Murder on the Thames (A Jules Poiret Mystery Book 11)

by Frank Howell Evans

  Haven thought for a while.

  “Then you believe there is only one villain? The public seem to think that there was a group of them, who committed this cruel crime.”

  “The popular opinion, it is under certain conditions, not to be dismissed. When arising of itself in a strictly, how do you say, spontaneous manner, we should look on it as analogous with the intuition or maybe better, the experience. In ninety-nine cases from the hundred Poiret, he would abide by its decision.”

  Haven lifted up his newspaper and began looking through the pages. As it was the Sunday edition it took him some time to find what he was searching for.

  “I have it here! You talked about experience. Let me read this to you, my dear fellow. “An atrocious outrage was perpetrated in this city six weeks ago. A gentleman from Northampton with his wife and daughter engaged just before dusk the services of six young men, said to be students to row them to and fro on the Thames. After disembarking, the three passengers had proceeded so far as to be beyond the view of the boat, when the daughter discovered that she had left her parasol behind. She returned for it, was seized by the gang, carried out into the stream, gagged and brutally treated. The villains have escaped for the time, but the police are on their trail and some of them will soon be taken.”

  “Ah, the problems, they have commenced.”

  “But what do you mean?”

  “It is important that we find no palpable traces of the suggestion. The opinion must be rigorously the opinion of the public and not the opinion, which is imposed on the public by the newspapers. Mademoiselle Catherine, she too was found in the river and on this very river was this known outrage committed. The connection between the two events, it has about it so much of the palpable, that the true wonder, it would have been if the public, they had not made the connection. But in fact, the one atrocity known to be so committed, it is if anything, evidence that the other, committed just after it, was not so committed. The police, they have now been informed of the gang’s presence and modus operandi and it is for Poiret very hard to believe that the same gang of, as you say, villains, they would try the new attack in the similar locality in the same part of the city under the same circumstances with the same tools, engaged in a wrong, which is precisely the same.”

  “But it says here that they did find a boat. “On Monday, one of the bargemen saw an empty boat floating down the Thames. The bargeman towed it to shore, where it was investigated by the police.”

  “Poiret, he has already suggested the probability of the use of a boat. This would naturally have been the case. The body, it was found without the weight, which is corroborative of the idea. If thrown from the shore a weight would have been attached, because in the shallow waters, the body, it would not sink by itself.”

  “Isn’t the boat a clue that the perpetrator lives near the river?”

  “Non, mon ami. On the contrary, it tells to Poiret that he does not live on the shore. Please to think that, after having rid himself of the body, our murderer, he rows back to the shore. At some obscure wharf, some distance away, he leaps on the land. But the boat, he does not secure it, for it is found later floating down the water. In tying it down, he would have felt as if he gave the evidence against himself. His natural thought, it would have been to cast it adrift. If it was his own boat, he would have tied it down at the usual location to make sure it did not raise the suspicion.”

  Poiret stopped talking. He placidly smoked his cigar and remained silent.

  Haven said, “Reading these various extracts, they not only seem to me irrelevant, but I must admit, they confuse me. What you, old boy?”

  Poiret looked at his pocket watch. He stood up. At that moment the door opened and Beauchant announced, “Supper has been served, sir!” Poiret’s smile reminded Haven of a cartoon cat trapping a plump mouse.

  The consulting detective seemed to be much energized by the late supper. After sitting down again in front of the fireplace he lit another cigar and began talking without prompting as Haven, feeling sleepy, remained silent.

