Murder at the Bayswater Bicycle Club

by Linda Stratmann

  ‘None, at present, I believe. They are not prominent; the father was a senior clerk, and the sons have followed that profession. Respectable, but not substantial. Then you’ll see two more names on the list, Miles and Fletcher, both friends of mine. I suggested they try bicycling and they joined a few weeks ago. And there’s a new fellow only just joined; can’t remember his name; I haven’t met him yet.’

  Frances said nothing but wondered if the new member was the mysterious Gideon.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Cedric addressed himself further to cheese and port, and Frances did the same while completing her notes. ‘I assume,’ said Cedric, after a meaningful pause, ‘that there is a good reason why you are not telling me more precisely what it is you are looking for.’

  ‘Those are my orders, I’m afraid. All I can say is that there is a clever criminal who may be connected in some way with the club, or is merely using its amenities. Perhaps there is more than one. But whoever it is has no conscience and acts only for the money he will make.’

  Cedric nodded. ‘Understood. Ah, and now I see the reason for your interest in the financial position of the members.’

  ‘That is correct. I was looking for a criminal, not a husband.’

  ‘No reason why you shouldn’t look for both,’ he said with a smile, ‘although I shall make a close study of any man who catches your eye to ensure that he is worthy of you. You may rely upon me for that.’

  ‘I am not sure I will ever marry,’ said Frances, realising that much as she craved love, even if she was to find it, it would be very hard for her, after engaging in a career as a detective, to settle to a quiet humdrum domestic life. Contentment and fulfillment as a woman would come at a heavy price, and she was not sure it was a sacrifice she was prepared to make. Cedric looked sympathetic, but as a man of great sense, who understood women better than most, he always knew when to abandon a subject.

  Frances used the lull in conversation to unfold her map and lay it across the table. ‘I have been examining the map of East Acton and two questions arise. Where was Morton Vance going when he was killed, and where had he come from? According to information given at the trial of Sam Linnett he lived in lodgings in Acton, only half a mile from where his bicycle was stored. But unusually, on that day, he was late for the club ride. He had been working that morning and was delayed at the office. Do you know where he worked?’

  ‘Yes, he and his brother shared an office in Churchfield Street, Acton.’ Cedric pointed it out. ‘It’s still less than a mile from Springfield Lodge.’

  ‘I assume he would have walked from there to East Acton and collected his bicycle. But where did he go then?’

  ‘The murder took place not long before last year’s summer race meeting, so he was probably getting some practice, strengthening himself. He wasn’t a great racer, but he had entered some of the handicaps. From East Acton he could have taken a nice little ride west up to Friar’s Place, then across the railway bridge, and up Wales Farm Road and that would take him to the top of Old Oak Common Lane. Then he would turn south, back to East Acton and get there in time for tea with his friends.’

  ‘That’s not a long ride,’ said Frances, following the route on the map with her finger.

  ‘No, about half an hour.’

  ‘If Mr Toop was right when he gave evidence as to what time Vance took the bicycle out, and Ross-Fielder was right about when he found the body, which was still warm, either Vance took a rather longer route, or he stopped for a time on the shorter way.’

  Cedric nodded thoughtfully. ‘If he was practising for a race he could well have taken a longer ride. There is a good one, here – you go further west through Acton then north up Horn Lane. That also goes up to the top of Old Oak Common Lane. It’s about an hour.’

  ‘That sounds more likely. But no one seems to have remembered seeing him on the way. At least no one who was called to testify at the trial.’

  ‘Of course, bicyclists are not a rare sight around there. All the men, not only from the Bayswater but the other clubs, would have been out practising for the races. There was more than one club ride and a few men went out alone.’

  ‘If a man had been going too fast where there were houses and passers-by, would that have been noticed and remembered?’

  ‘Very likely, yes. Angry letters to the Times asking for the menace to be banned from the roads. People demanding that bicyclists pay the same tax as carriages. Any police who saw it would have reported it.’

