A True and Faithful Brother

by Linda Stratmann

  Frances, not feeling the need to carry a stick, big or otherwise, dared to meet with Miss Lee alone. She began to regret that decision when shown to the table reserved by Miss Lee and saw that she was also to enjoy the company of a gentleman. That individual was a courteous type, very reserved, and smiled a great deal. His hair was very little receded, and grey with a flush of light brown that must have come from a dye bottle. He rose politely to his feet as Frances approached, revealing a notable want of stature, and though his manner was friendly, there was a wariness about him, like that of a man who had something to conceal.

  ‘I would like to introduce my very particular friend who is a great patron of the theatre, Joe. Joe, please meet Miss Doughty, the best detective in all London.’

  ‘Charmed, I am sure,’ said Joe.

  ‘Likewise,’ said Frances.

  ‘We have already ordered refreshments for three,’ said Miss Lee, ‘so we will be very comfortable and pleasant here.’

  ‘Hot tea on a cold day is such a wonderful thing,’ said Joe.

  ‘It certainly is,’ said Frances. She recalled that Miss Lee liked to entertain many gentlemen who gave names like Jimmy or Joe, or Bill, and that the buyer of the emerald ring had been a Joe. Perhaps Miss Lee’s most ardent admirers were gentlemen of a certain age since this particular Joe, despite his auburn locks, looked to be well in his seventies, judging by the evidence that time had carved on his face. She could not tell what his occupation might be or have been, except that his garments were of the best quality and freshly tended. He wore a hothouse flower in his buttonhole, and Miss Lee was in possession of a posy, undoubtedly a recent tribute.

  The refreshments were brought to table, and involved a three-tier cake stand, each level of which was laden with sandwiches, tartlets and slices of cake. It was hearty rather than delicate, but then so was Miss Lee.

  ‘The last time Miss Doughty and I met here we had a very interesting conversation about the emerald ring,’ said Miss Lee, piling sandwiches onto her plate. She smiled. ‘The dance does give me such an appetite, but then the theatrical life takes all one’s energy and encourages slenderness. Since our discussion, I have visited the police station in the company of Mr Finewax and the police are now satisfied as to my ownership of the ring, and have promised to return it once it is no longer evidence. So that at least is settled. However, I had believed that the kind gentleman who made me such a generous gift was deceased. I was led to believe this because I had not seen Joe in some while, and Miss Doughty told me the ring had been found amongst the effects of a dead man. You cannot imagine the dreadful upset I experienced. But now, it seems it was all a mistake.’

  Joe smiled and nodded. ‘Yes, I was called away quite suddenly, and the note I sent to Miss Lee informing her of that fact must have been lost.’

  ‘Then you are the purchaser of the ring?’ said Frances. She still had the sketch of Lancelot Dobree in her reticule, and brought it out. ‘I had thought it was this gentleman.’

  Miss Lee studied it. ‘That is the portrait you showed me before. There is a likeness, only I think Joe is handsomer!’

  ‘How very kind,’ said Joe. He patted his hair and Frances observed that he used his right hand. ‘Yes, it was indeed I who bought the ring, but that is not a fact I wish to be known by everyone. I am sure, Miss Doughty, that in your profession you understand these things better than most. But since I am told that a murder is involved, I did not feel I could stay silent.’

  ‘That is very good of you,’ said Frances, ‘I promise I will be discreet. Might I ask some questions about the day the ring was stolen?’

  ‘Please do, I will answer whatever I can.’ There was a pause for refreshment as Frances readied her notebook and pencil.

  ‘Do you recall who was on duty at the reception desk of the hotel?’

  Joe thought about this. ‘It is not always the same man, so I can’t be sure.’

  ‘Oh, I am,’ said Miss Lee. ‘There’s a very saucy fellow – he gave me a look, one of those looks, you know,’ Frances didn’t know but pretended she did, ‘which I didn’t like at all.’

  ‘Can you describe him?’

