by Kerry Tombs
‘We must tell Inspector Ravenscroft the truth, Nathaniel. We cannot hold out any longer,’ said Miss Eames imploringly, looking into Ganniford’s eyes.
‘Well, Mr Ganniford, are you going to tell us the truth? May I remind you that two of your party are already dead, murdered by an unknown hand, and that a further two members are now missing.’
‘All right, all right. Yes, yes, we were all there that weekend, but it is not the way you see it,’ said Ganniford.
‘Please go on,’ urged Ravenscroft.
‘We all knew what Ross had done — a despicable act — cowardice of the first order. You are correct when you say that Colonel Eames and Major Anstruther belonged to the same regiment as Ross. What you don’t know is that both Jenkins and I had younger brothers who had also been members of the regiment. My own brother was not above eighteen years of age. A mere boy, cut down by those barbarous tribesmen. Ross was in charge that day. He could have saved them, but instead he decided to save his own neck and deserted his post,’ said Ganniford with bitterness.
‘And Dr Hollinger?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘His wife and daughter were also there that day. The girl was just three years of age. Three years of age! An innocent child left to die in that God-forsaken land. My God, Ravenscroft, if you had known what those murdering cutthroats did to them, you would not be standing there today so righteously passing judgement on us.’
‘I am not passing judgement, Mr Ganniford. I am merely seeking to ascertain the truth. So that is why you all attended Lord Treaves’s party that weekend.’
‘We knew that Ross would be there. Our first response was to refuse the invitation, to have nothing more to do with the blackguard, but then there was the regiment’s honour to consider. We owed it to the souls of all those dead men, women and children to confront the man.’
‘So you shot him whilst out hunting, and made it look like an accident.’
‘No, it was not like that. We certainly wanted Ross to pay, but not that way. Death would have been the easy way out for him. We wanted to bring ruin and disgrace on him and his family, make him acknowledge his cowardly actions, to atone for what he had done, but then he cheated us all in the end. Managed to shoot himself whilst climbing over the fence before we could confront him. What justice was there in that?’
‘We only have your word for it that Ross died as the result of an accident,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘You have my word as a gentleman. The others will confirm what I have said.’
‘You know that is not possible, sir. Major Anstruther and Dr Hollinger are both dead. Colonel Eames has passed away. That only leaves Mr Jenkins, and he has now gone missing.’
‘Then you will have to accept what I have told you. Certainly we wanted to avenge the deaths of those men, women and children, and to confront Ross with his cowardly actions, but, as I said, the man cheated us. Couldn’t look after his own gun properly,’ said Ganniford sarcastically. ‘The stupid man managed to shoot himself in the face whilst climbing over that fence. You may think differently, Inspector, but you will have the deuce to prove otherwise.’
‘So why did you all decide to meet again after all these years?’ asked Ravenscroft, relieved that he had at last secured the truth.
‘After Ross’s death, there was nothing else we could do. The matter was closed. The regiment’s honour had been preserved. We all went our separate ways, except for Jenkins and myself, who had known one another for some years. Then we were all contacted individually by that man Crosbie, who told us we were all descendants of that de la Pole fellow. The rest you know.’
‘You must have felt some unease when you discovered on arrival at the abbey that the other members turned out to be Hollinger and Anstruther?’
‘Yes. When Jenkins and myself first met you, my dear lady, the name Eames was familiar to us, but we considered that perhaps you were no relation of our Colonel Eames. When we saw that Hollinger and Anstruther were waiting for us outside the abbey, we thought it best to maintain appearances and create the impression that we had not met before.’
‘And Ross? That must have been a shock?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘At first when the man appeared outside the abbey, he was wearing a large hat which partially obscured his face, and even when he said his name was Ross I thought he must have been someone else with the same name. Then he was gone, disappeared into the darkness of the abbey and we saw him no more. It was only later that evening, when we were talking together, that we all realized that the man was indeed Ross — but then he could not have been, because we had all been there, the day that he died.’
