“Mother! Reading at the breakfast table! Tut! Tut!” Victoria teased.
Maud smiled. “I know, I know. My standards are slipping daily, it’s true. Anyway,” she continued to Tollman, “the editor quotes an article by a Baron von Hügel, which obviously appeared in some magazine. It says, and I quote, Theory and system is, for the average Englishman, something that instantly puts him ill at ease…” She paused while Tollman made a noise of disapproval, then continued, “or at least something that he disbelieves and avoids. For the German, it is in his very blood. It is this innate need of a system that renders the German steady but also obstinate; virile and brutal; profound and pedantic; comprehensive and rich in outlook, and rationalist and doctrinaire.” Maud stopped to savour the looks of astonishment from everyone around the table.
Caroline spoke first. “I should think that Mr Tollman disproves that theory, wouldn’t you?”
“Well, quite,” agreed Beech. “There is no one who loves a system as much as Detective Sergeant Tollman.”
“I agree with the bit about ‘brutal’ but I’m not sure that Germans are any more ‘virile’ than any other nationality, are they?” Victoria added.
Lady Maud smiled again. “I am sure you will agree with this next piece. I quote again: Germans seem to have but little faculty of self-criticism; or perhaps it is the absence of any sense of humour that enables them to say or sing things that trend perilously near balderdash.”
There was a general ripple of agreement around the table and Maud looked pleased with herself.
“Well, despite this baron’s obviously German name, he seems to be batting for the British team,” observed Tollman.
“He does indeed. It’s a very interesting article,” Maud observed. “Well, I shall leave you now to your meeting,” and she rose from the table. “Although,” she added ruefully, “I do wish I could help in some way. I’m feeling rather surplus to requirements at the moment. All my committees have adjourned for the summer and I feel the need of some occupation.”
“Actually, Maud, there is a way you can help us,” Beech said hopefully.
Lady Maud beamed and sat down again. “I’m all yours. What is it? Some more undercover work? Following a suspect?”
“Nothing so dashing, I’m afraid. Tollman and Rigsby came back from the London Herald yesterday with masses of letters of complaint about Adeline Treborne. I wondered if you and Victoria could read through them all, this morning, and isolate any letters that you feel represent a genuine threat to the deceased. I’m sorry but it may not be very pleasant.” Beech sounded apologetic.
Lady Maud was enthusiastic nonetheless. “Wonderful!” she pronounced. “A whole morning reading about gossip. I shall relish it. Let me know when you are ready for me. I shall be down in the kitchen discussing the week’s meals with Mrs Beddowes.”
The team then discussed the day’s tasks. Tollman and Billy had discovered that ‘the Major’ banked with the London County and Westminster Bank in the King’s Road. They were going to stake it out all day, in the hope that he would turn up to either deposit or withdraw money. Beech, meanwhile, was going to Scotland Yard to obtain a warrant to search ‘the Major’s’ apartment. Caroline had pronounced that Mabel, who had ‘got the bit between her teeth about the scientific side of criminal investigation’, wanted to do some further examination of Adeline Treborne’s apartment and Caroline had agreed to accompany her before they both started their shifts at the hospital in the afternoon.
“I don’t know what we will find, but Mabel seems to think we should scour every inch of the place looking for anything untoward.”
Beech felt it couldn’t hurt and had given permission. Victoria and Lady Maud were, of course, going to sift through the letters of complaint sent to the London Herald.
Caroline, Tollman and Billy decided to share a taxicab to Sloane Square. On the way, Billy said casually, “Dr Allardyce, is there anything that can be done about someone who is tongue-tied?”
“Do you mean emotionally or physically?”
“Physically.”
“It depends. If the condition is suitable, then a small snip of the frenulum – the bit under the tongue – can solve the problem. But I would have to have a look at the tongue in question. Who is it?”
“David, the boot boy at Trinity Mansions. He’s had a rough old time in life, I reckon, because of his speech impediment. He can’t read or write but that’s probably cos they didn’t bother with him at school. Marked him down as a dummy, because he couldn’t speak properly.”
