The Architect of Murder

by Rafe McGregor

  “We’ve got to find Murgatroyd.”

  “Yeah, it’s a good thing you missed him, because we need the bastard alive. But nothing’s going to happen until tomorrow. For today, it’s just the three of us left.”

  I finished dressing, put my shoulder rig on, and reloaded the Mauser.

  Lamb was muttering something about his clothes having most probably been taken from dead bodies.

  “Stop whimpering. Take yourself back to the Yard, get yourself properly dressed, and get back here before Sunday. Got it?”

  “Yes, guvnor.”

  I replaced the Mauser in the shoulder rig and buttoned my coat, presentable once more. “I’ve a couple of requests to make.”

  “Go on.”

  “Have you got a set of skeleton keys?”

  “Of course I have. What do you — never mind, I don’t want to know. Lamb, bring back a set of skeleton keys, will you? Come on, we’ll go to the inspector’s office, we can talk there.”

  We left Lamb making some final adjustments to his ill-fitting clothes, and found a fresh pot of coffee awaiting us in a small, cluttered office at the back of the building. Truegood poured two cups.

  “Thank you. I’d like the use of a telephone as well, please.”

  “Of course. The station has one, use it whenever you want. Anything else?”

  “No — actually, I’d better keep you up to date. Armstrong has asked to meet me at the Monument at noon today. Alone.”

  “You’re not going.”

  “I am, but I’m telling you in case something should happen to me.”

  He shook his head vigorously. “Take Lamb, at least.”

  “Thank you for the offer, but I want to find out what he’s after. If I take Lamb, it’ll almost certainly scare him off.”

  “It’s your skin, but let me know as soon as you’re done.”

  “I shall. Later, I’m going to ring Woburn and speak to one of the Duke of Bedfordshire’s staff.”

  “What for?”

  “To confirm Carey’s alibi for Lowenstein’s murder.”

  “He has one?” Truegood was surprised.

  “He told me he was a guest of the Duke of Bedford on Tuesday night.”

  “Waste of time, don’t you think?”

  I took a sip of the coffee, in desperate need of stimulation. Now that the action was over, I was beginning to tire quickly, and I had a long day ahead of me. I took a second sip before answering. “No, not in Carey’s case. You’re quite right as far as Colonel Rhodes, Armstrong and Drayton are concerned. Any one of them could’ve slipped out of their hotels — or Devonshire House — crossed Westminster in the dead of night, and killed Lowenstein. But if Carey was at Woburn on Tuesday night and Wednesday morning, then he wouldn’t have been able to get to Tottenham Street and back in time, would he?”

  “True. What’s this interest in Carey? You taking the Russian thing seriously?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Once we’ve got Mr M back on the case, he’ll know what to do in that respect. He’s an expert with these foreigners.”

  “And the coded message?”

  “Hmm, we’ll see what Mr Q can make of that one.”

  “I’ve got one more question for you, about Chamberlain’s accident — or whatever it really was.” I paused for another drink of the coffee.

  “What?”

  “I know you went back to speak to the driver, but did you keep an eye on Chamberlain afterwards as well?”

  “Yeah, of course. I earn my living, you know.”

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “Did anything change? How did it affect Chamberlain — that sort of thing?”

  “It didn’t. Mr Balfour formed his new government, but he kept Mr Chamberlain as his Colonial Secretary — you know that. The incident happened a week after the start of his Colonial Conference. All the colonial premiers were here for the coronation and Mr Chamberlain took the opportunity to call the conference for the purposes of ‘welding the Empire together’. That was how he put it to the papers, but he was probably just trying to increase his influence after Lord Milner attempted to suspend the Cape Colony constitution behind his back in May. The accident didn’t even seem to set him back, because he was only off for ten days before he took the chair up again.”

  “And no changes to his agenda, or anything like that?”

  “Only a minor one.”

  “Which was?”

  “Do we have time for this bollocks?” Truegood scowled.

  “It might be important.”

