The Inspector Ravenscroft Mysteries Box Set

by Kerry Tombs

  ‘I too have an urgent need to return to London,’ added Hollinger.

  ‘You must see, Inspector that none of us was in any way involved with the poor man’s demise,’ implored Miss Eames. ‘None of us would have had any reason to see him dead.’

  ‘I am sorry that we cannot be of any further assistance to you, Inspector,’ said Jenkins, rising to his feet.

  ‘I’m afraid I cannot let any of you leave,’ announced Ravenscroft.

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake, man! We’ve told you why we all came here, and how we found the man,’ protested Anstruther pacing up and down the room.

  ‘I can see how you came to the town yesterday and why you were asked to meet together outside the abbey — it would have been easier for you all, and for our investigation, if you had all told us the truth when first questioned.’

  ‘I am sorry for that, Inspector Ravenscroft,’ said Miss Eames.

  ‘I know it looks bad, but to tell you the truth we were all a bit put out finding that fellow like that in that tomb; then your constable came on us unexpected, and we all thought it would be better if we tried to make it look like an accident, us all meeting like that,’ said Ganniford. ‘Sorry for all the mix up. No hard feelings like.’

  Ravenscroft turned away and looked out of the window. What had looked like an encouraging line of new enquiry seemed to be disappearing rapidly.

  ‘Well, if you will excuse us,’ said Hollinger, after a few moments of silence had elapsed.

  ‘Tell you something, Ravenscroft, there was that fellow Ross. You might do better having a word with him,’ said Ganniford, easing himself from out of his chair.

  ‘Ross? I do not understand,’ said a bewildered Ravenscroft turning round once more to face the group.

  ‘Yes, of course, Mr Ross,’ said Miss Eames.

  ‘I had almost forgotten him,’ interjected Hollinger. ‘You see, Inspector, there were six of us there that night.’

  ‘Do please go on,’ asked Ravenscroft his curiosity aroused.

  ‘When we all met up at the abbey, we were debating whether we should enter the building or not, when the man called Ross suddenly arrived,’ began Ganniford.

  ‘We assumed that he was another of our group,’ added Jenkins.

  ‘Did this man Ross go into the abbey with you?’ enquired Ravenscroft.

  ‘Yes, he was the first to enter the building, now I come to remember,’ said Ganniford. ‘We naturally followed him inside hoping that our host Stanhope would be there waiting to meet us, but, of course, there was no sign of the fellow.’

  ‘And what happened to this Mr Ross? My constable said there were only five of you standing there round the tomb,’ said Ravenscroft.

  ‘That’s the funny thing, shortly after we entered the abbey we lost track of him. Deuce funny thing. Never saw him again,’ added Anstruther.

  ‘He’s the fellow you should be questioning, not us,’ interjected Ganniford. ‘He was acting in a decidedly suspicious manner if you ask me.’

  ‘I see. What can you tell me about this man Ross? How old was he? What did he look like? Did he say anything which might enable my constable and I to locate him?’

  ‘I suppose he was about thirty in years, what you say, of tall stature, black hair,’ offered Hollinger.

  ‘He did say he lived near Bredon, but that he originated from Kirkintilloch, in Scotland, I think that is what he told us,’ offered Miss Eames.

  ‘You have a remarkable memory,’ said Ganniford.

  ‘That’s who your murderer was! Obviously killed the man before we got to the abbey, and once he knew we were all inside he slipped away again, knowing suspicion would fall on us,’ announced Anstruther.

  ‘I do not think we can assume that, Major, until I have had an opportunity to question this man Ross. My constable and I will certainly make enquiries regarding the said gentleman. However one other matter is puzzling me. Miss Eames, you stated a moment ago that the man who visited you was called Robarts, yet I thought that the man’s name was Stanhope according to you Mr Ganniford. Perhaps you would enlighten me?’

  ‘Well, yes, that’s the odd thing. The man seems to have called himself by a different name when he visited each of us in turn,’ said Ganniford, reluctantly, after a moment’s unease.

  ‘I can confirm, Inspector, that the man did indeed call himself Robarts,’ offered Miss Eames.

