The Tewkesbury Tomb (11 page)

‘Sir Roger knew that only another Templar would have been able to work out that the numbers and letters when placed on a chessboard, would reveal the name of Meysey Hampton. He was clearly sending a message that his fellow knights should go to the church in that village.’

‘I see, so if there was any treasure to be found, it would be at this Meysey Hampton?’

‘That is still a matter of conjecture. We do not know that Sir Roger bought anything of value back with him from his travels. He might have simply been referring to another church in Gloucestershire, with which he had some association, that is all,’ replied Salt, smiling at Ravenscroft.

‘So what do you think I should do now?’ asked Ravenscroft, feeling as though he was addressing a benevolent uncle.

‘That is for you to decide, I have merely unravelled the code.’

‘For which I shall be forever in your debt, Professor Salt.’

‘Say no more, my boy. I relish the challenge! But now if you will excuse me, I must return to my studies. I have to give a lecture in hall tomorrow night on manorial land management as seen though medieval Latin manuscripts,’ said the professor turning away.

‘There is just one more thing before I go. Do you think there
are any living descendants of Sir Roger, and if so, how would we go about locating them?’

‘With difficulty. Leave me your name and address on the way out and I will see if I can find out anything for you,’ said Professor Salt, leaning over his ancient manuscript and already lost in another world.

Ravenscroft tore out a page from his notebook and, after writing his details, placed it on the table and made his way quietly from the room. The antiquary did not look up as he closed the door behind him.

As he walked through the town towards the railway station, Ravenscroft found himself turning over the events of the last half-hour, seeing again the elaborate code, the chessboard with its letters of the alphabet placed in each square and finally the revealing of the words ‘Meysey Hampton’. Had the Templar Knight returned from his travels having appropriated something of great value? Had he then hidden that treasure somewhere in the remote Gloucestershire village of Meysey Hampton, instructing the stonemason who carved his tomb to engrave the mysterious letters on the side of the edifice, making the code so difficult that it would only make sense to another member of the same knightly order? Or did the revealed letters merely inform those fortunate enough to decipher them that Sir Roger had some connection with the Templar church in that village? Perhaps he should visit the church for himself and see if Sir Roger had left any further clues there, which might eventually lead to the discovery of the lost treasure. All this deciphering of medieval codes was all very well, Ravenscroft told himself, but although he was now in possession of facts that had not been discernible to others through the centuries, that gaining of knowledge seemed to be of little assistance to him in his quest to discover the truth behind the two murders he was intent on solving.

‘Here, look out, mister, where you are going,’ said a tall young man colliding with Ravenscroft.

‘I am so sorry. My thoughts were elsewhere. Forgive me, my dear sir.’

‘Should be more careful at your age,’ grumbled the youth, picking up his papers which had fallen to the ground. ‘I say haven’t I seen you somewhere before?’

‘You were kind enough to give me directions to Professor Mathias Salt’s rooms.’

‘Ay yes. I trust you were able to find the learned professor?’

‘Yes, thank you. How was your lecture?’

‘Disappointing to say the least. I should have forseen that such would be the case. Should have remained in my rooms and read the book instead. But there you are. One lives in expectation and then one is constantly let down. That’s life I suppose.’

‘Indeed,’ acknowledged Ravenscroft, smiling at the young man’s philosophy.

‘The trouble with these Oxford professors is that they think they are the only ones to offer a solution. They simply cannot comprehend that there are others out there who might be just as qualified to express a different point of view. Anyway, must go. No time to spare. Everything to be experienced. Nice meeting you.’

‘And you, my good sir,’ said Ravenscroft giving a brief smile, before taking his departure and continuing on his journey to the station.

Taking out his pocket watch and examining the noticeboard he was relieved to discover that a train was imminent.

Ravenscroft stood on the platform of the station, watching the billowing smoke of the approaching train, his mind still occupied by the events of the previous hour.

