Murder at the Natural History Museum

by Jim Eldridge

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ replied Feather. ‘I was just thinking the same thing.’

  As Feather and Cribbens left the museum, the sergeant asked: ‘So, do you think it’s Petter and Wardle again, sir, up to their old tricks but using a different name?’

  ‘If so, why isn’t any name on the letterhead? This sort of extortion only works if people know who to pay.’ He shook his head. ‘There’s something not right about this, Sergeant. In fact, there’s lots that’s not right about this case.’

  ‘So, what are we going to do about it, sir?’

  ‘There’s a possibility that Erskine Petter has sold his scheme to extort money from the Natural History Museum on to someone else. I’ve known it happen before. So, we need to find out who he might have sold it to.’

  ‘But Erskine Petter’s done a runner, and no one knows where he is.’

  ‘But we know where his partner is. I think we need to pay another visit to Wormwood Scrubs.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Mrs Smith was at a filing cabinet putting recent correspondence into the correct files, when a tap at the door of her office and the sound of the door opening made her turn. She saw Dawson Turner enter, an extremely worried look on his face. His actions, too, were agitated.

  ‘Mr Turner?’ she said, concerned.

  ‘I’m sorry to come here, but …’ He faltered, and she asked apprehensively: ‘Has something happened? At home?’

  ‘With Emmeline?’ he shook his head. ‘No. I was at my club last evening and I met an old acquaintance of mine, Jefferson Thwaite, who’s a newspaper man, and he was asking me about Raymond Simpson’s death. According to him, he’d been told by someone he knows in the police that they believe one of the trustees was the person behind it. Is that the case, do you know?’

  Smith hurried to the door, hesitated, then closed and locked it. ‘I’m sorry, Dawson—’ she began unhappily, and Turner, obviously shocked, interrupted to ask: ‘Who?’

  ‘Dawson, please. If I knew who it was, I’d tell you. But Miss Scott wouldn’t tell me the name, just that there are rumours of blackmail.’

  ‘Can’t you find out?’

  ‘I wish I could, but she’s keeping it to herself. She’s instructed me not to make any comments about it and that all enquiries are to go to her.’

  Turner took her hands in his. ‘My God, Penelope. This could ruin our plans. You know I have to wait until my knighthood is formalised before we can be properly together. Please, please, I beg you, try and find out who is being mentioned. Our happiness is at stake. We can’t have this hanging over us.’

  Inspector Feather and Sergeant Cribbens entered the duty office at Wormwood Scrubs and showed their warrant cards to the prison officer on duty.

  ‘Good morning,’ said Feather. ‘We’re here to see Benny Wardle.’

  The officer shook his head. ‘In that case, I’m afraid you’re too late. Him and his brother, Billy, were released yesterday.’

  ‘Yesterday?’ echoed Feather.

  The officer nodded. ‘Every week the governor checks the release dates to see who’s due to be let out and if there’s anything against them. You know, reports of bad behaviour, that sort of thing, that could mean them being kept in for longer. But there was nothing against Benny and Billy Wardle, so yesterday they were released.’

  ‘Was anyone here to meet them?’

  The officer shook his head. ‘No. They just put their own street clothes on, collected their belongings and went.’

  ‘Did they say where they were going?’

  ‘Back home, I expect.’

  Feather turned to Cribbens, a look of annoyance on his face. ‘Right, Sergeant. It’s back to Paddington.’

  As Daniel and Abigail arrived at the museum later that morning they saw the figure of Dawson Turner departing.

  ‘Wasn’t that the trustee?’ asked Abigail. ‘The one who was here when the body was found, who got the brush-off from Sir Henry Irving?’

  ‘I’d hardly describe it as a brush-off,’ said Daniel. ‘Bram Stoker hurried them away. But yes, that was Dawson Turner. He was the one who claims he saw Mason Radley. I wonder what he’s doing here?’

  ‘Possibly catching up on the latest situation,’ said Abigail. ‘It’s nice to see a trustee who takes their duties seriously. So many sit on boards just to get a step up the social ladder, either to get their hands on a knighthood or a safe seat in Parliament.’