  ‘Called himself Grantly when he visited me,’ muttered Anstruther.

  ‘Make a note of these names, Crabb,’ instructed Ravenscroft.

  ‘Robarts, Grantly and Stanhope,’ said a studious Crabb writing in his pocket book.

  ‘Said his name was Thorne,’ said Hollinger.

  ‘Mr Jenkins?’ asked Ravenscroft.

  ‘Gave his name as Harding,’ answered the antiquary, shaking his head.

  ‘Thorne. Harding,’ muttered Crabb without looking up from his book.

  ‘Interesting. Thank you, Miss Eames, gentlemen. My constable and I will endeavour to track down and question Mr Ross. Until he has confirmed your account of last night’s events, I am afraid I must ask you all to remain here,’ said Ravenscroft, knowing that his words would prove unpopular with some members of the group.

  ‘Look here, Ravenscroft, this just won’t do,’ protested Anstruther.

  ‘When do you propose speaking with this Ross?’ asked Jenkins.

  ‘You say he resided near Bredon. My constable will consult the local directories and once we have confirmed his place of residence, we will endeavour to question the gentleman first thing in the morning. It is rather late in the day to travel over there now. If you would all meet me in here tomorrow at twelve, I would be most obliged.’

  ‘Confound it, sir, this won’t do at all!’ grumbled Anstruther.

  ‘I agree with the inspector,’ interjected Jenkins, seeking to bring calm to the situation. ‘I think we can all appreciate that Mr Ravenscroft has his duty to perform. A most terrible murder has been perpetrated. It is our duty assist the police with their inquiries.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Jenkins,’ nodded Ravenscroft.

  ‘Suppose it is rather late in the day. We shall just have to spend another night in this dreary little town,’ said Ganniford, shrugging his shoulders, before sinking back into his armchair.

  ‘I for one am happy to comply with the inspector’s wishes,’ added Miss Eames smiling.

  ‘Insufferable!’ muttered Anstruther as he strode out of the room.

  ‘You must not mind the major. When he has calmed down I am sure he will come round to your way of thinking. I will ensure he complies with your wishes,’ said Hollinger.

  ‘I thank you all. Until tomorrow then at twelve.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  LEDBURY AND BREDON’S NORTON

  ‘Well, my dear, it seems that I am faced with a mystery that may prove somewhat difficult to solve.’

  Ravenscroft was sitting with his wife, later that evening, before a roaring fire in their small house in Church Lane.

  ‘I am sure you and Tom will be able to find a solution,’ replied Lucy, sympathetically.

  ‘I am afraid I cannot share your optimism, my dear,’ said Ravenscroft, somewhat gloomily. ‘It might have been wiser to have said that I was indisposed; taken ill with a serious ailment, or broken a leg, confined to bed for the rest of the month. Tom could have made my excuses. Then they would have sent someone out from either Worcester or Gloucester, to take charge of the case. I am sure they would have more success than I have had so far. We would then have been free to have undertaken our excursion to London.’

  ‘You know you would never have done that. You are far too conscientious to neglect your duty. Now, tell me more about your case. It all sounds very mysterious — five strangers meeting for the first time outside the doors of Tewkesbury Abbey at twelve o’clock at night, looking for their supposed ancestor, Sir Roger de la Pole, and then finding that man dead inside one of the tombs. It all sounds like something out of a novel by Mary Shelley or Mr St
evenson.’

  ‘I must admit that it does all sound rather Gothic. I really cannot believe that five supposedly intelligent strangers would all journey to Tewkesbury to meet one another just because some man had told them all that they are descendants of a Templar Knight. No, I think something else must have bought them to the abbey. They were looking for something that was connected with Sir Roger — and whatever it was, must have been inside that empty tomb.’

  ‘And what about your mysterious Mr Ross? Now he appears to be very interesting, I must say. He seems like someone right out of Jane Eyre or Wuthering Heights.’

  ‘What a vivid imagination you have, my dear! But, yes, you are correct. He does appear briefly outside the abbey one minute, enters the building the next moment and is seen no more. Tom has been able to locate a Charles Ross, who is apparently living in some village with the strange sounding name of Bredon’s Norton.’

