by Kerry Tombs
‘There was always the chance that someone could have discovered Hollinger’s body before then.’
‘Highly unlikely, I would say.’
‘What now?’
‘We must try and find out what happened to Anstruther when he left here. We know he spoke to Jesterson. What happened next? Did they go off together? We know that Anstruther could not have caught the late train, as that had departed earlier in the evening, so where else could they have gone?’
‘Perhaps he caught the early train out this morning?’ suggested Crabb.
‘We need to check at the station and see if the staff there saw anyone of his description. If he took the morning train to London, he could be anywhere by now and we may have little chance of apprehending him.’
‘We could send a telegram to his regimental headquarters, sir.’
‘We could, but I fear we may be wasting our time. If he is our killer, he would almost certainly know that would be the first place we would go looking for him. You may recall that your research showed that he probably wasn’t who he claimed to be.’
‘I noticed an old stables just up the road, sir. Maybe he went there and took one of the horses.’
‘Good thinking, Tom. That seems more likely. I can’t see the major waiting on a cold station platform all night. If that is the case, he won’t have gone far. We will put out a description and telegraph it through to local stations.’
‘Right, sir.’
‘But first we need to have words with the reverend. And when we have done all that, I fancy we should return to Bredon’s Norton and see if our mysterious Mr Ross has returned yet. There are some more questions I would like to put to him. We cannot rule out the possibility that he might have returned to Tewkesbury last night and killed Hollinger,’ said Ravenscroft, pushing open the door of the snug and quickly making his way out onto the street.
* * *
A few minutes later, Ravenscroft and Crabb entered the abbey and made their way up the aisle to where a familiar figure could be seen near the altar.
‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ said Jesterson, looking up from his Prayer Book.
‘Good morning, Reverend,’ replied Ravenscroft. ‘I wonder if I might have a few moments of your time?’
‘Certainly, Inspector. I do hope that you have been able to catch the perpetrator of this terrible deed.’
‘You mean Dr Hollinger, sir?’
‘Doctor Hollinger? I’m sorry. I thought you were referring to the man in the tomb,’ replied the bewildered clergyman.
‘Of course, sir,’ smiled Ravenscroft. ‘I wonder if you could tell me what you were doing yesterday evening?’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’
‘If you could just answer the question, sir, I would be obliged.’
‘Well, Inspector, if you insist. I was at the abbey here until seven, then I went home as normal and spent the evening there.’
‘What time did you retire, sir?’
‘About half past twelve.’
‘You did not go out before then, Reverend?’ asked Crabb.
‘No, I don’t think so. Oh, yes! Yes, of course. I went out for a walk at around half past eleven.’
‘Rather a late hour to be out walking?’ asked Ravenscroft, his curiosity aroused.
‘I must confess that I don’t usually go out at such a late hour. I had retired to bed at around ten o’clock, but I could not sleep. I kept thinking of that poor man inside that tomb. Every time I opened my eyes I could see his face! What a dreadful, awful business! Who could have done such an unchristian thing?’
‘So you went out for a walk,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘Yes, I thought that if I went out for a walk it would help to clear my mind.’
‘What time did you return home?’
‘I don’t really remember. I must have been walking for at least an hour, I suppose,’ replied Jesterson, nervously.
‘Tell me, did you happen to meet anyone on your travels?’
‘I don’t believe so. There were not many people about in the town at that time of night, as I am sure you will understand.’
‘So you spoke to no one?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Outside the Hop Pole?’ suggested Ravenscoft.
‘The Hop Pole?’
‘The landlord of the Hop Pole remembers you speaking to Major Anstruther outside the Hop Pole just after twelve o’clock.’
‘Oh yes, of course. There was a military gentleman. He was just coming away from the Hop Pole. How silly of me not to have remembered.’
‘What did Major Anstruther say to you?’ asked Ravenscroft, after giving Crabb a knowing glance.
‘He asked me if I knew of any stables in the town where he could acquire a horse. I told him that there was one further down the road, but I doubted that it would be open at such a late hour.’
‘What happened next?’
‘He thanked me for my answer then he walked away.’
‘That is most interesting, sir, because the landlord of the Hop Pole distinctly recalls that the two of you walked away together from the inn.’
‘Well, yes, I suppose we must have walked a few yards down the road, before we each went our separate ways. I remember we walked as far as the corner, then I returned home, leaving the gentleman to find his own way to the stables. Yes that is what happened.’
‘Thank you, Reverend, you have been most helpful. One more thing, can I ask you whether you visited the Hop Pole at all last night?’
‘No. What a curious question. Why should I have gone there?’
‘Then I can take it that you did not?’
The clergyman nodded.
‘Thank you again,’ said Ravenscroft walking away.
‘You will let me know when you have caught the terrible person who killed that poor man?’
‘Of course. You will be kept fully informed.’
‘You think he was telling us the truth, sir? He seemed very nervous, as though he had something to hide,’ said Crabb, as the two men walked away from the abbey.
‘I have no reason to doubt him. At least we now know that Anstruther was looking for a horse to effect his departure from the town.’
