by Clara Benson
‘Still, he seems harmless enough. From my first meeting with him I should have said that he is what he appears to be: an elderly philosopher and academic who’s far too pleased with himself and his own ideas to bother with any sort of violent action. I should have thought he was far more likely to stand back and let someone else do the dirty work.’
‘Ivor Trevett, for example?’
‘Well, Trevett certainly glories in making a public exhibition of himself. I can see him taking great pleasure in standing at the vanguard, brandishing a red flag and orating furiously, although he’d make jolly sure he had a crowd of people to watch him as he did it. He craves the adulation of the public, I’d say.’
‘Yes, that is a weakness,’ said Henry, musing.
‘A weakness? Is that what you’re looking for?’
‘Oh, one’s always searching for a chink in the armour,’ said Henry. ‘The threat of police and courts and gaol is all very well, but most of these people revel in the idea of attracting that sort of attention, and it only makes them stand their ground more firmly, if you see what I mean. As a general rule, it’s a much better idea to try and undermine them from within. For example, if Trevett’s main fault is vanity, then we can look for ways to force him to show his hand by appealing to that part of him.’
‘I see,’ said Freddy. ‘And what about Schuster? I suppose you would get at him through his wife?’
‘Exactly,’ said Henry. ‘If she is prone to—er—flightiness with young men, then perhaps we can induce her to reveal information about what is happening using that method.’
He looked sideways at Freddy.
‘You have a calculating expression on your face,’ said Freddy. ‘Schuster’s an old man, but I shouldn’t like to have to go three rounds with Peacock if he took offence. He’s twice my size and looks pretty handy with his fists.’
‘But surely there’s no harm in speaking to the lady? I seem to recall from the last time we met that you had—er—something of a talent in that way. Would there be any opportunity for you to exercise it?’
‘Well, there was talk of some sort of intellectual shindy. Apparently Mrs. Schuster likes to gather London’s best and brightest around her to sing songs and raise glasses to the future, and that kind of thing. She mentioned inviting me to the next one.’
‘That’s excellent news,’ said Henry. ‘Do your best to go. Don’t wait for a formal invitation.’
‘Oh, no fear of that. My gate-crashing abilities are legendary,’ said Freddy. ‘And perhaps a gathering of that sort would provide a better opportunity to find out what we want to know.’
‘I think you’re probably right,’ said Henry.
‘There was another thing,’ went on Freddy. ‘I did hear mention of something having been planned for the next few weeks. I don’t know what it is, but a young man was telling his girl that there was something afoot, and that he’d be out demonstrating on the streets when it happened. Of course, it might mean anything or nothing, since these people do like to talk.’
‘There’s a big march taking place on the fifteenth of February,’ said Henry. ‘It’s to be followed by a rally in Hyde Park.’
‘Is that so? He might have been talking about that, then,’ said Freddy. ‘Yes, that makes more sense. I suppose the ringleaders are hardly likely to pass on the details of whatever they’re plotting to the rank and file, are they?’
‘Not very likely,’ agreed Henry. ‘At some point they will have to mobilize the troops, but at what stage do they do that? If they do it too early then there’s the risk of the news getting out, but if they leave it too late, then the thing might fall flat, since nobody will have time to prepare themselves.’
‘But what are they plotting, exactly?’ said Freddy. ‘Is it a general strike?’
‘I’m not sure. The last one didn’t work too well in the end, did it? I mean to say, the miners in particular didn’t achieve their aims. I wonder whether they mightn’t be taking a different approach this time. If they organize things efficiently enough then they might cause just as much disruption and draw just as much attention to their cause without everybody’s needing to down tools.’
‘But I thought you said Rowbotham didn’t approve of such things, and was all for getting his way by negotiating with the Government?’
‘Yes, I did. But while Rowbotham is certainly influential, and well thought-of among the powers that be, he’s only one man, and there’s no saying that some of the more excitable elements might not decide to break away and take matters into their own hands.’
‘You mean supporters of this Pettit fellow?’
