The Barker's Dozen - Reminiscences of an Early Police Dog (32 page)

‘Thank you Groom,’ my master said in his normal pleasant way. ‘You have been very helpful. I ask that you keep everything that has occurred in this room confidential and just tell everyone that you merely confirmed your previous statement. It would be inconvenient in the extreme if you were to succumb to a sudden dose of poison.’

‘Yes Inspector, ‘Groom responded almost back to his normal self. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’

‘I need to see everyone who was interviewed by Inspector Bowman.’ Your uncle thought for a moment. ‘Could you please send them in one at a time.’

My master spent the next few hours interviewing the staff. Where they obviously knew nothing of any value to his investigation he took care to reinforce the idea that he was merely confirming Inspector Bowman’s previous investigation. It was tedious work and I allowed myself to doze knowing that I would wake up if anything interesting happened.

I woke from a dream of cheese to see a housemaid seat herself in the chair opposite my master. There was a contented smugness about her that caused my hackles to rise slightly.

‘Good afternoon, Inspector, Mr Groom said you wanted to see me.’ 

There was something in the tone of her voice that struck me as false. I thought for a few minutes before I realised that she was viewing my master as an inferior who had to be humoured. I glanced at your uncle and was relieved when I saw a familiar hardness enter, momentarily, in his eyes. The girl never noticed and accepted him at face value as he fussed with his notes for a few moments looking, for all the world like a flustered clerk trying to account for a missing farthing.

‘You are Mabel Ricks and are employed as a general housemaid?’ Even my master’s voice was that of a tired and beaten man, ‘I gather that you helped to serve dinner on the night of the murder?’

The girl confirmed that both these statements were correct and then started letting her attention wander as if my master’s questions were completely beneath her notice. As she looked round the room her right hand strayed up to her neck and she absently started toying with a thin silver chain.

‘Can you read?’ Your uncle asked her suddenly, causing her attention to snap back to him.

‘Of course I can,’ she answered sharply, obviously annoyed by the implication that she was an illiterate.

‘Very well my dear. I have here a copy of the notes that Inspector Bowman took while interviewing you. Could you please read through them and tell me if they are substantially accurate.’

The girl took the proffered paper and started to read, the tip of her tongue showing between her lips as she concentrated.  As she read her hand again sought out the chain around her neck; it was obviously a habitual unconscious action that seemed to comfort her.

‘Inspector that’s just how it happened,’ she said at last handing the papers back.

‘Can you think of anything else you could add to my understanding of this matter?’

‘No Inspector,’ she started to stand. ‘If you have no more questions I’ll be getting back to my work.’

‘Sit down!’ my master’s voice cracked out, surprising her with its power. ‘There is one more thing. You have something on the chain around your neck, what is it?’

‘Only the key to my box, Sir,’ she looked alarmed but tried to brazen it out. ‘I keep a few small trinkets, not that they are valuable but they are precious to me.’

‘I don’t doubt that you do have a few small trinkets in your box, my dear,’ my master smiled in an avuncular fashion and I saw her relax. ‘I am also convinced that you have something else in there; an item that you believe to be very valuable.’

‘Oh no Sir, nothing of the kind,’ She was obviously worried and I knew that my master had guessed correctly. Her voice shook slightly as she continued, ‘just a few beads and some letters from my sweetheart.’

‘In that case you won’t mind fetching your box so I can take a look,’ my master smiled gently at her. ‘I’ll even send Sergeant Allen to carry it for you but I do think that you should leave the key with me.’

Slowly and speechlessly she removed the key from around her neck and mutely led Sergeant Allen from the room. Within a few minutes they were back and Sergeant Allen laid a small tin box on the table by my master and then helped the girl to resume her seat. She was very pale and shaking like a leaf.

‘Do you want to show me whatever’s troubling you?’ my master asked her very gently. ‘If you are completely honest with me now I will do my best for you.’

She swallowed nervously and then with sudden decision opened the box and took out a letter that she unfolded to reveal a race card that had been badly scorched along one edge.

‘I found this in Sir William’s room the morning after the murder,’ she handed the card to my master as she spoke. ‘He has a dog grate and whoever threw this into the hearth managed to miss the fire.’

My master looked at the front of card in some puzzlement but hearing the girl’s soft ‘other side’ turned the card over and read a few lines of hand writing. He beckoned Allen over and showed the card to him. The Sergeant whistled softly and my master carefully placed the card into his wallet.

My master can be so annoying at times. There we were with an obviously important piece of evidence and I didn’t know what it was. He could have read it to the sergeant but I had to wait until that evening until I found out what it was.

My master then proceeded to question the girl about her reasons for not handing over the card earlier. She tried to convince him at first that she did not think that it was very important, an assertion that was self-evidently untrue. Her next explanation was that she was afraid of Sir William and was hoping that she could keep quiet but had determined ‘if things look black for Master Sebastian to go to court and hand it to his solicitor’. Your uncle later told Sergeant Allen that he was certain that she intended to use the race card to blackmail Sir William but could not see how to do it safely. All things considered, Mabel Ricks was not a pleasant young woman.

My master finished interviewing the servants without uncovering any more dramatic pieces of evidence. I did think, though, that two sensational clues in one afternoon must be considered to be a good day’s work. I still did not know what was written on the race card but from your uncle’s reaction it seemed to eclipse even my poisoned walnut.

Having finished interviewing the servants my master went to see Sir William again and asked if it would be convenient for them to help him clear up a few loose ends concerning the Honourable Sebastian’s relationships with the family and his general attitude to business matters. Sir William agreed to help but said that the interview would have to be delayed until the following day as Lady Caroline was visiting friends and was not expected to return until quite late. Your uncle agreed to this postponement and the two men agreed to meet at eleven the following morning.

