A Case of Doubtful Death (41 page)

‘I do not have that information,’ said Chas to Frances later as he described the meeting to her, ‘but even if I did I would be most reluctant to part with it, or indeed anything else to
that
fellow.’

‘Do you believe he was telling the truth about the journal?’ she asked.

‘It all comes down to money,’ said Chas, ‘as indeed, in this materialistic world we live in, everything always does. Suppose Darscot to be lying and the journal does exist. If Carmichael succeeds in obtaining the appointment he has been hoping for, then in the long term the journal might be worth a great deal more to Darscot than £
100
, however, it is very clear that in his current position he is in immediate need of funds. It is my belief that if he had had the papers to hand he would have parted with them.’

‘Of course, I am in no difficulty at all in determining which of Mr Darscot and Dr Carmichael have been lying,’ said Frances.

‘Oh?’

‘The answer is very simple,’ she said. ‘It is both of them.’

When Chas and Barstie had gone, Frances asked Sarah to make a fresh pot of tea, and sat down to consider all the facts. She then sent a message to Dr Carmichael.

That gentleman, who had just learned that his application for the London post had been unsuccessful, arrived that afternoon looking despondent and revealed that he would be leaving for Carlisle in a few days. ‘I am very unhappy that the journal has not been found,’ he said.

‘I believe,’ said Frances, ‘that there is nothing to be found.’

‘Whatever do you mean?’

‘I mean that it never existed. Either as an original in your possession or as a forgery made for you.’

‘But —’

‘Yes?’

He hesitated. The word ‘forgery’ was causing him some little concern. ‘But you thought it might have been used to blackmail Mackenzie.’

‘I believe that Mr Darscot blackmailed Mackenzie with
something
. There were four things in his favour. The first was Mackenzie’s own guilty conscience, which made him susceptible. The second was Mackenzie’s poor state of health, which may have impaired his judgement. The third was Darscot’s detailed knowledge of the people and events in Edinburgh connected with your sister’s death. The fourth was your sister’s letter which, while innocuous in itself, was undoubtedly in her handwriting and which may well have convinced Mackenzie that further material existed. Of course, the latter two Darscot could only have obtained from you. Mr Darscot, who always tries to sidestep any suggestion of involvement in wrongdoing, has said that he only mentioned the idea of forging the papers you needed to incriminate Mackenzie as a joke and that you had somehow deluded yourself into thinking that he had done so. I don’t believe him. I think the two of you conspired to forge the papers so that you could bring Mackenzie to justice. No doubt he extracted money from you for this service. But in reality he did not trouble himself to find a forger, which might have proved an expensive and risky business. Mr Darscot strikes me as a man who will always take the easiest way. Instead, armed with the letter that you had loaned him supposedly for the forger to practise his art, and also with a wealth of intimate information, he approached Dr Mackenzie and found that he could easily be milked of funds.

‘The reason that you have not been telling me the truth is that you did not wish to reveal that you had conspired to commit a felony. You were very anxious to recover the journal, which you imagined had been forged on your behalf, because it was evidence of your criminality. But there may well have been another reason. If Darscot could convince you that he was or could secure the services of a master forger, then perhaps he had also convinced you that he had created other material to your detriment.’

‘You really don’t expect me to confess to a crime, do you?’ asked Carmichael.

‘The crime is one of conspiracy which is impossible to prove since the forgery was never carried out, and Darscot has already stated before two witnesses that the conversation was a joke. I think you are safe from prosecution,’ said Frances.

Carmichael considered her words. ‘You promise you will not tell this to the police?’

‘I think there would be very little point and I am satisfied that your motive was not blackmail, but bringing a criminal to justice.’

‘Then why do you need me to tell you more?’

Frances considered this. ‘That is a very good question. Perhaps I am anticipating the entertaining possibility that you might at long last be telling me the truth.’

He sighed. ‘Very well. I admit that I did talk all too freely to Darscot about poor Madeleine and how aggrieved I was that the monster who had destroyed her was a respected man. Not only did he defile her, after promising marriage, but he then performed an operation to remove the evidence of his terrible sin, an operation from which she subsequently died in the most appalling agony. Who would not want to see such a creature in prison for his crime? Darscot did offer to help me, and he said that he had manufactured a journal and taken it to the police, who were making enquiries, but they had advised him that as the events took place in Scotland many years ago, it could take some months to achieve a result.’

‘Ah, a clever move on his part to extend the course of affairs as far as possible.’

‘Yes – I suppose I see that now. I had to go back to Carlisle and I heard nothing more, but then when I saw that there was another post in London I might apply for, I came back and met up with Darscot again, and he said the police were still making their enquiries. I was afraid to go to the police, as I didn’t want to be associated with a forgery.