‘Yes. The problem from their point of view is that they are relatively small in number, and without the machinery of a large union to back them up they will have difficulty in achieving anything of note. I should like to find out how they propose to do it.’
‘And how do you intend to do that?’
‘With your help, I hope,’ said Henry. He looked about and spied an empty bench. ‘Let us sit down.’
They did so, and Henry reached into his inside pocket and brought out a neatly folded copy of the Radical.
‘You may remember I mentioned that we suspect the plotters—whoever they are—of communicating with their counterparts in the North by means of a code,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said Freddy, and looked on with interest as Henry opened the paper at a page that was dedicated to personal announcements.
‘The usual stuff,’ said Henry. ‘The readers seem fond of corresponding through the newspaper, and most of it is of no interest to us at all. But look at this.’
Freddy took the paper and looked down the column. There were the usual advertisements for lodgings, second-hand books and old furniture for sale, but at the bottom of the page was a discreet announcement of the cheapest sort.
‘“Daddie Dearest, close to my heart,”’ he read. ‘What are all these numbers? It makes no sense.’
‘Not to us,’ said Henry. ‘I expect it’s perfectly clear to those who are meant to read it, however.’
‘Haven’t you been able to crack it?’
Henry grimaced.
‘No,’ he said. ‘We’ve had the chaps on to it, but they tell me it’s most likely a cipher based on a particular book. You’ve probably read about the kind of thing I mean—you know, everybody in on the secret has a copy of Alice in Wonderland, or Great Expectations, or some other well-known book that anyone might own, and the code is drawn from that by giving clues to particular words. You see the first three numbers here: twenty-seven, eighteen and six. They most probably refer to the page number, the line number and the word number.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Freddy. ‘So the sixth word on the eighteenth line of page twenty-seven, is that it?’
‘Yes,’ said Henry. ‘Rather a laborious way of writing a code, but it’s very effective, provided everybody is using the same edition of the same book. The problem is that we don’t know which book it is.’
‘Do all the messages begin with “Daddie Dearest?” How revolting,’ said Freddy.
‘Quite,’ said Henry. ‘That, and other similar endearments. They vary them a little so as not to look too obvious, but they’re easy enough to recognize.’
‘I suppose you’d like me to snoop around and find out the name of this book? What about your man on the spot? Hasn’t he found it out yet?’
‘Not so far,’ said Henry shortly.
‘Very well, I shall do my best,’ said Freddy. ‘If it’s humanly possible to talk the information out of someone, then I shall do it.’
‘Splendid,’ said Henry. ‘By the way, you haven’t told me anything about your friend St. John. Should you say he knows anything?’
‘I didn’t see him doing anything suspicious,’ said Freddy, considering. ‘As a matter of fact, he seems more interested in trying to persuade his girl
-friend to marry him, but that’s not to say he’s not being used, of course. Miss Chudderley is a great admirer of Ivor Trevett. If he’s up to something, she might be in on it too. I shall keep an eye on her.’
‘And keep an eye on Bagshawe too. Perhaps he’s not as stupid as he looks.’
‘Then he must be a positive genius to have kept up the act all these years,’ said Freddy. ‘Now, you’d better tell me more about this murder, just in case it was one of our chaps. Do you think it was?’
‘I think it is highly possible, yes,’ replied Henry. He fixed Freddy with a piercing look. ‘This is to go no further, you understand. I don’t want it appearing in your paper, as we don’t want them to get the idea that we know there’s anything out of the ordinary in this case.’
‘Certainly,’ said Freddy.
‘Very well. Then I shall tell you that Miss Stapleton’s body was moved after she died. From the evidence we found, we believe she was killed just outside the committee-room, and her body dragged inside the room afterwards.’
‘Oh? Why was that, do you think?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps there were other people still present in the building, and the killer did not wish to be disturbed. But then that makes the whole thing look less like an opportunistic theft than a deliberate act of violence against Miss Stapleton.’
