by Kerry Tombs
‘But why, Inspector? Why would anyone want to harm the major?’ asked Jenkins, sitting back in his armchair, and peering at Ravenscroft through his spectacles with a look of incredulity.
‘That is what I am trying to find out,’ replied Ravenscroft.
‘It must have been that fellow Ross. He must be behind all this. Killed poor Hollinger and now Anstruther,’ said Ganniford, standing behind Miss Eames and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.
‘Oh, why do you say that?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘It stands to sense. If we are all direct descendants of this Roger de la Pole fellow, then if we find the treasure there will be less of us to take a share in the proceeds.’
‘Do you have to put it so crudely, my dear Ganniford?’ reprimanded Jenkins.
‘Well, I certainly didn’t kill the two gentlemen, and I know that you are above such things, Jenkins, and Miss Eames is a lady beyond reproach. So that only leaves Ross. It’s as plain as a pikestaff that he must be your killer, Ravenscroft — and the sooner you make a greater effort to find the criminal, the sooner we can all depart from this wretched town,’ continued Ganniford.
‘I think you are being too harsh with the inspector,’ interjected Jenkins.
‘I can assure you that I have the police forces in three counties on the look-out for the man. It can only be a matter of time before he is sighted and an arrest is made.’
‘I wish I had your confidence,’ grumbled Ganniford, returning to his seat.
‘I have to tell you that Anstruther was not a member of Her Majesty’s Army, as he claimed. In fact, he declared himself to be an actor by profession, no less than a member of Henry Irving’s famous Lyceum Theatre Company in London, but I’m afraid that even this turned out to be a lie. Did Anstruther ever say anything to any of you to suggest that he was not whom he seemed?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘Told you so, Jenkins!’ exclaimed Ganniford. ‘I told you there was something decidedly fishy about that man.’
‘Anything in particular, sir?’
Ganniford merely shrugged his shoulders and turned away.
‘Mr Jenkins, if I may turn to you. Something you said has been of a concern to me,’ said Ravenscroft addressing the learned scholar.
‘Please ask, Inspector. Anything I can do to help,’ replied Jenkins forcing a brief smile.
‘Why did you go to Trent’s house that night?’
‘To ensure that the building would be open at twelve that evening.’
‘But why did you take it upon yourself to do so? Surely the man Crosbie would have made that arrangement?’
‘When Crosbie wrote to me, giving details of the place and time of our meeting, he gave instructions for me to secure the opening of the abbey for our visit at twelve that evening. I was merely following his request,’ replied Jenkins, in his calm, methodical manner.
‘Do you have the letter on you now, sir?’ asked Crabb.
‘Of course not. I either destroyed it, or I may have it amongst my papers at home.’
‘And yet Trent did not follow your request,’ continued Ravenscroft.
‘He obviously thought better of it.’
‘Strange then that the abbey was open when you all arrived.’
‘I was not responsible for that.’
‘Can I ask what each of you was doing between the hours of eleven-thirty and twelve-thirty this morning?’ asked Ravenscroft, changing the subject of his questioning.
‘Mr Ganniford and I were talking together in the lounge,’ offered Miss Eames replacing her handkerchief in her sleeve.
‘And you, Mr Jenkins?’
‘I was visiting the abbey studying the various artefacts there and trying yet again to work out what the strange lettering on the side of the tomb meant.’
‘And were you successful?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘How long were you there?’
‘Just over an hour. I returned here for lunch just before one.’
‘Did anyone see you there inside the abbey?’
‘Look here, Ravenscroft, what are you suggesting?’ interrupted Ganniford.
‘I am not suggesting anything, Mr Ganniford. We know that someone delivered a jug of poisoned ale to the police station just after twelve this morning. I was merely trying to establish where you all were at that time.’
‘To answer your question, Inspector, I believe I was quite alone in the abbey. I remember thinking how peaceful and calm everything was there.’
‘Thank you, Mr Jenkins.’