  ‘Oh well he’s young and quite tall, with light hair and bulgy eyes. Not handsome. The other man who is sometimes on duty is shorter and very serious looking with spectacles. Much more polite.’

  Frances concluded that the desk had been manned that day by the missing Mr Abbott. ‘Did you show him the emerald ring or mention it?’

  ‘No, of course not. Joe had it in his pocket and then later on he put it on my finger.’

  ‘But you took it off before you dined?’

  ‘Yes, well, I didn’t want it to slip off. Wouldn’t do to lose it in the soup.’ She gave a little trill of laughter, which was only stifled by the application of cake.

  Frances turned to the gentleman. ‘Mr – er —’

  He smiled. ‘Joe, just call me Joe.’

  ‘Yes. Mr Joe, I believe that your watch was stolen at the same time?’

  ‘It was, yes.’

  ‘Was either item reported as stolen, or even lost?’

  Mr Joe had the courtesy to look embarrassed. ‘The thing is,’ he explained diffidently, ‘my friendship with Miss Lee is a very private matter. My – family wouldn’t understand it. I didn’t feel I wanted to make an official report.’

  Frances, feeling sure that the word ‘wife’ could in the interests of greater accuracy be substituted for ‘family’, asked, ‘Did you take any action at all to recover the watch and ring?’

  ‘Yes, well, once we knew the items were missing, I went to the reception desk and told the man there what had happened.’

  ‘The tall man or the one with spectacles?’

  ‘It was the tall man.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He said that there had been a number of incidents recently which the management thought was due to thieves using a stolen pass key. The hotel was going to get all the locks changed. The police did know about it, but he suggested I report to them directly. Of course I didn’t, and I think he knew I wouldn’t. He asked me to provide my card so he could let me know if the stolen things were found. He said thieves sometimes hid them away until the fuss died down and they might turn up in time.’

  ‘Did you give him your card?’

  ‘I did. He promised not to reveal that I had been to the hotel. I have a card with a business address. I deal in furniture.’

  ‘Fine furniture,’ said Miss Lee.

  ‘I assume you heard no more.’

  Mr Joe hesitated. ‘Well, as a matter of fact …’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Yes, I received a note a few days later saying that my watch had been found. I’m wondering now if it would have been difficult to sell or pawn because of the engraving inside. I was told that I could get it back for a price. Well, it was an heirloom and my – family – expected me to wear it. I had already explained its absence by saying that it was being repaired. I suspect that some of the price I was asked to pay involved purchasing silence about where it had been stolen. The note suggested a meeting in Hyde Park after dark. I went, and the transaction was made.’

  ‘With whom?’

  ‘I’m not sure. He had a muffler around his face and said very little.’

  ‘Could it have been the tall young man at the hotel?’

  Mr Joe paused. ‘He was about the right height. Yes, it could have been him, but I wouldn’t like to swear to it.’

  ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘About four days ago.’

  ‘Because the young man who is called Harry Abbott hasn’t been seen for two days. Do you know anything about it?’

  ‘No, and I haven’t seen him recently.’

  Miss Lee ate the last sandwich and signalled to the waiter. Joe smiled indulgently.

  Frances realised that she had on the slenderest of evidence assumed that the man who bought the emerald ring for Miss Lorna Lee had been Lancelot Dobree. Unless the
meeting with Mr Joe had been an elaborate masquerade, it now appeared that she had been mistaken. Just because the ring and the items taken from Dobree’s corpse had all been found in the same location, it did not necessarily mean that the ring had ever been in his possession. The discovery was a source of some relief, because she had not looked forward to the possibility that she would have to advise Vernon Salter of unsavoury details of his father-in-law’s activities. As for ‘Mr Joe’, he would have to run his risks and take his chances.

