The Tewkesbury Tomb (16 page)

‘Could be Hollinger,’ answered Ravenscroft bringing the photograph to his face and scrutinizing it once more.

‘Oh, that’s Hollinger all right,’ said Treaves, returning. ‘Doctor Andreas Hollinger. Good friend of mine. Lost touch with him a few years ago. He went off to Baden-Baden, or somewhere like that, to look after all them invalids. Haven’t seen him since.’

‘Lord Treaves, you have been most helpful to us in our enquiries. If you will now excuse us, sir, we have urgent business to attend to. I wish you good day.’

‘Glad to have been assistance to you. Got to help the authorities these days, if you can. I’d be obliged if you could do something about those damned poachers.’

‘I will endeavour to have a word with the local constabulary,’ said Ravenscroft smiling, as he and Crabb left the room.

‘Well, Tom, this changes everything,’ said Ravenscroft, as the trap made its way down the winding driveway.

‘Strange state of affairs. What was all that about Afghanistan?’ asked Crabb.

‘Well, it certainly appears that Ross lost his life on that shooting party, and that Ganniford, Jenkins, Hollinger,
Anstruther and Miss Eames’s late father were all members of the group who went out shooting that day.’

‘I thought they all said they had never met each other before, except for Ganniford and Jenkins.’

‘That is what they would have us believe. They have sought to spread yet another layer of lies in front of us. It appears, however, that Major Anstruther was a member of Her Majesty’s forces after all, despite the fact that he does not appear in the recent Army Lists. Perhaps he left the army some years ago. That would account for the discrepancy. Why then did he tell us all that nonsense about being an actor? Did he do that to lay a false trail? Thought that if we dug too deeply we would reveal his army connections after all? Or was it just bravado on his part? And what were they all doing on that shooting party? Of course! Treaves said that Ross had deserted his post, intent on saving his own life when his companions were killed by those Afghans!’

‘Go on,’ urged Crabb.

‘Don’t you see, Tom? It was all a question of honour. That is what this has all been about – nothing to do with the old Templar Knight, or golden goblets. We have been following the wrong path all along. A gentleman’s honour! Ross was killed by the other members of the shooting party, because he had left those people to die in Afghanistan all those years ago.’

As Ravenscroft and Crabb alighted from their trap outside The Hop Pole they were met by an anxious Stebbins.

‘Gent gone, sir!’ announced the young boy, waving his arms in the air.

‘Which gent, Stebbins?’ asked Ravenscroft.

‘The miserable one with the long nose.’

‘Jenkins,’ said Crabb.

‘Confound it! When?’ asked an annoyed Ravenscroft.

‘Went after breakfast. Not seen again. Others all in a flap, sir.’

‘So Mr Ganniford and Miss Eames are still here?’

‘Yes.’

‘At least that is something. Do you happen to know where Mr Jenkins went to?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Thank you, Stebbins. If you hear anything about the missing gent be sure to let us know,’ said Ravenscroft, entering the inn.

‘I’ll ask around. Got me scouts here. Have no fear. Him that’s
lost will be found. Leave it to Stebbins, sir,’ smiled the potboy.

‘I sincerely hope so, Stebbins. Where are the others?’

‘In the snug.’

Ravenscroft and Crabb entered the small room.

‘Thank God, Ravenscroft. You’ve heard about Jenkins?’ said Ganniford, rising from his chair, a worried expression on his face.

‘Perhaps you had better tell us what has happened,’ suggested Ravenscroft, giving a brief acknowledgement in Miss Eames’s direction.

‘We all had breakfast together, then Jenkins announced he was going to pay another visit to the abbey and that was the last we saw of him.’

‘Did the gentleman say what time he would return?’ asked Ravenscroft.

‘Mr Jenkins said he would rejoin us for coffee at eleven,’ said a nervous Miss Eames.

‘I see. It is now half past one,’ said Ravenscroft, looking at the old grandfather clock in the corner of the room. ‘Has anyone visited the abbey to see if Mr Jenkins is still there?’

‘After Mr Jenkins failed to join us, we decided to walk over there to see if some misfortune had befallen him,’ replied Miss Eames.

‘That clergyman fellow, Jesterson, was there. Said he had been there all morning and that he had seen no sign of Jenkins visiting the building. Seems he never arrived there. Look, Ravenscroft, you must start a search for Jenkins. This is most unlike him to go off on his own like this. I fear something bad could have happened to him,’ said Ganniford, becoming agitated.

‘Has anyone checked his room?’ asked Ravenscroft.

‘Why … er … no. Didn’t see the point,’ muttered Ganniford.

‘Crabb, go and see if Mr Jenkins has returned to his room, and if not, see whether his possessions have gone,’ instructed Ravenscroft.

‘Don’t be silly. Jenkins would not have left without us.’

‘Nevertheless, that must remain a possibility. We have to follow all lines of enquiry. Did you report this matter to Constable Reynolds?’

‘Your man said he could do nothing until you returned. Where the blazes have you been all morning, Ravenscroft?’ grumbled Ganniford.