Later that afternoon Ravenscroft and Crabb stood in the empty room of Ross’s house in the village of Bredon’s Norton. Outside, the sun, which had made a brief appearance in the sky, had as yet failed to penetrate the gloom of the interior.
‘He is nowhere to be seen, sir,’ said a bewildered Crabb.
‘It is as if no one has lived here for years. Even the fire looks as though it has not been lit this morning. There is nothing of a personal nature here, Tom — no clothes, no food or wine on the table, no portraits on the walls. It is almost as though we have come to another house. The only thing which appears to be the same is the intense coldness and misery of the place.’
‘Perhaps our friend Ross does not live here at all,’ suggested Crabb. ‘He could have just been staying here.’
‘Listen, Tom, do you hear that noise,’ interrupted Ravenscroft.
‘It sounds like a dog barking, somewhere in the distance.’
The two men walked quickly away from the room, closing the door of the house behind them.
‘Over there!’ said Ravenscroft pointing. ‘Quickly, Crabb, stop that fellow and ask him to join us if you will.’
Crabb ran across the grass and returned a moment later with an old, bearded man wearing a long torn overcoat. A black and white sheepdog followed at his heels.
‘I wonder if we might have a moment of your time, sir,’ began Ravenscroft.
‘Depends on whose asking,’ replied the man.
‘Inspector Ravenscroft of the Ledbury Constabulary, and this is my colleague Constable Crabb.’
‘Ledbury you say. You be a long way from Ledders.’
‘We are making investigations into a crime that has been committed in Tewkesbury. Can you tell me whether you reside locally?’
&nbs
p; ‘Live at farm down road,’ said the old man patting the head of his dog.
‘Have you been there long?’
‘Eighty years, man and boy.’
‘Then you can tell me who lives in the house over there.’
‘No one at present. House been empty for past ten years.’
‘We were given to understand that a Mr Charles Ross resides there,’ said Ravenscroft, hoping that the farmer might be able to offer a solution to the mystery.
‘Ross you say. He used to live there. He weren’t ’ere for long though.’
‘Can you describe this Mr Ross for us?’
The man stared at Ravenscroft in silence.
‘It is very important that we find Mr Ross and speak to him. Can you confirm our description — tall, thin man, approximately thirty in years, black hair, staring eyes, very bad cough.’
‘That be him. Spoke in a funny way.’
‘He has a Scottish accent,’ added Crabb.
‘Could be,’ replied the man turning away and looking down at his dog. ‘Come on now, Red, time for yer supper.’
‘One more thing, just before you go — when did you last see Mr Ross?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘About ten year ago.’
‘Ten years ago!’ exclaimed a frustrated Ravenscroft. ‘You have not seen him for ten years?’
‘That’s what I said,’ said the farmer beginning to take his leave.
‘I find that difficult to believe. I spoke to Mr Ross only yesterday, in this same house.’
‘Impossible. You must be mistaken,’ called out the old man.
‘We were both here, my constable and myself, and spoke to Mr Ross. Why do you say it was impossible?’ asked a perplexed Ravenscroft.
‘Because Mr Ross is dead. That’s why. He were shot in a hunting accident ten years ago!’
CHAPTER SIX
LEDBURY AND OXFORD
Ravenscroft took out his pocket watch, noted that the time was two hours past midnight, and reached out to stir the dying embers in the hearth before him. A solitary candle on the table at his side cast flickering shadows on the walls of the house, as he bought the remains of the glass to his lips.
His thoughts turned once more to the empty house at Bredon’s Norton, and he saw again the cold, inhospitable room and its strange occupant. The old man had been quite adamant that Ross had died ten years earlier as the result of a hunting accident when his firearm had blown up in his face — an assertion which had been confirmed by at least two other people with long memories who resided in the area — and yet that could not have been the case, as he and Crabb had spoken with the Scotsman earlier that day. Then there was the entry in the directory stating that a Mr Charles Ross was still resident at the house — and his three remaining suspects had all said that Ross had been there with them that night at the abbey. No, the old man and his neighbours must have been wrong. Ross was certainly very much alive, and had not been killed as the result of some shooting accident. The man must have been thinking of someone else who had come to an untimely demise. Perhaps Ross had once lived in the house, and had left the area many years previously and had recently returned, unnoticed by his neighbours, only to disappear now once more into the unknown. But then if he had returned, why had he done so? The others had certainly confirmed the missing goblet story, so that had probably been the reason for his return, and yet if he had not been resident in the house when he had first been approached by the deceased stranger Crosbie, where had he been? Perhaps he had been in league with the man, planning the whole enterprise together — but if that had been the case, how did it explain the brutal stabbing of Hollinger?
