by Kerry Tombs
‘I see you have worked it all out, Ravenscroft. It was that damned headstone that gave it away! You were right. Shortly before my son Malcolm died of that dreadful fever, he spoke of his suspicions regarding Evelyn. A few weeks after his death, my wife also died. I had no desire to remain in Hay, and, as you said, joined the army using my wife’s maiden name, Henderson. My service took me out to Africa, and then India for a number of years, but all the time I was out there I could not forget my wife and my two children, and swore that one day I would make Evelyn pay for the way he had abused my boys! Then last year, I was appointed as the superintendent of the force here in Worcester. I found that Evelyn was still alive, and wanted to kill him for what he had done all those years ago — but first I used him to acquire the two manuscripts, which I then sold on to Renfrew. The man was an evil predator who took innocent young boys and corrupted them. He deserved to die.’
‘I understand that. Nevertheless, a crime has been committed and you know that I must arrest you for the murder of Nicholas Evelyn,’ said Ravenscroft firmly.
‘Damn it, Ravenscroft, can’t you see the justice in all this? The man finally paid for his crimes. What good would it do to arrest me? Any father would have done the same,’ pleaded Henderson.
‘I’m sorry,’ replied Ravenscroft looking down.
‘Then you leave me with no alternative.’
Ravenscroft looked up to see that Henderson had removed a pistol from his coat pocket.
‘I don’t want to do this, Ravenscroft. You are a decent enough man, but I’m not prepared to face the gallows. It’s your word against mine, but I can’t take the risk in letting you go. I’ll say I came up here and found you dead. Shot by our murderer before I arrived. People will accept my word. I am, after all, the superintendent of the local force. I’ll arrest Cranston, plant the gun in his rooms, and charge him with your murder.’
‘Very neat; you seem to have thought of everything.’
‘I really am sorry. There’s no other way out,’ said Henderson pointing the gun at his junior officer.
‘And I’m sorry to have to disappoint you, sir, but before you press that trigger, you might consider that I would not have been so foolish as to come up here alone.’
‘Don’t be stupid, man! There’s no one else here but us. That’s just foolish bravado!’
‘That’s where you are wrong. You see, after you climbed the stairs, I gave instructions that you were to be followed. Our conversation and your confession have been witnessed by Constable Crabb, Brother Jonus and two officers who have been situated all this time at the top of the steps.’
‘Stuff and nonsense! You’re bluffing!’ protested Henderson, going red in the face and waving his pistol around.
‘I assure you that I am not. Show yourselves, gentlemen!’
Crabb, Brother Jonus and a number of police officers emerged from the stairwell and stepped out on to the top of the tower.
‘Damn you, Ravenscroft!’ shouted Henderson.
‘So you see, there is no point in continuing. Give me your revolver, if you please.’
Henderson glanced at the others, and then stared at Ravenscroft a look of hatred on his face.
‘My son, do as the inspector says. Atone for your sins,’ pleaded Brother Jonus taking a step forwards.
‘Stay back!’ yelled Henderson.
‘You can’t shoot us all,’ added Crabb.
‘Damn you all!’ shouted Henderson, flinging the gun over the parapet. ‘Damn you!’
‘Take him, men,’ instructed the inspector.
Two uniformed officers stepped forwards and placed a set of handcuffs around Henderson’s wrists.
‘Constable Crabb, perhaps you would be good enough to see that you and the other officers escort the superintendent back to the station.’ said Ravenscroft.
‘Right you are, sir. Come along, Mr Henderson,’ said Crabb laying a hand on the arrested man’s arm and leading him down the steps.
‘So, my son, you have caught your murderer at last,’ said Brother Jonus.
‘Indeed. It was Henderson who took the monk’s habit that night and used it to conceal himself, as he made his way down to the river, where he killed Evelyn.’
‘Terrible. Quite terrible!’
