Maxim Jakubowski - The Best British Mysteries III

Then, looking at the deflated, trembling man, he decided that, if ever any evidence untainted by afterthoughts was to be obtained it had better be before the bishop was taken away to recover.

‘Sir, your reverence, my lord, could you just tell me what happened? You’d not been in the tent here for as much as a minute – I happened to notice you arriving with – that is, I happened to notice you arriving – before I heard that loud cry, anguished it was, yes, anguished.’

‘Very well, I – I’ll try.’

He managed to look up.

‘I – I – I – He took one of his lozenges, soda-mint lozenges. We’d come back for… Old Belcher for once forgot… He took one from – from that little – that tin he has. And – and – one crunch and – and he gave that terrible cry and was dead. I – I know very well when a soul has gone to the Great Father of us all. My sad task, clergyman… Often at the bedside…’

‘Thank you, your Rev- Grace, my Lord. That was most helpful.’

PC Williams consulted the big silver watch from his pocket, pulled out his notebook, wrote ponderously for a little. Then, stepping to the door of the tent, but not a foot further, he blew his whistle to call for assistance.

So it was that at noon next day Detective Inspector Thompson, shrewd-faced, grey-haired, upright, found himself standing in front of the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, summoned to give an account of his investigation of an affair all but dominating that morning’s newspapers from the stately Morning Post down.

‘I’m afraid it’s going to be a nasty business, sir,’ he said, ‘Baffling, the Daily Mail called it.’

‘I dare say it did, Inspector. But you’re a Scotland Yard officer and we are not baffled at Scotland Yard. I require you to bring the matter to a conclusion in the shortest possible time. Damn it, man, from what I understand the possible suspects inside the locked gates of Lord’s cricket ground comprise almost every member of the Upper Ten Thousand, Dukes and Earls and Cabinet Ministers among them. Unless – certainly the best possible outcome – you find your man is some disgruntled person from the free seats.’

‘Not any chance of that, sir, I’m sorry to say. The luncheon tent in which the tragedy occurred was under the eye all morning of PC Williams, from the Albany Street station, a man I once had under my command. A thoroughly reliable fellow. If anyone unauthorised entered that tent at any time Williams will have seen them. I can promise you that.’

The commissioner puffed out a huge sigh of relief.

‘Well, that would seem to eliminate the majority of the spectators,’ he said. ‘The Cabinet Ministers along with the riff-raff from the free seats.’

He sat in thought for a few moments. Then looked up, eyes bright with hope.

‘The waiters,’ he exclaimed. ‘There’ll have been two or three of them at least in that tent, and you get some pretty dubious characters among such people nowadays with so many unemployed about, a good many of them resentful and undisciplined.’

‘Looking into them was one of my first tasks, sir. And I can say with assurance that both of them – they numbered only two, as a matter of fact – have been vouched for. Elderly men, in service with the catering firm in question from before the war and too old to have been called to the colours.’

The commissioner, who was in full uniform, picked up his leather-covered swagger-stick from the desk in front of him, appeared to give it a close scrutiny and then replaced it.

‘Tell me, Inspector,’ he said. ‘Have I got the situation right? Mr Boultbee died as the result of – ha – ingesting what appeared to be a common soda-mint lozenge – good God, I take the things myself on occasion – but which had been treated with a poison. Do we yet know what particular substance it was? Eh?’

‘No, sir, we don’t. None of the four remaining mints in the tin have proved to be other than what they ought to be, and – and we shan’t know precisely what was in the gentleman’s stomach until further tests have been carried out. But, as you will know, sir, it is by no means impossible for a determined murderer to get hold of what they need. A visit to some chemist’s shop at a distance, a false signature in the Poisons Book, it’s altogether too easy.’

‘Yes. Very well, Inspector. I suppose our man… Unless, by God, it’s a woman. Poison’s a woman’s weapon, you know. There were ladies present, weren’t there?’

‘Yes, sir. Miss Julia Hogsnorton, younger daughter of Earl Hogsnorton -’

‘Well, I don’t believe… No, perhaps we should bear that young lady in mind. Now I come to think of it, I’ve heard she’s rather wild like a lot of young women these days. What they’re calling the post-war generation. But who was the other lady there?’

‘Mrs Mary Andrews, sir, wife of Captain Vyvyan Andrews, who was also present of course.’

‘Hm. Anything known, eh?’

‘No, sir. A thoroughly respectable lady, sir. However, there is one circumstance that may be relevant.’

‘Well, let’s hear, man. Let’s hear it.’

‘Mrs Andrews is employed in the office of Mr Boultbee, sir. She works as a filing clerk. Something of a sinecure post, sir, I’ve gathered. Captain Andrews is one of the casualties of the War, sir, a victim, as I understand from his doctor, of neurasthenia arising from his experiences in the trenches and no man’s land.’

‘Hm. You seem to have covered a good deal of ground in the last twenty-four hours, Inspector.’

For a moment the Commissioner looked at his comparatively junior officer with an air of interest.

But it was for a moment only.

‘Very well. So much for the female element. Species more deadly than the male, eh? Rudyard Kipling said that somewhere just last year. We shouldn’t forget it. But who were the gentlemen present at the time?’

‘Well, sir, there is, I suppose, the Bishop of Cirencester…’

‘Ha. Bit of an awkward thing here. I know Rossiter pretty well. First met him, as a matter of fact, on the day of an Eton and Harrow match long ago. He was playing for Eton, a pretty fair bat, and I was, of course, an Harrovian. And, by golly, I took his wicket. Clean bowled him.’

Inspector Thompson watched the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police chuckling.

‘I think, sir,’ he said eventually, ‘that the Bishop can be safely discounted. He did, of course, according to PC Williams’s very thorough evidence, go into the empty tent with Mr Boultbee. But it was apparent to Williams, from the loud cry of agony he heard from where he was stationed not far away, that the poisoning occurred almost as soon as the two of them had entered. And the Bishop was certainly in a state of almost total collapse when Williams saw him immediately afterwards.’

‘Very well, I can take it then I shan’t have to bowl him out again.’

‘No, sir. I don’t think we will need to interview him further. He returned, with his chaplain, to Cirencester, by the first possible train and there took to his bed at the palace.’

‘Ha, poor old Rossy, bowled over if not bowled out, eh? But let’s get on with it Inspector. Let’s get on with it. We neither of us have time to spare today. So have you found out anything about the remaining gentlemen?’

‘Yes, sir. I have. If we’re to go by motive alone, there is a good deal of suspicion attaching to the Hon. Mr Peter Flaxman. And with the confusion there was in the tents as they all left after lunch, which my inquiries have shown must have been when the poisoned lozenge must have somehow been put there for Mr Boultbee to take, it looks as if we may well have to rely simply on what motives the – er – suspects might have.’