‘It is just possible.!’ he remarked to himself. But it would have to be verified by a visit to...only then would it start to make sense! ‘Yes, it is just possible...!’ he repeated. And if the long shot came up it could certainly clarify some of the statements that were made at the scene of the...what? Murder? There were at least three persons who had said things or been misquoted whom he would love to confront once more. He was confident that an entirely different slant on things could be achieved with the missing pieces in the jigsaw being found and ready to fit in place to complete the true picture.
It all depended on the visit to that important House in London -but that would have to wait until he was back home. The next step was to book a flight.
There was a hint of fog in the atmosphere as, a superb bath and two fried eggs later, The Prof made his way to book a flight home, armed with the directions given him by the cheerful Millie.
He was offered a late flight on that same day which he declined but decided to accept one on the Saturday. A.B. had said in his note that he had a surprise lined up and to keep the morning free for the following day - the flight booked for the afternoon would get him into London late on Saturday night and he could have a restful day on the Sunday and, first thing Monday morning, he could make that visit to the House.
Before that he reckoned a phone call to Freddie to arrange a meeting and plan a trip back to Maskelyne Hall would get the adrenalin going in no time at all.
He checked his watch and, with the main purpose of his visit to Boston now complete, he believed he could indulge himself in a leisurely wander around the city taking in many places of interest including the Old Corner Bookstore that had been a favourite haunt of the poet Longfellow and his friends.
’You met our little Millie then? I hope she didn’t get up your nose!’ The opening words from A.B. that met him when he returned to Commonwealth Avenue turned his smile into a broad grin.
‘Not quite!’ he replied, rubbing the underside of his nose with the backs of his fingers. ‘She was very obliging! So much so I found it difficult to turn my back on her!’
Abe and Jennifer Berkeley looked at each other before bursting into laughter.
‘That’s our Millie for you!’ Jennifer said. ‘She’s never been scared to get down to a bit of scrubbing!’
‘Oh, Giles, I hope you don’t mind,’ A.B. said. ‘But we have guests coming for dinner tonight. They’re a fine couple and we’re sure you’ll enjoy their company!’
‘I’m sure I will!’
‘Did you get booked on a flight?’
‘Yes, for late tomorrow afternoon!’
‘Splendid! We’ll take you to the airport but on the way I have a little surprise for you. If you’re packed and ready to leave by mid morning we can make that trip.’
When the Cadillac turned on to the Highway 95, with A.B. at the wheel, and headed southwest on the road to Providence Giles, who sat in the back of the car with the attorney wife of the Harvard Professor, reflected on his few hectic days in the Athens of America, his good fortune at meeting two wonderful ambassadors of the United States and his genuine regret at having to say goodbye to the house in Commonwealth Avenue. Thanks to his introduction by the Super "Bulldog” Drummond he’d met two great friends and the wisdom of coming to Boston, in his search for answers to so many questions, had been more than justified.
The road sign to the town of Providence was surely another omen - suggesting care, guidance and good fortune, and he appeared to be the recipient of plenty of that.
His final evening with the Berkeleys and their two dinner guests had been a most enjoyable affair for, not surprisingly, neither murder nor killing had come up as a topic of conversation. And no wonder, for the male guest had spent part of his life, in the 40’s, as a member of the team of someone who’d been a kind of boyhood hero of his. The man who’d led that team had been Frank Buck - the one who, in the 20’s, 30’s and 40’s had brought back, from the jungles of the world, animals in prime condition for the zoos and circuses around the land...hence the title bestowed on him of “Bring-’em-back-alive" Buck!
Listening to his escapades had been real-life adventure and two things in particular had left a lasting impression; the knowledge that the black rhino, as opposed to the white variety, was more aggressive despite not being provoked and the old adage about the female of the species being deadlier than the male!
His thought processes had been working overtime.
He’d slept well and had completed his final packing in plenty of time for A.B. and Jennifer to get him into the car and set out for...? It wasn’t Providence - that was some way off yet and they were slowing down and leaving the main highway. Apart from small talk Jennifer had remained silent for most of the journey but now an anticipatory smile was beginning to appear on her features as she turned to watch him!
They were approaching a burial ground!
It was Oak Grove Cemetery, Fall River!
A.B. parked the car and everyone got out.
‘We’ll walk from here,’ he said. ‘I want you to see something before you leave!’
They hadn’t walked far before they came to a well-kept grassy plot where a piece of marble lay flat in the grass with a few simple flowers around it. On the curved top in capital letters and sculpted in relief was the single word - LIZBETH.
Giles glanced towards the criminologist and a glimmer of understanding started to wreathe his face.
The trio moved on a few steps to a large four-sided gravestone where, on one side, the following was engraved - CHILDREN BY
ANDREW J. AND SARAH A. BORDEN
ALICE ESTHER
LIZBETH ANDREWS
EMMA LENORA
Dates were listed for the three daughters (Alice had died in early childhood and both Lizzie and Emma had died in 1927 within days of each other) and the other sides of the gravestone showed the names of the father, Andrew, his first wife Sarah and his second wife, and step mother to the girls, Abby.
