by Kerry Tombs
‘The nerve of the man. Do you believe all that sad tale of hers?’ asked Crabb.
‘There may be some truth in it, but that woman had lied to us so much, it is difficult to believe anything that she says now. Undoubtedly she only agreed to meet her so called lover here because he paid her for her attentions. I do not believe that they were planning to poison her husband. He would not have given up his wife and position for such a woman. That is why I decided to let the gentleman go. Well, now that we have satisfied our curiosity regarding Mrs Jacobson, I think we might return to our original intention of visiting the bank again to see if we can find out more concerning our main suspect.’
* * *
‘Good day to you again. I would like a word with the manager if you please,’ said Ravenscroft trying to sound as affable as he could.
The clerk gave him a disapproving stare, before disappearing into the inner room.
‘Inspector Ravenscroft, I have told you all that I can about Mr Cherrington,’ said Mortimer dismissively as he came out of his office.
‘Nevertheless, sir, I would appreciate a few moments of your time. The matter is quite urgent, I can assure you.’
‘Oh very well,’ sighed Mortimer. ‘You had best come into my office.’
Ravenscroft and Crabb followed the manager.
‘If you would care to take a seat, inspector,’ said Mortimer indicating a chair facing the desk.
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Now how can I be of assistance to you?’
‘As you are no doubt aware, Mr Mortimer, I am investigating the deaths of two persons at Talbots’ Lodging House. What I have to tell you now is in the strictest confidence, as I am sure you will appreciate. Our chief suspect in this case remains your client, Mr Cherrington. I believe, however, that this is not the gentleman’s real name.’
‘I see.’
‘The gentleman’s real name is Quinton. Many years ago he was the chief suspect in the Pimlico Poisoning case and, although acquitted on a technicality, the police firmly believed that a miscarriage of justice took place.’
‘Yes, I see. Well yes, anything that I can help you with, inspector,’ replied Mortimer looking anxious.
‘Thank you, Mr Mortimer. What can you tell me about the gentleman’s funds? Has the money really been transferred from India?’
‘Oh yes, inspector, I can confirm that.’
‘And the amount?’
‘Three hundred and fifty pounds.’
‘Not a vast fortune, but nevertheless a reasonably large sum. Have you have any further details regarding these funds?’ asked Ravenscroft keen to know more.
‘One moment. Ah yes, I have the file here,’ replied Mortimer looking through a pile of papers on his desk. ‘Yes. Apparently most of the money came from the payment of a life assurance policy issued by the Bombay Life Assurance Company.’
‘Really, that is most interesting. I don’t suppose we have the name of the person who was covered by the policy?’ asked Ravenscroft hopefully.
‘I don’t believe so, although, wait a moment. You may be in luck, inspector. Apparently the policy had been taken out on a certain Mrs Isabella Quinton.’
‘Now that is most interesting,’ smiled Ravenscroft.
‘Seems as though you were right, sir,’ said Crabb.
‘Quinton and Cherrington are one and the same. Thank you, Mr Mortimer, you have been most helpful. There is one more thing that you could do for us.’
‘Yes certainly.’
‘Mr Cherrington has announced his intention of visiting you again tomorrow to sign the papers for the transfer of his funds to your branch in London.’
‘That is so.’
‘I would be grateful if you come up with some pretext or other to delay the signing of the papers. You see we intend questioning this gentleman after our conversation, and we would hope to elicit a confession from him. However it may take us some time to acquire the necessary proof to implicate him in these murders here in Pershore. If you could, therefore, delay the transfer of his funds, say until the day after tomorrow, that would ensure that Mr Quinton remains in the town until then. I would be unhappy if he left Pershore tomorrow before we have acquired the necessary evidence against him. I am sure that you understand our position, Mr Mortimer?’ said Ravenscroft choosing his words carefully.
‘Yes indeed. I can arrange that.’
‘Then we are indebted to you,’ said Ravenscroft standing up and warmly shaking the manager’s hand.
