The Architect of Murder

by Rafe McGregor

  “All the same, surely?”

  “I suppose you’re right, given the nature of modern warfare, but I’m no great expert on horses, or riding them — unlike my sister. I’ve always regarded them as a means to an end, rather than an end in themselves.”

  “I enjoy a good gallop, but I’m much the same. My new passion is automobiles. I completed The Trial in 1900. The transport of the future, says I. All the rage in America and just a matter of time before they really take off over here. I’ve got one of my own, a Panhard-Levassar, very same one I used in The Trial.”

  Two years ago, sixty-five automobiles had left Hyde Park Corner on a thousand and ten mile round trip through Great Britain. Much to the pleasure of the Automobile Club — and the surprise of the general public — all the vehicles had completed the route successfully.

  “Do you think Dr Marshall’s wound was enough to cause the accident?”

  He thought for a moment or two. “Not to cause the accident, but certainly to prevent her from recovering from a jolt if her mount had shied or stumbled. I assume it was the former because the horse itself was uninjured. It’s vexing, but it’s the only way I can make any sense of the tragedy. I hope I’ve been clear enough, I do have a habit of going off and on a tangent at times.”

  “You’ve been most candid, sir, which is exactly what I sought.”

  “I’m glad to have been of some small assistance. I must beg your pardon for taking so long to get back to you, but I was out of town on Tuesday night and only returned late yesterday. Do those scallops not agree with you?”

  Our conversation returned to our earlier inconsequential talk, with Carey quizzing me on which parts of Africa I’d lived in. After the final course, a vanilla soufflé, I accepted his offer of a glass of port. He led me back down to the Smoking Room, where I declined a cigar, and lit my pipe. It was difficult to conceive of Carey as a cold-blooded murderer in the oak-panelled luxury of our surroundings. Although it was Ellen’s murder I was investigating, I couldn’t help but note that Carey was exactly the right height for the penang lawyer. I also had no doubt that there were any number of wealthy ladies who could have given the stick to him — Lady Curzon for a start.

  I had every reason to dislike Carey, yet I found myself enjoying his company. I hadn’t intended to stay any longer than necessary, but accepted a second post-prandial drink. We talked about our respective military service and then Carey’s safaris. He soon brought the conversation back to his forthcoming expedition, which seemed to be something of an obsession with him. He confessed that he had high hopes the Duke of Bedford would sponsor him after his visit to the Duke’s estate in Woburn — which was where he spent Tuesday night.

  I mentally crossed him off my list of potential penang lawyer owners.

  When he offered me a third glass of port, I thanked him for his hospitality and excused myself. I recovered my accoutrements from the attendant, and stepped out onto a warm, breezy Pall Mall. As I reached for my watch I heard: “Evenin’, Major.”

  “Good evening, Lamb.”

  He touched his hat. “Superintendent Melville apologizes for the hour, but he’d like to see you at the Yard, sir.”

  I looked at my watch: it was just before eleven. “Doesn’t he ever sleep?” I asked with a smile.

  “I can’t see the guvnor goin’ home until that crown is safely on His Majesty’s noggin, if you’ll pardon the liberty, sir.”

  10. Confession of Faith

  Perhaps Lamb wasn’t exaggerating because the second thing I noticed on entering Melville’s office was the camp-bed in a corner. The first was Truegood, who took one look at my full dress and rolled his eyes skyward. Melville was sitting at his desk, wreathed in cigar smoke; the window behind him was open.

  “Hello, Marshall, good of you to drop by!”

  “Good evening, gentlemen.”

  “Sit down, sit down, please. Lamb, if you’d be kind enough to bring us in a fresh pot of coffee, that’ll be all.”

  I withdrew an envelope from my coat, and placed it on the desk. “A report on my interview with Colonel Rhodes.”

  “Good fellow.” He offered me a cigar as he took a fresh one for himself.

  “I prefer my pipe, thank you.” I said as I took a seat in the empty chair. “There’s also something I want to ask you about when we’ve finished.”

  “While Truegood brings you up-to-date with his investigation, I’ll take the opportunity to have a quick look at this.” He put on a pair of spectacles.