‘Well, after Mackenzie died – or at least, was supposed to have died – I asked Darscot if it was possible to get the journal back, but he said that he didn’t think Mackenzie was dead at all, that he had only pretended to be dead so he could run away. He said the police were more certain than ever that Mackenzie was a villain and they were searching for him so they could arrest him. Well that was good news, of course, but still nothing happened.

‘I couldn’t approach anyone at the Life House as I thought they might have colluded with Mackenzie in his escape, but I was getting impatient and Darscot suggested that as the police had taken so long I might employ an enquiry agent to find Mackenzie. He said he could act as an intermediary to protect my reputation.’

‘For a price, of course,’ said Frances.

‘He would take nothing for his own assistance, but of course, I would have to pay for the agent’s work.’ Carmichael uttered a groan. ‘I suppose the agent was no more real than the forger. What a fool I was! But I was just considering this when I received a warning from a member of the Piccadilly Club who had seen me talking to Darscot. He said that Darscot was a swindler and I should not give him any money. So I told Darscot I had decided not to employ an agent and wanted to forget the whole affair, and asked him for the journal. Darscot told me he didn’t have it as the police had taken it to Scotland, where they were looking for Mackenzie. I asked him for the name of the police officer who was in charge of the search for Mackenzie and Darscot said it was a man whose name he had not been given as he was working in secret.

‘By now I hardly knew what to believe. I said I thought he was lying and he told me that if I reported him he had forged some papers, which he was keeping in a safe place, and if I accused him of anything he could have me sent to prison. I didn’t know who I could trust and then someone mentioned your name.’

Carmichael left and Frances wondered why, when she should have nothing to do with such a creature, she continued to be swayed into helping him. The answer, she thought, was in her own curiosity, her need to find out the truth.

‘Well,’ said Tom with a big grin on his face, when he called on her soon afterwards, ‘you ‘ave been busy ‘an no mistake! If you get any more people put in prison there won’t be no folk left in Bayswater to be your customers, they’ll all be in pokey.’ He had managed to scrounge a heel of cheese from somewhere and was making short work of it with a bit of raw onion.

‘I think I have a little way to go before that result,’ said Frances, ‘and a good many of my clients are honest folk, although not, sadly, as many as I would wish. You, on the other hand, young man, have been carrying out all sorts of errands for the dreadful Mr Darscot. What do you have to say about that?’

Tom grinned. ‘Well you can’t blame the postman for what’s in the letter, what it’d be against the law for ‘im to look into. So I’m in the clear. And the coppers pay a good whack for information so I’ve been paid twice for the same job, which is good work, says I.’

‘So Mr Darscot will be in even more trouble, now?’

‘Up to ‘is neck. The coppers just come to the Piccadilly an’ took ‘im away again, and ‘e weren’t ‘appy. Not one little bit!’ He finished the cheese. ‘Now then, guess what I’ve got ‘ere!’ He handed Frances an onion-scented scrap of paper.

‘An address,’ said Frances, ‘in Redan Place. Not Mr Horton’s?’

‘Mr Victor Albert, as he liked to call ‘imself, only yes, it’s Mr ‘orton, and the lodgin’s ain’t been let yet an’ the landlord says ‘e will give over the key to anyone what can pay the back rent.’

‘Splendid,’ said Frances. ‘I will fetch Miss Horton and go there at once.’

The landlord was a sullen, shabbily dressed person, whose manners brightened on the production of the requisite amount of coin. He seemed to be under the impression that Frances, Sarah and Miss Horton were potential tenants, and even showed them where the essential offices were, a lopsided wooden hut at the back of a dingy rubbish-strewn yard. They declined to inspect it. Mr Horton’s lodgings consisted of a single room at the top of two flights of stairs that smelt of rotting food and worse. The room was notable for a lack of any attempt to make it comfortable. The bedstead was rusty and Frances dared not touch the mattress. There was a wardrobe with one door missing that contained a very few items of clothing, a water jug, a cracked basin grey with the dirty dregs of soap scum, and the most basic of toiletries. Miss Horton looked on everything, and tears started in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. ‘I had not known he had come to this,’ she said. ‘We have little enough at home, but I could have brought him there and made him comfortable. I wonder what he ever had to eat.’

‘Miss Horton,’ said Frances. ‘Would you be so good as to look at the contents of this room, in particular any personal items, and let me know if there is anything here that did not belong to your brother?’

‘Why, he was not a thief, Miss Doughty!’

‘I am sure he was not, but he may have been given something by another person for safekeeping.’

‘I see, well of course I will take a look – not that there is a great deal here. These few poor clothes are his – I recall the hairbrush as it belonged to our late father. The police gave me his pocketbook and a few coins that he was carrying, but there was nothing there that could not have been his.’ Miss Horton made the search as requested, and found only some family photographs and letters and several pawn tickets, but concluded that there was nothing in the room that was not her brother’s property.