‘I didn’t want you to leave without sampling the after effect of a horrid murder!’ A.B. said softly and with some reverence. ‘Lizzie changed her name to Lizbeth but she was ostracized for the rest of her life by the community.’
‘And the rhyme continued to have a following,’ Jennifer said. ‘Especially in the jump rope groups of young girls where they added -Lizzie Borden took an axe and gave her mother forty whacks! Then she stood behind the door and gave her father forty more!’
‘The headless body of her father lies here,’ A.B. said in a sombre tone. ‘And so does the mutilated body of the other victim, her step mother!’
‘It took the jury a little over an hour to acquit Lizzie!’ Jennifer added in her best attorney manner. ‘Had she been found guilty she’d have been the first woman to go to the electric chair that was a new device of execution, in 1893! But here in this quiet cemetery lie two people who were killed by person or persons unknown. This was a murder that has never been solved!’
‘So return home, Giles,’ A.B. said. ‘And use your exceptional talents to bring your Scottish crime to a successful conclusion!’
All the way back to Logan International Airport The Prof remained silent and deep in thought for yet one more coincidence had occurred as he left Oak Grove Cemetery - the road sign for the town next to Fall River on the way to Providence had the name Somerset displayed on it...and that was the name of the place he had to visit when he got back to London...Somerset House!
When he said his brief goodbyes, before heading for the departure lounge at the airport, he was given a reassurance that the Berkeleys would welcome any future visit by him to Boston and, as he boarded the plane, he was able to appreciate the fact that any fogginess in the weather during his final two days hadn’t clouded his judgement - he was more focused than ever!
On his arrival in London, Saturday night seemed cold and uninviting and, by the time he put his key in the door of his Kensington flat he was more than ready for a nightcap before retiring
for the night. The Whisky Mac, to which he helped himself, on top of the in-flight booze, meant it would be well into Sunday morning before he surfaced.
He made one phone call before climbing into bed and that was to his “buddies” in Boston whom he thanked for their warm affection, generosity and wealth of information and enlightenment about solving crimes of apparent impossibility.
Sunday was spent collating his notes on the research he wished to cover when he visited the Record Office at Somerset House on the following day.
He sent out for a meal to be delivered and, to a background of his own L.P.’s of Sinatra, and with papers scattered over the floor, he scribbled, shifted scraps around and muttered to himself.
When, at last, he was left with a few blank spaces amongst his paper mosaic he filled them with written comments and question marks such as, “If A turns out to be the case after the records are checked?” or “B would make the whole thing possible, wouldn’t it?"
He was totally heartened by what had been achieved but, at the same time, was mentally exhausted. It would now be up to the Records Office.
He gave Freddie a call at his home in the Cotswolds and made arrangements for a meeting the following evening for a special Roast Beef Dinner at Simpson’s-in-the-Strand.
The last Monday in November 1966 was a dull start to the week ahead but that didn’t matter to The Prof who was well aware he’d be spending much of the day indoors at Somerset House.
This giant square building around a central courtyard in the Strand and overlooking the Thames embankment dated back to the 16th century, some of it destroyed, rebuilt, refurbished or added to and now housing many governmental offices.
He wanted to search family records for answers to at least three vital questions and, if the answers were forthcoming, it would make his theory about the events of Hallowe’en 1952 at Maskelyne Hall very plausible and lend credibility to the belief that someone, who may have become an accessory to a prank, actually played an important part in what turned out to be - cold-blooded murder!
Most of the day was spent inside the building where the assistants were so helpful but were unable to undertake the research themselves. He examined endless lists of births, marriages and deaths until he had the information he wanted, making several phone calls to friendly associates in Fleet Street and, when he eventually looked at his watch, he realized he only had time to get back to his flat for a quick freshen up before rushing out to meet up with Freddie.
Outside the flat Freddie’s red Triumph Spitfire was parked but, although he possessed a key, Freddie was nowhere to be seen. The Prof assumed he’d just parked the car and left for town on the presumption that a taxi would be the best mode of transport after a meal and a drink at Simpson’s-in-the-Strand.
Freddie was waiting for him when he’d completed the five-minute walk from Embankment underground station and entered the Grand Divan Tavern of Simpson’s-in-the-Strand.
The prestigious eating-place had been opened on the site of the Fountain Tavern in 1828 and had been the home of the former literary association - the Kit Kat Club. When a top caterer, John Simpson had joined founder, Samuel Reiss in 1848 the building, that had become the Home of Chess in the city, where top-hatted runners had carried news of chess moves to other competing coffee houses, was enlarged and underwent a name change from the Grand Cigar Divan to Simpson’s Grand Divan Tavern and, thanks to the quality food and fine wine and beers that were served, became an attractive venue for men such as Gladstone, Disraeli and Charles Dickens.
‘Great to see you again, Freddie. I was just thinking about the top-hatted gents that flitted in and out of this place many years ago relaying chess moves and was struck by the thought of another top-hatted gent, a magician involved in a chess game of a different sort and one where I require to break the stalemate and move into check!’
‘And how far into the game have we moved, Giles?’
By the time the silver dinner trolley was wheeled to their table and the medium-rare roast beef was carved in front of them Giles was well into his extensive account of what had happened in Boston.
