by Evelyn James
“I have heard about the ceremonial daggers that every officer was awarded for his part in quelling the rebellion,” Clara said.
“Oh yes, that was quite a thing. A sure mark of the gratitude felt by the authorities. My father had it on a stand above the fireplace all his days. When he passed, it was left to me. I had it on display too until my daughter moved in,” there was a hint of resentment in Edward’s words. “She insisted it be put away. Said it made her uncomfortable to have a big dagger on display all the time. That’s why Mortimer is such a namby-pamby, you know, because of her. Never did me any harm looking at that knife as a boy, reminded me of what struggles my father had been through. I used to ask if I could polish it and I would shine it until you could see your face in the blade.”
“You still have it then?” Clara asked.
“Of course! I was going to leave it to Mortimer, until he turned out such a limpet,” Edward snorted. “He’ll only sell it the second he can, that lad thinks about money all the time. No, I am going to be buried with it, to scupper his plans and grin at him from my grave.”
Edward found this very amusing.
“Would you like to see it?”
“I would,” Clara assured him. “I have not seen one of the actual knives, only a drawing in a textbook.”
“Oh, you can’t appreciate it from a drawing,” Edward rose stiffly, having to press himself up with his arms as his knees creaked in protest. Tommy started to help him, but was pushed away crossly. “You’ll see what I mean when you are face-to-face with it. Beautiful thing, it truly is. I keep it in this drawer, which is such a shame, really.”
Edward hobbled over to a small bureau and fumbled with a drawer handle, his shaking hands making it difficult to clutch the tiny brass clasps.
“The Indians were always big on ceremonial knives, quite a thing for them. I suppose that is where the idea came from. During the rebellion, a maharajah’s palace came under attack and the British defended it. He was very grateful, I believe he was part of the ceremony to present the knifes,” Edward started to ease the drawer open in jerky movements. “My father remembered that day vividly all his life. He could recall the sunlight glinting on the blades as they were handed out. He felt such pride.”
Edward finished easing the drawer open and stared inside. He moved some papers about and pulled out a book of stamps and some parcel twine. Then he became very still, his spine stiffening.
“It’s gone,” he said, his voice twanging with fury. “Damn thing is gone!”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Clara and Tommy mulled over the mystery of the missing dagger as they headed home. Edward Basildon had been, quite naturally, furious about its absence and he had no qualms in instantly accusing his grandson. He had ranted about the acquaintances Mortimer brought home, who he called lowlifes and scum. He worked himself up into such a fit of rage that he ended up having a funny turn and being helped up to his bed by Mary.
Clara and Tommy had let themselves out.
“Mortimer looks likely for our murderer,” Tommy observed as they walked.
“Hmm,” Clara mused. “He may have taken the knife, or it might have been one of his cronies, as his grandfather pointed out. Either way, he is involved with the problems in that alley. Maybe not directly, but he certainly knows the people who are. That knife links him. I think the Inspector should hear of this. We now know where the murder weapon came from.”
They left a message for Inspector Park-Coombs at the police station, as he happened to be out on another matter, then walked the remaining distance to their house. Annie was waiting for them.
“A gentleman by the name of Professor Montgomery sent a message asking if you could be at the Brighton Institute for Astronomy at seven o’clock. He says he shall be waiting for you at the tradesman’s gate. That is all very clandestine,” she said as they walked into the hallway and hung up their coats.
Clara glanced at Tommy.
“Ready for a little game of subterfuge?”
Tommy grinned.
“Always.”
“Well, I am going to visit Peterson again,” Annie informed them. “I think he is going to sink if he is not helped soon.”
“Tell him I know where the knife came from and that it did not belong to the woman who died. Her name was Jenny, by the way,” Clara explained.
“Do you think that will help him?” Annie looked troubled.
“It may give him hope we are digging into this matter. Promise him he is my priority.”
“I will Clara,” Annie gave a smile, but there was no real joy to it. “I’m scared for him, that’s all.”
~~~*~~~
At seven o’clock they were at the back of the Institute, stood by the heavy-duty tradesman’s gate and awaiting Professor Montgomery. He was late.
“Who would have thought stargazing would cause such trouble,” Tommy mulled, looking up at the dark sky. “I like stars, but I never had the inclination to study them.”
“I recall father having a telescope,” Clara replied.
“Oh, yes, someone bought it for him as a Christmas present,” Tommy remembered, smiling. “I think the novelty of it lasted around a month and then it was tucked in a cupboard. It’s probably still there.”
“I wonder if I could use it for secretly observing suspects?” Clara said as the thought suddenly struck her.
“I think it might be noticed, it was for quite long distance,” Tommy chuckled.
It was then that Professor Montgomery appeared out of the shadows, hurrying towards them.
“Miss Fitzgerald, my apologies for being late, I was detained by a porter and it was difficult to make an excuse without appearing suspicious,” Montgomery was a little breathless. “You have brought someone?”
“This is my brother Tommy,” Clara explained. “He is my assistant.”
“Very well,” Montgomery nodded. “I am going to sneak us all in via the back stairs. We have to be careful, as the kitchen staff will still be around. However, the bursar and librarian will be safely back in their chambers at this time of night.”