  ‘Wherever is that?’

  ‘Near Bredon Hill, the other side of Tewkesbury and Pershore, I believe. Tom and I must make an early start in the morning to seek out this man. Perhaps this fellow Ross holds the key to this mystery. Another thing I cannot quite comprehend — the deceased stranger seems to have used a different name when he visited each of the five suspects. Now why would he do that?’

  ‘Perhaps he wanted to make sure that no one would know that he had visited all five of your people. What names did he use?’ asked Lucy her curiosity aroused.

  ‘Nothing so common as your Smith or Jones. Stanhope, Harding, Robarts, Thorne and Grantly, I think. Yes, that was it. Such an odd collection of surnames. You could not invent such names if you tried. Why use those names?’

  ‘Stanhope, Harding, Thorne. Ah, I think I may have solved your mystery. Go through the names again,’ laughed Lucy.

  ‘Stanhope, Robarts, Harding, Thorne and Grantly,’ repeated Ravenscroft looking perplexed.

  ‘Your deceased stranger was either a man of great literary tendencies, or had a remarkable sense of humour,’ smiled Lucy.

  ‘Tell me more; I am intrigued.’

  ‘Stanhope, Robarts, Harding, Thorne and Grantly are all characters in the Barsetshire novels of Mr Anthony Trollope.’

  ‘Really? How clever you are to have worked that out.’

  ‘I remember reading most of the books when I was younger,’ said Lucy, smiling. ‘If I recall, your five characters are mainly clerical gentlemen.’

  ‘What a strange state of affairs. Why go to such elaborate lengths to conceal your true identity? I cannot see the reason for such deception when a straightforward Smith or Jones would have been sufficient. With your powers of deduction, my dear, I see that I will have to enrol you in the local constabulary. With you by my side we will be able to solve our crimes in half the time,’ said Ravenscroft, rising from his chair.

  ‘Now you are being patronizing, Samuel,’ teased Lucy.

  ‘That I would never dare to do! You are far too shrewd to see through any kind of flattery that I might be foolish enough to attempt. Anthony Trollope, you say. Now there is a mystery all in itself. But we have sat here long enough, my dear. Time for bed; an early start beckons in the morning if Tom and I are to seek out this fellow Ross in Bredon’s Norton.’

  * * *

  They had begun their journey that morning from Ledbury to Bredon in warm March sunshine and under a clear blue sky, but once their trap had crossed the Severn and skirted the town of Tewkesbury, a fleet of ominous black clouds began to drift quickly across the empty space above their heads.

  ‘How much further, Tom?’ asked Ravenscroft, as their vehicle made its way through the quiet sleepy village of Bredon.

  ‘Only another two or three miles, sir, according to the map,’ replied Crabb.

  ‘I shall be glad when we get there. I fear it will not be long before the heavens will open up on us. The hill in front of us over there certainly looks dark and forbidding,’ said Ravenscroft, turning up the collar of his coat, as he contemplated the events of the previous two days.

  Why had five complete strangers decided to meet one another for the first time outside the abbey on such a cold wet evening? They had each claimed that they had been summoned to seek out the tomb of their ancient ancestor, but instead they had found the body of the man who had arranged their meeting. At first they had sought to conceal the truth from him, and although he had eventually been successful in his questioning, he still knew that there was much more to unravel, more admissions to be made, before the mystery of the deceased man could be solved. But all that could wait until he had pursued his present line of inquiry.

  Then there was the murdered man found lying inside the old Templar tomb. Why had he called himself by so many different names? And why had he chosen the novels of Anthony Trollope as his source of inspiration? The man had obviously been well read, but was there something more behind that choice?

  Now they were on their way to seek out the sixth member of the group, the man known as Ross, who had made but a fleeting brief appearance at the abbey before disappearing into the darkness once more. Was he also a descendant of the crusader knight — and, if so, why had he been so anxious to quit the scene? At least he had left some information behind him, and the directory had given the name Mr Charles Ross of Bredon’s Norton. Perhaps the man might provide them with some valuable information concerning the death of the stranger — or he might well prove to be the murderer himself.