‘I see what you mean,’ said Freddy thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I suppose if Miss Stapleton just happened to catch a thief in the act, and was murdered because she stood in his way, then presumably his first thought would be to escape as quickly as possible. He wouldn’t want to waste time in dragging her body out of sight.’
‘Exactly,’ said Henry.
‘By the way, I think I ought to confess to you that I lied to the police earlier,’ said Freddy. ‘I told them I didn’t return to the central hall after I left it, but that wasn’t true. I went back in to scout around.’
He explained what he had done and whom he had seen, and Henry listened attentively.
‘Are you certain it was Schuster and Trevett talking behind the curtain?’ he said.
‘As certain as I can be,’ said Freddy. ‘Of course, it might have been perfectly innocent—after all, there’s no law against private conversations as far as I know, but Peacock and Dyer were so fearfully keen to hustle me out of the place toot sweet that it made me more suspicious than I might otherwise have been.’
‘That is very interesting,’ said Henry. ‘At what time was this? Do you remember?’
‘It must have been tenish, once I’d walked the half-mile with Jessie and Mabel and then back again.’
‘And you didn’t see Miss Stapleton when you returned?’
‘No. I only saw Peacock and Dyer. Was she dead by then, do you think?’
‘It’s impossible to say,’ said Henry. ‘Davis the caretaker says he locked up the building at eleven, but he did only the most cursory of inspections and didn’t look into the committee-room. Presumably she must have been dead by then—unless the caretaker himself did it, but since he’s about eighty-seven, half-deaf and arthritic, it seems unlikely. The doctor can only say she probably died before midnight.’
‘Well, if she was already dead when I turned up again, then any one of Trevett, Schuster, Peacock or Dyer might have done it,’ said Freddy. ‘Or there’s the man I saw leaving just as I arrived, but I told the police about him.’ He repeated the story to Henry. ‘Anyhow, if she died after that, then it couldn’t have been Peacock or Dyer, because they left with me.’
‘Might they have doubled back afterwards?’
‘It’s possible,’ conceded Freddy. ‘I left them at Chancery Lane and it’s only a fifteen-minute walk.’
‘And I suppose you don’t know whether anyone else was still at the hall when you left? Mrs. Schuster, for example? If her husband was still there then it seems likely that she would have been too.’
‘I didn’t see anyone else,’ said Freddy. ‘But any of them might have stayed behind, I imagine.’
‘They might indeed,’ said Henry. ‘So you see, while it might have been a chance thief, it might also have been one of the people who were there that evening.’
‘What about this paper-knife? How did the murderer come to have it? I mean to say, if he came upon Miss Stapleton with the takings box in her hand outside the committee-room, and wanted to get it off her, he’d hardly run along to the office first and rummage around in a drawer on the off-chance that he might find a handy weapon, would he? I take it Miss Stapleton was carrying it herself and the murderer snatched it from her?’
‘That seems a reasonable assumption,’ said Henry. He hesitated. ‘There is one other thing. When Miss Stapleton’s body was discovered, it was found that she was clutching a tiny scrap of torn-off paper in her hand.’
Freddy stared, then laughed.
‘Good Lord! You don’t mean to say she’d found some incriminating document belonging to the Communists, and was murdered for it? This is all too Black Hand for words. What next? Was there also a message scrawled in Russian on the wall with the victim’s blood?’
‘If there was we didn’t find it,’ said Henry. ‘At any rate, if it was a letter she’d found it would explain why she was holding the paper-knife.’
‘She must have been wandering about with an armful of stuff,’ said Freddy. ‘Little wonder she didn’t have a chance to defend herself.’
‘Yes,’ said Henry. He stood up. ‘Well, that is all I can tell you at present. If I were you I’d leave the murder investigation to the police, since they seem to know what they’re doing. Personally, I am more interested in finding out what the chaps of the Communist Alliance get up to in their spare time.’
‘Then I’ll do my best to find out,’ said Freddy.