‘Tell me, Mr Ganniford, can you be absolutely certain that the dead man all those years ago was in fact Charles Ross? Could another person have been shot by mistake? The inquest stated that the side of his face was blown away. His features must have been unrecognizable, but you all assumed it was Ross. Perhaps Ross was not there at all that weekend, and that someone else had taken his place?’
‘No, it was definitely Ross. Although Jenkins, and myself had never met Ross before that weekend, he was known to Colonel Eames and Anstruther, as they were both members of the regiment. When we came across the body, although the face was gone, we all knew it was Ross, same clothes and stature, there was no doubting it.’
‘So who was the man at the abbey if it wasn’t Ross?’ asked Crabb, looking up from his notebook.
‘I don’t know, but the more I think about it the more I believe that it was Ross. I cannot understand it; dead men don’t return from the grave, do they, Ravenscroft?’ said Ganniford, reclaiming his armchair and mopping his sweating brow with a large handkerchief.
‘Miss Eames, can you add anything to what Mr Ganniford has just told us?’ asked Ravenscroft turning towards the lady.
‘I am afraid not, Inspector. I knew nothing of these past affairs until after that night in the abbey.’
‘Did your father ever mention to you the events of that weekend?’
‘I remember his visit to Lord Treaves, but he said nothing about what had transpired when he returned home.’
‘Did your father ever talk about the massacre in Afghanistan?’ continued Ravenscroft.
‘No. My mother and I were at home in Ludlow when my father was in India with his regiment. He considered that it would be better if we remained in England. When he and his regiment returned home, he spoke very little of his days in India and Afghanistan. He retired some years ago. I am sorry that I cannot help you further.’
‘Thank you, Miss Eames. It is a pity, Mr Ganniford, that you and your companions weren’t more forthcoming when I first interviewed you all. If we had learned the truth at the start of this investigation, the lives of Major Anstruther and Dr Hollinger might have been saved.’
‘You don’t know that, man,’ retorted an indignant Ganniford. ‘You don’t know that at all.’
‘If you will both excuse me, I must put into operation the search for Mr Jenkins. The sooner he is found, the better it will be for all of us. Come, Crabb. Good day to you both.’
* * *
‘If only we had known all about Ross’s death, we would not have been led astray by all that nonsense about missing golden goblets,’ sighed Ravenscroft, as he sank into his chair in the police station in Tewkesbury.
‘That is why they all came here,’ said Crabb, taking the other chair.
‘Yes. They all believed they were descendants of Sir Roger de la Pole and that if they came to Tewkesbury they would each stand to have a share in the old Templar’s treasure once it was retrieved. We now know that Crosbie was merely using the story to bring them all to the town — but why, Tom? What was his purpose in reuniting the members of the hunting party after all these years?’
‘And two of them are now dead,’ added Crabb.
‘Exactly, and we must not forget that there was another victim, Crosbie himself, who was hit over the head and left in the open tomb. Whoever is behind all this must have been in league w
ith Crosbie right from the start, and once Crosbie had performed his role in bringing the members of the hunting party together, he was of no further use to our murderer and disposed of in a cowardly fashion. But why? Why, Tom?’
‘Because our murderer wanted to be sure that Crosbie could not talk.’
‘Correct. If Crosbie remained alive, his association with the murderer could be revealed at any moment. No, Crosbie had to be put out of the way. Now what we have to ask ourselves, is why did our murderer want to bring all these people together? If he wanted to kill them all, why did he not just kill them all individually in their own homes? That would have been the easy way, and it would not have aroused suspicion. Why concoct this elaborate story to bring them all here to Tewkesbury? It just does not make any sense at all — unless, of course, he still hoped that one of them might be able to solve the code on the side of the tomb.’
‘I thought we had discounted that idea, sir.’
‘Yes, you’re right. I must put all thought of that Templar out of my mind. So, who do you think is behind all this, Tom?’
‘Jenkins? Dry old fish. Don’t care for him much. You always get the feeling that he knows a lot more than you do, and that he likes you to know it, if you see what I mean.’