* * *
‘So, Tom, now we have him. Having poisoned his first wife all those years ago in Pimlico, and then most probably his second wife in India to acquire the insurance money, Quinton has now also poisoned two innocent residents of Talbots’,’ said Ravenscroft as he and Crabb hastened back towards the lodging house.
‘You were right along, sir,’ said Crabb.
‘Quinton must have poisoned Jones, or Murphy as we now know he was called, because he had met the man somewhere in the past, and Jones had threatened to expose him.’
‘And Miss Martin, sir?’
‘She must have realized that Quinton had poisoned Jones, and then decided to blackmail him. That was why Quinton had to kill her as well.’
‘Very neat,’
‘Yes. I am sure that is the case. We will confront Cherrington with our news and see how he reacts. If we press him hard enough, we may be fortunate enough to get him to confess.’
‘Let us hope so.’
‘Perhaps we could tie up this case by the end of the day, and I would be free to join Mrs Ravenscroft in Weymouth. We live in hope, Tom. We live in hope.’
* * *
Ravenscroft tapped on the door.
‘Oh for goodness sake, Ravenscroft, cannot you leave me alone? This is quite intolerable, man!’ exclaimed Cherrington when he opened the door.
‘We need to ask you some more questions, Mr Cherrington,’ insisted Ravenscroft.
‘I have told you all I can. You have seen how my funds have arrived from India, despite all your nonsense. I think I am quite in my rights to refuse to say any more about this matter,’ said Cherrington attempting to close the door on the two arrivals.
‘There has been a development in the case, Mr Cherrington, which directly affects you. I also have to remind you that we are still investigating two murders in this lodging house,’ replied Ravenscroft firmly placing his hand on the opened door panel.
‘What development?’
‘May we come in, sir. It would be better if we could speak with you privately.’
‘I will give you five minutes, Ravenscroft and that is all,’ said Cherrington standing back from the door and allowing the two detectives to enter.
‘I will come straight to the point, Mr Cherrington,’ said Ravenscroft when he had seated himself. ‘Do you still maintain that you are not Quinton?’
‘This is ridiculous, Ravenscroft. I have already told you that my name is Cherrington and that I know nothing concerning this Quinton,’ declared Cherrington sitting back in his arm chair and lighting a cigarette.
‘So you keep saying, sir. Well I have to tell you that I have just visited your bank, and have had a most informative conversation there with Mr Mortimer. He was able to confirm the transfer of your funds from India, but a close examination of the papers showed that the money had been claimed on an insurance policy issued by the Bombay Insurance Company—’
‘You had the audacity to delve into my private papers!’ interrupted Cherrington. ‘You have gone too far this time, Ravenscroft.’
‘The policy had been claimed on the life of a Mrs Isabella Quinton. Your wife I presume, Captain Quinton?’ said Ravenscroft with affect.
‘Damn you!’ exclaimed Cherrington.
‘So I think we can now cease all this pretence. How did your wife die, Captain?’ asked Ravenscroft realizing that he now had the upper hand.
‘All right, all right. I have a perfectly valid explanation for all this,’ replied Cherrington moving uneasily
in his chair.
‘I would be quite happy to hear it,’ said a satisfied Ravenscroft peering over the top of his glasses.
‘Yes, I knew Quinton. He was my business partner in India. Shortly before he and his wife died of the wretched fever they took out insurance policies making me the beneficiary.’
‘Oh, why sir would they have done that?’
‘To secure the business, man, so that if one of us died then the other would be able to continue knowing that he was still financially solvent. I likewise took out an insurance policy on my own life, so that in the event of my demise, Quinton would have been able to carry on after me. It all made good business sense,’ said Cherrington recovering his composure and puffing out smoke into the room.
‘This is all nonsense, Quinton,’ laughed Ravenscroft.
‘It may seem nonsense to you, inspector, but if you had ever lived in India, and been surrounded by all the death and disease there, you would have seen the necessity for such insurance.’