‘Did Mr Jenkins say anything to either of you to suggest that he was going away?’ asked Ravenscroft, ignoring the last remark.

‘No, nothing, Inspector,’ said Miss Eames.

‘Nothing. Look, all this is wasting time. Don’t you think you should be organizing a search party? Poor Jenkins could be lying injured in some ditch or other, crying out for aid as we speak.’

‘We know about Ross and the hunting party,’ announced Ravenscroft suddenly.

‘What? Er … I don’t understand,’ replied a startled Ganniford.

‘This morning my constable and I discovered a newspaper account of the death of Mr Charles Ross at a shooting party ten years ago,’ said Ravenscroft, intent on studying the others’ reactions to his words.

‘But Ross is alive. We all saw him at the abbey. I don’t know what you are talking about,’ protested Ganniford, turning away.

‘It may interest you both to know that we have just visited Lord Treaves at his country residence. He remembers that particular weekend when one of his guests was shot whilst out hunting. He also showed me an interesting photograph of his house party taken at the time. Not only were Major Anstruther and Dr Hollinger present that weekend, but also yourself and Mr
Jenkins – and your father, Miss Eames.’

‘My father?’ asked the startled lady.

‘We know all about the attack by the Afghans and how Captain Ross deserted his post,’ said Ravenscroft firmly, anxious to press home his advantage.

‘This is all gibberish. Don’t know what you are talking about,’ protested Ganniford.

‘The photograph does not lie. What were you all doing there the weekend that Ross was killed?’

‘Mr Jenkins is not in his room, sir,’ said Crabb suddenly entering the room.

‘And what of his possessions?’

‘Still there. Nothing has been taken.’

‘So, Mr Jenkins did not decide to return to London on his own account.’

‘When are you going to start the search?’ asked Ganniford, becoming more agitated and growing red in the face.

‘When you and Miss Eames start telling us the truth,’ retorted Ravenscroft.

‘Nothing to tell.’

‘Oh, but I think there is a lot to tell, Mr Ganniford. From the start of this investigation you and your friends had us believe that you first met up with one another at the abbey here in Tewkesbury, when in fact all of you, with the exception of Miss Eames, had been present at the shooting party at Lord Treaves’s home ten years ago. All that nonsense about six strangers meeting for the first time was just pure invention. What exactly did happen all those years ago? How did Ross die? Was it really an accident – or did you all conspire to end the poor man’s life – and if so, why?’ said Ravenscroft, confronting Ganniford full in the face.

‘It was not like that,’ muttered Ganniford, turning away.

‘Then what was it like, Mr Ganniford? And you, Miss Eames, you must have known that your father was one of the members of the shooting party? Colonel Eames and Major Hollinger belonged to the same regiment as Charles Ross, and Charles Ross had deserted his post leaving his men, women and children to be slaughtered by the Afghans. That is what all this has been about. A point of honour. Ross was shot as a point of honour – killed because he had deserted his post and bought disgrace upon his regiment,’ said Ravenscroft, raising his voice.

‘We must tell Inspector Ravenscroft the truth, Nathaniel. We cannot hold out any longer,’ said Miss Eames imploringly, looking into Ganniford’s eyes.

‘Well, Mr Ganniford, are you going to tell us the truth? May I remind you that two of your party are already dead, murdered by an unknown hand, and that a further two members are now missing.’

‘All right, all right. Yes, yes, we were all there that weekend, but it is not the way you see it,’ said Ganniford.

‘Please go on,’ urged Ravenscroft.

‘We all knew what Ross had done – a despicable act – cowardice of the first order. You are correct when you say that Colonel Eames and Major Anstruther belonged to the same regiment as Ross. What you don’t know is that both Jenkins and I had younger brothers who had also been members of the regiment. My own brother was not above eighteen years of age. A mere boy, cut down by those barbarous tribesmen. Ross was in charge that day. He could have saved them, but instead he decided to save his own neck and deserted his post,’ said Ganniford with bitterness.

‘And Dr Hollinger?’ asked Ravenscroft.

‘His wife and daughter were also there that day. The girl was just three years of age. Three years of age! An innocent child left
to die in that God-forsaken land. My God, Ravenscroft, if you had known what those murdering cutthroats did to them, you would not be standing there today so righteously passing judgement on us.’

‘I am not passing judgement, Mr Ganniford. I am merely seeking to ascertain the truth. So that is why you all attended Lord Treaves’s party that weekend.’

‘We knew that Ross would be there. Our first response was to refuse the invitation, to have nothing more to do with the blackguard, but then there was the regiment’s honour to consider. We owed it to the souls of all those dead men, women and children to confront the man.’

‘So you shot him whilst out hunting, and made it look like an accident.’

‘No, it was not like that. We certainly wanted Ross to pay, but not that way. Death would have been the easy way out for him. We wanted to bring ruin and disgrace on him and his family, make him acknowledge his cowardly actions, to atone for what he had done, but then he cheated us all in the end. Managed to shoot himself whilst climbing over the fence before we could confront him. What justice was there in that?’