‘He certainly has the intelligence and knowledge to come up with this story. To him, it could have been some kind of intellectual game — but do people kill just to fulfil some kind of intelligent desire? I don’t know, but if he did kill Crosbie, Hollinger and Anstruther, then it would make sense of the fact that he has left the town in a hurry before we can lay our hands on him.’
‘Ganniford?’ suggested Crabb.
‘Ganniford. Yes, Ganniford, always critical and complaining, but I doubt that he would have had the energy or the inclination to commit three murders.’
‘Miss Eames?’
‘Miss Eames interests me. We know that her father was the colonel of Ross’s regiment and that he was present at the hunting party weekend, although the good lady was not there herself. So why bring Miss Eames here to Tewkesbury, if her father was already dead?’
‘Perhaps Crosbie intended that Major Eames should have been present, but then he died unexpectedly and his daughter came in his place?’ suggested Crabb.
‘I think you may well be right, Tom. She said that her father had only recently died. She must have been there when Crosbie called on her father, and after his death decided that she would journey to Tewkesbury to look for the treasure. Our Miss Eames certainly likes to stay in the background, and I must say I was not entirely convinced when she declared that she knew nothing of the events of both the hunting weekend and that massacre in Afghanistan. I think her father must have told her something — but what possible motive can she have to kill Hollinger, Anstruther and Crosbie? Jenkins, Ganniford or Miss Eames? We are, of course, forgetting one thing in all this: our chief suspect, Ross, is still at large. I am convinced that it is Ross who holds the solution to this mystery.’
‘But Ross is dead, sir. Ganniford and Lord Treaves both saw the body and confirmed the death,’ said Crabb.
‘Yes, that would appear to confirm the newspaper report of the inquest. If Ganniford and the others did lure Ross to Lord Treaves’s estate that weekend with the intention of killing him to reclaim the honour of the regiment, then they certainly seem to have fulfilled their intention. I think we can safely assume that the man they saw that night at the abbey and when we interviewed at Bredon’s Norton was not Ross. And in my experience dead men don’t come back from the dead to seek revenge on those who might have done them wrong in their lifetime. You recall what Ganniford said — although the man told them he was Ross, his face was partially obscured by his large hat and we must remember that ten years had elapsed since the shooting. It was also dark that night and the man quickly disappeared from view once inside the abbey. I think someone was impersonating Ross. He clearly wanted the others to believe he was Ross, but why? Why pretend to be a dead man, and why go around killing two members of the former hunting party? We have not got to the bottom of all this yet. We need to do some more research. I want to know a lot more about that massacre in Afghanistan,’ said Ravenscroft, quickly rising from his chair.
‘How will you do that, sir? It was all such a long time ago.’
‘We must contact the regiment direct and see if they can throw any more light on the event. We also need to know more about Ross’s family. Where did he originate from? Kirkintilloch, someone said. Right, Tom, you and I need to pay a visit to the telegraph office, then we must resume our search for Jenkins.’
‘The men are out looking for him now, sir,’ said Crabb following Ravenscroft out of the room.
‘Whatever is all that shouting outside?’ said Ravenscroft throwing open the outer door of the building.
‘Now quieten down, my lad. I’ve told you Mr Ravenscroft is busy and not to be disturbed,’ said a breathless Reynolds seeking to restrain the youthful Stebbins by holding the young servant’s collar.
‘What is all this about, Reynolds?’ enquired Ravenscroft.
‘Thank the lord, Mr Ravenscroft! This puffed-up gent who calls himself an officer of the law, won’t let me speak to you on a matter of greatest urgency,’ said an indignant Stebbins, trying to free himself from the other’s grasp.
‘Troublemaker if ever I saw one!’ proclaimed Reynolds.
‘Let go! Yer strangling me, you great bluebottle!’
‘All right, Reynolds, you can let the lad go. Now, Stebbins, what’s this all about? Be quick, we are on urgent business,’ said Ravenscroft, beginning to move away down the street.