Caroline patted Billy’s hand. “I’ll have a look at him, when Mabel and I have finished. Would I find him down in the kitchen?”
“Yes. Just ask Mrs Bailey. But, mind, she’s fiercely protective of him. Reckon he’s the son she never had, or something.”
Caroline smiled. “If I mention that you sent me, do you think she would let me have a look at him?”
Billy grinned and nodded.
Trinity Mansions hove into sight and the redoubtable Mabel was standing on the pavement with another basket full of glass vessels.
“Bless her, she’s so keen,” murmured Caroline.
“Ah, well, she’s like Lady Maud,” said Tollman. “Some people just like to be needed.”
They piled out of the taxicab, exchanged pleasantries and then the women went into the building and the men sauntered down the King’s Road to start their stake-out.
“I’ll have a word with the branch manager,” instructed Tollman, “and then we must make ourselves inconspicuous and wait it out.”
“What if he doesn’t turn up today, Mr Tollman?”
“Well, then we’ll have to come back tomorrow. But if he hasn’t turned up by the time the banks close, we’ll go and see if Mr Beech is at the apartment and see what we can turn up there.”
They turned into the palatial banking hall of the London County and Westminster Bank and Tollman made a beeline for the nearest banking clerk. Discreetly showing his warrant card, he said, “We need to see your manager immediately,” and the clerk scurried off to find him.
Billy noted that there were four banking windows and three of them were staffed by women. The fourth was staffed by a middle-aged man. He felt a little pang of sorrow as he wondered how young bank clerks, with their soft hands and their sedentary lives, were faring in the brutality of the trenches. When Billy was fighting at Ypres, he had been among, mostly, hardened professional soldiers, like himself, and it had been grim. Nope, the front line is no place for soft civilians, he thought. Not at all.
***
“I have never read such an extraordinary level of distress, in my life!” exclaimed Lady Maud, now on her twenty-seventh letter. “These are not letters of complaint, they are cries from the heart! And what makes it worse is that I know some of these people!”
“Mm. I can’t say that I know them but I know of them,” Victoria agreed. “Have you come across a letter from Lady Hetherington? Only I’ve got one here where she refers to her previous letter, so there must be another one in the pile.” Victoria shook her head in dismay. “She talks about Adeline Treborne’s scurrilous piece about her daughter actually causing the girl’s engagement to be broken off by the man she was supposed to marry.”
“Disgraceful. I have one here that is heartbreaking,” replied Maud. “All the more so because I know the woman in question. The letter is from Mrs Barrington, the daughter of Ida Toller-Bridge. Well, the daughter talks about the fact that her father left her mother for some American heiress, and divorced her. It was absolutely no fault of Ida’s. I mean, she had no say in the matter. She was abandoned and then divorced and played no part in the scandal. They tried to keep it quiet, of course, but Adeline Treborne wrote about it before it was common knowledge and before Ida had had a chance to tell the Queen. Ida was serving on the Committee of Queen Mary’s Work for Women Fund and regularly went to t
he Palace to have tea. She had been hoping to explain matters to Queen Mary and gracefully retire from the committee, but Adeline Treborne scuppered all that. Before Ida knew it, she received a letter from the Palace saying that in keeping with protocol over matters of divorce, she could no longer serve on the committee or be received at Buckingham Palace. Ida was heartbroken. That committee was everything to her. She really is quite a broken woman. Do you think I should set this letter aside for Peter to look at?”
Victoria shook her head. “No, Ma. I’m sure that Ida Toller-Bridge’s daughter felt like killing Adeline Treborne but Caroline has proved that it would have had to have been a strong man who lifted up her body and put it in a noose. Besides, I have a dozen equally heart-rending tales here,” – she waved a sheaf of letters – “all from victims or relatives of victims of Adeline Treborne’s vile gossip column. I think Peter may be looking for something a little more sinister than that. A sort of Jack the Ripper type letter, if you will. One that threatens Adeline with harm.”
