A True and Faithful Brother

by Linda Stratmann

  ‘I believe so.’

  Mr Chappell coughed gently. ‘I think you need to return a key.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  ‘Unless I have been seriously misled,’ said Frances as she discussed the events with Sarah, ‘Mr Dobree was undoubtedly in the Lodge room at the start of the ceremony and was not there at the end. I do not see how he could have left unnoticed by any exit while the lights were on.’

  ‘You said there were times when some of the men left and came back. Might he have slipped out then?’

  ‘Someone would have remarked if the guest had suddenly walked out part way through the proceedings. I spoke to the men concerned and they all swear that Dobree did not leave when the front door of the Lodge was open. Mr Neilson and Mr Manley are also certain. The only time he could have left unnoticed is when the lights were out. And if he did, he could not have gone out through the front door which was guarded and would have let the light in.’

  ‘So he used the back door, which was locked, and made a squeak when it opened.’

  ‘The only time the squeak would not have been heard was when Mr Fiske was ringing his bell. It was my theory that Mr Dobree had used that noise to cover his exit, but now it seems that by then he had already gone. I can’t believe there has been some plot in which all the members of the Lodge were involved. However, if Mr Dobree left by the back door unnoticed while the lights were out, there is only one way he could have done so. Despite what Mr Chappell says, the door must already have been unlocked. I have tried it myself and if one is careful, opening the unlocked door can be done very quietly.’

  ‘In that case it was unlocked that night specially; just so Mr Dobree could go out. He couldn’t rely on Mr Chappell being careless.’

  ‘Mr Chappell might have been his accomplice,’ said Frances. ‘Mr Dobree might have told him of his plans and asked Mr Chappell to unlock the back door for him. So it was Chappell who locked it again afterwards. If so, he is not admitting it. He could easily have relocked it during the search without anyone noticing.’

  ‘Or,’ Sarah pointed out, ‘it could have been unlocked by one of the men who left the room early. Any one of them might have slipped away, saying he was going to the gentleman’s convenience, got the key and opened the door.’

  ‘But according to Mr Neilson very few men even knew where the keys were concealed. Dobree didn’t. If he had done, Dobree might have unlocked the door himself after Mr Chappell checked it but before the meeting began; but then why did he relock it? He didn’t take any of his possessions with him, so he must have intended to come back in unnoticed the same way he went out. To relock the door only increased the risk of being heard. He would have known it was almost never used and thought he could relock it any time he liked when no one was about. Remember his own Lodge, Mulberry, uses the same premises. And then he had to put the key back in place and leave the tavern, all without being seen by anyone. The tavern was busy that evening and he was a well-known figure there. It is astonishing that he was not seen in either bar.’

  ‘He didn’t know any magic tricks, did he?’ asked Sarah. ‘I mean things with bits of thread and wire and false doors and mirrors and lock picks hidden up his sleeve?’

  ‘If he was in the habit of entertaining his friends after dinner with a display of conjuring no one has mentioned it,’ said Frances. For a moment she toyed with the idea of someone entering the Lodge room in a wig to impersonate Dobree and then removing the wig under cover of darkness. If it had been a room full of strangers that might have been plausible but he was in the company of men who knew him well. She dismissed the idea.

  ‘We still don’t know why he went,’ added Sarah.

  Next morning Frances returned to Somerset House to collect the marriage certificate she had ordered. It confirmed what she had thought, that George Cullum’s wife had been called Jane. It seemed probable that she was the Jane Cullum who had died in 1858. Who, then, had cared for the two Cullum children, John and Eliza, after their father’s disappearance? Mrs Cullum, Frances noticed, was formerly Jane Capper, a surname that sounded familiar. Leafing through her notes Frances saw that one of the employees of the tavern whom she had interviewed was John Capper, the young man who had been working in the storeroom at the time of Lancelot Dobree’s disappearance. Could he be related to Jane Cullum? Capper was about twenty-five, and Frances looked through the birth directories but found no births of a John Capper at the appropriate time. It was possible that he had been born in Scotland, since Somerset House held only the records for England and Wales, but Frances had a more interesting thought. Could John Capper actually be John Cullum, son of the missing George, using his mother’s maiden name because of his father’s disgrace? The Bayswater directory yielded details of a family called Capper in Bayswater who were rug makers, the trade Frances had been told was that of Capper’s father. She made a note of the address before returning to the tavern.