‘Look, Ravenscroft, surely you will allow us all to leave now. You can see we have nothing to do with these awful murders,’ protested Ganniford.
‘I think it would be better if we remained, Ganniford,’ said Jenkins. ‘After all, we have not yet recovered the golden goblet.’
‘Little chance of that, unless you can find out what those letters mean on the side of the tomb,’ grumbled Ganniford.
‘Nathaniel, I think we should try and do all we can to assist the inspector,’ said Miss Eames, trying to placate her companion.
‘If you will excuse us, gentlemen, Miss Eames, my constable and myself have business to attend to,’ said Ravenscroft walking briskly out of the room.
* * *
‘You think one of them committed these murders?’ asked Crabb, as he and Ravenscroft stood outside the Hop Pole.
‘Jenkins certainly had the opportunity to deliver the poisoned ale. I don’t particularly like the man. He is one of those people who always thinks that he is superior in intelligence to you, and is not reticent in disguising it.’
‘What about Ganniford and Miss Eames? They seem quite close.’
‘They say they were talking together when the ale was delivered to the station, so neither one, nor the other, had the opportunity to act independently. Of course, they could be in it together.’
‘Bit unlikely, sir.’
‘Nothing is impossible, Crabb. Six people all told that they are heirs of the Crusader knight, Sir Roger de la Pole, visiting the town in the expectation of recovering the golden goblet — and now two of them and the man who led them here are all dead, and another member of their group has gone missing. I believe it highly possible that Hollinger had worked out the lettering on the side of the tomb, and that he and Anstruther made plans to seek out the treasure together, but that their conversation in the snug of the Hop Pole that night was overheard by a third person, who then decided to kill them so that he could obtain the treasure for himself.’
‘What do we do next?’
‘I will go and tell Constable Reynolds to keep a keen eye on our three friends. We don’t want any of them taking it into their heads to make a sudden departure from the town. You bring round the trap.’
‘Oh, where are we going, sir?’
‘To the small Gloucestershire village of Meysey Hampton. That is where the letters and numbers on the side of the tomb are directing us to. That is where the golden goblet is hidden — and that is where I believe our killer might well be making for.’
* * *
Their journey was along country lanes, then around the town of Cheltenham, before a steep climb bought them to the top of a large hill which commanded picturesque views over the Gloucestershire countryside. From here the trap made its way through a number of sleepy villages until an old fingerpost indicated that the town of Cirencester was shortly within reach. Presently the tower of the ancient church came into view casting a stately presence over the surrounding countryside.
‘I believe that if we take the road to the left that should bring us to the village of Meysey Hampton,’ said Ravenscroft, consulting the map on his knees.
The winding lane progressed through the villages with strange sounding names such as Ampney Crucis, Ampney St. Peter and Poulton. Here the stone-built cottages with their neat gardens stood quiet and dignified, in a landscape that seemed, to Ravenscroft, to have stood still through the centuries. Occasionally a lone woman or old man w
ould caste a glance at the passing trap, before resuming their occupations in the fields and hedgerows.
‘This must the village,’ said Ravenscroft. ‘Pull up there and I’ll ask that fellow where we might find the church.’
The old man surveyed the two men for a few seconds before indicating with his hand that they were to proceed further down the lane.
Passing by a number of old stone cottages which faced one another across the road, then a large manor house and what Ravenscroft supposed to be the village school, Crabb eventually pulled up the horse outside the church.
‘What a pleasant, sleepy village,’ remarked Ravenscroft, dismounting from the trap. ‘And this must be the Templar church of St Mary’s, I believe.’
‘You think we might find what we are looking for here, sir?’
‘We know that the coded letters on the side of Sir Roger’s tomb spelt out the words “Meysey Hampton” and that this church was built at the time of the Templars, so we can only hope that Sir Roger was directing us here with some purpose in mind.’
Ravenscroft walked up the path, entered the porch and pushed open the heavy door, which led into the nave of the church.
‘What are we looking for exactly?’ asked Crabb.
