The Cyanide Ghost (Mina Scarletti Mystery Book 6)

by Linda Stratmann

  ‘Just the man.’

  ‘And where was he standing? Was he still by the counter?’

  ‘No — he — I think he was on the other side of the shop. He was looking at the pictures on the wall.’

  Mina crossed over to the wall display. ‘Here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘With his back to you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What conversation did you have?’

  ‘Not much. He just said that a boy had come in and delivered something. That was when I saw the little bag of chocolates on the counter.’

  ‘Whereabouts on the counter?’

  ‘I don’t know. In the middle somewhere.’

  ‘So — you can hear the shop bell when the door opens quite clearly from the storeroom?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘Which means that someone had come in. When you came back into the shop, you were expecting to see another person there?’

  ‘Yes, well, that would be usual.’

  Mina went to the door and opened it, causing the bell to ring. It was on a spring, so when she released the door it began to swing shut again and closed under its own momentum in just a few seconds.

  ‘But you didn’t hear the door open again after that?’ Richard scratched his head. ‘The thing is, if the delivery boy had come in and put the chocolates in the middle of the counter, then the door would have swung shut behind him. Then he would have had to open it again to leave the shop. The bell would have rung twice.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Richard.

  ‘Unless,’ Mina continued, ‘the boy held the door open, handed the bag to the customer who was standing looking at the pictures, and left, so the door only opened and closed once.’

  ‘Mina, I really don’t know. I found the bag lying on the counter and I guessed that the boy had just put it there.’

  ‘It would be very unusual for the delivery boy to hand something to a customer, I agree,’ said Mina. She crossed over to the counter and put her reticule in the middle of it. ‘Is that about the right place?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Now you have to pretend to be the delivery boy, because I can’t walk smartly enough.’

  Richard had given up arguing with Mina and came out from behind the counter. She handed him the reticule. ‘Go to the door, open it as if you have just come in, walk to where the bag was placed then go back to the door.’

  Richard obeyed. As he opened the door, the bell sounded. On reaching the counter he put the reticule on it, then he turned and walked back to the door. By the time he had reached it, it had swung shut again.

  ‘So,’ said Mina, ‘unless the boy was actually running — a possibility we can’t altogether dismiss — he would have had to open the door a second time to leave the shop. But you only heard it open once.’ She thought further. ‘How did you know the chocolates were for Lady Brighthelm? Was there a label or marking of some kind?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then how did you know they were for her?’

  ‘The customer told me; he said a boy had delivered something for Lady Brighthelm.’

  ‘But how did he know?’

  ‘He didn’t say. The boy must have said something.’

  ‘Did you hear a voice?’

  ‘No.’ Richard searched his pockets for his cigar case. ‘Can we go home now?’

  ‘Not yet. I want to try something else,’ said Mina.

  ‘If we must.’

  ‘I am the customer, and you are going to the storeroom to look for a frame.’

  Mina stood looking at the display stand, and Richard reluctantly but obediently returned to the storeroom. Mina placed her reticule on the counter. She then walked to the shop door, opened it and closed it, and walked over to view the pictures on the wall opposite the counter. At this point, Richard returned to the shop. ‘A boy just delivered something,’ said Mina, pointing to her reticule.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Richard.

  ‘I think I may do,’ said Mina. ‘There was no delivery boy. The man came to the shop with the bag of chocolates in his pocket. He sent you away to look for something then dropped the bag on the counter and walked away. Then he opened and closed the door as if someone had come in. When you came back, he told you that a boy had delivered chocolates for Lady Brighthelm. There was no label or marking on the gift because he feared that his handwriting would give him away.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘Because he knew they were poisoned.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Because he poisoned them.’

  ‘Oh!’ exclaimed Richard, suddenly wide-eyed as he understood.

  ‘How long did he stay after that?’

  ‘He — left almost at once. He said he would come by another day. But he didn’t.’

