by Kerry Tombs
TEWKESBURY
Ravenscroft looked at the blank wall before him. Two hours before he and Crabb had taken the body recovered from beneath the mill wheel to the local mortuary, where an examination had shown that the deceased had died as the result of a blow to the back of the head. Whether the blow was inflicted before the body was thrown into the waters of the Severn, or whether death was caused as the result of the unfortunate victim falling into the river and then hitting his head on a large stone or the mill wheel, was uncertain. Either way, Jenkins was now dead, and another suspect had ceased to be. Just how Jenkins had found his way to the river when the abbey was in the opposite direction when he had left the Hop Pole earlier that morning, remained a mystery. There was no way that Ravenscroft could prove whether the dead man had died as the result of an accident or had been cruelly struck down by another.
First Hollinger, then Anstruther — and now Jenkins. Now there only remained Ganniford and Miss Eames of the original six members of the group, and, of course, the mysterious, elusive Ross. Ravenscroft was convinced that the Scotsman was behind all the killings, and that they had something to do with that massacre in Afghanistan and Ross’s ‘supposed’ death at Lord Treaves’s weekend gathering, but the more he considered the matter, the more difficult it became to understand why a dead man would come back from the grave to seek revenge on the members of that hunting party.
The door suddenly opened and Tom Crabb entered the room.
‘Well, Tom, any news yet?’ asked Ravenscroft, quickly removing his feet from the table in front of him.
‘None sir.’
‘Confound it. We must half the county looking for this fellow Ross, and yet no one has seen him. He can’t just have gone to ground. Any replies yet from the telegrams we sent out?’
‘Not yet. I’ve told the boy to bring us any reply as soon as it is received.’
‘I can’t stand all this waiting around, Tom. There must be something else we can do,’ said Ravenscroft, standing up and pacing the room.
‘Have you considered the possibility that Jenkins might have thrown himself into the river?’ suggested Crabb, unable to think of anything else that might relieve his superior’s anxiety.
‘You mean that Jenkins was so full of remorse after killing Anstruther and Hollinger that he decided to do away with himself? I don’t think so.’
‘Just a thought,’ said Crabb turning away.
‘He didn’t seem to be the type who would do that. Talking of Jenkins, how did you think Ganniford and Miss Eames took the news?’
‘Ganniford seemed very upset. I suppose they had been friends for many years.’
‘And Miss Eames?’
‘How do you mean? She sat there and said nothing.’
‘That was just it. I thought she might have broken down, but, no, she merely turned away and sat quietly in her chair.’
‘Probably the shock was too much for her.’
‘No doubt you are right.’
‘Have you considered the possibility that Jesterson might be behind all this?’ suggested Crabb.
‘Go on.’
‘Well, it seems just more than a coincidence that he was walking along the river-bank when we arrived at the mill.’
‘You think he might have just killed Jenkins?’
‘He could have done. We only have his word for it that Jenkins hadn’t visited the abbey shortly before his death. Then he was there that night outside the Hop Pole when Anstruther left just after Hollinger’s murder. It could be just another coincidence. Can’t say I like the gentleman. Something about him doesn’t seem right.’
‘I still can’t see Jesterson as our killer, or even working in conjunction with someone else. What reason would he have for killing Hollinger, Anstruther and Jenkins?’
‘Just an idea,’ said a crestfallen Crabb.
‘Damn it. What are we missing, Tom? There has to be something else; something which we have overlooked. Why, yes of course — the Army List!’ said Ravenscroft suddenly stopping in the centre of the room.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘The Army List! You remember when I sent you to the local library the other day to look up Major Anstruther in the Army List, and you couldn’t find him there. That must have been because he had left his regiment some years previously but he still wanted us to believe that he was with the Guards. Did you look up Ross?’
‘No, sir,’ replied a baffled Crabb. ‘At that time we knew nothing of Ross.’
‘Exactly! Tell me, Tom, did the library have back copies of the Army List for previous years?’ asked Ravenscroft eagerly.
‘I believe so, sir, although it was difficult to tell, as the books were all over the place.’
‘Then let us go and consult them. Tell Reynolds to bring any telegrams that might arrive to us there as soon as possible.’