‘The trouble with these Oxford professors is that they think
they are the only ones to offer a solution’ – that is what the young man had said. Then it suddenly occurred to Ravenscroft that perhaps after all there had been others who might have worked out what the strange letters and numbers had stood for on the side of the tomb. Professor Salt may not have been the only one. Perhaps Hollinger sitting in the snug of the Hop Pole that night had also been able to decipher the inscription. If that had been the case, then perhaps he had also written down the answer – and if that had been so, then that would explain why the learned doctor had been killed. Furthermore, if that is what transpired, then it was more than likely that his murderer was also now in possession of the solution.

‘We have him, sir!’ exclaimed Crabb eagerly, as Ravenscroft alighted from the train.

‘Anstruther?’

‘At Hereford. Apparently he fell whilst endeavouring to change horses at one of the local inns. A doctor was called, and one of our men in the town thought that the stranger there might fit the description we had sent out earlier in the day.’

‘Is he badly injured?’

‘Broken arm by all accounts. I have instructed the men to bring him back to the station in Tewkesbury. He should be there by now, sir.’

‘Good news, Tom. Well done.’

‘How did you get on in Oxford?’

‘Very well indeed. Professor Salt was able to decipher the inscription on Sir Roger’s tomb, but more of that later. I am anxious to question the major. Let us see whether we can loosen his tongue. It is to be hoped that this mystery is now drawing to its conclusion. Lead on, Tom.’

‘What the blazes is all this about, Ravenscroft?’ said Anstruther, rising from the chair as the two policemen entered the room.

‘I would have thought that was obvious, Major,’ replied Ravenscroft, taking his seat behind the table and observing that his suspect had one of his arms in a sling and that his forehead was marked and bruised in several places.

‘Not to me it’s not,’ snapped Anstruther. ‘A fellow should be allowed to go where he wants to without being arrested by your heavy-handed peelers and forcibly bought back here against his will.’

‘I am sorry for your injury. A horse, I believe. I trust it is not too painful,’ said Ravenscroft forcing a brief smile.

‘I’ve known worse.’

‘I can arrange for another medical man to take a look at your arm, should you so wish.’

‘Look here Ravenscroft, why the deuce have you bought me back here?’

‘You are not aware that Dr Hollinger has been killed in a brutal fashion?’ said Ravenscroft, staring straight at his suspect so that he could observe his reaction.

‘What? Hollinger? Hollinger dead, you say?’

‘Stabbed three times in the chest. Not a pleasant sight. But you would know that, of course.’

‘What the blazes do you mean by that!’ exclaimed Anstruther.

‘Doctor Hollinger was murdered shortly after he retired last night. At twelve o’clock you were seen leaving the inn. I have two witnesses who can confirm your movements. Your bloodstained shirt and trousers were found in your room. How do you explain it?’

‘Now look here, Ravenscroft, I don’t know what your talking
about, but I know nothing about the doctor’s death until you mentioned it now. As for my clothes, I took them all with me.’

‘Your knife was found in the dead man’s room.’

‘I don’t possess a knife,’ protested Anstruther.

‘I thought all army men carried a knife.’

‘Well, you think wrong. I repeat, I do not possess any kind of knife.’

‘So you deny having killed Dr Hollinger?’

‘That’s what I just said,’ replied Anstruther, raising his voice.

‘Then what were you doing leaving the Hop Pole at such a late hour?’ asked Ravenscroft leaning back in his chair.

‘Had enough of all this nonsense. I’ve got my regiment to return to. I couldn’t afford to brook any further delay. Damn it, man, I’ve been here long enough!’

‘I thought your regiment was based in London. You were arrested in Hereford after your fall. It is rather a long way round to get to the capital, is it not?’

‘Had urgent business there,’ mumbled Anstruther turning away.

‘What business?’

‘Private business. None of your concern.’

‘I think this is all nonsense, Major Anstruther. If you were in such a great hurry to rejoin your regiment, as you claim, then surely you would have gone straight to London. I think you deliberately went in a westerly direction towards Hereford, rather than to the east, as you believed that we would be looking for you on the road to London. Is that not so?’

‘I’ve told you, I had urgent business there,’ retorted Anstruther growing red in the face as he stared at his inquisitor.

‘Why did you leave at such a late hour? Surely you could have waited until the morning?’ observed Ravenscroft, hoping that if he continued with his questioning, his suspect might eventually
be forced to come forward with the truth.