‘I must say I have a degree of sympathy for him. He had lost both his sons and his wife. I suppose, though, that the real criminal in all this was Evelyn himself,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘Yes, the poor man. I should have been able to help him.’
‘You could do little for him, Brother Jonus. He lived with his guilt for nearly forty years. The last thing he wanted in this life was to confess his sins to anyone,’ suggested Ravenscroft.
‘It is to be hoped, Inspector, that in his moment of death, he might have finally asked for forgiveness and have been granted salvation by our Lord.’
‘Who knows, Brother? I know one thing, however.’
‘And what is that, my son?’
‘I will be mighty relieved to get off this roof. Heights and I do not go well together.’
‘Then it is to be hoped that your eventual passage to Heaven will be made as easy as possible,’ smiled Brother Jonus, as the two men began their descent.
‘Before that occurs, Brother, there remains much work to be done. I must now recover the Whisperie, before Renfrew learns of Henderson’s arrest and flies the coop!’
Darkness was beginning to fall, as Ravenscroft, Crabb and a group of uniformed officers found themselves standing outside the house of Dr Silas Renfrew.
‘At least the house does not appear to have been locked up, so we can hope that the owner is still in residence,’ said Ravenscroft, lifting up the knocker and bringing it down heavily on the wooden door.
‘Let’s hope that he still has the manuscripts, sir,’ said Crabb.
The door opened to reveal the manservant Georgio.
‘We wish to see your master,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘My master, he is a’busy. Cannot see you,’ said the Italian, glaring at the policemen, before attempting to close the door in Ravenscroft’s face.
‘I’m sorry that will not do,’ said Ravenscroft pushing past the servant, closely followed by Crabb and his colleagues.
‘What is a’this?’ protested the Italian.
‘You three men take the upstairs. You other two take the kitchens. You know what you are looking for. On no account let anyone leave the house,’ instructed Ravenscroft.
‘You cannot, a’do this,’ replied Georgio, grabbing Crabb by the shoulders.
‘That’s all right, Georgio. Let him go. The police are only doing their duty’, interrupted an American voice.
‘Doctor Renfrew,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘So, Inspector, we meet again. I see your curiosity has got the better of you. May I ask on what grounds you have sought to violate my house?’
‘We have reason to believe that you are in possession of stolen property,’ answered Ravenscroft, making his way across the hallway towards the library.
‘Ah, you mean the Antiphoner and the Whisperie. I have already proved to you, Inspector, that I purchased the former work legally in New York some years ago, before I came to this country. As to the Whisperie, you will not find it here because I have never been in possession of it in the first place,’ said Renfrew, in his familiar, confident, slow American drawl.
‘We have arrested Henderson who has told us everything. How he sold you both manuscripts,’ said Ravenscroft, quickly looking round the study, reassured that the Antiphoner still lay within its case.
‘My God, Inspector, you must be desperate if you have arrested your own superior officer,’ laughed Renfrew.
‘Then you deny the accusation, Dr Renfrew?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘Of course I do. The whole idea that Superintendent Henderson sold me two stolen manuscripts is the height of absurdity — or perhaps this is all an example of your strange English humour?’
‘We have contacted the auction
house in New York, and await their reply. I am confident that their response will indicate that they did not sell the Antiphoner to you. I believe you obtained a copy of their headed notepaper and wrote out the receipt yourself. I’m sure that a close analysis of the handwriting on the receipt and a copy of your own hand will prove that they are one and the same.’
‘I see, Inspector,’ replied Renfrew, looking somewhat crestfallen.
‘It would save us all a lot of time and bother, sir, if you confessed to the purchase of the Antiphoner knowing it to be stolen,’ said Ravenscroft, confronting the American face to face, knowing that at last he had disturbed the other’s usual calm exterior.