  “When Chamberlain opened the conference on the first of July, he was trying to secure trade advantages for Britain within the Empire. When he came back, he was pushing for the creation of political institutions that would unify the Empire. That’s how I read it, anyway.” He shrugged. “Happy?”

  “It’s a difference, isn’t it?” I asked.

  “It was all about closer union anyway, he just changed the focus a bit. What’s it got to do with our investigation?”

  I stood, but the office was too small to pace, so I sat on the edge of the desk and enumerated on my fingers instead. “Chamberlain opens the first ever Colonial Conference in Whitehall for an expressed purpose. Seven days later he has an accident which you — you, not me — thought was suspicious because of the disappearing cab driver. Four days later the Prime Minister resigns, and six days after that Chamberlain returns to the conference with an amended agenda. Tell me you honestly don’t think something’s going on.”

  He shrugged his huge shoulders. “You know these conspiracy theories have got us in trouble before — even Mr M a few years ago. And they’ve had us chasing our tails. Why the sudden interest in Mr Chamberlain? We’re supposed to be solving Lowenstein’s murder.”

  Truegood was not, of course, privy to Rhodes’ Confession of Faith and the Society of the Elect. For me, however, Chamberlain’s accident fitted perfectly. Milner and Chamberlain had been at odds since the war ended. The ostensible reason was over the Cape constitution, but in the light of Rhodes’ real legacy, it was more likely for control of the Empire itself. I didn’t want to betray Melville’s confidences, so I concluded my discourse abruptly.

  “I know, I know. Just an idea of mine. I’m going to go back to my hotel, have breakfast and some more of this good stuff,” I indicated the coffee, “then I’ll come back and see if you’ve got anything from Rose or the rest of them, and pick up the keys.”

  “Right, make sure you speak to me as soon as you’re done with Carrot Top.”

  Though it wasn’t yet seven, Victoria Street was already busy. A steady trickle of people walked from the station to Westminster Abbey and beyond to find places along the King’s route from the Palace to the Abbey. Early revellers were already singing the joys of the day:

  Oh! On coronation day, on coronation day,

  We’ll have a spree, a jubilee, and shout ‘Hip, hip, hooray!’

  For we’ll all be merry, drinking whisky, wine, and sherry,

  We’ll all be merry on coronation day.

  Horse-drawn traffic had been prohibited in several parts of the city — with the exception of the private carriages of those involved in the ceremony — in order to ease congestion and prevent accidents. There were also a large number of policemen about. These would soon be augmented by the thousands of soldiers and sailors from all over the Empire who were taking part in the procession and lining the route.

  Over breakfast I contemplated what Truegood had told me about Chamberlain.

  The more I learned about Carey, the more I thought him the perfect agent to employ to give a senior politician — someone who felt that as far as physical danger went, he was untouchable — a scare. Everyone knew Carey wore a wideawake hat, therefore Truegood reckoned he’d be unlikely to wear it in disguise. I begged to differ. Carey was a man who lived and prospered by his reputation as a hunter of beasts and men. He was given a clandestine assignment which was exactly the type of com
mission that would increase his standing. He couldn’t make it obvious he was the driver, or he’d have the attentions of Melville’s Gang to contend with. Consequently, he disguised himself with an American accent and a set of whiskers; he’d travelled in America, so faking the accent wouldn’t have been a problem. Why keep the hat? Because it was so unusual and would enable him to identify himself to a prospective employer at a later date.

  Remember the traffic accident that made Mr Chamberlain change his mind about the Colonial Conference? You thought it was an accident too, did you? What was that cab driver wearing? One of these?

  I could see Carey smiling in my mind’s eye as he touched the brim of his wideawake hat. Would he wear it to a murder? That seemed less likely. A faked accident might pass unnoticed, but murder wouldn’t. Murder meant the law, a trial, possibly the death penalty. So if the hat was used to implicate Carey, then it was very likely that he hadn’t killed Lowenstein. It was strange how a single item — the wideawake hat — made me suspect guilt in one crime, but innocence in another. If the penang lawyer was his, it may have been planted to leave a fake trail. I hated to admit it, but Truegood had provided a valid alternative to my explanation for finding the stick in the dustbin. It could have been left so the killer didn’t have to carry evidence of his crime on his person; it could also have been left for us to recover.