  ‘But there are very few dwellings along Old Oak Common Lane. And there was no policeman in the area at the time of the incident. Once Vance rode south again, he should have turned west onto East Acton Lane to put his bicycle back in the coach house at the lodge. That turning is north of Sam Linnett’s farm, so he would never have needed to go that far down the lane.’

  ‘I agree.’

  ‘Instead of which he continued riding south, past the turning, as fast as he was able, away from safety and towards a known danger – Sam Linnett.’

  ‘Since you put it that way – yes.’

  ‘How can we explain that? Do you really think he was racing someone down the lane? And if he was, who was the man he was racing? Surely in the interests of discovering the truth someone would have admitted to it? Or would he have been too ashamed? I thought the club members were decent men and would have owned up, but no one did.’

  Cedric leaned back in his chair and gave the question serious thought. ‘I don’t think Vance was racing. I never met him, but I have read his contributions to the club magazine, and he struck me as a very steady and sensible fellow who would never have done such a thing.’

  ‘You would never dream of racing down that lane, not even for a wager?’

  ‘No,’ said Cedric, emphatically. ‘I value my life and limbs too much. And Joseph is hysterical enough every time I go out for a club ride.’

  ‘So, tell me, what would make you ride as fast as you could into possible danger?’

  He mused on this for a while. ‘Some urgent, deadly affair. A vital message to deliver. Or some terrible threat, a danger behind me far worse than a violent pig-man.’ Cedric paused. ‘I think I can see what you are hinting at. Sam Linnett claimed that he had left Vance lying in the road, hurt but alive, and someone else came up afterwards and committed the murder. Is that possible? You don’t think Linnett was innocent, do you?’

  ‘I don’t know. Only I feel that there is more to the murder of Morton Vance than was revealed at the trial.’

  Cedric shook his head. ‘Bad business hanging a man, even a horrid brute like Linnett. Not a mistake that can be put right.’

  They were both in a serious mood as the port bottle was closed up and the remaining cheese wrapped carefully and placed in the larder.

  ‘Mr Garton – Cedric,’ said Frances, ‘when your cousin Frank’s bruises have eased a little he would like to pay another visit to East Acton before the race meeting. I want to see if I can find any clues as to what sent Morton Vance on that last desperate ride. According to the evidence at the trial he was his normal cheerful self when he took his bicycle out. An hour later he was not. I want to know why.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Despite the scratches and bruises, the very real risks of more serious injury and the muscle strains she had suffered in places where she would never have suspected she even had muscles, Frances found herself eager to ride the bicycle again. How she wished that she could ride openly as a woman and not in disguise. Was this really an activity to be confined solely to the circus? How she would shock people if she tried it in the respectable avenues of Bayswater! If Frances had had no concerns for her reputation she might have been tempted to try it, but being found improperly dressed in public would not assist her claim to run a respectable business. There were enough men who believed that a woman detective must be a creature of loose morals, even without a public scandal.

  A tricycle was all very fine, and might even be suitable for town use, as it was s
low enough not to alarm horses, but Frances had no stable for it, nowhere to keep such a large machine. If she purchased one for country excursions, would she be permitted to keep it at Springfield Lodge? Did the club even accept women members? In any case, now she had tasted the heady delights and dazzling freedom that could only be afforded by the high-wheeler, Frances knew that she would not be content with a tricycle until such time as age and infirmity dictated it necessary. After all, she reminded herself, Sir Hugo Daffin was sixty-five and he still rode a bicycle.

  Curious to learn more, Frances paid a visit to the Bayswater public reading rooms, where she studied a selection of periodicals devoted to the new recreation of bicycling. She found that it was possible for a woman to ride the smaller wheeled velocipede, but only at the cost of drawing up her skirts to expose her lower limbs, something Frances did not feel ready to do. She also discovered that someone had once adapted a high-wheeler so that ladies in long heavy skirts could ride side-saddle, although in practice this was slow and awkward, the machine proving to be even less stable than the male version. The device, after a brief status as a novelty, had not proved popular. Something, she felt, should be done to give women the independence they could achieve by riding a bicycle, without abandoning either decency or respect, but she didn’t know what it might be.