  ‘I would hardly have expected him to do so.’

  ‘Oh. Oh, I see. He didn’t really mean it.’ Richard grimaced. ‘Do we have to tell someone?’

  ‘I will write to Inspector Gibbs with my observations. But he is very clever and must have already come to the same conclusion. He caught Miss Edmunds, after all. If he cannot catch this villain, no one can.’

  ‘All right,’ said Richard, looking relieved. ‘Now can we go home?’ he added, hopefully.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Mina. ‘I have one more thing to do. Let me have the keys.’

  Richard delved into his pockets again and handed her the bunch. ‘What do you want them for?’

  ‘I want to look in the office.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘The list you made. Remember I wanted to see it?’

  ‘Yes, but —’

  ‘I won’t be long.’

  Richard leaned his elbows on the counter with a groan.

  ‘And no smoking,’ said Mina.

  He groaned again.

  It didn’t take long for Mina to identify the various keys. She first made sure to relock the storeroom, then opened up Mr Beckler’s office, and began by examining the contents of the shelves. She recognised the same photographic magazines Mr Mayall had in his office, but there were also some old leather-bound ledger volumes which she realised were account books from the time of Mr Simpson. One, neatly kept in alphabetical form, listed all the individual customers and their accounts with brief descriptions of what work had been done. She turned the pages and found names she knew. Samprey, a family group portrait, Bertram Veale standing outside his shop, Miss Porterson-White walking in her garden, Frederick Soules with his chemical apparatus, Aloysius Phipps with croquet mallet, Charles Peasgood with ancestral portraits, Eleanor Honeyacre with puppy, Robert Mulgrew with collected books, and the Scarletti/Inskip wedding. Her father’s name did not appear, and neither did that of any member of the Hartop family.

  There was a small key on the bunch that unlocked the desk. It helped that Mr Beckler kept everything very tidy, and Mina soon located a folder which contained the list that Richard had made of the unclaimed pictures. Every one of the individuals whose graves in the Extra Mural Cemetery had been photographed was recorded there. Again, there was no record of any unclaimed photographs featuring either the Scarlettis or the Hartops.

  A thicker folder caught her attention and when she opened it, she knew she had found what she had most hoped for: copies of all the cemetery pictures. She had to admit, Mr Beckler was a master of his craft. As she examined them, she noticed another significant thing they all had in common: all the subjects were portrayed standing. It was a clever twist, but she saw that a picture of someone seated in an armchair by their own grave would have been far less convincing. Her discovery inevitably raised the question of how the pictures had been achieved, and she thought it was most probably by the method Mr Mayall had described. Mina realised, however, that the portraits themselves and her suspicions, even the expert opinion of Mr Mayall, did not constitute actual proof of how the results had been achieved. There was nothing she could take to a court of law.

  At the bottom of the pile was a s
tiff envelope. It was unsealed, and Mina peered inside and saw a single photograph. When she eased it out, she gasped aloud. It was a portrait of her father, one that she had never seen before. Or at least, not in that form. It was the very image that had appeared beside her in the betrothal picture taken by Mr Beckler.

  Her father was standing at his ease, healthy, smiling. He was outdoors and behind him was a pleasant sweep of grassland, with a cluster of trees in the distance. And all of a sudden, Mina remembered it, the precise event. It had been a sunny day, she didn’t know where or when, but she could feel the warm air on her face, and how hot her clothes felt. There was a fresh smell of new cut grass, and she heard the clatter of teacups from a small table about which the adults were gathered. She had eaten cake and drunk lemonade; she could taste them. Other children were there, larger than she, and there was a brightly coloured ball to chase. She had tripped and bumped her knee, but jumped up again, and kept running and running until she was allowed to catch the ball. She stood up, clasping the ball in both hands triumphantly. A boyish Edward was smiling. Her spine was straight.

