A day later, Helen Meath and George Parker met in a deserted park overlooking the sea just below Whitby. They had used the spot before and knew it was safe to talk and conduct ‘business.’ The wind blew Helen’s hair and she struggled to control it.
“Here’s a little money,” she told Parker, handing over the cash. “It’s all I’ve got.”
Parker took it, counted the bills and coins, and put them inside his coat pocket.
“I won’t put up with delays or refusals to meet my demands, you know that Helen. People have tried that before. Unsuccessfully.”
Helen bowed her head. “I know. But what you’re asking for is unreasonable. Stuart and I….”
“Let me tell you a story that affects Stuart and you,” Parker said sharply.
He pulled out his pipe and filled it, turning his back to the wind to light the bowl. When it was burning to his satisfaction, he looked at the woman beside him.
“I was in South Africa after the war,” Parker began. “I knew a little bit about mining and a lot about how to use people to get what I wanted. I wanted to be a major player in the precious gems market. I had just enough money to put in one claim and I happened to hit diamonds, thanks to some advice from a guy who owed me a favor.
“Within a year I started to expand, not only in South Africa but also in Australia and South America. Opals. Emeralds. You name it. It seemed like everywhere I opened a mine we found something right away. I thought there would be no limit to how much I could make.
“Then I heard that another Englishman…in fact, a Yorkshire man, was digging for diamonds next to my mine in South Africa. When I got there and started looking into it, I realized part of his mine was on my initial claim.
“I also found out his name was Robert Meath, your Stuart’s father. Of course, I didn’t know that at the time nor did it matter. I just knew he was on my land. Meath fought it vehemently and we nearly came to blows several times before the local authorities convinced him the property was mine.”
Helen listened carefully, occasionally looking out at the pounding surf.
“Now, here’s the important element of the story, Helen. Robert Meath was confined to lesser mines, but he still made a good bit of money. He knows, as you should know, that I could have easily bankrupted him. I could have used my pull with the mining officials to have him banned from the country. But I didn’t, Helen. I played fair in that regard. Every dime he made was mostly thanks to me, you see.
“Even as my mines dried up and my profits tumbled, he chugged along with his small operations. And that brings us to today, where I strongly believe a small reimbursement from you and Stuart is not asking too much for the help I gave his father. Help that will make both of you very rich when he dies.”
Helen turned towards Parker and said, “But you didn’t stop there. You also approached Colonel Humphries and Archibald Levering. Now they’re both dead. I’m not sure what you expect me and that Inspector to think, George.”
Parker sat up with a stern look and replied, “That wasn’t me, Helen. I’ve never resorted to murder, although I’ve had good reason to at times. Somebody else did those men in.”
Helen looked away.
Parker said, “So, you know the facts and you know what I expect from you. We’ll meet again when the next payment is due. Don’t ruin your future just to spite me, Helen.”
Helen returned home with the same feeling of vulnerability she had felt since Parker began making his demands. She saw very few opportunities to get out from under his control, but one did come to her mind on the way home. What if Parker’s story was not true?
When the time felt right that evening, she sat next to Stuart and asked, “How much do you know of your father’s mining business?”
“Just what he’s told me, of course,” Stuart replied. “Why do you ask?”
“Did your father ever mention George Parker?”
“He said they met in South Africa. Apparently they did not know each other before that, and they never formed a friendship. They were in competition with each other for mines, I guess. That’s about all I remember him saying,” Stuart said.
Helen played with the cushion on the chair before saying, “He never mentioned being threatened by Parker?”
Stuart’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Helen, and she saw the annoyance on his face.
Stuart said, “So it’s Parker that is bullying you, is it. And he’s using my father to justify it? No, not my father. My father’s money and our inheritance.”
Stuart pounded the arm of his chair and rose.
“I’ll put a stop to it. That man is a leach. I’ll….”
“No, Stuart! Please. As long as you know he’s behind what I’ve been doing, don’t cause any more trouble. It will eventually blow over and our life will be normal again.”
