Murder at the British Museum

by Jim Eldridge

  ‘And we have been engaged by the museum to look after their interests in this matter,’ said Daniel.

  ‘That was about the murder,’ said Armstrong curtly. ‘This is different.’

  ‘Not according to the letter,’ Daniel pointed out. ‘The threat is that if the money is not paid, there will be further murders.’

  ‘Let’s see this letter,’ grunted Armstrong.

  He and Feather took the seats that Sir Jasper waved them to, and Sir Jasper handed the superintendent the letter. Armstrong studied it carefully. ‘The handwriting looks like that of an educated person,’ he said. ‘It could be a hoax. Someone trying to make money out of this tragic situation. That’s happened before.’ He handed the letter back to Sir Jasper. ‘I suggest a stake-out. The parcel is left as specified, and a trap set.’

  Sir Jasper looked doubtful. ‘It won’t be easy to raise that amount of money in such a short space of time,’ he said.

  ‘No money,’ said Armstrong firmly. ‘Newspaper in the parcel. If it’s a hoax, no one will turn up. If they do, we’ll catch them. There’s no sense in putting a thousand pounds at risk.’ He turned to Feather. ‘I’ll leave you to organise this, Inspector. You’ve been involved in this sort of thing before.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Feather. ‘As has Mr Wilson.’

  Armstrong scowled. ‘You’re not suggesting a civilian be involved in this?’

  Before Feather could answer, Sir Jasper said, ‘Mr Wilson and Miss Fenton are the museum’s representatives in this case.’

  Armstrong glowered and said, ‘With respect, Sir Jasper, Mr Wilson may have experience of this sort of thing, but Miss Fenton – as a woman …’

  ‘I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself,’ said Abigail crisply. ‘When I was attacked in Egypt I defended myself so robustly the would-be assassin needed hospital treatment.’

  The superintendent looked at them, obviously silently seething. Finally, he said, ‘It’s your decision, Sir Jasper. My instinct is to be against it.’

  ‘I respect that, Superintendent, but the museum has been impressed by Miss Fenton so far, and we would like her to be part of this stake-out, as I believe you term it.’

  ‘Very well, Sir Jasper. I leave that in your hands.’ He stood up. ‘Inspector Feather will make arrangements for the action. We’ll return to the Yard now and he’ll be in touch later to make the final arrangements.’

  With that, Armstrong swept out, his face still grim. Feather rose from his chair and grinned at Daniel and Abigail.

  ‘Let’s meet at the Yard at ten o’clock,’ he said.

  ‘I’m banned,’ Daniel pointed out.

  ‘From inside the building,’ said Feather. ‘We’ll meet by the stables where the vans are kept.’

  ‘Feather!’ came the barked command from the superintendent.

  Feather smiled farewell and left.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Daniel and Abigail arrived at the stables in the cobbled courtyard to the rear of Scotland Yard to find John Feather had assembled five constables. Introductions were made, then Feather outlined the plan.

  ‘I did a reconnaissance of the bench this afternoon,’ he said. ‘There’s a small copse not far from it, and a few ornamental bushes and shrubs also within easy distance. Constables Adams and Nixon will secrete themselves behind the trees of the small copse. Daniel and Miss Fenton, with your agreement, you’ll hide yourselves in the larger ornamental shrub. There’s room for two people to hide there without being seen, providing you tuck yourselves in to the main stem of the bush. Constables McCartney and Yewtree will take position behind a hedge in Cornwall Terrace virtually opposite Clarence Gate. Constable Bean’ – Feather indicated the last uniformed officer – ‘will be the van driver and he’ll park the horse and van about fifty yards away from the gate. He’ll be inside the van, ready to come into action if needed.’

  ‘Say the horse wanders off?’ asked Abigail.

  ‘No fear of that, miss,’ said Bean. ‘I’ll put old Dobbin’s nosebag on him and he’ll be happy munching his way through some oats. And the handbrake will be on, just in case.’

