A Case of Doubtful Death (35 page)

‘When will the mausoleum be opened?’ asked Frances.

‘Within the week. A knife to trim the ivy and we will have the answer.’

A
lthough she was not concerned with the death of Mr Horton, Frances studied the newspapers to see if there were any developments and saw that Professor Pounder – which was not, it seemed, that gentleman’s real name, the truth being somewhat more commonplace – had been arrested and charged with killing Mr Horton. Horton, it was reported, had taken up Pounder’s challenge of a one-minute bout which was generously offered to all members of the Piccadilly Club and had approached the combat with a greater expectation of success than was actually warranted, given that Mr Horton weighed about nine stones and the Professor, a former Queensberry Cup winner and in the peak of condition, more than thirteen. Mr Horton had lost rather badly, though not as badly as he might have done if the Professor had chosen to use all his skill and strength. The betting from the assembled gentlemen had not been so much as who would win, but how abominably Horton would lose. Horton had been bruised, angry and humiliated, and as a result had been telling people in his distracted way that he had been assaulted.

Pounder, interviewed by the police, had admitted that Horton had come up to him in the street very drunk one night and tried to pick a fight, which he had refused, and he had fended off the man’s attacks, but denied having pushed him, saying that Horton had been alive but inebriated when he departed.

‘It’s just too bad!’ said Cedric, when he arrived to tell Frances all about the fate of his instructor. ‘Pounder is the quietest, most gentle fellow in the world when he is not thumping other pugilists. All these types are – they are perfect brutes when they put on the gloves, and Pounder was the best brute of all, his muscles are second to none and everyone who sees him admires them.’

‘It seems to me that there is no real proof against him, only conjecture,’ said Frances. ‘Mr Horton was a man who made enemies easily, although I am sure he did not mean to; I believe he was not quite aware of what he was saying much of the time and how it might be received. There was no malice in him, and now I think back on it, I should have had more compassion for the man.’

‘You must find out the real murderer, then,’ said Cedric.

‘Oh, I think that is not a commission I am equipped to take.’

‘Nonsense, Miss Dauntless is afraid of nothing! She will rise to any occasion, dare any danger, fight any foe!’

‘Miss Dauntless may, but I will not.’ Frances paused. ‘Did
you
write those stories?’

Cedric affected great indignation. ‘You have seen them – do you think they are an exemplar of my literary style?’

‘No – probably not, although I am sure you could turn your hand to anything if you chose.’

‘If I was ever to write,’ said Cedric, with a toss of the head, ‘and I am far too addicted to idle pleasure to think of doing something so arduous and unprofitable, but
if
I did, I would lie on a couch and allow the most delicious poems to drop from my pen, adorning the vellum like costly jewels.’

‘I can see that
Miss
Dauntless
Saves
the
Day
is unlikely to be one of your works,’ observed Frances.

‘But I do mean it about poor Pounder,’ said Cedric, earnestly. ‘Can’t you help? The police think they have their man and I suppose I can see why, I would arrest him myself if I was a policeman and didn’t know his character. You said Horton was a man who made enemies. A dozen fellows might have killed him.’

‘True, but he was also so wild in his allegations that people took no note of them. How could he be a danger to anyone?’

‘Perhaps someone did take note. Perhaps the matter was a serious one.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘Pounder has no family, at least none that will acknowledge him. I have been to see him in his cell and arranged a legal man for him, and he tells me he knows nothing of Horton and cannot tell me who might have wanted to murder him.’

‘Are the police sure it is murder?’

‘I am afraid so. There are marks on his body that show he fought against being tipped over the railing. But Horton was very inebriated and not a great weight. It did not take a man of Pounder’s development to do it.’

‘Did Horton have any family?’

‘None that anyone can discover.’

‘So the only people he might have spoken to apart from, I assume, the police or strangers he accosted in the street were fellow members of the Piccadilly Club.’

‘It seems so, and he was a member only for a short while, before his behaviour led to his being ejected.’

‘Well, I shall make enquiries amongst the members, on the Professor’s behalf.’

‘You are a wonder, Miss Doughty, I know he will be most grateful.’

Frances was able to meet with Chas and Barstie later that day. She had suggested that she might visit them in their suite of offices, but they had declined on the grounds that they were having extensive decorations done, and came to see her instead.

They knew of Pounder’s arrest, which was all the talk of the club, and, like Cedric, did not believe he was a murderer. ‘If I was ever to engage in a fight,’ said Chas, ‘that is the man I would want standing beside me, but it would be a fair, honest fight, and not some underhand affair.’

‘Gentlemen, what I want you to do is speak to everyone you know who might have known Mr Horton and find out what other stories he might have told. What are Mr Horton’s connections? His friends, his enemies, his family; which may of course all turn out to be the same thing. There might have been something in his ravings after all.’