  John Capper, assisted by the maid, Minnie, was waiting on tables during the busy luncheon period. Many of those present were tradesmen or professional gentlemen from the immediate area. Mr Weber of the bakery was sitting alone staring miserably into a pint glass, while in a corner, also alone and merging into the shadows, was Kennard, Mr Johnstone’s grey-suited amanuensis.

  Capper recognised Frances. ‘You want Mr Neilson?’ he asked.

  ‘I will have a glass of lemonade and the roast mutton,’ said Frances. ‘And once you are free, I would like to talk to you.’

  ‘I’ve got nothing more to tell you about Dobree.’

  ‘That isn’t what I want to ask about.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘What then?’

  ‘Do you have a rest from your duties when the luncheons have been served? If not, I will ask Mr Neilson to allow you a few minutes.’

  He made no reply, but moved away.

  Frances half expected him not to return at all, but once she had completed her meal, and the tables had been cleared, he did. ‘Mr Neilson says we can talk in the office.’

  Once there, Capper flung himself into a chair, and Frances occupied Mr Neilson’s seat.

  ‘Well?’ said Capper uneasily.

  ‘I want to know if you are related to a Jane Capper. The Jane Capper who married George Cullum.’

  Capper abruptly slumped forward, hid his face in his hands and groaned. ‘Oh no! I’ve been dreading this ever since you came here. I’ve heard what you’re like. You wouldn’t ask if you didn’t know already. I could try lying, like I’ve been lying most of my life, but that wouldn’t do me any good, would it? You know, or you’ll find out.’

  Frances said nothing, but allowed him to recover some composure.

  He looked up at her earnestly. ‘Look, you won’t say anything, will you? I mean there’s those that think if the family is bad then all of them are bad. I don’t know what Mr Neilson would say if he knew. And then me and Minnie we want to get married when we’ve saved up enough. We want to open a little tea-shop.’

  ‘Tell me what there is to know,’ said Frances.

  He leaned back and sighed. ‘Yes, my mother was Jane Capper when she married Cullum. I’ve got a sister, Eliza. Mother was expecting again when my father ran off. She died when my brother was born, and the baby died soon after. Then our aunt Lottie Capper, mother’s sister, she looked after us, and we took her name. I was about four at the time, and Eliza was two, so we didn’t think about it then, but later on, Aunt Lottie told us about our father. She said that the family never wanted my mother to marry him. They always knew there was something wrong about him, but he was a clever type, educated, had a good business, and she thought he could give her and any children a comfortable life. But she was wrong. He was a brute and a criminal.’ He raked his hands through his hair. ‘Why do you want to know all this?’

  ‘I have been told that when your father disappeared several people were suspected of having killed him. It’s a suspicion that lingers today. But I have also heard rumours that he might still be alive. I want
to know if at any time since he disappeared he has made contact with his family.’

  ‘Well if he tried to see my aunt she never said so.’

  ‘Might I speak to your aunt?’

  ‘She died two years ago.’

  ‘Has your father tried to contact you or your sister?’

  ‘Not as far as I know.’

  ‘And you haven’t seen him since you were four?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘So if you did encounter your father now you wouldn’t know him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Has any member of your family – any friend or associate of his who might know and recognise him – seen him since his disappearance?’

  Capper shook his head. ‘You won’t tell, will you?’

  Frances well understood the fears that came from a doubtful heritage. ‘I have no reason to tell Mr Neilson, but you must be prepared. The truth may come out one day.’