‘If all this is true, Mr Cherrington, why did you declare that you had never heard of anyone called Quinton when we questioned you?’ continued Ravenscroft.
‘I admit that does sound rather suspicious. One evening, in India, Captain Quinton told me the sad story of how he had been unjustly arraigned for the death of his first wife all those years ago in Pimlico, and how the police there had been mistaken in their investigations, and how he had been driven out of the country by false accusations after the trial. I, of course, sympathized with my poor friend’s predicament. Naturally when the name of Quinton was raised by you in your questioning, I thought it prudent not to admit the association with Quinton. I could see how such an admission might easily lead you to suppose that I was that man, and with Quinton dead there was no way of proving otherwise,’ said a confident Cherrington.
‘This is all very neat,’ said Ravenscroft taken aback by his suspect’s new line of defence.
‘I admit that it does not seem very plausible, inspector, but I can assure you that what I have just told you is the truth. I am not Quinton.’
‘This is all nonsense, sir. Come now admit that you are Quinton,’ insisted Ravenscroft.
‘I do not know how to answer you, inspector, only to tell you that you are completely misguided in your persistence,’ said Cherrington leaning back in his armchair before inhaling once again on his cigarette.
‘I know you are Quinton and, furthermore, I know that you poisoned Jones,’ said Ravenscroft beginning to feel unsettled by his suspect’s assurance and calm.
‘Oh come now, inspector. What possible motive could I have for killing poor Jones?’
‘I believe that you and Jones — or rather Murphy, as we have now established this as his real name — had met somewhere previously, and that this gentleman had threatened to expose you as Quinton.’
‘For goodness sake, man, that is quite ridiculous,’ laughed Cherrington. ‘And if I had been this Quinton, which I am not, why would I have wanted to kill Jones or Murphy? Quinton after all was innocent of his crimes, so he would have had nothing to fear from this man. There was nothing to be uncovered and certainly nothing of which to be ashamed. No, inspector, none of this holds up at all. I suppose you think I killed poor Miss Martin as well because I had met her sometime in the past?’
‘And did you not poison the poor lady?’ asked Ravenscroft becoming more frustrated by his lack of progress.
‘Of course I didn’t. Why would I have wanted her dead? Earlier today you said I was trying to marry the good lady for her money. Now you say I poisoned her because she had learnt of some terrible secret I possessed. Perhaps you should make up your mind, inspector. All of this is quite absurd. I really think that you need to take a holiday, Ravenscroft.’
‘I know, Cherrington, that you are Quinton — and I know that you poisoned that young lady in Pimlico all those years ago, and that you have now poisoned Jones and Miss Martin,’ said Ravenscroft with determination and mounting anger.
‘Look, Ravenscroft there is a simple answer to all this. If you have enough evidence to prove all these wild accusations, then why don’t you arrest me and put me on trial. Well?’ taunted Cherrington. ‘No, I thought not. I think you had better go, and arrest the real perpetrator of these crimes.’
‘You may think you are very clever, Captain Quinton. I know that you cannot ever be tried again for the death of that poor innocent woman all those years ago, but I can assure you that I will find the evidence for your murders of Jones and Miss Martin, and that you will be brought to trial,’ said Ravenscroft rising from his chair.
‘Then I wish you well, inspector. I will be waiting for your return with eager anticipation,’ smiled Cherrington.
Ravenscroft and Crabb quickly left the room, and closing the door behind them, walked silently down the stairs and out of the lodging house.
* * *
‘The insufferable man!’ said a frustrated Ravenscroft as he strode into the police station.
‘Good afternoon, sir,’ said Hoskings standing to attention.
‘There is nothing good about it, Hoskings,’ growled Ravenscroft bringing his hand down hard on the counter.
‘No, sir,’ replied the startled constable.
‘I thought we had him, sir. I was sure he was going to confess,’ said Crabb trying to sound encouraging.