‘Very well, Inspector,’ sighed Renfrew. ‘I confess that Superintendent Henderson did approach me a few months ago with the Antiphoner. He said that the work had been stolen from the cathedral, but had been personally recovered by himself, and that he was making investigations as to who the culprit was. In the meantime, he did not wish to return the manuscript to the cathedral authorities, and asked me to house it here in my own collection for safe-keeping, whilst he was continuing with his investigations, pending its eventual return to the library. Of course, had I known that Henderson had stolen the work himself in the first place, then I would have contacted the appropriate authorities straight away, but then I had no cause to suspect him,’ said Renfrew recovering his composure.
‘That is all rather too plausible, sir,’ said Ravenscroft sarcastically.
‘It is what I shall say in my defence, Inspector, should you foolishly still feel compelled to press charges and bring the case to court. I warn you that I have a very good lawyer in London.’
‘Is that a threat, sir?’ Ravenscroft said, getting warm under his collar.
‘Oh, certainly not, Inspector; I am merely informing you of my intentions,’ replied Renfrew, giving a brief smile.
‘I will ask you and your servant to accompany my officers to the station, where a statement will be taken from you later,’ said Ravenscroft, turning away.
‘Of course, Inspector, I will be more than pleased to assist you in your inquiries.’
‘In the meantime, we will take possession of the Antiphoner, and return it to its rightful place.’
‘If you insist.’
‘Where is the Whisperie, Dr Renfrew?’
‘I have never received the Whisperie, from anyone.’
‘Henderson told us that he sold you the work.’
‘Then he is mistaken.’
‘I have to tell you that we will make a thorough search of these premises until we recover it,’ said Ravenscroft, pacing up and down.
‘You will be most welcome, Inspector, but I fear you will be wasting your time: I do not have the Whisperie in my possession,’ said Renfrew, a note of defiance creeping into his voice.
Ravenscroft stared at his adversary. He knew he was lying, and he was determined to find the work. ‘Escort Dr Renfrew and his manservant to the station, and take their statements,’ he said, addressing two of his uniformed officers.
Renfrew smiled and turned to leave the room.
‘We will find the Whisperie,’ announced Ravenscroft, trying to sound as confident as he could.
‘I sense that your search will prove fruitless, Inspector,’ said Renfrew, a superior tone to his voice. ‘I look forward to receiving a full apology.’
‘Close the door, Crabb,’ instructed Ravenscroft after they had gone.
‘He’s a slippery cove, if ever I saw one,’ said Crabb.
‘The man is insufferable. It was more than I could do to restrain myself from laying my hand on that supercilious face. The worst thing is that he’s probably right. He will no doubt hire the cleverest brief in London and get off on all charges unless we can find the Whisperie first.’
‘The men are searching the rest of the house. It will only be a matter of time before they turn up the work,’ said Crabb optimistically.
‘I’m not so sure. If you wanted to hide the Whisperie, where would you hide it?’
‘Under my bed, in a chest of drawers, in that desk over there,’ Crabb suggested pointing at the item of furniture. ‘Or perhaps the house has a secret room or cavity somewhere.’
‘All obvious places, I fear, which we will check, nevertheless. No, if I wanted to hide a particular coloured stone I would place it in the middle of a group of similar coloured stones where it would not stand out. I feel that the Whisperie is probably somewhere in this room, lying on the shelves between similar volumes or within one of these cases with other manuscripts.’
‘You could well be right, sir.’
‘Then we’d best set to work. You take those shelves over there; I’ll do this bookcase. Take down every book and see that there are no loose manuscripts inside.’
* * *
Dawn was breaking as Crabb pulled back the curtain of the library. Ravenscroft, slumped in one of the armchairs, raised his hand to shelter his eyes from the light.
‘Nothing, absolutely nothing. We’ve searched through every book and manuscript. Nothing!’
‘The men made a search of the rest of the house, and checked both the cellars and the outbuildings. I sent them home three hours ago, sir,’ replied a weary Crabb.
‘Where the devil is it, Tom? It has to be here, but the deuce knows where,’ sighed Ravenscroft, ‘We’ve even checked the walls and furniture for hidden cavities.’