  They made their way to Miss Scott’s office and found the curator at her desk.

  ‘Good morning,’ said Abigail. ‘We’re on our way to Scotland Yard to confer with Inspector Feather and see if there’s any news about Mr Radley or anything else.’

  ‘Inspector Feather was here earlier,’ Miss Scott told them. ‘He said he had further questions he needed to ask Dolly and Tess Tilly.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Daniel. ‘What questions?’

  ‘He didn’t say,’ said Scott. ‘But he seemed satisfied with what they told him.’

  Daniel and Abigail exchanged puzzled looks, then Daniel said: ‘I’m sure, if there was anything amiss, he’ll tell us when we see him.’

  ‘There has been another development,’ said Scott.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Lady Fortescue arrived with a letter that threatened her and the other trustees if the dinosaur skeletons weren’t purchased from the Bone Company of America.’

  Daniel frowned. ‘The same as the first letter, the one from Petter and Wardle?’

  ‘Yes. It even contained the same menacing phrase about retribution.’

  ‘Did Lady Fortescue leave the letter with you?’ asked Daniel. ‘If so, may we see it?’

  ‘Inspector Feather was here when she arrived, and he took it with him. He’ll have it at Scotland Yard.’

  ‘Interesting,’ mused Daniel. ‘Was that why Mr Turner was here? As a trustee, had he also received a similar letter?’

  Scott frowned, puzzled. ‘I wasn’t aware that Mr Turner was here,’ she said. ‘He didn’t come to see me.’

  ‘We saw him leaving and thought he must have been with you,’ said Daniel.

  ‘Perhaps he saw Mrs Smith,’ suggested Scott. ‘He knows that she’s aware of everything that goes on, and rather than disturb me he decided to take the letter to her.’

  ‘Do you mind if we ask her?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘Not at all,’ said Scott. ‘We’ll go along there now. But before we do, I have a favour to ask of you, Miss Fenton.’

  Abigail looked at her quizzically. ‘Of course, Miss Scott. If there’s anything that I can do.’

  ‘It’s about our presentation on the work of Mary Anning next Wednesday.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Abigail. ‘I’m very much looking forward to it.’

  ‘The thing is, we’d arranged for someone who actually knew her to introduce the evening, a Mr Jonathan Ewing, but sadly I had a letter from his daughter to inform me that Mr Ewing has passed away.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Abigail. ‘An accident?’

  ‘The accident of passing years, I’m afraid,’ said Scott. ‘Don’t forget, Mary Anning died almost fifty years ago. Mr Ewing was seventy-three and recently fell ill with pneumonia, which took its toll of him. Sadly, most people who actually knew her are also of a certain age, and most aren’t willing to make the long journey from Lyme Regis to London. Would you do us the honour of introducing the evening?’

  ‘I’m obviously flattered to be asked, but I’m not sure I’m the right person for this,’ said Abigail. ‘My area of expertise, as you know, is Egypt and the ancient Middle East. You really need a palaeontologist.’

  ‘We have one, Cedric Warmsley from the British Museum, but to be frank, Miss Fenton, we are looking for what I believe is called in entertainment circles “the name on the marquee”. Someone like Mr Ewing would have been of great interest, even if they were just introducing the evening and Mr Warmsley. But with Mr Ewing no longer available, and especially with such very short notice to find a replacement, and as you are here,
the fact that noted Egyptologist Abigail Fenton will introduce the evening and act as chair for the questions from the audience after the talk will be a major attraction.’

  ‘I fear you may have an inflated opinion of my reputation, especially if you want someone to be – as you call it – “the name on the marquee”. I am not a celebrity.’

  ‘Oh, but you are,’ exclaimed Scott. ‘And not just amongst the archaeological fraternity. I have heard your name uttered with reverence by academics and historians alike. Indeed, you are a celebrity, and as such there are many of the sort of people we would like to come to the talk who will come because you will be there.’

  ‘Well …’ began Abigail, uncertainly.

  ‘Please say you will,’ said Scott.

  Abigail turned to look at Daniel and saw that he was smiling, enjoying her embarrassment. He nodded. ‘I agree with Miss Scott. I can think of many people who would come here if they knew you were introducing the evening. Remember the old maxim: do not hide your light under a bushel.’