‘All that nonsense about Quinton being his business partner! Lies all of it, damned lies! I know that he poisoned all three of them, and he knows that he has been acquitted on the first charge and that we have no evidence on the others. The conceit of the man,’ muttered Ravenscroft striding up and down. ‘What are we to do, Tom? How can I bring him to book?’
Crabb at a loss for words, looked down at his feet.
‘Oh, this came for you, sir,’ said Hoskings holding out an envelope.
‘Reply from the Yard. They were quick regarding our inquiries,’ replied a sullen Ravenscroft tearing open the envelope and reading the telegram. ‘Nothing regarding our man Charles Murphy, but apparently Robertson is still alive and I have his address here.’
‘Your old police inspector in Pimlico?’ asked Crabb.
‘The very same. I had thought him long dead, but he is now living in Whitechapel of all places. I shall go and visit him tomorrow.’
‘Whatever for, sir?’
‘He will be interested to know that Quinton has emerged again after all these years, and, who knows, he may be able to tell me something further about the man that may help us in our investigations,’ said Ravenscrott adopting a more energetic manner.
‘What shall we do about Cherrington while you are away?’ asked Crabb.
‘You will remain here, Tom and keep a keen eye on the man. Hoskings here can assist you. Do not let him out of your sight.’
‘What should I do if he attempts to leave the town?’
‘Arrest the man and place him in the cells,’ instructed Ravenscroft.
‘On what charge, sir?’
‘Oh anything, Tom. Anything you can think of. The main thing is, don’t let him get away from us.’
‘Right, sir.’
‘Now, Hoskings where is the Bradshaw?’
CHAPTER TEN
WHITECHAPEL, LONDON
Ravenscroft sat back in the railway carriage and watched the ever-changing countryside pass as the train made its way through the country towns of Worcestershire and onto the honey-stoned villages of the Gloucestershire and Oxfordshire.
His thoughts turned to the previous evening when he had returned home late to Ledbury; he had entered the small cottage in Church Lane, the place which had been his home for the previous two years, and where he had come to value the happiness and warmth that his new life had brought him. The strangely quiet emptiness of the building had reminded him of the many years of futility and loneliness he had experienced in his previous existence in Whitechapel, and that painful recollection had weighed down heavily upon him, adding to the frustration and annoyance he had experienced
earlier that day. He’d walked into the kitchen, where he had poured some water from the pitcher into a glass, before cutting himself two slices of ham from the remainder of the previous day’s joint, and he placed these between two pieces of bread. Taking this simple fare back into the living room, he had seated himself in his usual armchair and gazed into the empty fireplace. He half-expected that the quiet would be broken at any moment by the welcome return of his wife and children. When he finally climbed the stairs later that night it had been with a heavy heart that was full of unease and doubt, and when he had woken earlier the following morning, after an unsettled and restless night, he found his dark mood had not lifted. Now as the train left Oxford and drew closer to the metropolis it seemed almost as though his recent life was slowly ebbing away, and was being replaced by old familiar, gloomy memories that he had sought to forget.
Why had he chosen to seek out his old mentor Robertson after all these years? To bring the old man some satisfaction? To tell him that at last he had encountered Quinton and that their past failure to bring the man to justice might now be superseded by this new opportunity to make him pay for both his past and present crimes? Or was it simply that Ravenscroft was too aware that the man might be escaping justice yet again, and that only Robertson might now provide him with the reassurance and encouragement he needed to press on with his endeavours?
As the train slowed towards the end of its journey and passed the rows of dirty tenement buildings that spread monotonously along the sides of the track, Ravenscroft felt the sky had darkened with the smoke from a thousand chimneys, and he again wondered at the futility of his mission. Was he taking this opportunity to visit his old superior merely as a means of avoiding another confrontation with Quinton? Should he not have remained in Pershore instead and pursued his quarry there? Was this foolish adventure nothing more than an excuse not to face the inevitable? Failure had always been something which he could not face.
Stepping down from the train, he made his way along the congested platform, and through the bustling thoroughfare, out into the road where he hailed a passing cab.
‘Where to, sir?’ asked the dour cabman.
