon as we’d docked. I can only describe the city as vibrant and chaotic. The Indian people bend over backwards to be helpful and they smile a lot. I don’t know why because most are exceptionally poor. But how I am going to get over this heat, I don’t know. I’m more used to snow. It is devilishly hot, like a furnace.
Yesterday, I went to a market and have never seen anything like it. All my senses were assaulted by colours, spices, oils, silks and constant chatter. There was also an incessant ringing of bicycle bells and the occasional lorry blasting its horn. I also saw a cow wander across the road! Oh Boyd, how I wish you were here to see it.
Today, I am looking for work. Joshua’s cousin has a contact here and I pray with all my heart that some employment will turn up. I will make enough, one day, for you to join me and experience this wonderful city at first hand.
I have w
ritten separately to Father. I fear that we will never see eye to eye. Until I am able to prove myself, I will not write to him again. All of my letters to you will go to Lucy as I am quite convinced Father will not pass them to you.
My dear brother, I will write often and ask that you forgive me for leaving you at such a young age. Please, do not forget me.
Calvin’
James replaced the letter and sought a reaction from Beth and Kushal. Kushal beamed.
‘He is most accurate with his description of Bombay. The architecture around Victoria station is wonderful. It brought back many memories for me. I am wondering why he chose India to live?’
‘Perhaps because of this contact of his,’ said James.
‘And who is this man Joshua?’ asked Beth.
‘Ah yes,’ said Kushal, ‘Josh is Calvin’s school friend. Boyd mentioned him when we spoke. He remembered them being very close and grew up together.’
‘Yes, Swiss mentioned him up at the club,’ added James.
Beth chuckled to herself. ‘Fancy seeing a cow crossing the road in the middle of a city.’
The Indian smiled. ‘It is most common to see cows and goats, but occasionally there is an elephant. They are brought down from the hills when the ships arrive.’
‘An easy way to make a profit from the tourist,’ James suggested; Kushal agreed.
Beth took out the next letter and announced that it was dated six months later.
‘Dear Boyd,
I am well and truly settled in my way of life here in Bombay. Yorkshire seems a million miles away and I believe the only thing I miss is you.
Employment here is good. Josh’s cousin was able to provide an opening for me in shipping and I work for a cargo company, so much of my time is spent down at the docks. My office faces the Arabian Sea. I believe the Arabian Sea is as exotic as its name. Every day there are flotillas setting off from the quay; fishing boats, pleasure cruises and the huge ocean liners that have travelled hundreds of miles. My window is open wide to allow what little breeze there is to come in.
One exciting piece of news - Josh came to visit and decided to stay! He has managed to get employment with the same company. Having my school chum here is like old times and we have discovered a wonderful jazz club that serves New York-style martinis. I have enclosed some photographs of the pair of us outside the club. I know we all look a mess The third person is Josh’s cousin, Alastair.’
Lord James Harrington and the Autumn Mystery Page 10