* * *
‘Good morning to you, Mr Webster,’ said Ravenscroft smiling, as he and Crabb entered the library a few minutes later.
The librarian looked up from his work, and gave the men a far from encouraging look of recognition. ‘Mr Ravenscroft, it is you again.’
‘It is indeed.’
‘Pray, sir, how do you know my name? I thought I had not told it you on your previous visit. No, I did not.’
‘You are correct, sir — but then there is a well-worn plaque attached to the outside of these premises which informs one, albeit it in rather faded letters, that one might find a librarian by the name of Webster inside this building.’
The librarian’s mouth gave a slight twitch as he resumed his work.
‘It is back copies of the Army List that my assistant and I need to consult.’
‘The Army List, you say? That is a very unusual thing to request, if I may say so. A very unusual request indeed. Yes it is. I do not know where such an item, or items may be found. No, I do not.’
‘Crabb, where did you find the volume when you visited the other day?’ sighed Ravenscroft.
‘On the shelf over here, sir,’ replied Crabb, leading the way.
‘That may be the wrong part of the library, gentlemen, in which to seek such an item. Then again you may be correct, and you may well find that which you are seeking. I cannot say. No, I cannot say so at all with any great degree of certainty,’ began the librarian, quickly rising from his seat.
‘Here we are, sir. This was the present volume. These look like some earlier volumes,’ said Crabb, reaching up to one of the shelves.
‘Fortunately the run would appear to go back a number of years. 1877, let’s start with that one,’ said Ravenscroft, opening one of the small, leather-bound volumes and turning over the pages. ‘Ah, here we are: Captain Charles Ross, formerly of Kirkintilloch, Dumbartonshire, Scotland. Try the next one, 1878, Tom, whilst I look in 1879.’
‘I see you are fruitful in your search, gentlemen. That is good. Yes, it is, indeed.’
The two men ignored the librarian as they eagerly continued with their research.
‘Yes, here he is again, sir,’ said Tom looking up from the volume.
‘So he was still listed in 1878. That was when the incident in Afghanistan must have taken place. He is still listed here for 1879, although he must have left the army by then, but the list was probably several months out of date when it was published. Let us try 1880. Ah, here we are, see there is no entry for Captain Charles Ross for that year.’
‘Not surprising, sir, as he was dead by then,’ said Crabb, still puzzled by his superior’s line of new enquiry.
‘Take the other volumes. Start with 1881.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Humour me, Crabb. 1882 nothing there. Try 1883. No, nothing,’ said Ravenscroft, quickly turning over the pages of the volumes.
‘1884. Nothing for Ross here,’ said Crabb.
‘Damn! I was convinced that— 1885. Look here, Crabb! Captain Robert Ross. Formerly of Kirkintilloch.’
‘Robert Ross?’
‘Yes — and see her
e, 1886. The same entry. Try the next one, while I take a look for 1888,’ instructed Ravenscroft.
‘Yes, sir. 1887. Captain Robert Ross,’ said Crabb.
‘But there is no entry for 1888. Do you see what this means, Tom? Captain Robert Ross of Kirkintilloch was serving in the army from 1885 until 1887. The fact that he is not listed in 1888, last year’s volume, suggests that he had left the army by then,’ said Ravenscroft excitedly.
‘I still don’t understand, sir.’
‘Robert Ross was related to our Charles Ross — possibly a younger brother — and both came from Kirkintilloch!’
‘So Charles Ross did die at that hunting party after all.’
‘Exactly! And the man we saw at Bredon’s Norton was not Charles Ross but his brother Robert — and have you noticed something else, Crabb? They are both listed as serving in the same regiment in India and Afghanistan!’
* * *
‘You think that Robert Ross killed Anstruther, Hollinger and Jenkins because he believed that they had shot his brother?’ asked Crabb, as he and Ravenscroft made their way back to the station.
‘I am certain of it. He used Crosbie to lure those whom he felt responsible for his brother’s death, on the pretext that they were all entitled to a share of the old knight’s treasure. He knew that they would all be more than anxious not to miss out on the opportunity,’ replied Ravenscroft.