  “Before proceeding further, please to first consider the scene of the murder in the bushes on the banks of the River Thames. The boys, they find there the white petticoat, the scarf with the flowers, the parasol, the gloves and the pocket-handkerchief. The handkerchief, it shows the name, “Catherine Tennant.” There were the fragments of dress in the bushes close by. The earth, it was trampled, the bushes, they were broken and there was the evidence of the violent struggle. Still, Poiret, he has the doubt it is the scene of the outrage. Poiret, he has for this conclusion two reasons. One it is the psychology of the ruffian. The perpetrators of the crime, possibly residents of Whitechapel, they would naturally have been stricken with terror at the attention of the public and the police given to the locality of their residence. In certain classes of minds, there would have arisen at once, the sense of the necessity to divert the attention. And thus, the bushes on the shore of the Thames, they have already been suspect, because of a previous outrage, the idea of placing the articles where they were found, may have been naturally entertained. There is no evidence, that is irrefutable, that the articles, which have been discovered had been for more than a very few days in the bushes, while there is much circumstantial proof that they could not have remained there, without attracting the attention between the day of the murder and the afternoon on which they were found by the boys. They were wet, mais cela est normal. This is after all England and it is after all the springtime. This also, it accounts for the grass, which has grown around and over some of the properties. So we see, mon ami Haven,” Poiret raised his voice, which seemed to startle Haven awake, “that what has been most triumphantly proposed in support of the idea that the articles, they had been for at least three or four weeks in the bushes, it is most absurdly null as regards any evidence of that fact. On the other hand it is difficult to believe that the articles, they could have remained in the bushes, for the longer period than a single week without having been discovered before.”

  Poiret pulled the rope next to the fireplace once.

  “But there are still other and stronger reasons for believing them so deposited. Allow Poiret to beg your notice to the highly artificial arrangement of the articles. On the back of the chair, there was the white petticoat. On the seat, there was the scarf and there were the parasol, the gloves and the pocket-handkerchief. It is by no means a natural arrangement. Would it not have been more logical to find the items lying on the ground and trampled under the foot in the struggle?”

  It had not yet been two minutes, after Poiret pulled the rope when his manservant entered the room and offered both Poiret and Haven a glass of warm cognac. Poiret sipped from his glass and nodded approvingly.

  “Tres bien!” he decided.

  Haven took a sip and was much invigorated by the spirit. He sat up and stretched himself.

  “Then, mon ami, there is the issue of the strips of clothing in the bushes. It is rare, mon ami, that thorns, they tear off strips of garment, because is it not more common for thorns to cause a tear in the garment without ripping it off altogether. This evidence, it must have been planted there to confuse the police, but Poiret, he is not easily confused. He knows the ruffians, he knows their tricks. The number two reason why Poiret, he does not believe this to be the location, where the crime, it is committed is the fact that the villains, they take the trouble to dispose of the body in the river, but they do not dispose of the incriminating articles of clothing of the young woman. Cela est imposible!”

  Poiret paused to take a sip of his glass. He then dabbed his lips with a napkin. Haven took the opportunity to ask, “Can we altogether discount the place as the scene of the crime?”

  “Poiret, he does not deny that some wrong here or possibly an accident at Mrs. Gifford’s shop, it happened, but we are not engaged in the attempt to discover the scene, but to produce the perpetrators of the murder.”

  “Perpetrators, old boy? So more than one?”


  “Poiret, he will now reflect on the traces of the struggle in the bushes. Please to tell to Poiret, mon cher Haven, what do the traces, they tell to you?”

  Haven looked at the ceiling for a moment, seemed to have come up with a bright answer, looked back at Poiret and opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Poiret continued, “They tell to you, there is the absence of a gang. What struggle so violent and so enduring as to have left the traces in all directions is there possible between a weak and defenseless young woman and the gang of villains? The silent grasp of a few rough arms and all, it is over. If we imagine but one violator then we can conceive of the struggle of so violent and so obstinate a nature as to have left the traces apparent.”

  “One perpetrator? But who? We are back to Mr. Swanson, Mr. Webster and the unknown man, seen with her on that day.”

  Poiret, however, had not yet completed his explanation.

