The Architect of Murder

by Rafe McGregor

  “In a house near Fitzroy Square.”

  “Really? My choice of private detectives was obviously poor. Not only did they fail to find Mr Lowenstein, but neither of them appear to have learned of his death yet.”

  “Mr Lowenstein was living under an assumed name,” I said.

  “Is that so? Should I infer he was in hiding?” Drayton sat down again, withdrew a gold-plated case from his coat pocket, and lit another cigarette.

  “It looks that way. Can you think of any reason?” I asked.

  Drayton considered my question, blew a cloud of smoke at the chandelier, and shook his head slowly from side to side. “I’ve no idea what game the fellow was playing, except that it was evidently a deadly one. He absented himself from Cape Town without Mr Beit’s permission shortly after Mr Rhodes’ passing. I believe he arrived in London at the end of April and took lodgings at Sam’s in the Strand — under his own name. At the time his whereabouts were none of my concern; I found this out after he disappeared. In May Dr Jim informed me that either Mr Lowenstein or I were required in Cape Town in connection with Mr Rhodes’ will. We had both been witnesses to one of Mr Rhodes’ several amendments and either of us was required to give confirmation of his signature. I was unable to go myself, so I attempted to make contact with Mr Lowenstein. I couldn’t find him, feared for his safety, and hired Messrs Littlechild and Slater for the purpose.”

  “You feared for his safety — why?” Truegood interrupted.

  “No particular reason, I’m sure, but he left his employer without notice and then disappeared, so it seemed likely that something untoward was afoot. I don’t think you’ve been honest with me, have you, Inspector? If Mr Lowenstein was hiding from someone, then it’s most unlikely his death was the result of a random attack, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, well it’s my job to consider all the possibilities,” he mumbled.

  “Quite, quite. And not to give civilians and suspects information they aren’t required to know. My apologies, no reproof was intended. I’m just trying to understand what happened as best I can. I don’t want to come across as trying to tell you your job, but I wonder if you’re aware that I wasn’t the only one looking for Mr Lowenstein.”

  “You weren’t?” said Truegood.

  “No. I was informed by Mr Littlechild that a Mr Hugh Armstrong, private secretary to Viscount Milner, has been making his own inquiries into Mr Lowenstein’s whereabouts for the last two weeks.”

  Sir Alfred Milner was the former high commissioner in Cape Town, currently responsible for the reconstruction of the defeated Boer republics. He had been elevated to the peerage by the King last year, and had negotiated the Boer surrender with Kitchener at the end of May.

  Truegood withdrew his pocketbook and asked, “Mr Armstrong? Do you know where I can find him, Doctor?”

  “I do. He is a resident at the Arundel, off the Strand. Other than his employment, and the fact that he is a lawyer by profession, I know nothing about him.”

  “You haven’t met him before, in the Cape?” asked Truegood.

  “No.”

  “You said that you and Mr Lowenstein were witnesses to one of the amendments to Mr Rhodes’ will; is that right?”

  “Indeed.”

  “What was the particular amendment, Doctor?”

  Drayton smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid it would be indiscreet of me to disclose the precise details before the will has been proved, Inspector.”

  “You’re refusing to assist me with a murder investigation?”

  “Come now, that’s hardly the case. You must understand that the details of Mr Rhodes’ will are entirely confidential. There are numerous individuals and organisations that stand to benefit a great deal from his generosity. There has already been much speculation — ”

  Truegood held up his hand, and for the first time I felt he was in control. “Are you going to tell me, or not?”

  “I’m afraid not, Inspector. I’m sworn to secrecy on the matter, and I can hardly see how it bears any relevance to Mr Lowenstein’s demise.”

  “That’s for me to decide.”

  “It certainly is, and I very much regret not being able to assist you. However, I can direct you to Chief Inspector Maquire, head of the Cape Town CID. I’ve no doubt he’ll be able to solicit any relevant information from Mr B.F. Hawkesley, who was Mr Rhodes’ legal advisor.”

  Truegood scribbled away. “This Mr Hawkesley, does he live in Cape Town?”