  ‘I think we go off the road here,’ said Crabb, turning the trap sharply to the right. ‘Map says the track runs up to the hill to Bredon’s Norton; there is no other way through.’

  As they made their way along the old rutty way, waves of mist suddenly descended and drifted ahead of them, quickly engulfing them with their vapour and seeking to impede the horse’s progress.

  ‘Go slower, Tom, we don’t know what is ahead. I can hardly see anything in front of us. I’ve never seen the weather change so quickly. This horrible damp mist seems to cling to one. Extraordinary. I don’t think I have ever been so cold in my life before,’ said Ravenscroft, coughing, rubbing his hands together for warmth and wishing he had chosen a different day for their expedition.

  ‘I’ve never seen mist as thick as this before. We used to have a lot of them on the farm when I was a child, but nothing so clammy and dark as this. There now, easy, boy!’ said Crabb pulling up the horse sharply. ‘Easy there! Don’t think he cares much for it either.’

  ‘I think I can see a light from over there. Must be coming from a building,’ said Ravenscroft, pointing through the thick fog. ‘It is more like the middle of the night than early morning. Leave the horse here, Tom. You can tie him up to that tree.’

  The two men dismounted from their vehicle and, after Crabb had said a few words of reassurance to the animal, they made their way slowly towards the faltering light.

  ‘I think it’s a farm or house of some kind,’ said Ravenscroft, buttoning the top of his coat tighter as they drew near. ‘I think I can just make out a light above the doorway. Let’s knock the door and see if its occupants can tell us if Ross lives here or nearby.’

  Ravenscroft lifted the old rusty knocker and, as he bought it down on the thick oak door, it seemed as though the sound seemed to echo into the stillness of the strange landscape in which they had found themselves.

  ‘Not at home,’ remarked Crabb, after a few moments had passed.

  ‘You might be right. Let us try again—’ But before Ravenscroft could repeat his action, the door suddenly opened to reveal a tall, thin, middle-aged man holding a candlestick in one hand.

  ‘Good day, sir. We are looking for Mr Charles Ross,’ said Ravenscroft, noting that the occupier was dressed entirely in black.

  ‘I’m Ross,’ replied the man, in what Ravenscroft thought to be a Scottish accent.

  ‘Thank goodness for that. I thought we had lost our way in this fog. My name is Detective Inspector Ravenscroft and this is my assistant, Constable Crabb. I would be obliged if you would give us a fe
w minutes of your time.’

  The man frowned and stared at them; then, without speaking, he pushed open the door further and indicated that the two men were to enter.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Ravenscroft, stepping into the large room, which appeared to be sparsely furnished with an oak table and two wooden dining chairs. A large candelabra situated in the middle of the table emitted a flickering, faltering light from its three candles, and the remains of a nearly burnt-out log fought for the last moments of its life in the ash-strewn hearth.

  The man closed the creaking door behind them. Although Ravenscroft had left the darkness and clinging mist behind him, he felt no warmer in the cold, uninviting room.

  ‘What can I do for you, gentlemen?’ asked their host.

  ‘Could you tell me where you were the evening before last?’ asked Ravenscroft.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘If you could just answer the question, Mr Ross, I would be most obliged.’

  ‘I was here, as I always am.’

  ‘We have reason to believe that you were in Tewkesbury. You were seen going into the abbey at twelve in the evening.’

  ‘I may have been,’ said Ross, giving a loud cough before turning away to poke the expiring log in the hearth with a brass poker.

  ‘We understand that you met five other persons outside the abbey.’

  Their host said nothing as he continued with his task.

  ‘I must tell you that I am investigating the death of a stranger whose body was found in one of the tombs, which had been violated inside the abbey. We know that you and five other people entered the abbey and discovered the deceased, but that you disappeared before my constable took charge of the situation. Why was that, Mr Ross?’

  ‘I could see no point in remaining there.’

  ‘So you admit that you were in Tewkesbury on Tuesday evening?’

  ‘If you know all this, why ask me?’ grumbled Ross, laying down the poker.

  ‘May I ask the reason for your visit?’ persisted Ravenscroft.