  But where, she wondered, had Mr Beckler obtained such a picture? There was nothing on it to say who the photographer was. Then Mina remembered the images Edward had described to her, those in Mr Greville’s family album, ones he said had never been copied; and the horrible truth dawned.

  At that moment, Richard peered through the office door. ‘Have you finished? Can we go now?’ He paused. ‘Mina dear, why are you looking like that? What’s the matter? What have you found?’ He stared at the open drawers, and the papers on the desk. ‘I do think you ought to put all those things back, or he’ll think I’ve been rummaging through his desk.’

  Mina held up the picture to his view. ‘Richard. Please explain this.’

  He was visibly taken aback. ‘I — er — well, it’s a picture of —’

  ‘I know what it is. It’s a picture of Father. One we never had taken. Please tell me how it got here. And also let me know why you allowed it to be used by Mr Beckler to falsify a ghost portrait.’

  ‘How do you know it was me?’ he said, sulkily.

  ‘Richard, it’s always you.’

  He shuffled his feet.

  ‘Don’t stand there like that; come in and sit down. And I want the truth. All of it.’

  ‘I don’t want Mother to know,’ he pleaded, as he sat down.

  ‘Mother is the very last person I would tell. Can you imagine?’

  ‘I don’t want to imagine. But Mina, it isn’t a fraud, not really. Beckler explained it all. I told you all about it.’

  ‘You told me some nonsense about photographs absorbing part of the subject.’

  ‘It’s not nonsense! It’s science!’

  ‘The science that suits Mr Beckler’s schemes. Just tell me first of all how did you get the picture?’

  ‘It was when I was working in London. I had dinner at Mr Greville’s. Did you know he has three daughters? Quite pretty, too. All married, not that I ever thought of —’

  ‘Richard!’

  ‘Yes, well, they are nice enough ladies. One of them showed me the album, and I saw that there were pictures of Father in there. She said that I could take one and have it copied. She fetched an envelope for me, and I put it in my pocket. I suppose I must have forgotten about it.’

  ‘That does not explain how it came into Mr Beckler’s possession.’

  ‘No — well —’

  ‘The truth, Richard. Now.’

  ‘Don’t be so cross, Mina,’ he protested.

  ‘I will be even more cross in a minute if you don’t tell me what I want to know.’

  ‘All right.’

  Mina allowed a few moments for him to collect his thoughts, and for her furious breathing to settle.

  ‘The thing is, I was thinking about the picture with Miss Hartop’s mother, and I said to Beckler how happy our mother would have been if Father’s ghost had been in the portrait that she sat for. When I asked him to take the pictures of Edward’s betrothal, I did wonder if Father might appear there. You remember how Mother was when she thought about it; I knew she would have liked him to be there.’

  ‘I do remember, yes. And when you say you wondered if Father might appear, did you actually mention it to Mr Beckler?’

  ‘Umm — yes — I suppose I must have done. I asked how he thought ghosts happened in pictures. He said that for a ghost to appear there had to be an essence of a person’s spirit in the room. When his first ghost picture appeared, that was at his other business in Twickenham. He was at the beside of a dead man, and he thought that being so recently deceased, some of the essence of the gentleman must have remained in the room. I suppose it must float about in the air — I don’t really know. But for others it can be a part of something that belongs to them. Miss Hartop wears a locket, and he thought it must once have been her mother’s. So I said I could ask Mother to wear some memento of Father when she came for the betrothal pictures.’

  ‘Mother always wears some little memento of Father,’ said Mina.

  ‘Yes, I thought that too. But then Beckler told me about the way that photographs can have some of the essence of the person in them. He thought that it would work even better than something like a locket. He asked me if I had a picture of Father he could borrow. He said all that was needed was to leave it in the studio for a short while, maybe just for a morning, and then I could return it. During that time, some of the essence from the photograph would pass into the air of the room. And then when he took the pictures, Father might appear. But he said I mustn’t tell anyone I had borrowed a picture. He said if I told Mother and nothing happened, then she would be disappointed and upset. And he also said I especially mustn’t tell you, because Mr Hope thinks your influence frightens away ghosts, and if you were to know of it the ghost might not want to appear.