  There was an interesting advance in store for the bicyclist, since an American inventor, a Mr Edison, who was reputed to be a very clever man, was about to patent a bicycle powered by electricity, the mechanism being enclosed in the hollow backbone. Several articles were devoted to the possible military use of the bicycle, suggesting that troops could employ them to move in silent speed and less tiringly than on foot. It was proposed that a volunteer corps of bicyclists should be formed, whose chief function would be to convey intelligence, a scheme that had already been discussed by the War Office. The main practical drawback was the potential for falls on the kind of rough terrain encountered by armies, a difficulty that had not yet been solved.

  On the day before her second bicycling expedition Frances received a small gift from Cedric, a new invention, a pair of gentlemen’s trouser fasteners, loops of springy steel that men could use to clip around their trousers at the ankle to stop them flapping as they rode. It was such a small thing yet it offered another freedom, the ability to ride a bicycle safely without resorting to knee britches and stockings. Men, she realised, with a sigh of frustration, had given yet another freedom to men. It was obvious that if women were to achieve what they desired they would have to do it for themselves. No wonder the daring Miss Dauntless performed the apparent madnesses she did, she was only taking what should have been hers.

  When Cedric and his young cousin Frank next visited East Acton, Springfield Lodge was alive with activity. Many of the members had arrived to take out their machines for exercise or repair, and Jack Linnett was on hand to advise and assist. There was talk of the current good weather and if it would hold, as the month was predicted to end wet and cool, and farmers were hurrying to get the harvests in. Speculation was lively as to the outcome of the duel between Iliffe and Babbit, the only question being by how much Iliffe would triumph. Sir Hugo was striding about cheerfully, looking on at the busy scene and polishing his monocle with gusto. Toop hurried up with some papers, which he showed to Sir Hugo, the order of the proposed races for the forthcoming meeting, which was duly approved. The only unhappy face in the entire crowd was that of a tall young man with an over long neck and underdeveloped moustache, who was examining his bicycle and shaking his head in dismay.

  ‘That’s Ross-Fielder,’ said Cedric. ‘I hope there is nothing the matter with his machine.’

  ‘Can you find out?’ asked Frances, quietly.

  Cedric nodded and sauntered up to Ross-Fielder, who was bending down beside the bicycle, staring intently at the front wheel. ‘Something the matter, old chap?’

  ‘Yes, it’s bad,’ sighed Ross-Fielder. ‘Very bad. Look at this.’

  Cedric squatted down and examined the problem. ‘Two of the spokes are broken,’ he said. ‘Well, not to worry, Jack is here and they can be replaced easily enough.’

  ‘No, you don’t see it,’ insisted Ross-Fielder, miserably. ‘They haven’t broken. They’ve been cut through. See how clean and sharp the ends are. I rode out yesterday and everything was in order, so it’s happened since then.’

  Toop hurried up. ‘Your machine is damaged?’ he exclaimed. ‘Oh, bad luck!’

  ‘It’s not bad luck,’ moaned Ross-Fielder, ‘it’s been done on purpose! Look at the spokes. Someone has taken a wire cutter to them.’

  ‘Oh surely not. Who would do that?’ Toop bent and examined the damage, then abruptly straightened up. ‘Oh, damme, Ross-Fielder, you’re right!’ A sudden thought struck him and he gave a little yelp of alarm, and dashed into the coach house.

  ‘This is a bad business,’ said Cedric. ‘Toop is right to be concerned, we had better check all the others before any one else goes out.’ He beckoned to Frances. ‘Frank, come with me.’ Frances, who had been standing a little back, hurried to his side and bent to look at the wheel. Now that it had been pointed out she could see that the spokes were cleanly cut.

