The passenger lists from Durban to London came early the following morning. Inspector Devereux came with them, three lots of passenger lists with two copies of each one, produced at remarkable speed by the Union Castle line’s staff in Southampton. The Powerscourt drawing room had been turned into a battle headquarters with two desks facing each other, one for the Inspector, one for the Powerscourts. Devereux’s sergeant, he told them, was still engaged in telegraphic conversations with the Johannesburg and Durban police.
‘None of the ships were full,’ Devereux said. ‘The Alnwick Castle, the Dover Castle, Walmer Castle all had plenty of space left. They told me, the Southampton people, that there was an average of about one hundred and twenty passengers in first class and about a hundred in second class. That means we’ve got six hundred and sixty names here. I suggest we begin with the Alnwick Castle.’ He handed a sheaf of papers to Powerscourt.
Lady Lucy had always been a believer in lists and notebooks and careful records. She had produced from her stores three brand-new dark blue notebooks, one for each of the participants. After a while, Powerscourt thought, the names and the numbers became hypnotic.
Of the first ten passengers only one deserved to have his name entered in the notebooks as a possible, Mr Raymond Armstrong. All the rest were the wrong age or the wrong sex and even Mr Ramon might have been too old at seventy-one.
‘Inspector Devereux,’ said Lady Lucy, ‘why is this Harry Jones person paying twenty-six pounds eleven shillings for first class when some of the others are paying one hundred and fifty-one pounds each?’
‘Size of cabin, sea views, state room or not, those are what usually sends up the price. Shouldn’t think this Jones has got a sea view at all.’
‘What do you say to the seventy-four-year-old Captain Cooper, Inspector?’ Powerscourt asked.
‘I think not. He’s too old. There’s only Mr Davies, the businessman, and Dr Hodge the politician left in the running for us here and I think we can ignore the doctor. No politician, wherever they come from, is going to risk killing three innocent people, however great their grudge. It would finish their career. So I think we can strike him out, just leaving us with Mr Davies.’
After an hour and a half they were nearing the end of the list of second-class passengers in the final liner, the Walmer Castle.
‘I say, Francis, Inspector,’ Lady Lucy was drawing doodles of glasses, wine glasses, champagne flutes, port glasses, brandy glasses on the left-hand page of her handbook. ‘I wonder if there mightn’t be another way of reducing the number of names we end up with. Do you think, Inspector, that we will be able to discover where most of the tickets were bought?’
‘I hope so,’ said the Inspector.
‘And am I right in saying that even though the ship goes round in a circle in a way, always returning to where it started, the tickets from here will be marked as going from London to Cape Town or London to Durban?’
‘That is correct.’
‘But some of the tickets will be for a return journey. You would pay for such a ticket all together, maybe with a slight reduction, even if you got two separate pieces of paper as you do with a train ticket. But even though it might say that you boarded the ship in Durban, you could be going home. You could have started out in London. And if a lot of the tickets were returns, bought in London, and even though some of the passengers would be marked as having boarded in Durban, and though they would obviously be travelling from South Africa to London, they’d be coming home again. They’d have bought their tickets in London. Mystery Man, on the other hand, would be coming on a ticket almost certainly bought in South Africa, maybe Durban Southampton Durban, but his journey would be the first leg, not the second of the trip. All of which, I think, means that if we can find out where the passengers bought their tickets, we can discount all those return tickets bought at the London end. That should eliminate quite a lot of people.’
‘Well done, Lucy,’ said Powerscourt. ‘That should save us a heap of trouble.’
Ten minutes later Lady Lucy drew a stream of bubbles coming out of an enormous champagne bottle on her pad. ‘We’re through, Inspector. We’ve got thirty-one names of the right age and sex in the first-and second-class accommodation on the three ships.’
‘Excellent,’ said Devereux. ‘I’ve got thirty-two but one of mine is a minister so I think I’ll get rid of the holy man. Some pretty strange occupations on board these vessels. Did you get the chap who was a musical instrument vendor, for heaven’s sake?’
‘We did,’ said Powerscourt, ‘and a quarryman and a fishmonger and a house painter.’