‘We only have your word for it that Ross died as the result of an accident,’ said Ravenscroft.

‘You have my word as a gentleman. The others will confirm what I have said.’

‘You know that is not possible, sir. Major Anstruther and Dr Hollinger are both dead. Colonel Eames has passed away. That only leaves Mr Jenkins, and he has now gone missing.’

‘Then you will have to accept what I have told you. Certainly we wanted to avenge the deaths of those men, women and children, and to confront Ross with his cowardly actions, but, as I said, the man cheated us. Couldn’t look after his own gun
properly,’ said Ganniford sarcastically. ‘The stupid man managed to shoot himself in the face whilst climbing over that fence. You may think differently, Inspector, but you will have the deuce to prove otherwise.’

‘So why did you all decide to meet again after all these years?’ asked Ravenscroft, relieved that he had at last secured the truth.

‘After Ross’s death, there was nothing else we could do. The matter was closed. The regiment’s honour had been preserved. We all went our separate ways, except for Jenkins and myself, who had known one another for some years. Then we were all contacted individually by that man Crosbie, who told us we were all descendants of that de la Pole fellow. The rest you know.’

‘You must have felt some unease when you discovered on arrival at the abbey that the other members turned out to be Hollinger and Anstruther?’

‘Yes. When Jenkins and myself first met you, my dear lady, the name Eames was familiar to us, but we considered that perhaps you were no relation of our Colonel Eames. When we saw that Hollinger and Anstruther were waiting for us outside the abbey, we thought it best to maintain appearances and create the impression that we had not met before.’

‘And Ross? That must have been a shock?’ asked Ravenscroft.

‘At first when the man appeared outside the abbey, he was wearing a large hat which partially obscured his face, and even when he said his name was Ross I thought he must have been someone else with the same name. Then he was gone, disappeared into the darkness of the abbey and we saw him no more. It was only later that evening, when we were talking together, that we all realized that the man was indeed Ross – but then he could not have been, because we had all been there, the day that he died.’

‘Tell me, Mr Ganniford, can you be absolutely certain that the
dead man all those years ago was in fact Charles Ross? Could another person have been shot by mistake? The inquest stated that the side of his face was blown away. His features must have been unrecognizable, but you all assumed it was Ross. Perhaps Ross was not there at all that weekend, and that someone else had taken his place?’

‘No, it was definitely Ross. Although Jenkins, and myself had never met Ross before that weekend, he was known to Colonel Eames and Anstruther, as they were both members of the regiment. When we came across the body, although the face was gone, we all knew it was Ross, same clothes and stature, there was no doubting it.’

‘So who was the man at the abbey if it wasn’t Ross?’ asked Crabb, looking up from his notebook.

‘I don’t know, but the more I think about it the more I believe that it was Ross. I cannot understand it; dead men don’t return from the grave, do they, Ravenscroft?’ said Ganniford, reclaiming his armchair and mopping his sweating brow with a large handkerchief.

‘Miss Eames, can you add anything to what Mr Ganniford has just told us?’ asked Ravenscroft turning towards the lady.

‘I am afraid not, Inspector. I knew nothing of these past affairs until after that night in the abbey.’

‘Did your father ever mention to you the events of that weekend?’

‘I remember his visit to Lord Treaves, but he said nothing about what had transpired when he returned home.’

‘Did your father ever talk about the massacre in Afghanistan?’ continued Ravenscroft.

‘No. My mother and I were at home in Ludlow when my father was in India with his regiment. He considered that it would be better if we remained in England. When he and his
regiment returned home, he spoke very little of his days in India and Afghanistan. He retired some years ago. I am sorry that I cannot help you further.’

‘Thank you, Miss Eames. It is a pity, Mr Ganniford, that you and your companions weren’t more forthcoming when I first interviewed you all. If we had learned the truth at the start of this investigation, the lives of Major Anstruther and Dr Hollinger might have been saved.’

‘You don’t know that, man,’ retorted an indignant Ganniford. ‘You don’t know that at all.’

‘If you will both excuse me, I must put into operation the search for Mr Jenkins. The sooner he is found, the better it will be for all of us. Come, Crabb. Good day to you both.’

‘If only we had known all about Ross’s death, we would not have been led astray by all that nonsense about missing golden goblets,’ sighed Ravenscroft, as he sank into his chair in the police station in Tewkesbury.

‘That is why they all came here,’ said Crabb, taking the other chair.

‘Yes. They all believed they were descendants of Sir Roger de la Pole and that if they came to Tewkesbury they would each stand to have a share in the old Templar’s treasure once it was retrieved. We now know that Crosbie was merely using the story to bring them all to the town – but why, Tom? What was his purpose in reuniting the members of the hunting party after all these years?’

‘And two of them are now dead,’ added Crabb.

‘Exactly, and we must not forget that there was another victim, Crosbie himself, who was hit over the head and left in the open tomb. Whoever is behind all this must have been in league with Crosbie right from the start, and once Crosbie had performed his
role in bringing the members of the hunting party together, he was of no further use to our murderer and disposed of in a cowardly fashion. But why? Why, Tom?’