Stuart stood at the door to the room and looked back at Helen, saying, “He’s not going to get away with blackmailing you or anyone else in this family. It’s got to stop.”
He stormed out of the room with Helen’s shouts of protest fading into sobs.
Parker grinned when his wife told him the following day of a phone call from Stuart Meath, requesting that Parker allow a meeting between the two men at the Parker’s residence.
‘So, Helen couldn’t keep quiet any longer,’ Parker thought to himself. ‘Now I must set straight another of the Meaths.’
“Of course. Call him back and tell him tomorrow evening is fine,” George told her.
Stuart arrived within five minutes of the chosen time and was welcomed into the house as an old friend. Elizabeth took his coat and left the two men alone in the study.
“It seems like our man Stewart keeps stumbling upon bodies,” Parker said, offering a drink to his guest.
Meath sat by the window. “Not what you’d expect to find during a round of golf. I guess Leatherby was with him.”
“Yes. Yes,” Parker acknowledged. “That Inspector fellow has his hands full now.”
“You knew the chap they found?”
Parker nodded. “Owned a big fleet in Whitby. Seemed like a smart young man to me. It’s too bad.”
“You talked to him about investing, I presume,” Meath said.
“Without a doubt. There aren’t many in Yorkshire with the cash he had at hand.”
“George, it’s money that I came to talk to you about,” Meath said, swirling the brandy in his glass.
“Oh? You finally decided to invest?”
“I’m not going to waste time getting to the point,” Meath said, ignoring the question and setting his jaw firmly in place. “You’ve been pestering Helen and I want it to stop. She is not the one your anger should be directed at. Helen has done nothing to harm you.”
Parker quickly replied, “Pestering? Really? Is that how you see it? Do you understand that there has not been a single time when she has refused to meet me when I asked her to?”
“You’re blackmailing her, Parker, and God knows what else and I want it to stop!”
“Helen is quite capable of making her own decisions when it comes to protecting your inheritance, Stuart,” Parker said calmly. “I think it’s wise for you not to interfere. I’d hate to see anybody get hurt.”
Meath stood up and said sternly, “If you harm her, I’ll kill you with my own hands, Parker. Leave her alone. Come to me if you insist on coercing money out of us. We’ll deal with it like men, but leave my wife out of it.”
Elizabeth heard two doors slam shut before she ventured into the hallway, where she saw her husband walking out of the study.
“He is protective of his wife, I must admit that,” George said, taking Elizabeth by the arm and leading her back into the living room.
Outside of the study, in the stillness of the night, a man dressed in all black silently crept away from the window. The detective assigned to tail Parker would have plenty to tell Inspector Silsbury.
XIX. My Brother’s Keeper
Lynwood Bell happened to be stari
ng out his second floor window at the sidewalk below when he saw a weathered old man climb the three steps to the law firm’s front door. It was unusual for the firm to have visitors. It was unheard of for visitors to arrive without appointments.
Bell listened intently as the sounds of the man’s entrance filtered up to his office. He heard voices but could not make out the words. He waited, and finally heard the ringing of his phone.
“Yes?” he said when he picked it up.
After a pause, he replied, “Bring him up. And tell Mr. Lee to join us, please.”
A minute or two passed before the firm’s bookkeeper, the old man, and Wilfrid Lee filed into Bell’s office. The bookkeeper was dismissed and closed the door behind him.
“And who do we have the pleasure of meeting today?” Mr. Bell asked the visitor.
“My name is Arthur Humphries, sir,” the man said, extending his calloused hand to Bell.
Both solicitors perked up upon hearing a familiar name, but introductions were made without further comment. Mr. Humphries was provided a seat while Mr. Lee scrutinized the man’s attire of well-worn pants, a flimsy shirt and long coat. A thick, unkempt beard dominated his face.
“And what brings you to our offices, Mr. Humphries?” Bell inquired.