  I removed my pipe and prepared it.

  “First, we got a witness from Aitken’s house-to-house inquiries. One of the neighbours — the daughter of the drunken tobacconist the harridan was talking about — saw our man. Miss Pullman said she couldn’t sleep and happened to be looking out her window when she saw a fella walk from the Curran house to the bottom of the garden, and hop over the wall into the alley. She said it was just after half-three on Wednesday morning, which fits in with the rest of the evidence. Unfortunately all she can tell us is that the suspect was wearing a wideawake hat, did not have a beard, and was of average height. Much like your stick, all it gives us is most of the male population of London.”

  “If she said that he didn’t have a beard, does that mean she didn’t see much of his face? If that is so then he could either have worn a moustache or been clean-shaven.”

  “Yeah,” answered Truegood.

  “I suppose the wide-brimmed hat would be an excellent way to keep one’s face concealed, particularly from people on the upper floors of the surrounding houses.”

  “Hmm, I’m not sure about the hat… ”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Never mind. Second, Lamb thinks he knows who was nosing about on Tuesday. His name is Rose, and he’s one of Murgatroyd’s men.”

  “Who’s Murgatroyd?”

  “One of the Family fathers in Devil’s Acre. Runs a number of fences, and keeps a retinue of villains for enforcement purposes. We’ll find Rose, but it might take some time. Third, I’ve been in touch with both Littlechild and Slater. They confirmed Drayton’s story to the letter, and if there was any foul play on his part, it won’t have been through either of them. Last, I contacted Armstrong. Drayton was right, he arrived in Southampton on the twenty-sixth of July, and he’s staying at the Arundel. We’re meeting him there tomorrow at nine.”

  Lamb returned with a fresh pot of coffee, milk and a cup and saucer for me.

  Melville looked up from my report. “Thank you, Lamb, you can knock off now.”

  “I’ll see you first thing, as arranged,” said Truegood.

  “Yes, sir. Goodnight gentlemen.” Lamb left us again.

  I lit my pipe, puffed until I was satisfied it was alight, then eased back into the soft leather of the chair.

  Melville removed his spectacles and poured three cups of coffee. “You think Rhodes is lying?”

  “I’m sure of it.”

  “He wants to stand clear of the whole thing. Either he killed Lowenstein or he just doesn’t want to have his name connected with the murder,” said Truegood.

  “Very good, Truegood, very good. He’s recently been made a Companion of the Order of the Bath for his war service, and he’s taking part in the coronation as an aide-de-camp. The war has brought something of a renaissance to his career and reputation, and he won’t want it tarnished in any way.”

  “Who’d have thought it, only six years after the Jameson Raid,” I muttered.

  “I’ve read Truegood’s report on Drayton. Do you have any observations you’d like to add?”

  “As I said to Truegood, he will only have let us see and hear what he wanted. He also gave us Armstrong, which means that either he thinks Milner’s involved, and he wants to help us; or he’s involved himself, and he wants to put us on a false scent.”

  “It sounds as if you don’t trust him at all, but you’ve successfully renewed your acquaintance nonetheless.” Melville drew on his cigar and released another clou
d of smoke into the blue-grey atmosphere.

  “Yes,” I said, “although I don’t expect it’ll do you much good because he’s returning to Cape Town on Sunday. We need to know more about Rhodes’ will and what’s going on in the Cape. I know we can’t be certain, but it seems likely that Lowenstein’s murder is related to the will in some way, perhaps even directly connected to the complications.”

  “Well done, Marshall, well done. That’s exactly why I’ve brought you here at this hour: I want you and Truegood together, so I don’t have to repeat myself. Make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen, and help yourselves to another cup of coffee.” He took a sip of his own. “The late Mr Rhodes suffered from congenital ill health, and was convinced he wouldn’t live long. In that respect he was right. It is unusual for a man of his means to die at forty-eight, but he’d already had several heart attacks, and was actually originally sent out to the Cape Colony as a cure for his ailments. The combination of Rhodes’ desire for immortality through his legacy and his physical frailty meant that he kept his affairs in a constant state of readiness for the execution of his will.

