The Durham Deception (28 page)

‘That was most likely George Forester,' said Traynor. ‘It was lucky that the two of you left London for Durham when you did. You might have ended up like the Seldons otherwise.'

Tom put his hand over Helen's. He said. ‘We will be all right. At least we know the danger now.'

He spoke with more confidence than he felt. He was conscious of the need to keep his voice steady. He was conscious, too, that Helen had been correct in every one of her fears and forebodings. She thought they were partly responsible for the suicide of Smight, although she had nothing to do with it. She'd been alerted by the snooper asking questions about them and uneasy over the deaths of the Seldons. She sensed something odd about the man on the riverbank – Doctor Anthony Smight – and now she was being proved right on all counts.

‘I will have my men keep watch over you,' said Harcourt. ‘A discreet watch when you are out and about in the city and there will be a police presence in your aunt's house too.'

‘Could not this man Smight have been responsible for the murder of Eustace Flask also?' said Helen. ‘Or are there
two
murderers at large in Durham?'

‘Either of those things is possible,' said Traynor. ‘The Superintendent here has given me an outline of the local murder. I understand from him, Mrs Ansell, that you were unlucky enough to discover Flask's body and even more unlucky to be held in custody for several hours, although anyone meeting you could see that you were no more capable of committing a murder than Harcourt or I.'

Frank Harcourt looked shamefaced, and Helen let him stew in his own discomfort for a few moments before saying, ‘I saw the man in the picture on a second occasion. He was walking on the riverbank at around the time Mr Flask was killed. I even saw him near the scene of the murder.'

‘Why didn't you say so before, Mrs Ansell?' said Traynor. He spoke mildly.

‘The circumstances were not . . . propitious. At the time I was more concerned with establishing my own innocence.'

‘Of course,' said Traynor, with a glance at Harcourt who refused to meet his eye. ‘I'd have reacted in the same way myself.'

‘But what would be Smight's motive for killing Eustace Flask?' said Tom. ‘Flask was a medium, like Smight's brother.'

‘Who can tell? We won't know until we have Anthony Smight safely under lock and key. But it is my view that this doctor is unhinged. He has gone bad, and when a doctor goes bad he is more dangerous than almost anybody else. He has nerve and experience. Furthermore Smight is an opium addict, a habit which we believe he first acquired in the East. Prolonged indulgence in the drug quite saps the moral sense and sweeps away all inhibitions. Once embarked on a course of murder, such a man will find it very hard to stop.'

‘There is another mystery,' said Helen. ‘According to you, Inspector, this Anthony Smight is determined to do us harm because we were present at the séance after which his brother killed himself. If that was the case, he ought to have been pleased when I was under suspicion for the death of Eustace Flask. He might have been happy if things had gone much further and I had been put on trial—'

‘That never would have happened, dear lady,' said Traynor.

‘I am glad to hear it. But, if you accept what I've just said, then explain why Smight took the extraordinary step of sending the murder weapon and a note to the police announcing that I did
not
do it.'

Tom wondered why Helen was so troubled by this question. She'd already raised it with him. What did it matter who had sent the mysterious box with the dagger as long as it exonerated her? But Traynor had an answer, one which was disquieting.

‘As I've said already, there is no accounting for human behaviour, Mrs Ansell. It is possible that Anthony Smight did not want you to face the rigour of the law. He wanted you released so that he could . . . well, I shall say no more.'

‘You don't need to,' said Helen. ‘Your meaning is all too clear.'

‘You should talk with Major Marmont, the magician,' said Tom. ‘We have just been to see him. He is a client of my firm.'

‘I have already spoken with him but I intend to interview him again,' said Harcourt, then under his breath, ‘And look who is here . . .'

There was the sound of the door to the snug opening. Tom and Helen were sitting with their backs to the door but Harcourt, who was facing it, raised his eyebrows while even Traynor's impassive expression was replaced by a look of curiosity. Five people entered the snug. They were the magician and his Indian assistant, Dilip Gopal, together with Marmont's three sons. They were on their way to the Assembly Rooms for that evening's performance. Marmont conferred briefly with his entourage then indicated that they should leave without him. He walked briskly to where the others were sitting.

‘Superintendent Harcourt, I didn't expect to see you so soon but this is a timely meeting. I have only a few minutes to spare and will give you a full statement later. But you should know that I possess some information about the weapon which was apparently used to kill Eustace Flask.'

‘Information which you have withheld from me, Major Marmont?'

‘Not deliberately withheld. I did not know it was relevant.'

The Major remained standing. He glanced at Traynor and Harcourt made a show of introducing him as a detective from Great Scotland Yard.

‘Give us the facts, sir, the bare facts if you please,' said Traynor.

Rapidly Marmont explained how Flask had stolen the Dagger on the night during which he had disappeared from the Perseus Cabinet. He made no reference to the Dagger's chequered history. Regarding the theft as an act of opportunistic revenge, Marmont had gone to see Flask the following morning only to find that the medium had left the house in Old Elvet.