  ‘What is this?’ asked Sir Hugo approaching them, and Cedric left it to Ross-Fielder to explain. ‘How this saddens me!’ sighed Sir Hugo, grunting as he straightened up after examining the damage. ‘The ignorance of people who cannot see a good thing without destroying it.’

  By now, Jack Linnett as well as the other wheelmen still present had realised that something was amiss and gathered about Sir Hugo for instructions. ‘I am sorry to tell you,’ said Sir Hugo, heavily, ‘that some vandal has made an attack on Mr Ross-Fielder’s machine, severing two of the spokes.’ There was an immediate burst of incredulity but he raised his hands for silence. ‘There is no mistake. The spokes are not broken, they have been cut through. We know nothing of the machines that have already gone out and can only hope that if there is any damage it is of a similar minor nature, which will enable our men to return unhurt. In the meantime, all the remaining machines must be brought out of the coach house and examined with great care before anyone rides them. For myself, I will go and check the workshop and hope that all is undisturbed there.’

  There was immediate assent to carrying out this task as swiftly as possible, and Sir Hugo walked away shaking his head.

  There were enough members still present to bring out the machines onto the pathway and look at them in daylight. Frances managed to occupy herself and avoid any awkwardness by working with Cedric. Sir Hugo soon returned to say that the workshop was still safely locked. Ultimately the exercise resulted in a delay of only about twenty minutes, and the verdict was that the only machine that had suffered any damage was Ross-Fielder’s.

  ‘I’ll have to stay and check it over very thoroughly before I ride it again,’ said that gentleman unhappily. ‘Who knows what hidden mischief there is? Better safe than sorry.’

  ‘Really this makes no sense at all,’ said Cedric to Frances as they took their bicycles out. ‘If anyone was going to be attacked in that way it would probably be Goring or Iliffe, as they are the ones most likely to win the best prizes. And why cut the spokes? The only thing that has achieved is to prevent Ross-Fielder from going out today but of all the things that could have been done it’s the most easily mended.’

  ‘What if he hadn’t noticed the damage before he set out?’ asked Frances.

  ‘With only two spokes gone, he would have sensed some instability in the wheel before he had gone very far, and turned back. No real harm.’

  ‘It might just have been chance that it was his machine,’ said Frances. ‘Some person who hates bicyclists. There are enough of them. And if they didn’t know any better they might have thought it was more serious damage than it actually was.’

  ‘From what the other fellows were saying there have been no strangers seen about the place. Only club members and one or two men who have hired machines before
and are well known.’

  Frances felt that she would have liked to interview all those who had been present that afternoon, since she thought that if she did so she would be able to solve the mystery, but no one had mentioned consulting a detective. The club members, in all probability, would assume that there had simply been an intruder they had failed to notice, and pay better attention to the safety of their machines in future. If the nuisance persisted the police would be called, and if the threat became serious, Cedric might propose that Miss Frances Doughty should be engaged.

  ‘How easy is it to tell the difference between individual machines?’ she asked.

  ‘Very easy for the regular rider. There are different designs, colours, manufacturers. All kinds of special features. Lamps, oil cans, some even have brakes, though you know my opinion on those.’

  ‘But to the non-enthusiast who might not know them apart? If he wanted to tell one man’s bicycle from another’s? How would he do that?’

  ‘Oh, I see what you mean. Many members have their initials engraved on the backbone, or have a tourist’s bag behind the saddle with their name stamped on the leather.’

  ‘Does Ross-Fielder’s machine have such markings?’

  ‘Yes, he bought a new tourist’s bag the other day; he showed it to us. He had HRF stamped on it. Toop was positively jealous and went out and bought one just like it, only his had to be the best cowhide and cost an extra five shillings.’

  ‘So it is possible that the person who damaged Ross-Fielder’s machine might have known that it was his, and made him a specific target?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘You wouldn’t remember if his bicycle was stored near the door, or far from it?’

  ‘Hmmm. Not really. I don’t think it was the nearest one.’

  ‘So other men’s machines were overlooked in order to damage that one?’

  ‘Oh, I see what you mean. Yes.’