“Very sad business, I’m afraid,” Humphries began. “You see, I’ve just completed the voyage from the United States to your country because of news that only recently got to me. At first I didn’t know who to talk to, but after asking a few questions of some of the local people and a police officer, I was provided the name of this firm.”
The solicitors nodded and Humphries said, “As I said, I’m Arthur Humphries, brother of the late Colonel Peter Humphries and I’d like to settle his estate.”
This time, the surprise on Lee and Bell’s faces could not have been more obvious.
“His brother?” Lee said in disbelief. “Nobody ever…I mean, we had not heard of any family members.”
Humphries smiled broadly. “That sounds very much like Peter. And most likely there is no will. He wasn’t very much concerned with official-type doings such as wills and things. To be honest, his wife probably knew more about those things than Peter. He was a soldier, through and through. That’s all he cared about.”
“How did you hear of his death?” Bell asked.
“Oh, a good friend of mine from the war lives in London. He comes to the US once or twice a year on business, you see. He read about it in the paper.”
Lee said, “So you know your brother was murdered?”
“Yes, sir. And they can’t hang the chap high enough when they get ‘im, in my opinion,” Humphries said with his first display of emotion.
“You realize of course, Mr. Humphries, that we’ll need documented proof of your relationship to the Colonel,” Lee told the man.
“Ah, most certainly. You don’t think I would have made that awful crossing without thinking of that, do you?” Humphries grinned. “I left the papers in my room, locked in my box, not wanting to risk carrying them with me, you understand.”
“When can you return with them?” asked Lee.
“I’m plum tuckered out, gentlemen. How about tomorrow? You name the time.”
“Ten o’clock in the morning,” Lee said promptly. “We are quite interested in seeing what you have. It could mean quite a payout to you, Mr. Humphries.”
“I understand,” Humphries replied. “The amount isn’t as important to me as seeing that Peter’s things are settled properly and kept in the family. We weren’t as close as some brothers, I’ll admit. But still…he was my brother.”
Lord Charles Stewart was sitting in the study of Stichen Manor when Calvert interrupted to say a cable had arrived, marked ‘Urgent.’ Charles asked the servant to wait, in case there were instructions. Indeed, after reading the short message, Charles told Calvert to send Bingham to him at once.
“What is it, my Lord?” the butler asked upon his arrival a moment later.
“A telegram from Lee and Bell in York,” Charles answered. “They had a visitor, it seems.”
Seeing that he had Bingham’s attention, Charles said, “Colonel Humphries’ long lost brother has arrived.”
“Brother, sir? Did we know he had a long lost brother?”
Charles grinned. “Of course not. I’m not sure the Colonel even knew. I smell a rotten fish, Bingham. I need you to find out as much as you can about this guy in the hours remaining today. He’s due back at the solicitors in the morning with papers.”
Charles paused, took a sip of his drink, and told Bingham, “I don’t like the chances of this man living very long once news gets around that he’s in town. Those papers might be more valuable than he thinks. Bingham, you know I don’t resort to illegalities very often, but I think the situation warrants a slight bending of the law. Go to York right away. Find out where the guy is. Tail him and take the opportunity to study the papers if you get a chance. Don’t take stupid risks, but I’d love to have your opinion of the documents. Come back tonight.”
Lord Stewart saw the excitement in Bingham’s eyes as a job truly to his liking finally arrived. The butler was on his way out the door while still acknowledging the instructions.
Bingham was quite unrecognizable in his disguise as a factory worker, with full beard and dirty cap thrown in for good measure. He also knew he looked out of place at the wheel of a Daimler, so he parked far from the center of town and walked the remaining blocks in the afternoon heat. There were only a couple of hotels the Colonel’s brother could have checked into and Bingham got confirmation of the man’s lodging in the second one he tried. An ample tip also got him a good description and news that Humphries was currently in his room.