  I’d find out if Carey had the opportunity to kill Lowenstein when I spoke to the staff at Woburn. Then, armed with Truegood’s keys, I’d find out more about my sister’s murderer…

  When I broke into his house.

  20. The Shikari’s Lair

  I didn’t hurry breakfast. According to the timetable printed in the dailies, the peers and other dignitaries were due to begin arriving at Westminster Abbey from eight-thirty onwards. As far as I knew, Carey wasn’t involved in the ceremony, in which case he’d probably spend the morning at one of his clubs. There also wasn’t any point in arriving at Rochester Row until Lamb returned with the skeleton keys. I waited until a quarter to nine, by which time I was somewhat refreshed, before leaving the Windsor. I walked out into a Victoria Street more crowded than I could ever have imagined. Despite the ominous black clouds looming overhead, the road was full to capacity, packed with a heaving mob attempting to hurry from the station to Westminster.

  I realised that I’d perhaps been over-ambitious in my plans for the day. Having been in Glasgow for the golden jubilee and Durban for the diamond, I’d really had no conception of what London would be like for the coronation. Looking at the multitude, I didn’t know how I was going to reach the Monument for noon. It was essential that I gain entry to Carey’s rooms — for Ellen’s sake — but it was just as important to meet Armstrong. He had the strongest motive for the murder of Lowenstein and was very possibly a representative or even member of the Society of the Elect.

  My first concern upon arrival at the police station was to telephone Woburn. I gave the operator the number I required and waited.

  “His Grace the Duke of Bedford’s residence. Good morning.”

  “Good morning. I’m Major Marshall, from Scotland Yard. To whom am I speaking?”

  “Redmond, sir.”

  “And your position, Redmond?”

  “First under butler, sir. I’m afraid His — ”

  “His Grace is in London for the coronation. I’m aware of that, Redmond. I’m telephoning to speak to you.”

  “To me, sir?”

  “Yes. You were at work on Tuesday and Wednesday this week?” Silence. I had to seize the initiative, before he questioned my authority or simply terminated the conversation. “I don’t have all day, were you at work or not!”

  “Ah, yes, sir, I was.”

  “The information I require concerns one of His Grace’s guests, Lieutenant Carey. Do you recall that gentleman?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I require the lieutenant’s times of arrival and departure at His Grace’s estate.”

  “Yes, sir. Lieutenant Carey arrived at Woburn Abbey at just after seven o’clock on Tuesday evening. He left at about half-past eleven the next morning.”

  “Did Lieutenant Carey leave the premises at any time between his arrival on Tuesday evening and his departure on Wednesday morning?”

  “The lieutenant spent two hours in the park on Wednesday morning, sir. Other than that, he was in the abbey for the rest of his visit. Sir, may I ask —”

  “Thank you, you’ve been most helpful. Good day,” I said and replaced the earpiece.

  If Carey had been in Bedfordshire between midnight and dawn on Wednesday morning then he couldn’t have killed Lowenstein. It was that simple; the consequences for the case were not, however, for Carey’s alibi produced more questions than answers. For example, was the wideawake hat worn by the murderer for the purpose of implicating Carey in the crime? Did the penang lawyer belong to Carey — left for the police to find — or was it the killer’s, cast aside at the last minute?

  I found Lamb waiting in the inspector’s office, looking somewhat more presentable. Truegood was questioning Rose with the CID inspector in charge of Sergeant Aitken’s murder. I told Lamb about Carey and he handed over a set of sixteen slim metal rods with protrusions of varying lengths extending from their ends. I’d always intended to learn how to pick locks when I was a policeman, but it was a skill I’d never made time to learn. I’d used skeleton keys on about a dozen occasions and found that they worked two-thirds of the time. I thanked Lamb and pocketed them.