  “There were seven wills, as I’ve mentioned before, and several dozen amendments and codicils. We don’t need to know the details of each, but the seventh and most important was drafted three years ago. The bulk of his fortune was to go to the formation of an Imperial Party in Britain. The party would be led by his six executors: W.T. Stead, the journalist; Hawkesley, his solicitor; Alfred Beit, the financier; the Earl Grey, Director of the BSAC; the Earl of Rosebery, the former Prime Minister and Mr Lewis Mitchell, his banker.

  “Rhodes made six amendments to that last will. The first was to remove Stead as a trustee for his betrayal in opposing the South African War; the second was the inclusion of five German students in his colonial scholarships to Oxford; the third was the addition of Sir Alfred Milner as a sixth executor, and the fourth bequeathed Dalham Hall in Suffolk to his family. The fifth amendment was made on the twelfth of March this year, when Rhodes was living in a tin-roofed cottage in a place called Muizenberg. He was, quite literally, on his death-bed, and he appointed Jameson as a seventh executor. Jameson and his private secretary were in constant attendance. Four days before he died, Rhodes made his final amendment. It was witnessed by Drayton and Lowenstein. The will remained the same, but the executors had changed.” Melville paused, and beamed at the moment of suspense he’d created. “Any guesses, gentlemen?”

  Truegood and I both shook our heads.

  “The seven executors were reduced to one. The entire fortune of Cecil John Rhodes, the BSAC, De Beers, and all the rest — the greatest legacy of the largest empire in the world — was to be administered by a single gentleman.”

  “Jameson,” I said

  Melville’s smile lifted even higher, wrinkling his cheeks and eyes. “Marshall, I knew I’d chosen well when I recruited your assistance in this little matter.”

  “How the hell did you know that?” asked Truegood.

  I shrugged. “I know Drayton and his master.”

  “The six executors who were excluded are naturally contesting the will and that’s the real reason for the delay. Drayton left for England the day after the final amendment and Lowenstein a week or so after Rhodes’ death. Unfortunately for Jameson that put them both out of the Colony when they were required to prove the will. He wired Drayton to send Lowenstein back and that’s exactly when Mr Beit’s clerk disappeared. Drayton spent the next three months looking for Lowenstein, but we found him first. Marshall, you appear confused.”

  I realised my pipe had gone out, and removed it from my mouth. “I am. I know Jameson is arrogant, but he must have known the amendment would be contested. So why allow both the witnesses to leave the Cape? And why, when the will was contested, did he instruct Drayton to hunt for Lowenstein? He should have recalled him immediately and got someone else to do the job.”

  “Unfortunately, I have very few answers at the minute. It does appear, however, that Jameson — and thus Drayton — had every reason for wanting Lowenstein alive. As for Drayton, if he fails to return to Cape Town to authenticate Rhodes’ signature by the end of this month, the codicil will be considered invalid.”

  I made a quick mental calculation.

  “There must be thousands of examples of Rhodes’ signature, and hundreds who can validate it,” said Truegood.

  “There are, and the signature is not an exact match. But you’ll remember that the amendment was made only four days before his death, when he’d been terminally ill for nearly two months. Jameson claims the slight difference is due to Rhodes’ health. Handwriting experts were brought in to compare the signature with the one in the previous codicil and to some other documents he signed in March. Their evidence was inconclusive, and the matter now rests upon the two witnesses affirming that they saw Rhodes sign his name to the document. Or rather one witness, as of Wednesday.”

  “And if that one witness doesn’t get on his steamer on Sunday, Jameson will have been thwarted,” I said. “If there are no delays he should arrive in Cape Town on the thirtieth of the month, with a single day to spare.”

  “Yes, he’s cutting it a bit fine, isn’t he?” said Melville. I’ve no idea where the allegiances of Hawkesley and Mitchell lie, but the other four executors are all extremely powerful men who are very unhappy with Jameson and his friends. If I had to choose one of them as the most likely to take direct action against Jameson, it would be Milner.”