Montgomery opened the gate for them and showed them through. The grounds were unlit, and at this side of the Institute there were only lecture rooms and offices, meaning there were no lights on in the windows or, for that matter, people to look out of them. The professor knew his way through the grounds without a light and ran rather fast, causing Clara and Tommy to have to keep pace and do their best to avoid any obstacles they might not see in the dark.
“He is very agitated,” Tommy observed as he stumbled where the edge of the path met a raised grass verge.
“It is not every day you surreptitiously enter the place you are in charge of,” Clara pointed out. “He is worried about what this will look like if he is caught.”
“Surely he could just demand that box be handed over to him?” Tommy suggested.
“It would cause a huge fuss, which he is endeavouring to avoid,” Clara replied. “Mr McGhie, the librarian, has been in his post longer than Professor Montgomery. There is a sort of unofficial power that comes from being in your position that long. You gain respect and an authority that is not technically yours.”
“A bit like Annie and the kitchen. Neither of us dare move anything in there, even though it is our kitchen,” Tommy said.
“A bit like that, yes,” Clara laughed.
“Please, be quiet, we are reaching the door,” Professor Montgomery spun around and hushed them.
Considering the amount of noise they had made by running through the grounds, Clara thought his attitude slightly ironic, but she did not counter him, as he was her client and the client is always right.
“I am hoping the kitchen staff will be occupied and will not see us enter,” Professor Montgomery said anxiously as he pushed open the door and peered inside. There was no light in the hallway either. He waved a hand at Tommy and Clara to encourage them to enter behind him. “The staircase is just there.”
He p
ointed and was about to move when there was the sound of someone approaching and he froze. Clara glanced back at the door they had just entered, wondering if there was time for them all to slip out, but the footsteps were very close and she suspected that even if one of them could escape, the other two would not have time, the movement of the door would alert whoever was coming their way.
Professor Montgomery was pinned to the spot in mid-stride. He had one foot held out as if he was about to take a step; he dare not even put it down on the floor, but balanced precariously on one leg. Tommy was stifling a chuckle at the sight and Clara had to admit it was all very comical, even if the outcome of their being spotted could be quite serious for the director.
The footsteps kept approaching and someone could be heard humming. There was a turn in the corridor ahead and the flicker of a lamp marked the progress of the unseen person. Just as it seemed they were to come around the corner and see the intruders, the lamplight jerked to the side and the footsteps started to head away.
“Went down into the cellars,” Montgomery said in a tight voice. “Quick, to the stairs!”
He darted to the staircase in an ungainly fashion and Clara could not help but wonder what a sight the trio would make to anyone seeing them. Montgomery was certainly no cat burglar, that was for sure. They made it to the stairs without delay and were soon heading upwards. The stairs were tight and built into a narrow shaft, with several twists and landings to fit them into the unaccommodating space. There was no natural light other than what could come in from a skylight far above. Clara stubbed her toe on a step and grumbled. Professor Montgomery was getting further and further ahead, still flapping like a demented scarecrow. Clearly subterfuge was not something he found easy to pull off.
Finally, the professor stopped at a landing; the stairs continued upwards to the attic space. Clara and Tommy came to a halt behind him, a little out-of-breath. Tommy’s knees were protesting the sudden climb and he rubbed them, making a quiet groan. Montgomery shushed him again.
“These stairs come out close to the library,” he hissed in a voice that was far louder than Tommy’s groan. “I must check and see that no one is about.”
The professor turned the door knob with little care and made quite a noise as he opened it. If anyone had been around, they would certainly have heard him. He appeared not to appreciate this, as he ducked his head around the door and peered up and down the corridor. From what Clara could make out from behind him, the hallway was pitch black and no one was about.
Professor Montgomery took a deep breath and stepped through the door, motioning for Clara and Tommy to follow. They stood in the passage, Clara feeling disorientated in the dark, while Montgomery swung his head left and right.
“All clear,” he sighed with relief and then turned to his left.
They followed him along the corridor to another door. He grabbed the handle and turned it sharply, only to discover it was locked.
“How dare he!” Montgomery declared rather more loudly than he intended. He gasped and pressed a hand over his mouth. “No matter, I have keys in my office, wait here.”
Montgomery disappeared as fast as he could. Tommy leaned back against the wall behind him and folded his arms across his chest.
“Personally, I would have brought the keys with me, considering the complication this box is causing,” he said.
“Professor Montgomery is not as cynical and cunning as us,” Clara smirked at him.
The professor returned with the keys jangling, which made Clara cringe. He didn’t seem to notice, he was too flustered. He placed a key in the lock and turned it, the door obligingly opened.
“Mr McGhie has been told to never lock the library, in case there is ever a fire,” Professor Montgomery explained to Clara and Tommy. “In the event of a fire, it is imperative we get all the books and important documents safely out of the library. A locked door would impede such an effort and potentially result in the loss of the entire contents. I must have words with McGhie.”
“You do recall we are not supposed to be here,” Clara reminded him. “And you must be careful what you say, else your colleagues will discover what we have been doing.”
Montgomery’s face fell.