  Frances hoped that the Capper family of Bayswater might hold a clue, but when later that day she visited the address she found that they had moved away and no one knew where they had gone. She engaged Tom and Ratty to discover if any carriers had been hired to help them move their effects.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Frances and Sarah had barely settled to their supper when the maid with a highly nervous look announced that Inspector Payne had arrived and was demanding to see Frances. ‘Shall I show him up?’

  ‘Please do so,’ said Frances. As the maid scurried away Frances added. ‘He will come in whether I say yes or no.’ She often worried what Mrs Embleton, her patient landlady, made of the frequent visits of the police to her door. That source of disquiet had calmed since the ground-floor apartment had been vacated and taken by Professor Pounder, who Mrs Embleton liked to think of as a solid line of defence against any unwanted intrusion. There only remained the retiring top-floor tenant, a lady who was so rarely seen that Frances wondered if someone should go up and check if she was still alive.

  Payne appeared in moments, brushing quickly past the maid and striding into the parlour.

  ‘Inspector, what brings you here so soon after your last visit?’ asked Frances politely. ‘Are there any of my personal effects you have neglected to search? Surely not. This must be a social call. Please sit down, our cocoa is freshly made if you would like a cup, and there is bread and butter.’

  He looked harassed and unwilling to accept hospitality, but after a brief hesitation took a seat and nodded. Sarah poured the drink and he gulped it down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then helped himself to two large slices of bread and butter. Frances realised he had probably been too busy to eat for some while. ‘Thank you,’ he said reluctantly when the food had disappeared, something he achieved with remarkable speed. ‘Now then, I want you to tell me everything you know about Mr Harry Abbott.’

  Frances searched her memory. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know anyone of that name.’

  ‘Oh no? And I suppose you’ll tell me you’ve never been to the Portobello Hotel? Don’t try to deny it.’ Payne pulled one of Frances’ business cards from his pocket and tossed it onto the table. ‘This was behind the front desk. Regular visitor there, are you?’

  Frances bridled at the implication behind his words, but retained her calm. ‘I have been there once, in connection with some enquiries. I was there for a few minutes only, in the foyer, and on that occasion I supplied my card. I have never stayed there, I can assure you.’

  ‘What date was that?’

  Frances looked in her notebook, and told him the date.

  ‘Who did you speak to while you were there?’

  ‘The young gentleman behind the desk. He was extremely unhelpful and didn’t give me his name.’

  ‘Tall, was he? Blond hair, funny eyes?’

  ‘Yes.’ Frances paused. ‘Is he Mr Harry Abbott? The only other person I saw there was the doorman, who I did not speak to, but he was called Burns.’

  ‘And what was your enquiry concerning?’

  ‘The emerald ring found amongst Mr Dobree’s effects. It was last seen at that hotel.’

  ‘Ah. Now I see. Have you spoken to a Miss Lorna Lee?’

  ‘Yes. I told her to go and see you.’

  He nodded. ‘She did and claimed the ring as hers. We’re making enquiries about that. Seems like Mr Dobree was not as respectable as he liked to make out.’

  ‘Miss Lee said that the gentleman she dined with gave her the ring, but she removed it before —’

  ‘Before they dined? Yes, that’s what she told us.’

  ‘Exactly. And then the ring and her friend’s watch were found to be missing. She wondered if he had abstracted the ring himself as an excuse not to give it to her and then claimed it had been stolen.’

  ‘So she said. Not at all a nice thing to do. Even to her sort. But there’s things go on at that place we can never fathom, and of course no one wants to talk about it and hardly anyone admits they have even been there. So, tell me, have you seen Mr Abbott since your visit?’

  ‘As I have said, I have been there only the once.’

  ‘But you might have seen him later – you might have taken tea with him, or gone for a walk, or simply passed him in the street?’

  ‘I have not to my knowledge seen him since. If I do chance to, I will let you know where and when. I assume he is not at his place of work or his home?’