‘I wish I knew. All I know is that there must be something here that relates to Sir Roger.’
‘Can I be of assistance to you, gentlemen?’ asked an elderly figure in clerical attire who emerged from the main body of the church.
‘Good morning to you, sir,’ said Ravenscroft. ‘You must be the incumbent?’
‘I am indeed. The Reverend Thomas Anson at your service, gentlemen,’ replied the clergyman, coming forward and shaking Ravenscroft’s hand. ‘I see that your companion is dressed in police attire.’
‘Indeed. This is Constable Crabb and I am Inspector Ravenscroft of the Ledbury Constabulary.’
‘You are a far way from home, gentlemen. What brings you to our humble church?’
‘We understand that your church was built by the Templars?’
‘That could be the case, although some believe that the church might have been founded by either the de Meysey family, or the de Clares. Both were prominent local landowners. No one can be absolutely sure. It was such a long time ago, as I am sure you must appreciate.’
‘Which are the oldest parts of the church?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘The nave, south transept and, of course, the chancel, are all that remain of the original building. The north transept was completely rebuilt recently in 1874, just before I came here, and the vestry was also added at that date. The most interesting part of the church is the chancel.’
‘May we take a look, Vicar?’
‘Of course. If you would care to follow me.’
Ravenscroft and Crabb followed the clergyman into the chancel.
‘We have some remarkable early glass remaining in the windows here,’ said Anson pointing up at the glass picture in the quatrefoil. ‘Saint Michael weighing souls.’
‘It is very fine and colourful, Vicar. You are fortunate indeed to have such a work still in your church. And how old is the glass?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘Fourteenth century. It is quite rare to find glass as early as that these days. Unfortunately the Puritans destroyed quite a lot of early glass in many churches in the seventeenth century, so we are quite fortunate, as you say, that it remained untouched during the troubles.’
‘Do you have anything earlier than that in the church? We are looking for anything that might have some association with Sir Roger de la Pole. He was one of the Templar crusader knights,’ explained Ravenscroft.
‘Sir Roger de la Pole? I cannot recall the name,’ replied the clergyman looking deep in thought.
‘He is buried in Tewkesbury Abbey,’ added Crabb.
‘Ah yes, I think I do recall seeing his tomb on my last visit there. It has some rather unusual lettering on its side.’
‘That is so, Reverend. We believe that when Sir Roger returned from the Holy Land he bought a golden goblet with him which he took great pains to hide before his death,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘I see — but I don’t understand why you have come here?’
‘Professor Salt of Oxford University was able to translate the coded letters on the side of Sir Roger’s tomb. They spelt out the name “Meysey Hampton”.’
‘And you think that because this is probably a Templar church, he could have hidden this goblet here?’
‘That is correct.’
‘Well, I do not think I can help you. I have never come across anything relating to Sir Roger, and when the old side chapel was demolished, and the north transept rebuilt a few years ago, we found nothing of interest. There was certainly no treasure of any kind.’
‘I see,’ said Ravenscroft, looking around him at various parts of the building. ‘And you have nothing earlier than the windows?’
‘Not really, unless you consider the old tomb over there,’ replied the clergyman pointing to a raised structure in one corner of the chancel. ‘As you can see it is quite plain, no decoration, no lettering, or anything to tell us who might be buried inside.’
‘And you have no idea whether it is thirteenth century or not?’ asked Ravenscroft walking over to the tomb.
‘We have no way of telling its age, but we believe it is very early. Its plainness and lack of ornamentation is in complete contrast to the fine decorated stonework of the rest of the chancel.’
‘It must be very unusual for it to be so plain, and giving no indication as to who is laid to rest here,’ said Ravenscroft, examining the tomb.
‘Early stone tombs can often be plain and simple, almost as though the person buried there had given precise instructions that his final resting place should emphasize the austerity and chastity of his life on earth.’
‘Has the tomb ever been opened?’ asked Crabb.