  New questions now arose. How had a ring stolen from a dubious hotel on the Portobello Road found its way into a hole in the wall of an abandoned lodging house in Kensington? And was there any kind of a connection with Lancelot Dobree?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Frances was left with the impression that there were a great many circumstances that might not appear to be connected but were, while others that would seem to be connected were not. And even if she could identify the connections, would they prove to be of any importance? In the past she had drawn out charts or diagrams to help her understand events, and where and when they had taken place, which sometimes answered the questions of how and why. Now she felt she needed to do so again, but what would be the shape of the diagram? It appeared in her imagination to be a large wheel, with spokes pointing to some central place, and cross connections like a spider’s web. But who or what was the spider?

  The analogy pleased her. Lancelot Dobree was most unlikely to be the spider; she thought he was merely an unlucky fly who had by chance stumbled into the web, which had proved fatal. The threads that held the web together were financial, and involved the theft and sale of fine silverware and jewellery, trades with which Dobree had no personal connection. Even his son-in-law was a very minor dealer and not an especially wealthy representative of that trade.

  The only connection that Frances could think of between Dobree and a crime was the discovery of a stolen ring in the house he had been intending to buy – a house which he had never even entered until the day of his death.

  Frances took a large sheet of wrapping paper and at its centre drew a square. In the square she wrote ‘2 Linfield Gardens’. On the edge of the paper she put another square and in it wrote ‘Portobello Hotel’. She drew a line between the two. Along the line she wrote ‘emerald ring’. At the other edge she drew a circle and in it wrote ‘Lancelot Dobree’. She drew a line between the circle and the square and along it wrote ‘interested in buying’. There were other connections to the house: Mr Munro senior and Mr Munro junior, the house agents; Mrs Collins, the original owner; Mr Johnstone, who had recently bought the property; and the unknown man who had made enquiries about it and not returned. Everyone who had made enquiries about the house and its original owner were therefore connected to the house agents. Frances drew another square and in it wrote ‘Duke of Sussex Tavern’. This was connected to Lancelot Dobree and Munro junior, Munro’s lunchtime companion Mr Weber, and Mr Johnstone’s shadowy assistant Mr Kennard, who were all customers. It was also connected to Dobree’s architect friend Mr Herman, who was connected to the lodging house as he had advised Dobree about it. Another square was labelled ‘Literati’ and connected to the tavern as a meeting place. The only connection between the tavern and the lodging house was their proximity.

  Thus far the only stolen jewellery involved was the emerald ring, but there was one other connection. Frances drew lines connecting the tavern with its employees, and from the name of John Capper she drew another line, to the missing Cullum. Cullum was connected to Vernon Salter who was connected to Dobree. But did this mean anything? Frances didn’t even know if Cullum was alive, and his last known criminal activity was twenty-four years ago.

  Frances stared at the diagram and wondered who might make sense of such a tangle. It was all very confusing. Had she got it wrong? Was there a web at all, and if so, was it she who was trapped in it, like another helpless fly?

  She took a second sheet of paper and made a list of addresses. These were all the locations in which thefts of valuables had taken place in the last few months. They included the Portobello Hotel, the house where Mr Munro junior had been killed, and the properties that had been burgled with keys stolen from his body, and Lancelot Dobree’s home and the tavern where there had been attempted break-ins. Careful scouring of the newspapers enabled her to extract some other addresses, hotels from which jewels had been stolen and burglaries from private houses. There were twelve locations, all in the Paddington, Kensington and Bayswater area. More than ever she became convinced that there was a gang in operation, a gang whose activities connected all these places. Had Harry Abbott been a member of the gang, or had he worked alone? If a lone wolf, he might have wandered into the territory of a gang who thought that they ought to have all the pickings. If in a gang, he might have fallen foul of his criminal confederates. His abrupt disappearance without taking his possessions and cache of stolen goods suggested either that he had left the hotel in fear and in a very great hurry, or he had been abducted while away from his home, and was most probably dead.