  “Leaving the handkerchief with the name of the deceased, if this was the accident, it was not the accident of a gang. We can imagine it only the accident of an individual. Let us see. An individual, he has committed the murder of perhaps the woman he desperately loves. The fury of his passion, it is over. He is appalled by what he has done. He is alone with the dead. He trembles and he is bewildered. Yet there is the necessity for the disposing of the body. He slowly drags it to the river, but leaves behind him the other evidences of his guilt, for it is difficult, if not impossible to carry all the burden at once and it will be easy to return for what is left. A dozen times he imagines he hears the footsteps of an observer. Yet, in time and by long and frequent pauses of deep agony, he reaches the river and disposes of his charge, perhaps using the boat. But by now he has lost the courage. He returns not to the place, where he committed only recently the gruesome crime. His sole thought, it is to escape. He turns his back forever on the dreadful location and he flees as, how do you say, from the wrath to come.”

  Haven, completely awake now, added, “A gang would have left nothing behind them, for their number would have enabled them to carry all at once. There would have been no need to return.”

  “Exactement!”

  “What I don’t understand is why the perpetrator tore a slip of a foot wide upward from the bottom hem to the waist and wound it round her waist and secured it with a knot in the back. Why did he do that?”

  “Mon ami, this is evident. This was done to create the handle by which to carry the body. This device, it is that of the single individual. It brings us to the fact that between the bushes and the river, the fences, they were found taken down and the ground, it showed the traces of the heavy burden having been dragged along it.”

  Haven, who had picked up the newspaper and was perusing the articles again, interjected, “How about the strip of the unfortunate young woman’s petticoat being torn out and tied under her chin and around the back of her head? Was this not done to prevent her from screaming? Does this not suggest someone she did not know?”

  “Poiret, he does not give credence to the idea that the object, it was to prevent screams. The strip in question, it was found around the neck, fitting loosely and secured with the knot. Although it was made of muslin, it would be strong when folded. The solitary murderer, having carried the dead woman for some distance by means of the bandage tied around her middle, he finds the weight too much for his strength. He resolves to drag the burden the rest of the way.”

  “One man? But what of the students Mrs. Gifford saw?”

  Poiret shrugged.

  “Mon ami, what is the precise evidence of Madame Gifford? A gang of miscreants, they make their appearance, behave boisterously, eat and drink and continue their journey in the route of the young man and young woman.”

  “But she also saw them return and walk past the shop about dusk as if in great haste.”

  “Could the great haste with which they walked not easier be explained by their desire to get home as the dark, it approaches?”

  “I don’t understand how you, of all you, old chap, would allow coincidence to color your conclusions.”

  Poiret frowned.

  Haven, thinking he had hit a soft spot in the master detective’s reasoning, continued, “I think, old fellow, you might be wrong.”

  This made Poiret furious.

  “Poiret, he is never wrong! Where is he wrong? Please to explain that to Poiret? The newspaper, it says it was only dusk, when the students, they were seen by the undoubtedly sober eyes of Madame Gifford. But it also says on this very evening Madame Gifford, as well as her eldest son, they hear the screams of a female in the vicinity of the river.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Non, mon ami! Madame Gifford, she designates the period of the evening at which these screams, they were heard as soon after dark. Thus it is clear that the students, who left at dusk, they left much prior to the screams being overheard by Madame Gifford.”

  Poiret seemed to calm down as he did not speak again. He contented himself with smoking his cigar and drinking his cognac.

  Haven at last said, “So, it is your view that she was murdered by the man with the dark hair, who was with her?”

  Poiret pursed his lips and said slowly, “The lovers, one man and one woman, they walk along the river. One is horribly murdered. One has disappeared. But why is this man absent? Was he murdered by the gang? If so, why are there only the traces of the murdered young woman? The scenes of the two outrages, they would naturally be identical. Then where is his corpse, mon ami? The murderers, they would most probably have disposed of both in the same way.”

  “But it may be said that this man lives and is deterred from making himself known, through dread of being charged with the murder.”

  “Not to forget, mon ami that he has been seen with the young woman. The sole means of relieving himself from the suspicion is to make himself known and to denounce the atrocity.”