  ‘We should arrive at Clarence Gate at about quarter to eleven, and once there we’ll take up positions and wait. I’ve already made up the parcel with the paper inside, which I’ll put under the bench at a quarter to midnight. I’ll then walk off in the direction of Albany Street, just in case anyone’s watching. I’ll double back using York Terrace and Allsop Place and climb back in the van so I can keep watch from there. If anyone does arrive to collect the parcel, Adams and Nixon will be closest to the bench. Mr Wilson and Miss Fenton will be the next nearest. Whistles will be at the ready at all times. The signal to go into action will be someone either opening the parcel or going off with it. We take no action if someone just turns up and looks at it, then goes off again leaving it unopened. Frankly, gentlemen and lady, this could be a long night with nothing happening. For all we know, it’s a hoax. But we can’t take the chance it might be real. And, if it is, remember we’re dealing with a murderer behind all this. It could be that the person who comes to pick up the parcel is merely a messenger, but just in case it is our murderer, and we already know how ruthless he is, the superintendent has allowed me to draw a firearm from the store.’ He tapped his jacket pocket. ‘So, if you hear me shout “Down!”, drop like a stone. But I’ll only use it if I have to. Any questions?’

  There were silent shakes of heads all round.

  ‘Right, let’s get in the van and get going.’

  As they walked to the van, where the horse Dobbin was already in the shafts, Daniel said, ‘So Armstrong isn’t coming himself.’

  ‘The super decided to leave the surveillance to me and the officers,’ said Feather.

  ‘So, if it goes wrong, he can’t be blamed,’ said Daniel. ‘But if it goes right and we catch someone, he gets the credit.’

  ‘One of the benefits of being a superintendent.’ Feather shrugged.

  They climbed aboard the interior of the van, while Constable Bean climbed onto the driver’s seat.

  ‘Nervous?’ whispered Daniel to Abigail.

  ‘No,’ she said briskly.

  The van rolled on its way, the occupants keeping silence. When it reached Clarence Gate on the outer circle of Regent’s Park, they all climbed down and Bean took Dobbin and the van to his appointed parking space.

  ‘I’ll show you where your hiding places are,’ said Feather.

  They were heading towards the gate to the park when they became aware of another uniformed constable heading towards them.

  ‘Did you alert the beat copper?’ Daniel whispered to Feather.

  ‘Short notice,’ Feather whispered back. He called the party to a halt and let the new arrival catch up with them.

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ said the constable. ‘I saw the police van arrive and saw you all get out …’

  ‘Inspector Feather from Scotland Yard,’ Feather introduced himself.

  The constable saluted, then said, ‘PC Johnson, sir. This is my beat, so if there’s anything happening and I can do anything …’

  ‘Thank you, Constable. We may need your assistance. All I can say at the moment is this is a stake-out and we’ve got the cover we need. But if you wouldn’t mind staying inside the van along the road, out of sight; if anything untoward happens we’d be grateful for your help. The driver of the van is PC Bean. Tell him I sent you.’

  ‘Certainly, sir,’ said Johnson. ‘I’ll keep my ears peeled for a shout.’

  As Johnson headed towards the van, Feather led the group into the park. They stood for a moment, adjusting their eyes to the darkness, then Feather gestured towards a very large ornamental shrub. ‘That’s yours, Daniel and Miss Fenton,’ he said. ‘You going to be alright with that?’

  Daniel shot a quizzical look at Abigail, who said a confident ‘Yes’ and headed towards it. Daniel followed, and the pair pushed their way between the branches of the shrub until they were hidden from outs
ide view.

  ‘Can you see the bench?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘Yes,’ said Abigail.

  ‘Good,’ said Daniel. ‘So can I.’

  There was a pause, then Abigail said quietly, ‘You know when you asked me if I was nervous?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, I was. I still am. But I didn’t want to admit it in front of the others.’

  ‘If it’s any consolation, I’m nervous, too,’ said Daniel. ‘And so are the others.’

  ‘Even Inspector Feather?’

  ‘Especially John. This is his responsibility. If it goes wrong, it’ll be on his head. Also, he’s got a loaded firearm. No one likes carrying one of them in case they have to use it. Take my word, Abigail, I’ve done a lot of stake-outs in my time, and they are awful experiences. You get nervous because you don’t know what’s going to happen, and all you can think of is the worst possible outcome: death or being badly wounded.’ After a thoughtful pause, he added, ‘In fact, thinking about it, I’m not sure it’s a good idea you being here.’