  ‘That’s settled, then.’ Scott beamed.

  Reluctantly, Abigail nodded, but with a glare at Daniel. ‘If I am to do this, it would be a good idea if I were to meet with Mr Warmsley to make sure he is in agreement with my appearing at his talk in this way,’ she said, still showing her uncertainty about accepting.

  ‘Oh, he is emphatically in agreement,’ Scott assured her. ‘In fact, it was he who suggested you when I told him that Mr Ewing was no longer available. He knew you were here carrying out the investigation with Mr Wilson.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Abigail. ‘In that case, I shall call on him at the British Museum and we can discuss the evening, and what he would like me to say.’

  ‘Excellent!’ said Scott. ‘I shall send him a message to say you agree and that you will be calling on him. And now, shall we go and see Mrs Smith and find out if Mr Turner brought her a threatening letter that he’d received?’

  Mrs Smith was at her desk, putting papers into order, when the door of her office opened to admit Miss Scott, Daniel and Abigail. Immediately, Smith rose to her feet.

  ‘Do you wish to use the office?’ she asked.

  ‘No, no,’ said Abigail. ‘Just a question before we go to Scotland Yard.’

  ‘Did Mr Turner happen to call on you just now?’ asked Scott.

  ‘Mr Turner?’ said Smith, suddenly seeming agitated. ‘No.’

  Scott frowned and asked: ‘He didn’t come to tell us about a threatening letter he’d received, as a trustee? Only Lady Fortescue arrived this morning with such a letter addressed to her, and I assume other trustees must have had the same.’

  ‘No,’ said Smith. ‘He didn’t come in here.’

  ‘Strange,’ murmured Scott. ‘He must have come to the museum for something else.’

  As they left the secretary’s office, Abigail said, with an apologetic smile, ‘Excuse me a moment, there’s something I need to check with Mrs Smith. I’ll see you downstairs, Daniel.’

  With that, she slipped back into the secretary’s office.

  ‘We’ll go to see Inspector Feather at Scotland Yard and see if there’s any news about Mason Radley,’ said Daniel. ‘At the same time, we’ll try and get to the bottom of this latest threatening letter Lady Fortescue received.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Wilson,’ said Scott. ‘I must admit, this is all becoming rather more complicated than I thought.’

  ‘Out of curiosity, is Mrs Smith married?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘Yes, although her husband is away at the moment and it seems he’s going to be gone for a while. He’s a sergeant in the army and has been in South Africa for almost a year. Why?’

  Daniel smiled. ‘No reason. I like to know about other people when I’m on a case. Force of habit, too many years a detective. Though Miss Fenton calls it nosiness on my part.’

  They shook hands, and Daniel headed downstairs.

  Inside the secretary’s office, Abigail approached Mrs Smith, a look of gentle concern on her face.

  ‘Forgive my intrusion,’ said Abigail, ‘but I couldn’t help but notice your distress when Miss Scott asked if Mr Turner had been here.’

  ‘Distress?’ asked Smith, nervously.

  ‘Mrs Smith, as one woman to another, I recognise the signs,’ said Abigail, again keeping her tone sympathetic. ‘For some reason you didn’t want Miss Scott to know that Mr Turner had been here to see you.’

  The way Mrs Smith looked at her reminded Abigail of a frightened rabbit.

  ‘Was it because he didn’t want Miss Scott to think he might be a nuisance to her if he called in to ask how the investigation is going?’

  ‘Yes,’ burst out Smith, in obvious relief. ‘Yes, that’s exactly it. He’s such a good man and he knows how busy Miss Scott is …’

  ‘And he asked you to keep his visit here secret.’

  ‘For the moment,’ said Smith.

  ‘What did he want to know?’

  ‘As you said, how the investigation was going.’

  ‘And were you able to help him?’

  Smith shook her head. ‘No. I told him there was nothing new, to my knowledge. I didn’t know about this latest threatening letter that Lady Fortescue had received until Miss Scott mentioned it just now. Mr Turner certainly didn’t say if he’d had one.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Abigail. ‘And I can assure you your secret is safe with me. I won’t tell Miss Scott that Mr Turner was here.’