‘Horton spoke openly in the member’s saloon bar many times,’ said Barstie. ‘Anyone might have overheard him, friend or not. He was especially outraged about Pounder, although I do recall a mention of an alligator that had been murdered. Or was it a fox? He seemed to have got the two mixed up in his head. He said the Piccadilly Club was full of scoundrels, cheats, frauds and murderers and he could prove it. I don’t believe anyone took much notice.’

‘I think,’ said Frances, ‘that someone did. Someone became afraid that Horton’s ravings might strike a chord and be taken seriously. Is there any other dubious business being conducted at the club?’

They paused.

‘Is there any business being conducted at the club which is
not
dubious?’

‘Well, you know how it is, when gentlemen assemble, all the talk is of making money,’ said Barstie.

‘So I am given to understand,’ said Frances.

‘It is a fertile field. There are deals done and profits made without a gentleman stirring from his easy chair or even allowing his cigar to go out.’

‘All the talk now is about the Life House and what a fine prospect it is,’ said Chas. ‘Prime building land, and after what has happened, in all probability to be had dirt cheap. I know there are several members taking an interest.’

‘Doctors Bonner and Warrinder are not members?’

‘Oh no, it is a young man’s club,’ said Barstie.

‘Young and wealthy and reckless,’ said Chas, happily.

‘Was Mr Horton the only member to make allegations against Professor Pounder?’

‘As far as I am aware. Most of the younger men took his challenge. No one succeeded and most received a bruise or two, but that was all part of the amusement, and all took it in good part except Horton, who was the only man who didn’t like losing.’

‘I have one more question to ask you,’ said Frances, showing them a copy of one of Miss Dauntless’s adventures.

‘Do you read those?’ asked Barstie. ‘They are very good!’

‘What I want to know is are you gentlemen the publishers?’

Chas was examining the booklet. ‘Cheap paper, but then if you want to reach the masses at a halfpenny a copy that is the only way.’

‘Profit in numbers,’ said Barstie. ‘We should look into it.’ They both nodded. It was either a convincing act or they had nothing to do with the publication.

There were two other members of the Piccadilly Club who might have had something to say about Mr Horton and Frances determined to speak to both of them.

Mr Darscot arrived cheerful and fresh-looking, with a dewy buttonhole, a new ruby pin and his smart little cane, although there was facial evidence that he ruefully admitted showed he had come off worst after his minute with Professor Pounder. ‘He’s the very deuce of a chap,’ said Darscot, ‘though as courteous as they come before and after. He might have been harder, but I think he took pity on me.’

‘How well did you know the unfortunate Mr Horton?’

‘Oh, no more than all the members did, which was not at all well. Poor fellow, he was most disliked. His bout with Pounder was treated as a joke, and the joke was all on Horton, because he imagined he might win and then got very cut up when he didn’t. The difference between Horton and the rest of us was that we did it to amuse ourselves, and he thought it a serious matter. All the same, I was sorry when he was blackballed – he wasn’t a bad sort of fellow, if a little soft in the head. Does he have any family?’

‘I know of none, I am afraid.’

‘Only, if he has no one to make any arrangements for him, I suppose I could get my man to do it. I’ll have to find out when the funeral is, pop along, pay my respects.’

‘I know that Horton made a number of allegations against Professor Pounder after the bout, but that Pounder was not the only man to be accused by him. Did you hear of any others?’

‘Not by name, no. He was always very vague. Something about an alligator … ? But I did have the impression he had been badly stung by some financial deal he had conducted while in the club. Really he was very foolish to have done that. I would not dream of making an investment especially as regards shares or property without at least employing a reliable man to do all the hard work for me. I must admit, I had lent poor Horton some cash – not a great deal, £
50
or so, he said he needed it to tide him over. I don’t suppose I shall see it again, but I do have his IOU and if he turns out to be worth anything I should like to know. These mad fellows sometimes have estates they have quite forgotten about.’

‘Did he ever threaten to go to the police about being swindled?’

‘Oh yes. Nearly every day. But he was only a member for a few weeks and then he was shown the door. After that he used to walk up and down outside the club muttering to himself. I think the club owners were thinking of having him removed by the police. Very sad, but there was no harm in him.’

‘So any member might have met up with him outside? It’s not a long way from the club premises to where he was found dead.’

‘Yes, and Pounder was at the club that night. But then most of us were.’

Frances’ next interview was with Dr Carmichael, who confirmed that he had not as yet been approached by anyone about the missing journal. He seemed uncomfortable when questioned about the Piccadilly Club, saying that as far as he had been aware it was merely a place where good lodgings could be had. He had since found that the members were not as respectable as he had been led to believe and was seeking new accommodation. He had never fought with or spoken to Professor Pounder and had not to his knowledge had much in the way of conversation with any member of the club. He could recall some talk about a troublesome member who had been asked to leave, and then made to leave, and had sometimes seen a man walking up and down outside the club, who occasionally approached members as they went in or out. The fellow had looked distracted, and shaken his fist and uttered threats, but everyone had ignored him.