‘Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll take these names to our telegraph office and set to work. I’ll wire over to Thomas Cook to see if any of their branches sold the things. Once we’ve eliminated the people who bought their tickets here I’ll launch the South Africans. The Inspector looking after us in Durban is a famous rugby player – he was on their inaugural tour here four or five years ago. He says he has very fond memories of playing in England.’
‘Dammit, Lucy,’ said Powerscourt after the Inspector left, ‘there’s something niggling at the back of my mind and I can’t get my hands on it. It’s slipped away. I think it might be important.’
‘Well, Francis, you know my views. If you worry away at it, whatever it is, it won’t come to you. If you think of something else altogether, it’ll make its own way to the front of your brain. Think of the latest sins and wickednesses of our precious twins. That should do the trick.’
Powerscourt never heard the end of the sentence. He had shot out of the room and returned almost at once with an enormous atlas under his arm. He took a notebook from his jacket pocket and riffled through the pages. Then he opened the atlas at a page showing the west of England. ‘Contrary to popular opinion after my announcement about passenger lists, Lucy, I have to repeat that I am not going out of my mind. You will recall that the Mr Smith, correctly named or not, said he had to get back to the West Country. And I have just remembered what I was searching for in my mind. When I first met Inspector Devereux in the Silkworkers Hall he was looking at a collection of rubbish that had been collected after the dinner. Among the objects was a part of a ticket, whether bus ticket or train ticket I know not, from a place ending in “be”. Now that is pretty useless in itself, there are a great many place names ending in “be”. And I remember thinking at the time that it could have been the murderer himself who dropped the ticket stub – all the Silkworkers who were there that night came from central London. Now let’s have a hunt for places ending in “be”. I think it means valley in Celtic. Let’s look at Dorset. Here we are. Kingcombe, Barcombe, Loscombe, Melcombe Horsey, riding centre presumably.’
‘Combe Fishacre,’ Lady Lucy took up the chase, ‘Thorncombe, Combe Almer, Motcombe, what a lot of Combes.’
‘Let’s try Devon,’ said her husband. ‘Ellacombe, Maiden-combe, Overcombe, Widecombe, Babbacombe Bay.’
‘Holcombe, Harcombe,’ said Lady Lucy, ‘Boscombe, Salcombe, Combe Buckfastleigh, Branscombe.’
‘I’m sure there’s a whole lot more. I’m going to contact the London Library in a minute. The librarian there is an expert on British place names, I think he even wrote a book on them a couple of years back.’
‘Forgive me, Francis, I’m being dense. What can we do with this list of place names?’
‘We can’t really do anything with them until we have narrowed down the list of names. Now I think about it, mind you, they might help produce the names. This is one of the great beauties of having an Inspector on board, my love. He brings entire police forces with him. We suggest to the good Inspector Devereux that he contacts his brothers in Christ in the counties of Devon and Dorset and Cornwall and ask them which, if any, of the places might be large enough to be issuing tickets, and in which place a man intent on murder might want to hide himself. If the murderers, and I now think there were probably at least two of them, have arrived in one of these places recently, th
e police should either know about it or know who will tell them, estate agents or hoteliers, those kind of people.’
March 5th 1910. 10.35 From: Inspector Devereux Metropolitan Police.
To: Ticket Offices, Union Castle HQ Southampton.
Re: Triple Murder Inquiry.
We are anxious to discover where the following passengers bought tickets for voyage from Southampton to Durban, single or return, in December last year or on the first voyage in January. Allen, Briggs, Bell, Cameron, De Villiers, Dixon, Dalrymple, Fish, Gibbons, Grant, Hughes, Jackson, Jones-Parry, King, Kruger, Lowther, Macaulay, Matfield, Middleton, Newton, Peters, Poundfoot, Randall, Smit, Steyn, Strauss, Trumper, Turnbull, Vincent, Williams, Winder.
March 5th 1910. 10.45 From: Inspector Devereux, Metropolitan Police. Same inquiry to Messrs Thomas Cook.