Then there was Anstruther. What part had he played in all this? His discussion with the doctor before they had both retired for the night, the bloodstained clothes left behind in his bedroom, and his sudden midnight departure from the Hop Pole, all these facts seemed to implicate him in the killing. Crabb’s inquiries at the stable yard further up the road, had confirmed what Jesterson had said, revealing that one of the horses had been taken in the night, so it appeared more than likely that the major had left the town in a hurry. Everything seemed to point to his guilt. A telegram sent to his regimental headquarters had confirmed what he and Crabb had suspected, namely that Anstruther had never been a member of the Guards. Clearly the man had set out to deceive everyone by exaggerating his own importance, and now had gone to ground. But why had Anstruther killed Hollinger — what possible reason could he have had to want to murder the poor man? Maybe Anstruther had been in league with the deceased Crosbie, in which case Ross was innocent. But if Ross had killed neither Crosbie nor Hollinger, why had he now gone to ground? The whole thing did not make sense — unless of course, Anstruther, Ross and Crosbie had all been in it together.
Why had either Anstruther or Ross, or both of them, killed Hollinger? What kind of threat had the Prussian doctor posed to them? Had he stood in the way of them finding the golden goblet? All his suspects had stated that they had not believed a word that had been told to them by the deceased Crosbie, and yet they had all chosen to keep the appointment outside the abbey; six complete strangers — except for the friends Jenkins and Ganniford — meeting for the first time, all said to be descendants of the crusader knight Sir Roger de la Pole, and all hoping to recover the ancient golden goblet. Had they found that treasure inside the tomb that night, or had Crosbie lifted it out of the grave earlier that same evening, handing it to his accomplice who then killed him in such brutal fashion? But if the goblet had been found, why had the killer then chosen to remain in the town instead of escaping as quickly as possible with his treasure? Perhaps the whole goblet story was pure fantasy. There had never been such a treasure in the first place, and Sir Roger had gone to his grave leaving no secrets behind him.
Then there was the greatest mystery of all. If there had been a treasure waiting to be discovered, why had not Crosbie just taken it for himself? Why had he chosen to involve the six strangers? Why had he visited them each in turn, using a different name each time, acquired from the novels of Anthony Trollope, informing them they were all descended from the Templar Knight, and urging them towards the fatal meeting?
No, the whole thing made no sense at all, and no matter how many times he considered the evidence, examining it from all the possible angles, every solution he came up with seemed to contradict one another.
‘Samuel, do come to bed.’
The voice startled him, breaking into his deliberations and returning him abruptly to the present.
‘It is nearly three o’clock in the morning,’ said Lucy, kneeling before him and looking up into his face. ‘You will be very tired in the morning, Samuel.’
‘I am sorry, my dear. I keep going over and over this case in my mind. But no matter from which way I look at it, none of it makes the slightest sense,’ said Ravenscroft, taking his wife’s hands in his own.
‘Perhaps in the morning you will see things in a different light.’
‘I do not think so. I do believe this is the most difficult case I have ever undertaken in the whole of my career. I can see no reason why any of the parties involved would have committed these crimes. Not only do I have two dead bodies on my hands, but also two missing suspects.’
‘Perhaps Tom will track one of them down tomorrow, or you may gain new inspiration in the morning,’ suggested Lucy.
‘Dear Lucy, you are my only source of inspiration,’ smiled Ravenscroft, looking deeply into his wife’s eyes. ‘I do not know how I managed all those years without you. But I have been entirely selfish. I have been most neglectful in my duties as a husband.’
‘Give me your hand,’ said Lucy reaching out.
Ravenscroft rose from his chair and, taking his wife’s hand, moved across to the window. ‘I promise you that once this case is over, we will take the very next train to London. We are both in need of some entertainment and a change of scenery.’
‘I shall keep you to that, Samuel Ravenscroft,’ smil
ed Lucy.
‘Look there in the sky, my dear. Do you see that star? Just there to our left. See how brightly it shines in the clear moonlit sky,’ said Ravenscroft, drawing his wife closer to him, and placing his arms around her waist. ‘One would think that it is the only star in the heavens tonight, and yet we know that there are many more in the universe. Sometimes, when I was in Whitechapel and the air was oppressive and I could not sleep at night, I would travel out to the heath at Hampstead and climb the hill there so that I could look down on the great city. There I would gradually clear my mind of all the crime and unpleasantness that lay beneath me, and remind myself of all the goodness and honesty that often lies hidden in the world. Then I would wonder whether I would ever leave that place, the bustling, noisy, smoke-ridden city, and what the future would hold for me. All that seems such a long time ago now. I little dreamt then that my life would so suddenly change for the better. That was only a year ago. And now I have you, my love, and you have given me a new purpose to my life. It often seems that I have been here in Ledbury, with you, for years. So you see, one must always have hope that things will become better, and that one’s lot will be improved. I wonder who else tonight is looking upwards at that same star? Let you and I, my dear Lucy, adopt that star. Let it become our talisman, the source of all our hope and expectation. We must not despair. We must go forward.’
‘You are quite the romantic, Samuel Ravenscroft,’ said Lucy leaning her head on her husband’s shoulder.
‘I will find out who killed that poor man in the tomb and Dr Hollinger. We must have courage to go on. All will be well, of that I am sure. Now, I think it is time that we both sought out the comfort of our bed. Tomorrow will shortly be upon us, and we will both need our sleep if we are to gain inspiration from the new dawn.’
Lucy said nothing as she kissed her husband’s cheek.
‘Come, my dear.’
‘I have been thinking of your case all night,’ began Lucy, as they started to climb the stairs.