  I was just about to return to the charge room, when Lamb coughed politely, and handed me what looked like a black silk handkerchief. “The guvnor thought it might come in handy, sir.”

  It was a folded mask with holes cut out for the eyes and a string to fasten it. I smiled. “Yes, I think it might. Thank you.”

  “Good luck, sir.”

  My second telephone call, this time to Blackburn House, was the more important of the two. The operator told me there was no answer and I asked him to try again.

  I was connected a minute later. “Lieutenant Carey’s residence, good morning.” The speaker was breathing heavily.

  “Good morning, I’d like to speak to the lieutenant, please.”

  “Lieutenant Carey isn’t available, sir. May I take a message?”

  “No thank you. Good day.”

  That was a pity. I’d hoped that Carey and his staff — however many he kept — would all be out the house by nine o’clock at the latest. I’d definitely need the mask now, although I didn’t want to harm anyone that wasn’t involved, and hoped his man would have more sense than to play the hero. I found Lamb again, took a pair of handcuffs and a key from him, and left.

  I cut through Carlisle Place, passed Victoria Station — still disgorging visitors — and marched up Grosvenor Place, alongside Buckingham Palace Gardens. Hyde Park Corner was packed with a press of spectators abuzz with excited anticipation. I shuffled my way through until I reached Hyde Park itself, left the crowd behind, and broke into a trot. Time was of the essence and a man hurrying along wouldn’t attract attention today. I crossed Park Lane, made haste up Audley Street, and finally turned into Upper Grosvenor Street, where I eased my pace. As I was now several streets to the north of the King’s route, I shared the road with only a dozen or so others.

  Mindful of Assistant Commissioner Henry’s advances in the field of detection, I slipped on a pair of thin leather gloves. Carey’s rooms were in King Street, between Upper Grosvenor Street and Grosvenor Square, and I found Blackburn House with ease. It was a five storey red brick building with three entrances, the middle one a set of coach doors. The closest pedestrian door belonged to Carey and I walked up to it as if were my own, taking the skeleton keys from my pocket. I’d decided to try and effect a clandestine entry as I didn’t want to put the mask on in the street, even though there was no one about. I started with the first key, gently and gradually.

  No luck.

  Expecting the door to be pulled open by an irat
e manservant at any second, I tried again, and achieved the same result.

  Then the third and fourth keys — no luck either. I dared not glance over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching from a window; it would only have drawn further attention to me.

  Still no success with the fifth key.

  Attempting to expedite the procedure, I made rather a racket with the sixth, and readied myself to burst in the moment I felt the handle being turned from inside.

  It wasn’t, and a very loud click heralded success with the seventh key.

  I crossed the threshold, closed the door silently behind me, and put the mask on. The entrance hall was dominated by a huge pair of elephant tusks, forming an arch a few feet from the door. The chances were that the house was empty: any occupants would’ve had to have been deaf not to hear my clumsy entrance. I took the Mauser from my rig and moved from the hall to a wainscoted corridor, treading quietly in case someone was lying in wait.

  There were stairs leading up; two doors to the left, and a third at the end of the passage. I tried the first door and looked into what was obviously the servants’ quarters. One servant only, the chap I’d spoken to on the telephone. I didn’t waste time examining his chambers, but moved quickly to the door at the end. I found myself in a curious kind of stable, with a coach door leading to an inner courtyard. Then I remembered Carey was an automobile enthusiast and realised that this was in fact a stable, a stable for a horseless carriage — which Carey had presumably taken to his destination this morning.

  I mounted the stairs for the first floor. Four doors off the landing led to a small kitchen, a similarly-sized library, the parlour, and what seemed to be a cupboard. I wasn’t too sure about the last, as it was locked, but I calculated it had to be a very small room. The parlour was decorated in an oriental style, with a luxurious Chinese carpet, ottomans, and a huge tiger skin rug in front of the fireplace. Opposite, mounted on the wall, was a stuffed tiger’s head. Not the same beast, but another, for this one was white in colour. The hunting trophies were interspersed with weapons: a Khyber knife, Boxer sword and kukri, amongst others.