‘Good,’ said Henry. He turned to leave, then turned back again. ‘I suggest you be careful,’ he said. ‘If they’re the sort of people who will murder a harmless elderly lady, then they won’t think twice about putting you out of the way if they happen to find you out.’
‘They won’t find me out,’ said Freddy. ‘I’m far too careful for that.’
Mrs. Starkweather’s sitting-room was a large one, but it was so stuffed full of divans, chairs, tables, cupboards, cabinets, indoor plants, grandfather clocks, lamps and ornaments that there was barely room for anybody to stand up in it. Mrs. Starkweather and her daughter had removed themselves and all their belongings to the flat on Upper Montagu Street from their house in Hertfordshire upon the death of Mr. Starkweather, and Mrs. Starkweather had been reluctant to get rid of anything, despite her daughter’s exhortations, so whenever the two of them were at home they did nothing but bump into things and knock over vases.
Today the sitting-room was fuller than ever, since it was currently host to several of the senior members of the Young Women’s Abstinence Association, who had come to talk over the dreadful happenings of two days ago. Sitting in the best armchair was a generously-proportioned woman, who was dabbing a handkerchief to her eyes. This was Mrs. Belcher, the founder and President of the Y. W. A. A. She had been quite prostrated at the news that one of her most valuable helpers had been murdered, and had just declared that she would never again set foot in Clerkenwell Central Hall.
‘Now, Marjorie,’ said Mrs. Starkweather in her most sensible voice. ‘This is not like you at all. Do try and pull yourself together, if only for the sake of the girls.’
‘I suppose you are right, but I cannot help thinking of poor Miss Stapleton and how she must have suffered,’ said Mrs. Belcher, with an enormous sniff.
‘But she didn’t suffer, did she?’ said Mildred. ‘At least, not according to the police. They said it was all very quick and she wouldn’t have felt a thing.’
‘Do you think that is true?’ said Mrs. Belcher, raising her head. ‘You don’t think perhaps they said it just to be kind?’
‘Not at all,’ said Mi
ldred stoutly. ‘I’m sure they wouldn’t lie to us.’
‘But how shall I manage without her?’ said Mrs. Belcher. ‘She was quite my right-hand woman. I am so terribly busy attending receptions, and raising funds, and speaking at events, that I can’t possibly do everything, and it was such a comfort to have a capable person upon whom I could rely to take care of all the other things, such as running the meetings. She was so terribly efficient that I am afraid the Association will be lost without her.’
‘I fear this is true,’ said the handsome Mr. Hussey, whose particular arrangement of features was very well suited to the solemnity which such an awful occasion demanded. ‘But we must not allow ourselves to be daunted by this set-back. The Lord sends us these trials for very good reason, and He shall not find us wanting. We shall pray for Miss Stapleton, and as we do, we shall ask that He send us the strength to continue her work in the same way she did—with modesty, unassuming dedication, and above all without complaint.’
There was a brief silence as those present tried to reconcile this description with their memories of Miss Stapleton, then Mildred Starkweather said fairly:
‘At any rate, she was a tremendously hard worker. No-one could possibly say she wasn’t devoted to the cause.’
There were fervent nods at this.
‘Are you sure you ought to be out, Mr. Bottle?’ said Mrs. Starkweather, looking in some concern at a man who was sitting hunched up at one end of a large sofa. ‘Pneumonia is not an illness to be trifled with. You really ought to have stayed in bed.’
With an effort Mr. Bottle drew himself up to his full height, which was inconsiderable.
‘I could not possibly have remained in bed in the face of such a dreadful tragedy,’ he said. ‘Yesterday, I confess, I should have found it a struggle to get up, but today I am really much better. Yes, truly, I should say I am on the mend now.’
Here he was assailed by a coughing fit which lasted several minutes. After it was over, he brought out a handkerchief and mopped his perspiring brow.
‘This is a lesson to us that nobody is safe in these violent days,’ said Mrs. Belcher. ‘How shall we persuade anyone to come to our meetings now, when it seems that even a place of religion provides no sanctuary against those of evil intent?’