  ‘I thought about the pictures Mother already has of Father. There is the one by her bedside, but she would probably notice if I took it away, as she looks at it so often, and there are some others in her escritoire but that is always locked, and then I remembered the one from Mr Greville’s album. So I said he could borrow that one. When I told him no one else had seen it yet, Beckler said in that case he would keep it for a while and have a copy made and put in a special frame for Mother as a gift. But it would be a while before he could do it, as it takes time for the essence to rebuild.’ Richard gazed at Mina hopefully.

  She remained unmoved. ‘I imagine Mr Beckler was delighted when he learned it was a picture we had never seen. And I have no doubts as to why he has chosen to retain it. I don’t know if Mother would have had suspicions, I am sure she could have found some way of convincing herself of a reason why the images were identical, but Edward and I would have seen at once that it was a copy, and Mr Beckler knows it.’

  ‘You think it wasn’t really Father?’ asked Richard, plaintively.

  ‘What I think doesn’t matter. The betrothal picture brought so much peace and pleasure to Mother, I have no intention of suggesting to her that it is a fraud. The cost to us was not exorbitant, and it was a small price to pay for Mother’s happiness. For myself, I need no photograph in order to live in the hope that Father is watching over us and that he is with Marianne in heaven.’

  Mina tidied away everything, taking great care that the contents of the drawer were placed exactly as she had found them.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ asked Richard, apprehensively. ‘I don’t want to be dismissed. I’ve just started doing the colour tints of ladies.’

  ‘I am not going to do anything, Richard. And you must promise me not to tell Mr Beckler I have seen these pictures. I do think he is a fraud, but I can’t prove it. In a way, I suppose he is like the mediums who entertain people for a shilling. I have no quarrel with them if they make their customers happy. I am hoping that the letter in the Gazette from the Soules brothers will prove to be warning enough. Not everyone will be taken in, and the example of Mr Mumler in America
and his false ghosts is not unknown over here. But I shall keep my eye on your employer, as I do not know what he may do in future to stay in Mr Hope’s good books.’

  Mina did not say so, but she could see that Richard, while bored by some of his work, did enjoy painting backdrops and tinting photographs and was more settled there than he had been anywhere in the past. She was satisfied that for now, there was no great danger of Mr Beckler’s arrest for swindling. Better than that, based on what Mr Mayall had said, the techniques used to produce the spirit images were far beyond Richard’s capabilities, so even if his employer did come under suspicion, it was unlikely that he would be implicated.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The following morning, Richard received a telegram to say that Mr Beckler would be back in Brighton the next day and the shop could then reopen. When Mina eventually learned the reasons for his absence, it was not good news.

  The man who Beckler had left in charge of his Twickenham business had neglected it disastrously, and his reports on takings had been false. He had finally absconded with all the funds and the valuable equipment, leaving the rent of the premises unpaid. There was no alternative but to close the business and sell what small stock remained to a dealer to pay off the debts.

  ‘I am almost inclined to feel sorry for him,’ said Mina. ‘But he has the Brighton business, which seems to be doing well.’

  ‘Oh yes, and Mr Hope called in again,’ said Richard. ‘He is writing another letter to the Gazette to say that the Soules brothers are materialists and he knows the truth, and he is also composing a special article for the Spiritual Banner so that believers will flock to Brighton for Mr Beckler’s pictures. He is taking out advertisements in all the newspapers, and he is going to deliver a talk on the subject to the Brighton Photographic Society. There will be a card in the shop window with all the details. He’s taking a room at the Town Hall. Everyone welcome. He says Mr Beckler will make his fortune.’

  ‘I expect he was very pleased about that,’ said Mina.

  ‘Do you know, it was rather strange, but he didn’t look pleased at all.’