‘Perhaps Renfrew has moved the manuscript elsewhere. Placed it in a bank vault somewhere in London, or even posted it off to America,’ suggested Crabb.
‘Somehow I don’t think so. Renfrew is not the kind of man who would lock things away. He would want to gaze upon his recent acquisition every day, revel in its detail and history, run his fingers over the ornate lettering and decipher its meaning. No, he would want it close at hand — the question is where?’
‘Perhaps we should go home, and get some rest. Come back later in the day?’
‘We would then have to let Renfrew go, much against my better judgement and humour, and once he returns here he could quickly leave Worcester taking the Whisperie with him, before we were able to return.’
‘We could always place some men on guard to see that he did not do that, sir.’
‘Then we would have his brief breathing down our necks, saying we were hounding his client. No, Renfrew would lie low, until all this had died down, then he would take his opportunity to slip quietly out of the country, no doubt taking it with him. The manuscript would then be lost forever to the cathedral,’ replied Ravenscroft dejectedly.
‘We can search again, sir.’
‘You’re right, Tom, we have obviously missed something. It’s probably right here under our very noses, and we have been too blind to see it. Renfrew is a proud, opinionated man, and I am determined to see that his fall from grace is a mighty one, and—’ Ravenscroft stopped suddenly.
‘What is it?’
‘That’s it! Renfrew has left us a clue. He is such a vain man and confident of his own success, yet unable to resist the temptation of teasing us. His arrogance, however, may well have got the better of him this time,’ said Ravenscroft walking over to one of the cases. ‘See here, Crabb, the first folio of the works of William Shakespeare. Open at King Henry VIII. Those lines are spoken by Cardinal Wolsey after his fall from grace—
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
This many summers in a sea of glory,
But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride
At length broke under me, and now has left me,
Weary and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream that must for ever hide me.
‘Bit beyond me, sir,’ said Crabb puzzled.
‘Open the case, Tom. Don’t you see? The words say that his pride has left him, leaving him to the mercy of a stream that will forever hide him,’ said Ravenscroft excitedly.
‘I still don’t see. The
re’s no stream here to hide the Whisperie,’ said Crabb, opening the case.
‘No, but there is a book. What Wolsey, or rather Renfrew, is telling us is that the Whisperie is hidden within this work. When I first saw this volume, I accepted it at face value, the First Folio of the Works of William Shakespeare published in the early part of the seventeenth century,’ said Ravenscroft reaching into the case, ‘But I think we may find that the work is not all that it purports to be. Look, the first few pages appear to belong to the First Folio — but see how they lift up, to reveal a secret cavity of some sort underneath.’
‘You think Renfrew has hidden the Whisperie within it?’ asked Crabb.
‘We shall see. Let’s find how to open the lid of the compartment.’
Ravenscroft ran his fingernail along the edge of the lid, and opened the top of the cavity.
‘Good Lord, sir! You’re right!’
Ravenscroft carefully lifted the manuscript from its hiding place and laid it upon the table. ‘Renfrew hid it in the last place where anyone would think of looking for it, in a secret compartment concealed within another work. And this, Tom, if I am not mistaken, is the Whisperie!’
The two men stood in silence, looking down at the ancient work, admiring the ornate cartouche on its outer page.
Ravenscroft smiled, and breathed a sigh of relief. His quest was at an end — the Whisperie had been recovered!
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
‘Well, Inspector, words fail me.’
The three men were standing in the library of Worcester Cathedral, some days after the arrest of Henderson and the recovery of the lost manuscripts.
Ravenscroft smiled, knowing that Touchmore would continue.
‘To see the Antiphoner and the Whisperie returned to their rightful places here in the library, is joy indeed. I must admit there were times when I thought we would never see them again. Lost on the bottom of the River Severn, or spirited away to some foreign country, but no, here they are, safe and sound, for future generations to gaze down upon and rejoice. Our prayers have been answered!’