“Well, yes…” he muttered, masking the fact that he had completely forgotten. “I shall say I came up early in the morning for a book and found the door locked.”
Clara did not argue with him further. They entered the library and headed straight to the librarian’s counter, behind which was his office and storeroom with its substantial door. This too was locked. Montgomery’s face fell.
“I don’t have a key for this door.”
“Maybe it is kept in the library?” Tommy suggested.
They all began to search the drawers of the cabinets nearest the counter, and then around Mr McGhie’s desk. Tommy pulled out a small metal cashbox from a drawer.
“For overdue fines and such,” Montgomery said, waving away the discovery.
Tommy ignored him and continued to look in the drawer for the cashbox key. He found it tucked into a box of paperclips. He unlocked the cashbox.
“Are you thinking of helping yourself?” Montgomery accosted him.
“I was thinking where I would hide a key that I didn’t want anyone to find,” Tommy hissed back at him, his tone angry. Montgomery was getting on his nerves. “And look what I found.”
He produced an old door key. Professor Montgomery fell silent. Tommy went to the storeroom and tried the key. It turned smoothly and the door unlocked. Pushing it open, they could see only darkness within. Professor Montgomery fumbled near the door and found a chain that connected to a bare bulb in the ceiling of the cupboard. He switched it on, and the room was illuminated with a weak yellow glow.
“Where would he put it?” Montgomery muttered, stepping into the room and then turning around.
“What’s on that very high shelf?” Clara pointed up to the corner of the ceiling where the glow of the bulb barely cast any light.
Professor Montgomery reached up and felt about.
“Ah!” He pulled something off with a scraping sound. “This is it!”
Montgomery took down the box, pulling away a piece of string that had apparently fallen over it. He stepped out of the room and placed it on the library counter. The box had no lock, (Professor Lynch had not been that skilled a craftsman) but was sealed with a burgundy-coloured wax. Tommy offered Montgomery his pocket knife and the academic sawed through the wax, which was thick in places and difficult to break through. Clara wondered if they would be able to fully mask the signs of their activity once they were done. It would be possible to reheat the wax and maybe smooth over the marks of the knife, but it would be awkward, and no one had thought to bring sealing wax or a candle.
Professor Montgomery was grunting as he went to his task, it seemed to be taking ages.
“Do you hear something?” Tommy asked his sister.
Clara paused to listen, though the scrape of the knife made hearing subtle sounds hard. Suddenly she glanced at Tommy.
“Running footsteps!”
At that same moment Montgomery released the lid of the box and it slid off to the floor with a dull clang.
“Aha!” He cried in delight, just as the library door burst open and a frantic Mr McGhie appeared.
“Stop right there Montgomery!” McGhie yelled, before having to cough heartily. “I knew you would try something like this!”
“You were in your rooms!” Montgomery said in alarm. “How did you know?”
“I always suspected you were a sly fiend!” McGhie said triumphantly. “I rigged the box with an alarm. I attached a string to it with sealing wax and ran that string through the walls to my room where it was tied to a bell hanging from my ceiling. The box was enough weight to keep the bell in place, but once it was detached, the bell slipped to the floor of my room and awoke me!”
“That is clever,” Tommy remarked in admiration for the man’s ingenuity.
<
br /> “Wait,” Montgomery became indignant, “you drilled holes through the walls of the Institute without permission?”
“Slightly beside the point,” Tommy mumbled.
“I had to do it, to trap you!” McGhie was pointing a finger at Professor Montgomery. “As soon as you brought in that detective, I knew something like this would occur! You have no faith in old Lynch, none at all! Put that lid back on at once!”
“Before you do that,” Clara said calmly, “maybe you ought to take a look inside.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Mr McGhie did not want to hear of looking in the box, but Clara had started to unpack its contents and the fraught librarian rushed over to grab them. At which point he started to become uneasy. The first paper he picked up was a bill for lemon throat sweets, on the back of which was a scrawled note that said Lynch had been overcharged for them and that anyone reading this in twenty years’ time should collect the extra along with the interest on the sum for the Institute.
“He always did have a sense of humour,” Montgomery remarked.
“There is a letter here,” Clara pulled out a piece of paper. “Should I read it out?”
“No, no, this is not how it was meant to be,” McGhie protested weakly, the throat sweet bill had thrown him. “He asked for the king and bishops.”
“I think I should read the letter aloud,” Clara said gently.
“Go ahead,” Montgomery agreed, suddenly appearing a lot more confident.
Clara cleared her throat and started to read.
“To my colleagues reading this letter twenty years hence, especially to those who have questioned my astrological inclinations. Over the last few years my health has been fragile, and my continuing existence has at times felt too much of a burden, yet I do not give up hope for some relief and I still wish to live, for I have so much to do.
“My studies into astrology began as a way of alleviating a bad period of depression I suffered some years ago. I felt lost, my usual comforts had abandoned me, I could not look upon the stars without feeling that for all my science, all my efforts to understand this universe, I was utterly inadequate to save my own life. I had no answers, only questions. At my lowest ebb, Mr McGhie paid me a visit and remarked on an interesting book he had just read about astrology…”