‘I was anxious to get on. I thought if I could get to Hereford by the morning I could conduct my business there, and then catch the London train later in the day.’

‘You could have started earlier in the morning. Travelling by night along unknown country lanes can be quite difficult and dangerous, as I am sure you are aware.’

‘We military men are used to that kind of thing. I knew that if I waited until the morning you would have prevented me from leaving. Damn it, Ravenscroft, you know as well as I do that it is important to do one’s duty. Queen and country and all that. You’re a man of the world; you understand these things. Wasted enough time around here over the past few days,’ replied Anstruther, in a softer tone, hoping to placate his questioner.

‘I think you killed Hollinger in his room, shortly after you both retired for the evening, you discarded your bloodstained clothes, and that you then left in a great hurry before the body was discovered.’

‘That’s not true. I’ve told you I took all my clothes with me. You can check if you so wish,’ interrupted Anstruther.

‘I don’t think you are in the Guards at all. All this nonsense about doing one’s duty,’ continued Ravenscroft. ‘In fact, I am damn certain that you have never been in the army in your life.’

‘I’ve told you before, the directories are at fault. I can’t help it if they have missed my name off the Army List.’

‘My constable here sent a telegram to the Army Office yesterday. They have no record of a Major Anstruther serving in the army at present. It just won’t do. Why don’t you stop all this pretence about being in the Guards, and tell us the truth?’ said Ravenscroft raising his voice.

‘All right! All right, man! For goodness sake, stop going on,’ retorted Anstruther slumping back in his chair.

‘All we require is the truth. If you are not Major Anstruther then who are you?’ said Ravenscroft pressing home his advantage.

‘My name is John Anstruther. You are correct in your assumption. I have never been in the army. In fact I am an actor by profession.’

‘An actor!’ exclaimed Crabb looking up from his notebook.

‘There’s nothing dishonourable in being an actor,’ replied Anstruther speaking in what Ravenscroft noticed to be a much quieter and relaxed tone of voice.

‘Why did you pretend to be a major in the Guards?’ asked Ravenscroft, anxious to know more.

‘You know what people think of actors. I just thought I would play the part of an army major so that the others would look up to me. Be on more of an equal footing, if you see what I mean.’

‘And the rest of it?’

‘Oh, that’s all true. The stranger, Grantly, that dead fellow in the tomb, came to my dressing-room after one of my appearances in London. Said I was a descendant of Sir Roger, and that I should agree to meet all the others outside the abbey, where we would all find where Sir Roger was buried and find a golden goblet he had bought back from the Holy Land.’

‘Ah yes, the golden goblet,’ smiled Ravenscroft.

‘It was all nonsense, of course. I did not believe a word he said. The fellow clearly had a heightened imagination.’

‘If you believed that to be the case, Mr Anstruther, why did you then decide to keep the appointment? Surely a man as busily engaged as yourself on theatrical performances would not have been free to spare the time on such a wanton errand?’ asked Ravenscroft, leaning back in his chair once more.

‘You’re right, of course, Inspector. The truth of the matter is that he paid me.’

‘Paid you, sir?’ asked Crabb.

‘Yes, he paid me ten guineas if I would leave off my run of the play for a few nights, and join the others in the abbey. That’s why I was so anxious to get back to London. I have another performance tomorrow night,’ said Anstruther, adopting a more flamboyant mode of speech.

‘Oh, and what play would that be?’ enquired Ravenscroft.

‘
Richard III
at the Lyceum. I am playing Buckingham to the great Henry Irving’s king. You can check there if you like.’

‘We certainly will. Make a note, Crabb. All this is very well, Anstruther, but it changes nothing. What exactly were you and Hollinger talking about in the snug of the Hop Pole before you retired for the evening?’

‘I can’t remember.’

‘I suggest that you try and remember. It might be important in your defence.’

‘We just talked over the events of the last few days. Wondered when we would be free to leave. That sought of thing.’

‘Did Dr Hollinger mention to you about the inscription?’ asked Ravenscroft leaning forward again.

‘What inscription?’

‘Come now, Anstruther, you know perfectly well what I mean. The inscription on the side of Sir Roger’s tomb.’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ replied the actor, a puzzled expression on his face.