  “He does. He and Chief Inspector Maguire worked in close cooperation in the matter of the scandalous behaviour of Princess Radziwill last year.” Drayton’s eyebrows danced and his eyes gleamed. I could tell his tongue was firmly in his cheek as he led the bull Truegood by the ring in his nose.

  Truegood continued to write, then hesitated, and chewed on his pencil.

  Drayton took the opportunity to address me. “Dr Jim spoke extremely highly of your conduct during the siege.”

  “Did he? By the time we fell back to Ladysmith, I was expecting to see you. I’d heard the two of you had become inseparable.”

  Drayton laughed, blowing out another cloud of smoke. “No, I had the honour to spend the first few months of the war with Mr Rhodes in Kimberley.”

  Kimberley had been besieged at the same time as Ladysmith. “Yes, I heard he’d flown to protect the source of his wealth.”

  “Whatever you may feel about Mr Rhodes, he was no coward. I know you admire courage in all men, Alec, as much as you hate senseless slaughter.”

  He was right on both counts, but while I admired courage I also knew that many courageous men were ruthless, and that one of the most ruthless men I’d ever met was right in front of me. “I still wish your employer hadn’t been at Ladysmith,” I said.

  “You do?”

  “Yes. I’m sure it was only because of him, Colonel Rhodes, and Sir John that the Boers were so persistent.” I smiled for the first time, hoping to convince him of my goodwill.

  “Yes, all three of the conspirators in a single town, and you with them. It looks like you ended up defending Dr Jim after all. You should have joined us, Alec, you should have joined us.”

  Truegood interrupted my angry retort. For once, his rudeness was welcome.

  “I’ve one more question, Doctor. Will you be staying here until you leave on Sunday?”

  “I shall indeed.”

  “Right. You’ve got my card. If you can think of anything else regarding Mr Lowenstein, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know.”

  Drayton stood, placed his cigarette in an ash-receiver, and offered his hand to Truegood again. “Of course, Inspector.” They shook, and he turned to me. “It’s such a pleasure to see you again, Alec. Perhaps when I return to London we might renew our acquaintance? If you intend to remain in England, that is.”

  I suspected that my mission for Melville had become redundant with the news of Drayton’s imminent departure, but I took his hand anyway. “I’m done with Africa. I’m at the Windsor Hotel. They’ll have my forwarding address.”

  “Good. My very best wishes until such time as our paths meet.”

  As soon as we were shown out onto Piccadilly Truegood said, “I’m off back to the Yard, to find Mr M and this Armstrong fella. What do you think?”

  “I don’t think anything, but I know Drayton. Did he kill Lowenstein, or have him killed? Impossible to say. All he will have told us was exactly what he wanted us to know — no more and no less.”

  “Bit like you, then.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve just told me bugger-all as well. I could see he was a clever nob all on my own, thanks. If you want to be in on Armstrong, wait at your hotel.”

  “Hold on,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Some people might take offence at your abruptness, Inspector, but luckily for you I don’t stand on ceremony. Who is this Mr Littlechild that Drayton was talking about?”

  “John Littlechild. He was a detective at the Yard.”
r />   “You mean Chief Inspector Littlechild, head of the Special Irish Branch?”

  “The same, he went into private practice in ’ninety-three. He was in the news for working on the Oscar Wilde case in ’ninety-five.”

  “Drayton obviously spared no expense. What about Slater, do you know him?”

  “Yeah, not quite as sought after as Mr Littlechild, but he also commands a hefty fee. He has a very reputable private agency, handles a lot of financial matters. Be at your hotel.” He marched off up Piccadilly.

  I waited for a gap in the traffic, entered the melee, and almost tripped over an orderly boy scooping up a pile of steaming horse droppings. I crossed Green Park for the Windsor, resuming what was already a well-trod route since my recent return to the metropolis.