March 5th 1910. 11.25
Lord Powerscourt to Charles Hagberg Wright, Librarian, London Library.
Re: Place Names ending in be.
Currently engaged on triple murder inquiry. Suspect villains may have been based in West Country in a place ending in be. Have suspicious bus or train ticket found at one murder site ending in be. Villains may not wish to advertise their presence. Which villages or towns would you recommend we contact. Regards Powerscourt.
March 5th 1910. 12.45
From: Thomas Cook.
To: Inspector Devereux, Metropolitan Police.
Of 31 names sent, two bought their tickets through our West End branch. Dalrymple, Jones-Parry. Returns Southampton Durban Southampton. First Class. Regards.
March 5th 1910. 13.50.
From: Union Castle Ticket Office, Southampton.
To: Inspector Devereux, Metropolitan Police.
Of 31 names mentioned in your wire, seventeen purchased their tickets in England through our offices or by post: Briggs, Cameron, de Villiers, Dixon, Gibbons, Grant, Jackson, Lowther, Macaulay, Middleton, Newton, Peters, Poundfoot, Randall, Trumper, Turnbull, Williams. All return, Southampton Durban Southampton, except de Villiers and Trumper who were single, second class. All except Cameron, Gibbons, Grant, Newton first class, those four second class. Good luck. Union Castle Line.
March 5th 1910. 14.25.
From: Inspector Devereux, Metropolitan Police.
To: Inspector Paul Roos, Durban Borough Police, South Africa.
Request info on type of ticket, first or second class, and route, single or return, held by the following passengers Union Castle Cape Town or Durban – Southampton – Durban or Cape Town in the two sailings last December 1909, and first sailing Jan 1910: Allen, Bell, Fish, Hughes, King, Kruger, Matfield. Smit, Steyn, Strauss, Vincent, Winder.
March 5th 1910 15.10.
From: Charles Hagberg Wright, Librarian, London Library.
To: Lord Francis Powerscourt.
Re: Place Names ending in be.
Many place names ending in ‘be’ across West Country, mainly Devon and Dorset, virtually none in Cornwall. Many too small to be good hiding places. Have four for preliminary consideration. Boscombe, next to Bournemouth. Railway station, mineral water, pier, hotels. Ilfracombe, North Devon coast. Tourist town fed by ferries along Bristol Channel. Many hotels, houses owned by naval personnel. Railway station. Babbacombe Bay, smaller than others. Tourist area with many hotels. On coast near Torquay. Served by buses not by trains. Salcombe on its own estuary leading to Kingsbridge. Growing in importance as holiday centre with hotels, large villas for rent, etc. Sailing town, GWR bus serving Kingsbridge railway station. If these don’t work, come back for more. Regards. Good Luck, Hagberg Wright.
March 5th 1910. 15.50.
From: Inspector Devereux. Metropolitan Police.
To: HQ Devon Constabulary, HQ Dorset Constabulary.
Re: Triple Murder Inquiry.
Am looking for party of two or three foreigners, probably South African, who may be staying in one of the following resorts in your jurisdiction, Boscombe, Babbacombe Bay, Ilfracombe, Salcombe. Principal suspect over fifty years old, others probably younger. They could be staying in hotel or rented house. Probably arrived mid to late December. All extremely dangerous. Do not approach unless it can’t be avoided. Regards.
March 5th 1910. 18.15.
From Inspector Paul Roos, Durban Borough Police.
To: Inspector Devereux, Metropolitan Police.
Re: Triple Murder.
Results so far. All tickets except Bell and Fish, purchased Durban. Bell, Fish singles ex Cape Town. Families related, believed to be going to family function in Oxfordshire and tour of England. Durban passengers Hughes, King, return tickets originating London. All businessmen, known to South African authorities. Smit, Steyn, travelling return Durban Southampton Durban. Pastors with Dutch Reformed Church going to conference in Holland. Information on rest later. Regards.
March 5th 1910. 19.05.
From Inspector Galway, Torquay Police Station.
To: Inspector Devereux, Metropolitan Police.
Re: Triple Murder:
Babbacombe Bay part of our beat. No trace in hotels or guest houses there of your suspects. Regards, Galway.