‘Very clever.’
‘And once Crosbie had performed his role he was disposable.’
‘Why didn’t Ross just eliminate them one by one in their own homes?’
‘Perhaps he derived some kind of pleasure or satisfaction in watching how the others would react, one by one, as they learned of the others’ deaths. What I don’t understand is, why? Why would Robert Ross seek revenge for his brother’s death, when Charles Ross had bought dishonour and shame on his family due to his cowardice in Afghanistan? You would think that Ross would have wanted nothing to do with his brother’s memory after that act of cowardice. No, I cannot see that he would act out of revenge.’
‘Here is Reynolds, sir,’ interrupted Crabb.
‘Ah, Reynolds, I trust you have news for me,’ said Ravenscroft as the policeman drew near.
‘Yes, sir. Telegram just arrived,’ replied the constable passing over the item to his superior.
‘Thank you, Reynolds,’ said Ravenscroft eagerly, tearing open the envelope. ‘It’s from the colonel of Ross’s old regiment. Can confirm massacre took place. Ross discredited at time. New evidence suggests however that Ross fought with honour.’
‘What does that mean, “fought with honour”?’ asked Crabb.
‘It means that Charles Ross did not desert his post that day. He must have fought bravely to save the others and was wrongly accused of cowardice at the time. If Anstruther and the others did shoot Ross during the hunting party, they must have believed at the time that Charles Ross was guilty of cowardice and that they were acting to restore the honour of the regiment. If Robert Ross joined the regiment some years later, and somehow learned of what really happened at that massacre, then he must have believed that his brother had been unjustly treated — and somehow wanted revenge on those who had caused his brother’s death!’ exclaimed Ravenscroft.
‘So that is why Ross killed Anstruther and the others?’
‘My God, Crabb! We have been so stupid. Do you see what this means?’
‘What, sir?’
‘It means that even as we speak, Ganniford and Miss Eames are in the gravest danger!’
* * *
Ravenscroft ran into the Hop Pole, closely followed by Crabb and Reynolds.
‘Lord, Mr Ravenscroft, you is in a mighty hurry,’ said Stebbins, looking up from the desk in the reception area. ‘Somat must be up.’
‘Where are Mr Ganniford and Miss Eames?’ asked Ravenscroft urgently.
‘Last seen in the snug, sir,’ answered the boy.
Ravenscroft quickly made his way across the bar and into the snug. ‘Thank goodness,’ he remarked, as Ganniford came forward to meet them.
‘Whatever is the matter, Inspector?’ asked Ganniford taken aback by the sudden intrusion.
‘I believe that you and Miss Eames are in the gravest danger.’
‘From Ross?’
‘From Ross. There is no time to explain now. Where is Miss Eames?’ asked Ravenscroft looking anxiously around the room.
‘She said she was going out for a walk,’ answered Ganniford.
‘And you let her go alone?’ retorted Ravenscroft.
‘I could see no harm in it. The good lady said she wanted to be alone.’
‘How long ago was this?’
‘About five minutes ago.’
‘We are too late!’ exclaimed Ravenscroft. ‘Quickly, man, can you remember where Miss Eames said she might be taking her walk?’
‘Into the town I believe, or was it down by the river? Blessed if I can remember,’ said a confused Ganniford scratching his head.
‘It is very important that you do remember, Mr Ganniford. I believe that Miss Eames is in the gravest danger,’ implored Ravenscroft.
‘Yes, yes, I remember. She said she was going to take a walk around the abbey grounds. Yes, that was it, the abbey grounds.’
‘Quickly, Crabb. We must make all speed,’ said Ravenscroft, rushing out of the room.
The two men made their way out of the inn and ran quickly across the road, followed by Reynolds, Ganniford and an eager Stebbins.
‘Which way, sir?’ asked Crabb, pausing at the entrance to the abbey grounds.
‘This way I would think,’ replied Ravenscroft, turning towards the right.
The group followed Ravenscroft across the lawns that ran in front and to the side of the abbey.
‘Over there!’ shouted Crabb, pointing towards a distant figure.
‘Thank God we are in time to save the good lady,’ said Ravenscroft quickening his pace. ‘Who is that black-coated figure moving towards her?’