  The penang lawyer was — as far as I was concerned — the only real clue we had to the killer’s identity. The walking stick belonged to a man of average height. Drayton was slightly above average, but I knew it didn’t belong to him anyway. He carried a heavy ebony cane with a twenty-seven inch Wilkinson sword blade concealed inside. Or at least he had when we’d shared rooms in Pitsani. I thought that there was more chance that the engraved ‘A’ on the head of the penang lawyer referred to the person who had given rather than received the gift, but either was possible.

  In that case, did the ‘A’ stand for Armstrong?

  9. Lieutenant Francis Carey

  My cab stopped outside 106 Pall Mall at a few minutes to eight, and I alighted in the only top hat, white gloves, and tailcoat in my possession. My limited wardrobe did not stretch to an opera cape and I displayed a colonial lack of sophistication by using a cane made from a jackalberry tree, more cudgel than gentleman’s stick. I paid the driver and walked up the stairs into the Florentine palazzo of the Travellers Club. I deposited my hat, stick, and gloves with an attendant, and was directed to the Inner Hall, where I was approached by a lean man a couple of inches shorter than me. He was swarthy, with dark brown hair, a thin moustache, and piercing blue eyes. He would have been handsome were it not for the thick, sensual lips which seemed at odds with the economy of the rest of his features. I knew he was only in his mid-thirties, but his lifestyle seemed to have aged him prematurely.

  “Major Marshall?”

  “Lieutenant Carey?”

  “How do you do, sir? Francis Carey at your service.”

  I shook his hand. “Pleased to meet you, sir. Alec Marshall.”

  “Allow me to extend my deepest condolences with regards to your loss, Major. I had the honour of occasional meetings with Dr Marshall at the Zoological Gardens and I know she is sorely missed by all who had the pleasure of her acquaintance.” He shook his head. “Damned shame it was, such a damn shame.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

  “And allow me to congratulate you on your Victoria Cross, Major. Dr Marshall was very proud. She told everyone about it. Mafeking, wasn’t it?”

  “Ladysmith. Thank you again, but we’re both out the army, so please don’t feel the need to address me by my rank.”

  “No, there doesn’t seem much point, what,” he snorted. “D’ye mind if we forage immediately? I’m so hungry I could eat a horse. Well, I have eaten horse and so have you, no doubt. Tastes like Bovril! That’s sporting of you. It’s upstairs to the Coffee Room.”

  He was right, I’d eaten horse at Ladysmith.

  ‘Coffee Room’ was a misnomer, as it was actually a vast dining hall with dozens of tables arranged in neat rows, dominated by a huge chandelier which hung all the way down to within six feet from the floor. We were shown to a table in the corner furthest from the entrance. I let Carey choose the wine, never having made any pretence of expertise in the matter myself. He ordered a bottle of French white, gave his approval to the bouquet and taste, and let the waiter pour. I took a sip and congratulated him on his selection, though I thought it awful. We made polite conversation through the first course, a delicious serving of whitebait.

  When we’d finished the creamed venison, I decided it was time to come to the point of our meeting. “I’ve read all the newspaper reports on Dr Marshall’s accident,” I said, “but as I wasn’t able to attend the inquest, I was hoping you’d be kind enough to give me a personal account.”

  “It’s the least I could do for you, old boy. What would you like to know?”

  “Everything, from the beginning.”

  He pursed his thick lips, which he had a habit of twitching from side to side. “You don’t say? Well, Dr Marshall and I were both Fellows of the Zoological Society, so we’d met prior to her employment at the Gardens last year. Dr Marshall was the best thing that ever happened to the animals. That Gibbs is a damned fool — and a drunkard.”

  “Gibbs? Is that the other veterinary surgeon?”

  “Yes. By George, do excuse me, I almost forgot you’ve been fighting Johnny Boer for the last couple of years. You’ll know that the Royal College of Veterinary Surgeons refused to admit Dr Marshall to the register, despite the testimonial she brought from her principal at the university?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because those old fools at the College can’t bear the thought of working with a lady, Dr Marshall’s official title was assistant to the veterinary surgeon. Complete and utter tosh, I assure you, because Dr Marshall quickly established herself as the real surgeon at the zoo. Everybody knew it.” His smile was warm, but it did not reach his eyes. The braised celery arrived, and there was a pause before Carey resumed his narrative. “Dr Marshall attended a lecture I gave shortly after my return from East Africa in April, and seemed rather enthusiastic about my work for the Society. That — and her status — were why I decided to try and enlist her support for the safari I’m planning.”