‘Oh I think you do. I think Hollinger told you that he had translated the inscription – and that is why you killed him, so that no one else would know where the treasure was hidden.’

‘Look, this is all nonsense. I don’t know what the blazes you are talking about. I had no reason to kill Hollinger.’

‘And the bloodstained shirt and trousers?’

‘I’ve told you, I took all my clothes with me.’

‘And what exactly were you doing in Hereford?’

‘I was visiting the theatre there. There may be a chance to play there sometime in the future. Look, now I have answered all your questions, surely you can see that all of this has been some kind of dreadful mistake. If you let me leave and return to London, I’ll say no more about the rough way your officers have treated me,’ said Anstruther, beginning to rise from his chair.

‘I have to tell you, Mr Anstruther, that I am still not satisfied with your answers and that you remain the chief suspect in this affair. Crabb, escort Mr Anstruther back to his cell. Perhaps another night there might assist you in telling us the truth,’ said Ravenscroft firmly.

‘I’ve told you all I know. I have nothing to do with this murder. You must let me return to London. This is a scandal.’

‘Crabb,’ instructed Ravenscroft turning away.

‘This way, sir, if you will,’ said Crabb, placing a hand on the actor’s arm.

‘This won’t do, Ravenscroft,’ protested Anstruther brushing away the policeman’s grip. ‘I will summon my lawyer. I warn you, that you have not heard the last of this.’

A few minutes later Crabb returned to the room.

‘Well, Tom, what do you make of all that?’ asked Ravenscroft.

‘Not much. Shifty characters these actors. Can’t believe a word they say.’

‘I must say I am inclined to agree with you, Tom. I don’t feel that he was telling us the truth when he said he was appearing with the great Henry Irving at the Lyceum Theatre in London.’

‘I’ll send a telegram there right away.’

‘Good, then we shall know whether he was telling us the truth, or whether he was just making up the story when we told him that he wasn’t the army man he claimed to be. This story about being a famous actor may yet be another fabrication he was
hoping we would swallow. One way or the other I am holding him in the cells until I get the truth from him. Do you think he killed Hollinger?’ asked Ravenscroft, deep in thought.

‘Looks that way sir – bloodstained clothes in his room, his hasty flight from the inn at midnight, the army knife. Then he was seen by both the landlord and Reverend Jesterson.’

‘Yes it would seem that the man is guilty, but I am not entirely convinced. If you had killed a man in his bedroom why leave the knife behind, then change out of your bloodstained clothes and leave them behind in your own bedroom where they could easily be found? It seems rather a foolish thing to do. Far better to have taken them with you and dispose of them in a river somewhere.’

‘Perhaps he wasn’t thinking straight. Maybe in his panic to leave the town as quickly as possible, he just left them behind,’ suggested Crabb.

‘You could be right. If we assume that Hollinger had been successful in transcribing the inscription on the side of Sir Roger’s tomb, and that he had either told Anstruther what the symbols stood for, or had written it down – and that Anstruther had then killed him to prevent him from telling the others that knowledge – why then did Anstruther decide to go in the opposite direction towards Wales? Surely he would have gone to Meysey Hampton instead?’

‘Meysey what, sir?’ asked a bewildered Crabb.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, Tom. I meant to tell you that Professor Salt managed to solve the puzzle. The strange letters and numbers reveal the words Meysey Hampton. Apparently it’s a village near the town of Fairford in Gloucestershire. It seems as though our Sir Roger may have had some association with the Templar church there.’

‘I see – and you think that Anstruther should have gone there instead of Hereford?’

‘One would have thought so, if he was after the treasure, unless of course he went deliberately in the other direction in order to distract us. To tell you the truth, I don’t know what to think anymore. I do know, however, that I am sure that Mr Anstruther has a lot more to tell us. It is getting late. A night in the cells might persuade him to tell us more. We had better have a word with Miss Eames, Ganniford and Jenkins and insist that they spend another night here. We will also need to step up the search for that Ross fellow in the morning. Let us also send that telegram about Anstruther to the theatre in London – and we had better send out for some food for our prisoner before we return to our homes. We don’t want Anstruther complaining that we have starved him to death.’