  ‘Why?’ whispered back Abigail. ‘Am I not a part of this team?’

  ‘Yes, but it could be dangerous.’

  ‘You don’t think I can deal with danger?’ she demanded indignantly. ‘You forget …’

  ‘Yes, I know, you beat a potential molester with a shovel. But we don’t have any shovels to hand. And these people may be armed.’

  ‘Inspector Feather has a pistol,’ pointed out Abigail.

  ‘Yes, he has,’ agreed Daniel.

  ‘And there are also some very sturdily built constables in hiding as added protection.’

  ‘Yes, but it is cold at night,’ said Daniel.

  ‘You don’t think I have spent nights out?’ countered Abigail. ‘When I was in Egypt …’

  ‘Egypt is not the middle of London,’ said Daniel. ‘It is the desert, in the Middle East.’

  ‘And if you don’t think the desert gets extremely cold at night, then you have been very badly misinformed. Contrary to the public’s view of deserts in the Middle East as hot and parched places, that may be true during hours of daylight, but once night falls the temperature often drops to below freezing. A colleague of mine froze to death overnight while in the Atlas Mountains …’

  ‘Mountains,’ stressed Daniel. ‘Very cold.’

  ‘This was in Morocco. And he was on the lower slopes of the mountains.’

  ‘Yes, alright,’ said Daniel. ‘I take your point. So, I assume you have dressed for the occasion …’

  ‘I have two pairs of drawers on, plus woollen stockings …’

  ‘You’re just saying that to excite me,’ muttered Daniel with a smile.

  ‘I suggest we stop this conversation before it gets out of hand,’ said Abigail. ‘We need to concentrate our attention on the bench.’

  Time passed. Nothing happened. No one entered the park through Clarence Gate, or exited through it. No one was around.

  At what they guessed to be a quarter before midnight they saw the shadowy figure of John Feather appear, walk to the bench, push a bulky parcel beneath it, then turn and walk out of the park.

  ‘If the letter is genuine, hopefully we shouldn’t have long to wait,’ murmured Daniel.

  But wait they did. Patiently, they sat, their eyes firmly focused on the park bench. No humans were to be seen, but they were aware of lots of activity by small mammals, scurrying across the short grass as they went from copse to bush to shrub in search of nocturnal mouthfuls.

  Suddenly, after what seemed like an age, they were aware of a man entering through the park gate and slowly walking towards the bench. He hesitated, then sat down upon it, and then lay full length on it.

  ‘A tramp,’ whispered Abigail.

  ‘Look at his arm,’ Daniel whispered back.

  One of the man’s arms was dangling down, his hand gently stroking the ground. Then his hand moved beneath the bench and came into contact with the parcel.

  Slowly, the man uncoiled himself and sat up, dragging the parcel out from beneath the bench. He lifted it up and put it on his lap.

  ‘Any moment now,’ whispered Daniel, alert.

  The man tore at the paper of the parcel, reached inside and took out a handful of folded pieces of newspaper.

  Immediately, the shrill sound of a police whistle tore through the silence of the night. The man leapt to his feet, then as he saw the shapes of two constables hurrying towards him from the small copse of trees, he threw the parcel down on the ground and broke into a run, straight towards the ornamental shrub where Daniel and Abigail were in hiding. Daniel began to scramble to his feet amongst the shrub’s branches, ready to launch himself at the man, but he was too late; Abigail had already rolled out into the open from beneath the plant and she stuck out a leg just as the man reached them.

  Smack! The man tripped over her outstretched leg and tumbled face first to the ground, where Daniel hurled himself at him. As Daniel took a firm grip on the man, the two constables arrived, with John Feather and the other constables close behind.

  ‘Got you!’ cried Constable Adams triumphantly.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  They hauled the terrified and handcuffed man out of the park and over to the waiting police van, their prisoner loudly protesting his innocence of whatever it was he was supposed to have done.

  ‘I ain’t done nothing!’ he howled in anguish.

  It was left to the beat constable, PC Johnson, to confirm who he was.

  ‘His name’s Martin Pye, sir, and he’s a vagrant,’ Johnson informed Inspector Feather. ‘He sleeps in the park.’

  ‘Always on the same bench?’ asked Feather.