We went back to the inn and enjoyed a few cold cuts and pickles. As I recall the smoked ham was particularly toothsome being cut in thick moist slices served with fresh baked bread and a bowl of the local ale. Following this snack my master dispatched Sergeant Allen to send two telegrams and to wait for replies while we went for a gentle walk along the river bank near the ruined abbey that obviously gives Lower Monksford its name. I may have mentioned it before but I do find country investigations extremely enjoyable.

On returning to the inn my master asked the landlord a question about the local fishing and they were deep in conversation about the merits of the local cheese as bait when Sergeant Allen returned. The Sergeant is a remarkably astute man and joined in the conversation without mentioning the telegrams before the landlord had to get about his other duties.

‘Well, Sergeant?’ My master asked when they were alone.

‘Inspector Thorpe wired back to say that he would be arriving with several men on the ten-thirty train this evening. A suitable conveyance for our expected guests is coming down by road.’

‘What did Mr MacDonald say?’

‘He replied that he would have to see the document himself and will come here early this evening.’

My master smiled and calling to the landlord arranged for a light supper to be served in a private room and asked that our guest be shown in when he arrived.

It was shortly before seven when Mr Macdonald was shown into the private parlour and was served a pint of mulled ale against the chill of the evening.  As soon as we were alone my master took out the race card and handed it to the solicitor.

‘I see you have a race card from the Monksford course for the meeting on the fourteenth of November last, a bit charred on one edge,’ he said, stating the obvious and still not telling me why the card was important. He turned the card over and smiled.

‘As you stated in your wire Sergeant, it is a last will and testament,’ Mr Macdonald spoke precisely as if laying evidence before a jury. ‘I would say that the document was written by Lord Reventhorpe and I can also confirm that the signatures of Sir John Willoughby and Mr Andrew Heaton seem to be genuine as I act for both gentlemen and am familiar with their handwriting.’

‘Were these the two gentlemen in whose company you left Lord Reventhorpe?’

‘Yes Inspector they are the very same. It appears that Lord Reventhorpe had an intimation of his mortality and decided to correct his will there and then without waiting for our meeting. It was a prudent action considering that he was in the company of two unimpeachable witnesses who could normally be relied upon to ensure that his wishes were honoured.’

‘Are the contents in an acceptable form?’

‘Yes Inspector, it is quite a simple document. After the usual preamble about his fitness to write a will Lord Reventhorpe cancelled the will he made in his daughter’s favour last October and reinstated the provisions of an earlier will that I have at my chambers. Just in case of any doubt about his intentions he specifically reiterates that the Honourable Sebastian is his sole heir.’ Mr MacDonald paused and looked deeply saddened. ‘The facts that an attempt has been made to destroy this document and my friend was murdered the day before I was due to rewrite his will in a more usual fashion leads to only one possible conclusion.’

Realising that Mr MacDonald was grief stricken in a way that the mere death of his old friend and client would not have caused, I went over to him and gently placed a paw on his knee. He reached down and fondled my ears and after a few moments sighed deeply and raising his head looked at my master.

‘Inspector, Lord Reventhorpe had been my friend ever since we met at
Eton. I have known both of his children all their lives and they have been like a nephew and niece. I cannot see how there can possibly be a good ending to this nightmare.’ He visibly straightened in his chair. ‘That, however, is irrelevant and you can trust me to do whatever is necessary to bring my old friend’s murderer to justice.’

There was something wonderfully noble about Mr MacDonald at that moment. For many years the law had served him well and he was a wealthy man. Now, however, he had to serve the interests of justice and I did not think that he would fail whatever the personal cost.

The rest of the evening was quite sombre and it was with relief that we left the inn just before ten and walked by a roundabout route to the station. Having a dog does give a police officer a very good reason to wander off without attracting unwanted local interest.

It was a cold night and we could hear the train coming a long time before it swept into view. Five well built men left one of the carriages and I recognised Inspector Thorpe at their head.

‘Good evening, Thorpe,’ my master greeted him warmly. ‘I am glad that you could join us for tonight’s entertainment.’

‘Your Sergeant was a bit mysterious in his telegram.’ Inspector Thorpe was in obvious good humour, ‘but when someone of your reputation sends me a cable that asks me to join him and to bring my handcuffs I naturally come. Just who is it that you want me to arrest?’

‘Sir William and Lady Barke for the wilful murder by poison of Lord Reventhorpe.’ My master paused momentarily while Thorpe dealt with this news. ‘I thought I would ask you if you wanted to make the actual arrest in a vain attempt to restore the bad reputation that my office has with you provincial detectives.’

‘You can prove your case?’ Thorpe asked with some natural trepidation because wrongly arresting a member of the gentry could really damage a career. A good arrest could, conversely, really bring you to the public’s notice.

‘I thought that it would be more discrete if we walked to Hevershap Hall. That will give me enough time to explain the case to you.’

‘Good enough, Thompson.’ Thorpe looked around at his men and, gesturing for them to follow, led the way from the station.

It was a beautiful night, cold and clear. There were no clouds and only about a quarter of the moon. The scene was lit by a gently silver light that seemed to come from everywhere at once. It was a night for friendship, love and good cheer. The seriousness of our mission, however, impressed me and I trotted at my master’s side without investigating any of the small noises and interesting scents that surrounded me. 

My master detailed two of the police constables to go forward and ensure that the gate keeper did not raise the alarm and was obviously surprised when they reported that not only were the gates wide open but the gatekeeper’s lodge seemed to be empty.