  ‘Same place. He has a room at the hotel. Two days ago he didn’t appear at the desk and when the other staff looked in his room he wasn’t there. Nothing disturbed, all his things left behind. No message and none of his friends or family have seen him. Do you know anything about that?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘The hotel people weren’t all that bothered, but his mother was, and told the police. Hotel management weren’t too happy when we turned up, but that can’t be helped. We had a look around his room and do you know what we found?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Stolen goods. Trinkets. Watches. We think Mr Abbott went into people’s rooms using a pass key either while they were sleeping or having their dinner or whatever they call it, and stole things. The guests were led to believe it was someone breaking in and most never reported anything as missing as they didn’t want their husbands or wives to know where they’d been.’

  ‘Do you think Mr Abbott stole the emerald ring?’

  ‘That’s one of the first things we will ask when we find him. But how it came to be where it was, we don’t know. It’s the same ring all right; the jeweller, Mr Finewax, has identified it as the one he sold and altered.’ Payne shrugged. ‘I doubt that Mr Abbott was the only thief about.’

  Frances poured more cocoa. ‘Did you receive my message?’

  ‘Oh yes, well we get letters all the time from the public with information and theories. Some of it useful. Only some. Last year with the Face-slasher business we got sacks-full, mainly from wives denouncing their husbands. A few from husbands saying that the slasher was not Jack but Jill. Anyhow, we know the truth now.’

  ‘I have been trying to find out how the stolen snuff box that Mr Salter bought in all innocence and very commendably handed in to you could have been acquired by the late Mr Riley. Perhaps Riley was not his real name? Could he have been Mr David Dunne, the man from the Hayworth Hill Manor robbery and killing who was never arrested?’

  Payne leaned back in his chair and appeared to be giving the question intense consideration. ‘In my opinion, no,’ he said at last. ‘There are two reasons. First of all, types like Dunne don’t simply go straight and lead blameless lives. Even when they get old – if they do – and can’t get up to their youthful tricks, they find another way of breaking the law. Mr Riley, as far as we can see, was as straight as they come. The second reason is that David Dunne was killed in a fight outside a beer shop not long after his friends were hanged.’

  Frances ignored the note of heavy sarcasm in his last comment. ‘I see. Well, that is one line of enquiry I need n
ot pursue. But Mr Dunne and his gang – how did they dispose of the stolen items?’

  ‘They had a number of contacts, men with different specialities, and requirements. These characters, the men who deal in stolen jewellery, are not crude criminals, they often have a respectable man’s knowledge, they know what to look for and how much it’s worth. Some of them have a proper business with a shop window to hide the shady one. Like Bernard Salter and his partner George Cullum.’

  ‘Mr Salter had no hand in any dealings in stolen goods.’

  ‘So he said.’

  ‘Could Dunne and his gang have sold the silver to Cullum who sold it to Riley? Or the late Mr Riley might have been Mr Cullum.’

  Payne hesitated and Frances saw that he had at least been considering this. ‘Riley was born abroad and came to settle in London in 1859.’

  Frances smiled. ‘So he said.’

  Payne grunted. ‘Well, that’s as may be. It would suit you, wouldn’t it? All the witnesses dead?’

  ‘It would not. I want answers and I can’t get them from dead men. And I want you to stop treating Mr Vernon Salter as a criminal.’

  Payne gave a humourless laugh. ‘Well that’s a tall order.’ He gulped the last of his cocoa. ‘Thanks for that, it was very welcome.’ He stood up. ‘And don’t go leaving London again. I can see that I’ll be back.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Frances had not expected to hear from Lorna Lee again, so next morning she was surprised to receive a heavily perfumed note asking if she might come to tea in the little establishment by the theatre. There was a subtle inference in the wording of the note that this was more than just a social event, and by attending Frances might learn something of interest.

  Sarah had gone to take one of her regular calisthenics classes at Professor Pounder’s academy. She specialised in exercises conducted with the aid of a staff generally known as a ‘wand’ and Frances had seen demonstrations carried out with the feminine grace appropriate to that appellation. In Sarah’s hands, the staff appeared more menacing and she usually referred to it as ‘the big stick’. No one sought to contradict her.