  “And what means are ours, of attaining the truth?” Haven sighed. He folded the newspaper and placed it on the rug next to his chair. “The problem with these newspapers is that they postulate problems, but never offer any solutions.”

  “Please not to despair mon ami, for the solution, it is quite simple.”

  Haven looked up at his friend. Poiret smiled mischievously. He took one last whiff from his cigar, put it out and drank the last of the cognac. He stood up and pulled the rope three times.

  “Poiret, he will see you tomorrow, mon ami.”

  The door was opened and Beauchant appeared. Haven shook his head.

  “No, dear fellow, it is time to go.”

  Poiret looked at him with a surprised expression on his face.

  “You can use the guest room as long as you wish, mon ami.”

  Haven stood up and stretched himself. “I’ve been here for weeks. I have nothing to show for it. I must return to South America.”

  Poiret smiled, “Ah! The old spirit, it has come back?” He shook Haven’s hand enthusiastically. “Mon ami, bonne chance!”

  He left the room, followed by Beauchant. Haven sighed. He smiled for he had made a decision and he liked following up on his decisions. Poiret would have said, “Haven, he is not one for the strenuous exercise of the brains. He is the man, who likes to have the clear mission and who likes to follow the orders given to him and he does so, how do you say, to the tee.”

  Three weeks later, when Captain Haven disembarked in Caracas, one of the stewards ran after him and gave him a letter. It was from his friend Poiret. Haven stepped into a cab and after giving the name of his hotel to the driver, he opened the letter and read after the usual salutation, “Poiret he has solved the murder of Mademoiselle Catherine Tennant. He has found the culprit. This ruffian, he has been locked up in solitary confinement, because he has the penchant for the self-harm and he, therefore, is unable to do more harm to other women. The police, after being told by Poiret, they have found that Monsieur Swanson, he has sent to the newspapers several letters implicating Monsieur Webster as the culprit. He has admitted t
o Scotland Yard, that he has sent the letters, under the assumed name and addressing the reporters as “Dear Boss,” because he was angered after hearing Monsieur Webster too had been the suitor of his fiancée. In this case, the letters, which they appeared in the newspapers, they were not written by the reporters themselves and predated as usual to include the information gleaned after the fact.

  Let Poiret tell to you a little of how he solved the mystery. The ruffian, he was seen by two women at different times with Mademoiselle Catherine. He was seen by Madame Gifford, as well as by the homemaker, Madame Levende. To resolve a case there has to be the order and the method. Poiret, he writes down the list of the obvious suspects. Then he invites one by one the witnesses to look at the culprits from the motorcar. Monsieur Baxter, he is immediately removed from the list, being a man too heavy to be the culprit. Monsieur Swanson, he does not have the dark hair. His hair, it is fair. Further down on the list too is Monsieur Simkins, the publican and the man, who employed the young woman, when she disappeared the first time. To the satisfaction of Poiret he was recognized by both witnesses as the dark haired man, who was with the young woman on the Sunday she was murdered.

  The reason, mon ami, it is old. She lies to Monsieur Simkins and tells to him she is with infant for the second time and this time, she does not demand the money, but the marriage.

  Mon ami, what Poiret, he has said above on this subject, it must suffice. In the heart of Poiret, there dwells no faith in the coincidence. That nature and God, they are two, no man who can think, will deny. That the latter, creating the former, He can at will control or modify it, it is also unquestionable.

  Poiret, he repeats then, that he speaks of these things only as of coincidences in what he has related. It will be obvious that between the fate of the unhappy Mademoiselle Catherine Tennant and the fate of the other murdered women there has existed a parallel in the contemplation of whose wonderful exactitude the reason, it becomes embarrassed. But let it not for a moment be supposed that, in proceeding with the sad narrative of Mademoiselle Catherine from this epoch and in tracing to its solution the mystery which enshrouded her, it is the covert design of Poiret to hint at an extension of the parallel or even to suggest that the measures adopted by the police for the discovery of the murderer of the unfortunate young woman, they are similar.