Maud sighed. “Righto. I shall carry on. But I shall have to have a large brandy when we have finished. This is positively harrowing!”
***
Mabel peered at the carpet underneath the place where Adeline Treborne’s body was found hanging. She got out a magnifying glass and Caroline stifled an urge to make a Sherlock Holmes joke. Suddenly, Mabel said, “I thought I felt something underfoot, when we were moving around here yesterday. I only hope we haven’t degraded it too much.”
“What is it?” asked Caroline, peering at the place on the carpet that interested Mabel the most, but not really being able to see anything.
“I think it’s some sort of plaster or cement. That’s what it looks like to me,” said Mabel, getting out a scraper and a paper envelope.
“Might it be from the damaged light fitment?” Caroline suggested, pointing upwards.
“Mm. Could be. I’ll take a sample from the carpet and then, if you can steady me while I climb on the bedstead, I’ll see if I can reach the ceiling fitment and take a sample from there.”
Mabel assiduously scraped away at the carpet and deposited the cement particles, or whatever they were, into the envelope, sealed it and labelled it. Then she climbed on the bed and was about to place her boots on the thick wooden bed-end when she stopped and got out her magnifying glass again. “Look!” she said excitedly, “more residue of something.” Caroline peered again and, this time, she could see two marks on the varnished wood, about twelve inches apart.
“I think they are boot marks,” Caroline suggested. “If someone were to climb up there to rig up a noose, they would plant their feet right where those marks are – don’t you think, Mabel?”
Mabel agreed, and another envelope was labelled, and a fresh scraper was used to take the residue off the bed frame. Then Mabel recommenced her climb on to the frame, while Caroline held her around the legs, to stop her from wobbling.
“I can just about reach,” said Mabel, the effort of stretching up to the ceiling evident in her voice. “Someone taller than me would have no problem.” She scraped at the cracked ceiling plaster and added it to another envelope. Then she carefully unwrapped the cord from the ceiling light. “I can’t do much with this, other than to soak it in a salt solution and see if any blood comes out. But we already know that she was almost certainly dead when she was hanged, so there probably won’t be any blood. One can only prove by elimination, says Dr Hans Gross.”
“What do you mean?” asked Caroline.
“Well, if Adeline Treborne had been alive and died as a result of hanging, it would not be unreasonable to assume that the cord would have bitten deep into her flesh as she struggled, and extracted some blood from the tissue around her neck. So, the fact that the cord may not hold any blood proves by elimination that she could not have been alive or been hanging up here for very long.”
“I see.” Caroline was impressed. “You really do seem to have a vocation for this sort of work, Mabel.”
“If it were a proper science, I’d sign up for training straight away,” announced Mabel firmly. “Hang on to me, Caroline, while I get down…” Caroline took Mabel’s hands and helped her navigate from bed to floor.
“I can already tell,” observed Mabel, slightly breathless from the exertion, “that the ceiling plaster is not the same as the other material. It’s white and the substance on the carpet and on the bedstead is grey. I can’t wait to analyse it,” she said cheerfully. “Now, we’d better make a note of the food left on the plates in the living room, so that I can match them with the stomach contents. If I do that, could you put all the medicines on the bedside table in the basket? I’d better check that they are what is actually described on the labels. Then we’d better scout around for any other drugs, hidden away in cupboards or drawers.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Caroline, saluting and laughing.
“Oh dear, am I being bossy?” Mabel asked, looking worried.
“Mabel, you can be as bossy as you like. I am filled with admiration at your cleverness and organisation.” And she laughed again as Mabel blushed.
***
Billy was getting bored. They had spent the last two hours on guard at the bank and, so far, nothing. It had all started so well. The manager had confirmed that a Major Sutcliffe had an account with the branch and, upon looking at the daily ledgers, noted that he had made regular deposits of cheques and cash, every few days in the last month. It was estimated that he visited the bank roughly every three days and now he was overdue.