‘Good Lord! Not to my knowledge. Why would anyone want to do such a thing?’ exclaimed Anson.
‘Can you tell me whether you have had any recent visitors to the church? Perhaps someone making similar enquiries and taking a particular interest in this tomb?’ suggested Ravenscroft.
‘No. I don’t think I recall anyone at all visiting the church in the past few weeks. We lead a very quiet life here. I believe our last visitors were here at Christmas.’
‘That is very interesting, Vicar. Has there been anyone visiting the village recently?’
‘No one, Inspector.’
‘Thank you. Well this is all very puzzling, Crabb. Can I ask what those scratch marks are on the wall above the tomb?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘They were probably made by one of the masons who constructed the chancel. Medieval workmen often liked to leave some sign of their handiwork, so that future generations would know of their creation.’
‘See here, Crabb. Run your hand over the indentations and tell me what you can make out?’ instructed an excited Ravenscroft, after a few seconds.
‘This feels like an “R”,’ said Crabb.
‘And the other?’
‘A “P”.’
‘Exactly! The “R” could stand for “Roger” and the “P” for “Pole”. Roger de la Pole.’
‘Fascinating,’ said the vicar. ‘I have always wondered what the letters were and what they meant.’
‘I think that Sir Roger, by making sure that the letters R and P were inscribed on the wall directly above the tomb, was indicating that this may be the final resting place of the goblet. Reverend, do you think it would be possible for us to open the tomb?’
‘Good Heavens — if you will excuse the expression. I cannot under any circumstances permit that violation,’ protested Anson, throwing up his arms in horror.
‘I am sorry to cause offence. Nevertheless, I believe that it is imperative that we recover whatever is inside the tomb. If the golden goblet is found inside there, then we can ensure that it is displayed in a museum, where it would not only be secure but where its full glory could be
enjoyed by everyone. If it is left inside, there is always the danger that someone, entirely lacking in scruples, may uncover the secret of the letters, and will violate the shrine,’ said Ravenscroft, trying to sound as persuasive as he could.
‘I appreciate what you are saying. Inspector. It would indeed be a terrible thing if the tomb was to be broken into, but I’m afraid I cannot give you the permission you require. All I can suggest is that if you write and explain your request to the Bishop of Gloucester and the Church Commissioners, they might allow you to proceed. If that permission is granted, then I would offer no objection.’
‘Thank you, Reverend. I quite understand your position. We will indeed approach the correct authorities. In the meantime, until we are able to return, we believe it is possible that some mischievous person may attempt to break into the tomb, and accordingly I would suggest that you lock the building at all times, except, of course, when you are conducting church services.’
‘Certainly, Inspector, I will be more than pleased to undertake your request.’
‘And if you could keep a look-out for any strangers in the vicinity and let us know if there are any,’ said Ravenscroft handing the clergyman one of his cards.
‘Yes, yes, of course.’
‘Thank you, Reverend. I will write to the bishop today. Until we are able to return, I wish you a very good day.’
CHAPTER NINE
LEDBURY
Ravenscroft sealed the envelope, let out a deep sigh and leaned back in his armchair. The light from the candle on his desk fell on his pocket watch and he noted that the time had shortly passed the hour of five in the morning.
He had spent a restless night and, being unable to sleep, had risen reluctantly from his bed and had made his way down the stairs to the main room of the house where he had busied himself in composing a letter to the Bishop of Gloucester setting out the full facts of the case, and putting forward his request to open the unmarked tomb. Now at last that duty had been done and he could turn his mind to other matters.
Ross was dead. There was no doubt about it. Killed in a shooting accident they said ten years ago. Yet he and Crabb had interviewed the Scotsman in his own house, and he had been very much alive. Crabb had joked that it had been the ghost of the dead man who had spoken to them, but he did not believe in such fanciful nonsense. Anyway, Ross had also been seen by others that night at the abbey, albeit only fleetingly, before he had quit the scene. Ross was dead. Ross was alive.