  Daniel and Abigail both waited until they’d left the museum before they talked about Mrs Smith. It was Daniel who raised the matter first.

  ‘What did you make of Mrs Smith’s response when Miss Scott asked her if Mr Turner had called on her?’ he asked.

  ‘She lied,’ said Abigail.

  ‘And that’s why you went back to talk to her?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Abigail.

  ‘And what did she say?’

  ‘I gave her an out. I suggested she was covering up for Mr Turner because Miss Scott might think he was a nuisance if she found out he’d called to see how the investigation was going.’

  ‘And she fell on that?’

  ‘With great gratitude. Which made me even surer that there was something else going on.’

  ‘You think she’s having a relationship with him, don’t you?’ said Daniel.

  ‘I do,’ said Abigail.

  ‘So do I,’ said Daniel. ‘Her reaction was that of a guilty person, but one who’s not used to lying.’

  ‘I agree. She was caught off guard and got flustered,’ said Abigail. ‘The question is: is the fact they’re having an affair relevant to the murder enquiry?’

  ‘I can’t see it is,’ admitted Daniel. ‘But then, sometimes any investigation is like a jigsaw puzzle. You don’t know which are the important pieces until you start to get the whole picture.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Inspector Feather and Sergeant Cribbens stood in the small, cramped storeroom behind the grocer’s in Paddington and watched Arnold Pinder as he shook his head.

  ‘No, Inspector. I’ve no idea where Benny and Billy have gone. They turned up to collect some stuff they left here with me when they went away, and that was it.’

  ‘They didn’t give any idea where they were going?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about their old rooms upstairs?’

  ‘Rented out to a couple of blokes who work on the railway.’

  ‘Nothing of theirs was left in them?’

  Pinder shook his head. ‘Nothing. They left a suitcase with me which had some clothes in, and I put it in the storeroom here for safe keeping. That was what they picked up when they come here.’

  ‘Were they surprised to find you still had it?’ asked Feather. ‘Most people would have taken it down the pop shop and got some money for it.’

  Pinder gave a grin. ‘Only people who don’t know Benny and Billy. I gave ’em my word I’d keep it for ’em. You don’t want to break a promise to the Wardle brothers; they get a bit
annoyed. And when they get annoyed, people get hurt.’

  Outside the shop, Feather and Cribbens took stock of the situation.

  ‘What shall we do next, guv’nor?’ asked Cribbens.

  ‘If Benny and Billy run true to form, they won’t go far,’ mused Feather. ‘This is their patch. The best thing is for you to go along to Paddington nick, see your old pal there and ask him to keep his eyes and ears open for them. He might even have word about them.’

  Cribbens nodded. ‘If anyone knows what goes on in Paddington it’s Jim Bunn. Are you coming with me, sir?’

  ‘No, I’d better get back to the Yard and report to the superintendent, tell him about this latest threatening letter. I’ll see you there later.’

  Feather stepped into the police carriage waiting outside the grocer’s and headed back to Scotland Yard. A message from Superintendent Armstrong was waiting for him on his desk: See me.

  Superintendent Armstrong was reading a newspaper when Feather knocked at his office door and walked in.

  ‘You wanted to see me, sir?’

  Armstrong scowled and pushed the newspaper aside. ‘The papers are getting on our backs about this Natural History Museum killing, Inspector. Accusing us of not doing our job properly because we haven’t got anyone in custody. What’s happening?’

  ‘I was at the museum early this morning, sir. One of the trustees has received a threatening letter similar to the one the museum was sent, just before the dinosaur skeleton was smashed. It repeats the threat of retribution of some kind unless the skeletons are bought from this Bone Company.’

  ‘Skeletons?’ burst out the superintendent angrily. ‘We’re not concerned with dinosaur skeletons, Inspector. That’s not what the commissioner and the public are interested in with this case. They want to know we’ve caught a murderer. What about this Mason Radley leaving for India? Anything on ship manifests, passenger lists?’

  ‘No, sir. We checked and we’ve not been able find his name on any ships bound for India.’