The four bank clerks that manned the windows were summoned, one by one, and told that Major Sutcliffe was a confidence trickster and that if he presented himself at their window, they were immediately to offer an apology and absent themselves from their post. Tollman and Rigsby would then know that the man standing by that window was the Major.
Tollman could see that Billy was restless and he strolled over to him. “Patience, lad,” he murmured. “If we don’t get him today, then we’ll get him tomorrow.” Suddenly Tollman stiffened and rapidly turned his back. “Billy! The man walking in the door now! I recognise him, and I don’t want him to recognise me. Keep your eye on him and shout for me when you’ve collared him.”
Tollman walked towards the desk in the corner and sat, facing away from the counter, while pretending to write. Billy fixed his eye, casually, on the man who had just entered the bank and then slowly followed him towards the counter. He was aged about fifty, a little bit portly, with an extravagant moustache. He was clutching a briefcase. The man spoke to one of the women clerks and passed some banknotes across the counter. The clerk greatly impressed Billy by not getting in a flap but simply leaning forward to the man, murmuring her apologies and then walking away from her post.
Billy was almost behind him when the man, irritated, leaned forward towards the window and called “Excuse me, Miss!” in a loud voice.
Billy tapped him on the shoulder and said in a friendly tone, “Expecting to be served, are you?”
“What?”
“I think she left because she was too embarrassed…” Billy continued.
“What are you talking about?” The man was getting really irritable now.
“Too embarrassed to watch you being nicked,” Billy said with a grin as he deftly put the man in a half-Nelson. “Mr Tollman!” he shouted, and Tollman was immediately at his side.
“Well, well,” said Tollman sarcastically, “if it isn’t the Reverend Todd!”
“Eh?” said Billy, with a puzzled smile on his face.
“Oh yes, Constable Rigsby,” Tollman continued, as the fascinated bank staff and customers became transfixed by the drama. “Meet Reginald Ingham, also known as the Reverend Todd, who collects money on behalf of a mission in Swaziland, also known as Mr George Bywaters, a solicitor who has some very good news about dead relatives, also known as Sergeant Percy Matthews, wounded veter
an of the Boer War who needs some money so that he can have an operation and now, it appears, also known as Major Sutcliffe, the saviour of polo ponies.” Tollman drew a deep breath. “Reginald Horace Ingham, I am arresting you for larceny by obtaining money under false pretences and also on suspicion of murder…”
“No!” Reginald finally found his voice and it held a note of terror. “I never laid a finger on her! You’re not stitching me up for that bitch’s murder!”
There was a gasp of shock from the onlookers and Billy clipped the side of Ingham’s head with his free hand. “Oi! Language! There’s ladies present!”
“We’re going to take you into the bank manager’s office and detain you there until we can get a police vehicle to come and pick us up,” said Tollman matter-of-factly. “We shall take all the details of your transactions as evidence and we shall count the money you were attempting to pay in today… including this cheque from a Mrs Emilia Warren, which she sent to the Hurlingham Club.” Tollman produced the letter from his pocket.
“So that’s how you found me,” muttered Ingham. “Stupid woman! She should have given me the money on the spot.”
“Strikes me that you’re the one who’s been stupid. And you can tell us all about it when we get you down to the Yard.”
***
Mrs Bailey eyed Caroline with suspicion. “With all due respect, you don’t look like a doctor, miss.”
“I assure you that I am, Mrs Bailey. I work at the Hospital for Women in Euston Road and I’m a very good friend of Constable Rigsby’s.”
Mrs Bailey softened. “Well, I suppose that’s all right then. Sit down, Doctor, and have a cup of tea.” Tea was Mrs Bailey’s solution to everything.
Caroline sat and waited patiently for the tea-making process to be completed. She wondered if she had made the right decision to come down and see the boot boy, after waving Mabel and all her samples off in a taxicab. Mrs Bailey seemed a bit of a dragon. Susceptible to Billy’s charms but probably not to the dubious charms of lady doctors.
A Death in Chelsea Page 8