  “Armstrong,” said Truegood.

  “Yes. Lord Milner is a current favourite of His Majesty; nevertheless, some of the leaders of our great nation have expressed certain doubts about him. Milner knew Rhodes during his early career in journalism, but he first came to prominence after the Jameson Raid. Lord Rosmead, the High Commissioner for Southern Africa, was forced to resign over the debacle, and Mr Chamberlain chose Milner to replace him. Both Chamberlain and Milner are aggressive imperialists, and they both believed that the only solution to the South African problem was the complete domination of the Dutch by the British.

  “Since Milner’s appointment as high commissioner he began to gather a group of young men about him known as his ‘kindergarten’, some of whom are likely to be future leaders in the Empire. Armstrong, his private secretary for the last year, is one of these men. I want you both to keep this intelligence in mind when you meet him this morning. I know little of the man except that he’s twenty-six, Scots, and a lawyer by profession. Find the evidence, follow it, and I’ll support you all the way. Any questions?”

  “I’d like to ask you about the other matter I mentioned,” I said.

  “Of course. Perhaps this is a good time for you to get a few hours of sleep, Truegood. I know you’re going to Devil’s Acre before you interview Armstrong.”

  “Thank you, sir.” He stood. “I’ll pick you up at your hotel,” he said to me. “Goodnight, gentlemen.”

  “One of my best detectives,” Melville said when he’d left. “Honest, hard-working, and tough as old boots, but not the most tactful of men, which is why I want to talk to you alone. If you can delay the other matter for a little while longer, I have something I’d like you to read.”

  “Let me get my pipe going again.” I knocked the loose tobacco and ashes out in the fireplace, resumed my seat, and packed my pipe once more. That’s why I prefer a meerschaum to a briar: it doesn’t require drying out between pipes. Sometimes several days would go by without my taking a pull on it; other days it seemed I hardly stopped.

  Melville cut another cigar. As soon as I had the pipe lit, he removed a leather file from one of his drawers, selected four sheets of paper, and handed them to me. “This is an exact duplicate of the master copy, with the exception of the handwriting. The original was written in Kimberley in ’seventy-seven, and signed by Rhodes. It is, in fact, his second will.”

  With that introduction I read the most extraordinary document I’ve ever seen in my life.

  It was entitled Confession of Fa
ith, and began with Rhodes expressing his regret that Britain had lost America in the War of Independence in 1783. He commented on the superiority of the Anglo-Saxon race, and the desirability of maintaining its dominance of international affairs. The second paragraph concerned Rhodes’ induction into a Masonic Lodge, whose ceremonies he regarded as ridiculous. Then there followed:

  The idea gleaming and dancing before one’s eyes like a will-of-the-wisp at last frames itself into a plan. Why should we not form a secret society with but one object, the furtherance of the British Empire and the bringing of the whole uncivilised world under British rule, for the recovery of the United States, for the making of the Anglo-Saxon race, for but one Empire. What a dream, but yet it is probable, it is possible.

  Rhodes waxed lyrical on the loss of America again, made scathing reference to the inferior Irish and German immigrants who had filled the country, and asserted the value of a secret society with the aim of increasing British territory and populating as many countries as possible with Anglo-Saxons. Rhodes then suggested the Romish Church as a model for the extension of the Empire, and provided examples of three different types of young men whose patriotism could be harnessed by the society he wished to establish. This paragraph was in parenthesis.

  In every colonial legislature the Society should attempt to have its members prepared at all times to vote or speak and advocate the closer union of England and the colonies, to crush all disloyalty and every movement for the severance of our Empire. The Society should inspire and even own portions of the press; for the press rules the mind of the people. The Society should always be searching for members who might by their position in the world, by their energies or character, forward the object — but the ballot and test for admittance should be severe.

  There was a further comment on the proposed exclusivity of the society, and the final paragraph left all of Rhodes’ worldly goods to Mr S. G. Shippard and Lord Carnarvon to ‘try to form such a Society with such an object’.

  I digested what I’d just read before asking, “Is this genuine?”