March 5th 1910. 19.40.
From: Inspector Harkness, Boscombe Police Station.
To: Inspector Devereux, Metropolitan Police.
Re: Triple Murder.
All Boscombe hotels and guest houses checked. No trace of your suspects here. Sorry. Good luck.
‘I don’t think we’re going to get any more cables today,’ said Inspector Devereux, fresh from the Metropolitan Police telegraph room. ‘You should have had copies of all them,’ he went on, stretching his legs out in front of the fire in Markham Square. ‘What do you think of the news so far?’
‘Normally,’ said Lady Lucy, ‘I’m a hopeful sort of person. But here we are. We’ve eliminated most of the people travelling Durban or Cape Town to Southampton. There’s absolutely no sign of the people we’re interested in, or might be interested in if we knew who they are. Half of the place names in Devon and Dorset have reported back and there’s no sign of the suspects there either. The field is contracting all the time. What happens if we’ve got it all wrong? What happens if they’re not South African at all, if they didn’t need to come here on a great liner because they lived here already? What happens if the strange mark on the dead bodies is just a decoy, a red herring designed to throw us off the scent? What happens if we’ve got everything wrong?’
‘You’re very pessimistic this evening, Lucy,’ said Powerscourt. ‘I think it’s too soon to give up the ghost. We’re not out of the hunt yet. Let’s wait and see what news tomorrow brings.’
‘But what happens if I’m right and we’ve got everything wrong?’
‘I don’t believe we have got everything wrong, Lucy, my love. But I tell you what I would do if we were wrong.’
‘What’s that, Francis?’
‘I should present my compliments to the Honourable Company of Silkworkers and resign from this case with apologies for failure. And then I should retire completely from all investigations of every sort. Like the man in Candide, I should cultivate my garden.’
21
‘How many more of these calls do we have to make, Sarge? We did about fifty yesterday.’ James Robertson was the newest recruit to the Devon Constabulary, currently being inducted into the skills required in the force by an experienced sergeant, John Pickles, based at Ilfracombe police station in the county of Devon.
‘Calm down, young man, you’ll never get on if you’re too excitable, that’s what I was always told at your age.’ Pickles glanced round the little harbour where many of the hotels and guest houses were located. ‘We did most of the work yesterday evening. Not long to go now.’
‘We had to work until after eight o’clock last night as you well remember,’ said the young man. ‘My tea was cold and my mother was just about to go down the police station and ask what had happened to me. What are these people supposed to have done, anyway? Lifted the Crown jewels? Tried to assassinate Mr
Lloyd George?’
‘Never you mind what they’re supposed to have done. They’re dangerous criminals. That’s all we need to know. Now then, why don’t you stop complaining and go and make inquiries in the Hotel Bristol across the road. I’ll take the Wellington just here. Off you go now.’
Just over a hundred miles to the south another sergeant was making his way into the heart of Salcombe. He had lived here all his life, Sergeant Mark Vaughan, apart from an unhappy year on loan as a junior constable in the Met. The local Inspector, based in the mother ship at Kingsbridge, knew at once he was the man for the job. ‘Pop into Salcombe in the morning, Sergeant Vaughan, and see if there’s anything in this,’ he said the previous afternoon, handing over the wire from London. ‘I can’t imagine a more unlikely place than Salcombe for a party of villains to hide, but we’d better check.’
Inspector Devereux was back at his command post with the telegraph machines. The first message came from Ilfracombe and it reported that there was nobody of the descriptions given to be found in the town. A thorough search had been carried out and no strange persons discovered apart from a couple of Greek sailors who appeared to have jumped ship. Even the Inspector was growing worried now. There were only a couple messages more to come. Had they made an enormous mistake? He resolved not to tell Powerscourt yet about the news from Ilfracombe. He took comfort, very small comfort, from the fact that a reference book in the police library said that both Boscombe and Ilfracombe had much greater populations than Salcombe, which had yet to report. Maybe they had found something down there among the shrimp nets and the fishing boats.
Death at the Jesus Hospital Page 31