‘It’s Ross, sir!’ exclaimed Crabb.
‘We must save her!’ replied Ravenscroft.
‘He has her, sir!’ said Crabb.
As the group drew nearer to the couple, Ravenscroft observed that Ross had grabbed his quarry.
‘Leave her alone!’ shouted a breathless Ravenscroft, drawing closer to the couple.
Ross turned to face Ravenscroft, one arm around Miss Eames’s waist, the other clasping a knife to her throat.
‘It’s finished, Ross. Let Miss Eames go,’ commanded Ravenscroft, as the remainder of his party came running up behind him.
‘Keep back, Ravenscroft, or I’ll kill the lady,’ shouted Ross. ‘Tell them all to keep back! I mean what I say.’
Miss Eames attempted to let out a cry as she struggled to free herself from her assailant’s grasp.
‘It’s all over, Ross. We know what really happened in Afghanistan,’ replied Ravenscroft, raising his arm to indicate that Crabb and the others were to stand back.
‘You know nothing!’ sneered Ross.
‘We know that your brother was unjustly vilified.’
‘Then you know why I have to avenge his death.’
‘Your brother died as the result of a hunting accident,’ said Ganniford.
‘Lies! Lies! You, Ganniford, and the rest of them killed him!’
‘I swear it was an accident. His gun discharged itself. We had nothing to do with it,’ said an agitated Ganniford.
‘Lies! Lies! You miserable man.’
‘Let Miss Eames go,’ said Ravenscroft, observing that Crabb and Reynolds had slowly moved out to his right and left sides. ‘She has done your family no harm. She was not even there that weekend.’
‘She is the daughter of Colonel Eames and will die in his place,’ retorted Ross tightening his grip on the struggling lady and drawing the knife nearer to her throat.
‘For goodness’ sake, man, you know it is all over. Let Miss Eames go. You can’t take all five of us. We are too many
for you.’
Ross looked frantically from side to side. ‘Tell them to keep back!’ he yelled.
‘It’s all finished, man. Give me the knife,’ instructed Ravenscroft taking a step forward.
‘I warn you, Ravenscroft, keep back all of you,’ shouted Ross.
‘Let me have a go at him!’ shouted Stebbins, suddenly running towards the couple.
‘Stebbins! Keep back!’ yelled Ravenscroft.
As the boy dived for Ross’s legs, Miss Eames suddenly broke free, and Crabb and Reynolds ran in and quickly wrestled the man to the ground.
‘Put the cuffs on him, Crabb. You silly boy, you could have had Miss Eames killed,’ said Ravenscroft reprimanding Stebbins.
A sobbing Miss Eames ran into Ganniford’s arms.
‘Always go for the legs, my old dad used to say. The legs, my boy, that’s where they least expect it.’
‘One of these days, Stebbins, your impetuosity will lead you to meet an untimely end.’
‘Not yet though eh, Mr Ravenscroft?’ smiled a triumphant Stebbins.
‘What shall we do with him, sir?’ enquired Reynolds, as he and Crabb raised a defeated Ross to his feet.
‘Confound you, Ravenscroft,’ muttered a dishevelled Ross.
‘So, Mr Ross, we have you at last. Take him to the station, Crabb. I will deal with him later.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
TEWKESBURY
Ravenscroft entered the room. Ross, seated at the table, turned and stared out of the window, his face expressionless.
‘Well, Mr Ross, what have you to say for yourself?’ asked Ravenscroft drawing up the other chair, while Crabb moved to the corner of the room and took out his notebook.
His prisoner said nothing.
‘Silence will do you no good, Mr Ross. I need to hear your side of the story.’
‘Story! This is not a story,’ snapped Ross, turning suddenly in Ravenscroft’s direction and thumping his fist hard down on the table. ‘The honour of my family has been tainted. Don’t you understand that?’
‘Then why do you not try and explain it to me, Mr Ross?’
‘You would not understand. There is no point,’ said Ross, slumping back in the chair.
‘I know that the deaths of four men lie at your door,’ retorted Ravenscroft, regretting the words of provocation as soon as he had spoken them.