  A carriage drew up outside the house and Frances peered out of the window, wondering if it was a new client. Since word had spread over Bayswater that she was taking on criminal cases again, new clients, especially those with domestic issues they preferred to put before a sympathetic female, had been arriving with increasing frequency. It was taxing, since the Dobree case was already occupying much of her time, but she felt she had nothing to complain about. She saw Mr Anthony Munro step down from the carriage, and to her surprise he carefully assisted the descent of his older brother Jacob. Both men approached her door, Jacob shuffling slowly at his brother’s side.

  Frances was impatient with curiosity until the maid announced them, and did her best to ensure that the parlour was comfortable, adding a cushion to the armchair, putting a small table by its side with water and a glass, and mending the fire with fresh coal.

  Jacob was panting a little as the two men arrived at the door, and Frances greeted them and watched carefully as the older man was guided to the armchair. Anthony Munro, relieved that his charge had been safely delivered, faced Frances across the little round table.

  ‘I do hope you are both in good health,’ said Frances politely, although in the case of Mr Jacob she felt some anxiety.

  Anthony Munro sighed and glanced at his brother. ‘We can only hope that in time the pain of our loss will recede in some measure, but it has been hard thus far. To be honest, I don’t know if it is a good or bad thing that poor Albert never married. A wife and children would have imposed a duty of care on the family but they would also have given Jacob something to think about beyond his own grief. I have been trying to distract him and today was the first time I was able to persuade him to leave the house, just for a drive. And as we talked, he recalled something. I don’t know if it has any significance.’

  ‘Well, let me see.’ Frances rose and went to sit opposite Jacob. The fire was hissing and popping with little sparks jumping up. Frances was obliged to check that the guard was secure but her visitor seemed oblivious to any danger. ‘Mr Munro, I believe you wanted to tell me something?’

  ‘Ah, yes. I’m not sure why I didn’t think of it before. Of course it might mean nothing. It was something my poor boy said to me. It was on the day he went with you and the other gentlemen to the property where the body of Mr Dobree was found. When he returned to the office he asked if the key to the yard gate was there, but it wasn’t and I hadn’t seen it.’

  ‘What key was this? I thought all the keys to the property were on the bunch kept at the office?’

  ‘No, there was one other, a spare key to the back gate. It was a rusty thing, never used, and hung on a hook in the yard by the side of the gate. But it was no longer there.’

  ‘I see.’ Frances pondered this. She could not recall having seen such a key on either visit, but had it been a rusty object it might not have been readily visible against the dirty walling. She wondered if
it was even possible to determine when it had gone missing. ‘Mr Munro, did you yourself visit the property when your office began to act for the seller?’

  ‘Yes, I did. Last November. The owner’s son showed it to me. The key was there then. I was told it was used to unlock the back gate for the coal man.’

  ‘And between then and the day the key was found to be missing, the only visit to the property was when your son accompanied Mr Johnstone for a viewing?’

  ‘It was the only viewing. I asked the owner to reduce her price but she was very stubborn. The result was that the only people who asked to see the property were Mr Johnstone, who declined to buy at the asking price, and Mr Dobree, who had yet to view it at the time of his death.’

  ‘Do you know if the key to the gate was still there when your son showed Mr Johnstone the property?’

  ‘As far as I know it was. Albert was very meticulous and would certainly have made quite sure that all was locked and bolted before he left. Oh … he did go back there once. I remember now. He was worried about the possibility of dry rot and looked over it again.’

  ‘That was after Mr Johnstone was shown around?’

  ‘Yes, a day or two afterwards, and he never mentioned a missing key.’

  Frances had a new thought. ‘Is it possible that you or your son might have lent a set of house keys to a trusted person – a valued customer, a professional man who was known to you, and not accompanied them on the visit?’

  Munro thought hard about this. ‘It is possible, yes. I myself didn’t lend the keys to anyone but Albert might have done so under the circumstances you suggest.’

  ‘Might he have lent them to Mr Dobree?’

  ‘We would certainly have trusted him to borrow the keys. Dobree was very interested in the property. He had viewed the outside several times, and unlike others had not been deterred by its appearance.’