  ‘Not always,’ said Johnson. ‘Sometimes one of the others, sometimes under a tree if it’s raining.’ He hesitated, before adding, ‘He doesn’t do any harm. There’ve been no complaints about him, or I’d move him on.’

  It turned out that Pye was illiterate, so there was no chance it could have been him who’d written the extortion letter.

  ‘But he could be working for whoever did,’ said Feather.

  But Pye was firm in his protestations of innocence when questioned.

  ‘No one asked me to pick the parcel up. I only opened it in case there might be something useful in it. Food. Clothes. You’d be surprised what people leave behind.’

  ‘What are we going to do with him, sir?’ asked Constable Nixon. ‘Let him go?’

  Feather shook his head. ‘We’ll take him back to the Yard. He can sleep in a cell for the night. At least that way he’ll be in the warm. And he’ll be there if Superintendent Armstrong decides to question him tomorrow morning.’

  ‘I ain’t done nothing!’ repeated Pye desperately.

  ‘In that case, you won’t have anything to worry about.’

  ‘Will I get a cup of tea?’ asked Pye hopefully.

  ‘Yes,’ said Feather. ‘I’ll arrange that.’

  As Pye was loaded into the back of the van, Feather turned to Daniel and Abigail. ‘Hop in. We’ll drop you off at Plender Street on the way.’

  ‘A false alarm,’ commented Daniel.

  ‘At least I didn’t have to use the gun,’ said Feather, doing his best to put a positive spin on it.

  Next morning, after just a few hours’ sleep, Daniel and Abigail arrived at the museum to be met by a worried-looking David Ashford.

  ‘It’s terrible, Mr Wilson, Miss Fenton,’ he said. ‘The exhibition’s been attacked again!’

  Daniel and Abigail hurried with Ashford to the exhibition area. The display of books had been pushed to the floor, the volumes lying scattered, and on the wall just behind them someone had used red paint to scrawl ‘Who killed Ambrosius?’ in large letters. Cleaners were already at work with buckets of soapy water and scrubbing brushes, trying to remove the words, but the paint had dried sufficiently to make it an impossible task.

  ‘We’re going to have to hang a curtain or something over the paint until we can start to chip it off. It’s going to be
the devil of a job,’ said Ashford unhappily.

  ‘Does Sir Jasper know?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘No,’ said Ashford. ‘He hasn’t come in yet. I sent a messenger to his house with a note telling him about it. But I’ve assured him the damage will be sorted out so the exhibition can open. We might be a few minutes late, but we’re not going to let these people – whoever they are – close us down.’

  ‘Have the police been informed?’

  Ashford nodded. ‘We told the local beat constable who was in Great Russell Street. He came in and examined the damage, then sent a message to Superintendent Armstrong at Scotland Yard. We’re expecting him.’

  ‘We’ll take a look at the situation while we wait for Scotland Yard, Mr Ashford,’ said Daniel.

  ‘I’d appreciate it if you could be quick about it,’ said Ashford. ‘I want to get that paint covered up so we can open.’

  ‘Can I suggest a series of screens, rather than a hanging curtain?’ proposed Abigail. ‘The police will want to inspect the writing, and that way they can do it while hidden from the public.’

  ‘Yes, good idea, Miss Fenton,’ said Ashford. Then, in an anxious whisper, he asked, ‘May I ask what happened last night?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Daniel. ‘We had a long, cold night, but no one turned up.’

  ‘So, a hoax then?’

  ‘Possibly,’ said Daniel.

  ‘I’ll arrange the screens,’ said Ashford.

  He moved off, at the same time giving orders to the cleaners and stewards to check the books for damaged copies and restore the displays.

  ‘That was good thinking about the screens,’ said Daniel.

  ‘We used them often in displays at museums,’ said Abigail. ‘They can conceal cleaning equipment, storage boxes, all the unsightly things you don’t want the public to see.’

  They walked to the wall and examined the red painted writing. Daniel tested the paint with his finger and sniffed at it.

  ‘Red lead,’ he announced. ‘The stuff people use for painting their doorsteps. It’s dry, so this was done some hours ago, in the early hours of the morning.’ He looked quizzically at Abigail. ‘Another attempt at disruption by the Children of Avalon, do you think?’