  I’d only intended to pick at the celery, especially seeing as there were three more courses to come, but I finished it. Like the previous dishes, it was too tasty to resist. I took a sip of both the wine and water, and waited for Carey to continue.

  “This is still very hush-hush at the moment — so I’d rather you didn’t let on — but I’m trying to arrange an expedition into the Karakoram Range. That’s next to the Himalayas, between Kashmir and China. The mountains are largely unexplored, although I’m a shikari rather than a cartographer, and it’s the indigenous species I’m after. There are Snow Leopards and Marco Polo Sheep, and there’s even talk of a sub-species of Ibex. Thing is, I’ve got two problems. One is good old currency.” He grinned as he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “The Zoological Society leadership isn’t convinced it’s going to be worth the expense. They think it’s a job for the Royal or the Royal Geographical, and they’re probably right, too.”

  Our next course was roast goose, which we both devoured. I wondered when Carey would eventually reach the evening of the twenty-second of May, but he seemed at pains to establish honourable motives for having been alone with Ellen. “You were saying, about the Karakoram expedition?” I prompted.

  “Not so loud, old boy.” He put a finger to his lips. “I think I’ve managed to secure a sponsor, but it’s not confirmed yet. But yes, finance is the first problem — always is. The second is that blasted Baron Curzon.”

  “The Viceroy of India?”

  “The very same. I’m afraid he’s taken a damned awkward dislike to me — spread a lot of bunkum about me working for the Russians in Afghanistan — and does his best to make life difficult for me whenever he can. And it’s all over the baroness. I had the good fortune make the acquaintance of Miss Mary Leiter before their marriage and the rotter can’t get over it. That was why I sought Dr Marshall’s assistance — bloody wish I hadn’t, of course — but it’s too late now.”

  “Did Dr Marshall know why you wanted to talk to her?”

  “Not exactly. I asked if I might accompany her on her evening ride in order to discuss the acquisition of new exhibits. It was Dr Marshall’s habit to exercise the horses from the zoo stables in Regent’s Park after work. I met her at the stables at half-pas
t seven. Dr Marshall enjoyed full use of the park, except for Hertford Villa, so it was while we were in The Holme that the dreadful accident happened. I hadn’t even broached the subject yet.”

  “What time was it?” I asked, my appetite suddenly gone.

  “About ten minutes to nine, just before dusk. The Holme is one of the few places where there’s enough of a clear run for the horses to enjoy a gallop. Dr Marshall suggested a race, and we were going hell for leather between the house and the boating lake when I glanced behind and couldn’t see her. I was surprised, because of her reputation for competence in the saddle. I turned back at once. As soon as I rounded the trees I saw the horse and then — by George, I’ve seen enough death, but the sight of Dr Marshall lying on the ground was appalling. I’m afraid she expired before I reached her.”

  “What did you do?”

  “What did I do, you say? I probably stood and gawped for a minute. I couldn’t believe my eyes. When I came to my senses, I rode off to the house to summon help. Then I went back and waited with... Dr Marshall’s body.” He shook his head again. “Such a waste; she was such an intelligent, spirited lady.”

  The waiter placed our potato scallops in front of us. I couldn’t touch mine. Carey’s regret seemed genuine, but his appetite was still hearty. “Do you have any explanation that would account for Dr Marshall’s fall?”

  “It’s plain and simple, what. I blame the lady’s injury.”

  The newspapers had mentioned this. “Do you mean the scratches on her arm?”

  “Yes, that’s it, from a lion cub she’d been treating earlier in the week. Three scratches, all very deep. They must have weakened her grip. At the speed we were riding it doesn’t take much to fall off. A slight loss of balance in the saddle — well, I don’t need to tell you, do I? I forgot I’m talking to a cavalry officer.”

  “Mounted infantry, actually,” I said.