‘Flask's companion, the woman called Kitty, will confirm that I came calling. Also that Flask had departed by then.'

‘We are one step ahead of you,' said Harcourt. ‘She has already given me her story.'

‘You went on looking for Flask after you called at the house?' said Traynor.

‘I didn't know where to look. Kitty said he had gone to meet someone but she couldn't say who it was or where they were meeting.'

‘Well, it would hardly have been
you
he was meeting,' said Traynor. ‘From what you are saying he would have been glad to get away from you. No, our thoughts are turning in a different direction.'

The Inspector glanced automatically at the drawing of Anthony Smight which lay on the table. Marmont appeared to notice it for the first time. He picked up the drawing and studied it carefully. He even ran his fingers lightly across the picture. He nodded once, then again, a gesture more for himself than the others.

‘This is the man you are looking for?'

‘Yes sir,' said Traynor.

‘Is he in Durham?'

‘We believe so. I could say we are almost certain of it. You have seen him, Major Marmont?'

‘Not in Durham, not at all. I would take an oath on that.'

‘But from your expression you seem to know him.'

‘It is many years since I have seen this gentleman. It is a very odd coincidence and I have not spared him a thought, let alone referred to him, for ages and yet . . .'

Sebastian Marmont seemed undecided whether to say more. He looked towards Tom and Helen.

‘Out with it, sir. We are used to coincidences by now,' said Traynor.

‘When I was in India in the army, I was caught up in the Siege of Lucknow during the Mutiny. I have only just now described my experiences to Mr and Mrs Ansell here. Well, there was a doctor in the infirmary in the city. There are more lines on the face in the picture and altogether a changed cast to his features, but this is the man from the infirmary.'

‘What was his name?'

‘Smight,' said Major Marmont. ‘Doctor Anthony Smight.'

Act Four

The Major says, ‘Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, you will witness something quite unprecedented. As you can see, I am not equipped with any props except for this simple kitchen chair and this –
'

‘
Now,' says the Major, ‘my associate Mr Gopal will pass among you, the audience. Any one of you is at liberty to hand him an object which you have about your person. Any object, I say. Mr Gopal will hold the said object in his hands before returning it to you. Using his mind, he will transmit through the ether an image of that object, a mental image. I will receive the image as it is borne through the ether and I will tell you, ladies and gentleman, what it is that Mr Gopal is holding.

‘
To avoid any imputation of trickery or collusion, Mr Gopal will say nothing, not a word, as he receives the objects from you. Not a word beyond the normal courtesies of course. I am not permitted to ask him questions nor would he be allowed to answer them. Mr Gopal, if you please . . .
'

‘
I thank you, sir,' says Dilip Gopal.

‘
Mr Gopal, I am receiving an image of what is in your hands. Concentrate on it if you please. Just a little more concentration. Yes, I have it. A cigarette case, a silver cigarette case. It is inscribed, I believe, but the image is not clear enough for me to decipher the message. There is a slight disturbance in the ether tonight.
'

‘
Let me see, Mr Gopal,' says the Major, ‘or rather let me
not
see. I think that what you have in your hand is – yes, a picture is being transmitted to me even now – it is a purse, a small and delicate purse.
'

‘
Now concentrate, Mr Gopal—
'

‘
I have a distinct impression of this item as it crosses the ether between Mr Gopal's mind and my own. It is, yes it is a cravat pin, a stickpin.
'

The Railway Station

For at least the tenth time that morning Constable Bert Humphries completed a casual patrol along the down-line platform of Durham Station. He paused at the southern end and stared at the graceful curve of the double lines as they crossed the Flass Vale viaduct. It was a fine June morning and the sun was gleaming on the tracks. Humphries glanced across the valley separating the railway line from the peninsula dominated by castle and cathedral. A light breeze had blown away the haze that usually hung over the city.

Like a sentry at the end of the platform, Humphries performed an about-turn in a military fashion before remembering that this was not the way he was meant to be doing things. Fortunately there was no one to watch him.

Constable Humphries was wearing not his uniform but civilian clothes. He did not mind much the fact that he had been deprived of his police helmet or his brass-buttoned dark blue greatcoat – since these were the obvious and visible signs of his office – but he missed the comfort of the truncheon and rattle. Lacking these made him feel naked. If the fellow they were after was half as dangerous as old Harcourt and the Scotland Yard man had claimed during the briefing at the police-house, then he might well need to summon help with the rattle. But Harcourt insisted that none of them should carry any item which might give away who they were.

Furthermore, Humphries and the rest had been instructed to forget their training and years of experience. They were not to behave like policemen on the beat. Not to stride along with authority. Not to gaze around with suspicion nor to act as if they had the weight of the law behind them. Altogether, Constable Bert Humphries felt like a truanting schoolboy while he mingled with the ordinary travelling folk who were waiting for trains or getting off them.