‘It’s that gent, sir,’ said a relieved Stebbins, brushing down his uniform as he ran after the policemen.
‘Jenkins?’ asked Crabb.
‘Yes, him. I reckon I knows where he might be.’
‘Where, Stebbins, where?’ asked Ravenscroft, suddenly stopping and facing the boy.
‘Most like he be under the big wheel.’
‘What wheel?’
‘The big wheel down at the mill on the weir,’ replied Stebbins, growing in self-importance.
‘You have seen Mr Jenkins there?’ asked Ravenscroft looking anxiously at Crabb.
‘No, I ain’t actually seen him there.’
‘I knew he was wasting our time,’ nodded Reynolds, expressing a degree of satisfaction.
‘Then how do you know Mr Jenkins is there, Stebbins, if you have not actually seen him?’ enquired an indignant Ravenscroft.
‘’Cause that’s where they all ends up.’
‘Where who ends up?’
‘The stiffs, sir. That’s where they all ends up — under the big mill wheel by the weir.’
‘And how do you know that, Stebbins? I thought you had only been here in Tewkesbury for a few months.’
‘Been talking with the other lads, I have. I has been a making a few enquiries on your behalf, Mr Ravenscroft. They says when folk goes missing, they is always found under the big wheel.’
‘I’ll send him packing, sir,’ said Reynolds.
‘Could be worth taking a look?’ suggested Crabb.
‘Now look here, Stebbins, if you have been making all this up—’
‘On the good Queen’s life, bless her, and the dead Albert,’ interrupted the boy, crossing himself.
‘Right, then we had better go and see,’ said Ravenscroft. ‘Just where is this watermill, Reynolds?’
‘Not far, sir,’ replied the constable with annoyance.
‘Then lead on, Reynolds. Stebbins, you had better accompany us.’
‘Delighted, Mr Ravenscroft,’ said the boy, giving the constable a broad grin.
The party turned away from the main street and followed a smaller road that ran down towards the river.
‘That looks like a mill,’ said Crabb, pointing at a large building that came presently into view.
‘And that, if I am not mistaken, must be the wheel that turns the water away from the weir,’ said Rav
enscroft.
‘Told you so, Mr Ravenscroft. If your mister has met his end in that river, that’s where he’ll be and no mistake,’ announced Stebbins.
‘Looks as though someone is here before us, sir,’ said Crabb, pointing to a lone figure who was approaching quickly along the river-bank from the other direction.
‘Good morning, Reverend,’ called out Ravenscroft.
‘Good morning to you, Inspector, gentlemen,’ replied the Reverend Jesterson. ‘It is indeed a pleasant morning for a stroll by the river.’
‘Indeed so, Reverend. The noise from the water is quite deafening,’ said Ravenscroft drawing nearer.
‘Can’t see anything, sir,’ said Crabb, trying to make himself heard, as the group peered over the edge of the small wall that separated the bank from the revolving wheel.
‘Can I ask what it is that you are looking for?’ asked Jesterson.
‘There he is, Mr Ravenscroft!’ shouted Stebbins excitedly, pointing down into the waters.
‘Don’t be daft, lad,’ said Reynolds. ‘That’s just a sack and some old driftwood.’
‘I tells you it’s him!’ said Stebbins, leaning so far forward that Crabb felt compelled to restrain the eager young man by grasping the collar of his coat.
‘I think he might just be right. Run and get that pole on the side of the bank, Crabb,’ instructed Ravenscroft, straining for a better view.
‘Whatever is the matter?’ asked an anxious Jesterson.
‘It’s him, the one with the long nose. Dead as last year’s cold cucumber if you asks me,’ proclaimed Stebbins.
‘We don’t know that just yet, Stebbins. Here, give me the pole, Crabb, and I will try and hook whatever it is,’ said Ravenscroft. ‘Here we are. Help me pull it into the side. Good God! The boy is right. It is a body!’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