Bingham took a seat in the lobby and waited. More than an hour passed before Humphries made an appearance, looking no better than he had in the solicitors’ offices. Bingham studied him from head to toe. He noted every scar; the tanning of his skin; the imperfect gait; and, the soles of his shoes.
Bingham concluded this could be another military man, like the Colonel himself, or an outdoor laborer. Certainly not a rich man. Bingham let Humphries exit the hotel and soon followed him down the street until he turned into a restaurant. After a short break to seemingly window shop, Bingham strode past the restaurant.
It took all his effort to not stop and stare at the scene. Humphries was entering a booth already occupied by two patrons. Alistair Cooper and Helen Meath accepted the man’s company with relatively little fanfare.
Bingham quickly turned to enter the restaurant and asked for a booth. Unfortunately, he was eventually seated too far from his objects of interest to hear their discussion. But it was evident to him that the threesome were not strangers to each other. The conversation was constant and somewhat intense in appearance, with all three participating in equal parts.
Having accomplished as much as he could in the restaurant, Bingham excused himself at the next appearance of the waiter, under the pretense of becoming suddenly ill. He hurried back to the hotel and lay a few bob on the counter to learn Humphries’ room number.
A hotel lock was child’s play to a man of Bingham’s experience carrying the proper tools. Within seconds, the door creaked open and then shut again as Bingham stepped inside. He knew he only had a few moments and that’s all it took to locate a thick folder containing several sheets of folded papers. He spread them open on a desk and began to read.
There were birth certificates for Arthur and Peter Humphries, a passport for Arthur, and a couple letters too lengthy to read for the time Bingham had. Instead, he concentrated on the birth certificates. He pulled out a small magnifying glass and a tiny knife from his pocket. With his head bent down nearly to the surface of the documents, Bingham studied them for less than three minutes, scraping a fragment or two with his knife to justify his theories.
With a nod of satisfaction, he replaced all the documents back into the folder and the folder into its original location. Bingham was out o
f the room and back on the road before dark.
“They were legitimate birth certificates…at one time,” Bingham explained to Charles soon after arriving at Stichen Manor. “Clearly altered now. Pretty good job, too. You can’t see it without a magnifying glass and even with the glass I couldn’t make out who the papers originally belonged to. That’s probably irrelevant anyway. A pro did those documents, in my opinion.”
“What else did our man do while you were there?” Charles asked.
Bingham leaned back and said, “You’ll be interested in who he had dinner with.”
“Do tell.”
“Alistair Cooper and Helen Meath.”
Charles seemed truly startled. “Cooper and Helen Meath? Really? Well, well, well. You heard the discussion, I hope.”
“Actually, no,” Bingham admitted ashamedly. “I would have had to be in the booth with them, but I can tell you they had talked before. Without a doubt. This was a scheduled meeting.”
Charles smiled and said, “You earned your salary today, my man. Maybe a bonus. We are getting very close, you know. I just hope the final pieces fall into place before it’s too late.”
Inspector Silsbury was conducting interviews related to the Archibald Levering case when he received word from the solicitors of the appearance of Humphries’ brother. Silsbury’s first assignment to a pair of detectives was to travel to every nearby port and check manifests of each ship arriving from America for an Arthur Humphries. He would do the same in Whitby.
Being on the opposite side of the country from where most American ships made port, Silsbury only had a single list to check from the previous month. Just as the detectives were finding out on their own, the Colonel’s brother was not on any list.
As the Inspector was eating lunch on his day in Whitby, he overheard a conversation between a group of seamen who he surmised, by mention of their ships’ names, were part of the Levering fleet. On a whimsy, Silsbury approached them with a question.
“Gentlemen,” he began, after ordering another round of ale, “I’m in search of a chap you may have seen in Whitby lately. He’s an older gent, perhaps fifty to sixty years old, with a face full of hair. Dark eyes and big eyebrows. A big man, but not overweight, you see. A weathered complexion with a scar on the left side, I believe it is.”
The Enemy in Our Midst: A Lord Charles Stewart Mystery Page 12