The succulent beef and red wine made for easy conversation or, in Freddie’s case, listening to Giles as he recounted how things had gone on his visit to America and they were enjoying coffee when he was finally concluding his story with the visit to Oak Grove Cemetery.
‘The Statue of Three Lies has a lot to answer for, Freddie! I’ve encountered and been made aware of so many lies, errors, deceptions and honest-to-goodness mistakes that I’m at the stage where I’m ready to discount almost everything I heard at the house in Scotland and name the killer based on what I do know is true allied with an intelligent use of what Poirot might have called the little grey cells! Even the gravestone of the Bordens listed the name of the murder suspect as Lizbeth Andrews when her middle name was Andrew, without the s on the end, or so I understand! It throws all the statements supposedly made on the night of the shooting into the melting pot and I’m reminded of the old vaudeville joke about the First World War problem of trying to relay a message without any loss of interpretation as it gets repeated along the line!’
‘You mean the old chestnut about the message from the front to Headquarters?’Yes, Freddie! “Send reinforcements, I’m going to advance!” ending up as “Send three-and-four-pence, I’m going to a dance! And one statement on that fateful night is in similar vein but without the comic tone.’
‘Which one was that?’
‘The one Jack Ramsden is purported to have asked his wife as he lay dying. “Did you see Dr. Hyde?” Now do you know what I think he said?’
‘No, I’m sorry I don’t - but I know you’re about to tell me!’
The Prof leaned across the table and whispered in his friend’s ear.
‘You don’t say!’ Freddie began with surprise punctuating every word. ‘Now that does throw a different light on things - and the cat amongst the pigeons!’
‘I have a favour to ask of you!’ Giles said. ‘Will you drive me back to Maskelyne Hall and remain with me as back up?’
‘Certainly - you know I will! When do you want to go?’
‘Sometime this week, possibly in a day or so, but we needn’t be there longer than a day if everything goes according to plan. You see I’m sure I can name the murderer but I’m not sure I can prove it -beyond reasonable doubt, that is! I have a plan...and it might just work!’
’What made your mind up? Was it something you were up to today?’
‘Yes, it was!’
Freddie was then told everything that Giles had discovered that day.
‘So you think that accounts for certain behaviour while you were at the Hall?’
‘Yes, of course I do! And, if I’m not mistaken, it explains earlier behaviour as a child! I have to thank Brussel for this and it is one of the missing pieces in the jigsaw that gives credence to my theory about the possibility of this person being an accessory to a prank that ended in murder!’
‘It makes sense but I don’t see how you can arrive at an acceptable solution, so long after the murder was committed, when a straight denial by the murderer will leave you on a very sticky wicket!’
‘Let’s grab a taxi, Freddie, and get back to the flat. You’ll stay the night, of course, and after I’ve made a call to Laura we should have a good idea of our timetable for the next day or so!’
Back in South Kensington Giles made the call to Maskelyne Hall and spoke to Laura for several minutes.
After a conversation, during which he gave nothing away, Giles knew he’d have to wait for confirmation that all of the suspects would be at the Hall on the same day. He’d asked Laura to repeat the Tunnel of Witchcraft illusion with Sally’s assistance and to make sure all the necessary props were assembled in the library for the chosen day. He promised to call back the following evening and mentioned Thursday as an ideal day if everyone was available.
Next day Giles said he had something he wanted to check at The British Librar
y and Freddie went National Hunt racing. Freddie promised to return for the evening and find out the result of the second call to Scotland. Giles managed to wangle two tickets for the St. Martin’s Theatre and both of them had a night off at Agatha Christie’s The Mousetrap, which was now into the fifteenth year of its run.
The call to Laura was fruitful - all was set for Thursday, so time was short. He and Freddie would be welcome on the Wednesday, if they could manage, and beds would be ready for them. The others would not be there until the Thursday morning but Sally had promised to assist with the illusion.
Freddie called home to tell his wife that he and Giles would be there for a few hours before going on to Lockerbie and they hoped to be back on the Thursday - but it could be late!
It was late, very late, but there was still a light on in the lodge as the red Spitfire turned off the road and went through the entrance gate to Maskelyne Hall on the Wednesday night.
Giles asked Freddie to stop the car while he went in to see if George was still up.
He was, but his wife had gone to bed, and the few words he had with the little groom were met with solemn understanding and a promise of total commitment.
Laura met them when they arrived; she told them they were in the same rooms as before and that Doreen had prepared some cold chicken sandwiches that would be waiting for them when they came down to the lounge.
The remainder of the evening with Laura was short; Isabella had already gone to bed and Victor, who had come home earlier that day, had also retired for the night.
The other four, Conrad, Mabel, Edgar and Sally would be there in the morning. Freddie was tired after his drive and decided to go up to his room leaving Laura and Giles together for a brief spell. It was then he let her know how he wanted things conducted on the following day without giving away any secrets about how he intended to proceed.
His closing words to her, before he went upstairs were -’whatever I say or do after the illusion I want you to remain calm and not lose your temper!’
The Statue of Three Lies Page 26
