A Case of Doubtful Death (15 page)

‘That is correct.’

‘So,’ said Frances, ‘even if Mr Palmer had not taken the bag and it was still in the office, Mr Darscot could not have taken it; in fact, he would never have been in a position to see it was there.’

‘Yes.’

‘And the next person to arrive was Mr Hemsley? Through the main door?’

‘Yes, only …’ Bonner looked thoughtful.

‘Only?’

‘Really,’ he said with a regretful shake of the head, ‘this is so hard to remember, but I think that if Dr Mackenzie’s bag had ever been in the office that night it was not there when Hemsley arrived. While I was waiting for him I felt rather – well, familiar as I am with the sight of death, it is different when it is an old friend and it happens so suddenly. I was upset and felt in need of a little stimulant, and there is a small bottle of brandy we keep in the office, for occasions when people feel faint. So I sat down at the desk and took a small quantity to steady my nerves. I recall seeing Dr Mackenzie’s overcoat hanging up on the hook and thinking that I would never see him come through that door again. I am sure that if the bag had been there I would have seen it.’

Frances nodded. She could only conclude that either the bag had never been there or that Palmer had taken it, but neither Mrs Georgeson, nor Mary Ann, nor Mr Trainor had mentioned Palmer arriving at the house with a bag.

‘Mr Fairbrother, you were not there at any time that evening?’

He put his cup down. ‘No, I was attending a lecture.’

‘Do you have keys to the Life House?’

‘No, I go there in the company of Dr Bonner, who has keys.’

There was nothing more to be learned and Frances returned home and wrote a note to Inspector Gostelow at Kilburn police station, describing Dr Mackenzie’s missing bag and saying that she thought Palmer might have been carrying it when he left the Life House. She also wrote to Walter Crowe with the information and Walter sent her a message very soon afterwards, saying that he would spend every minute scouring the area between the Life House and Mrs Georgeson’s for the bag. Frances had very little hope that it would be found. The police had already searched very thoroughly for anything of note and found nothing, and a worn bag lost on the
21
st of September was likely to have been found, emptied of anything of value, thrown onto a rubbish heap and taken away long ago.

Sarah had learned nothing more about Mrs Pearson’s missing maid, and seeing that Frances was despondent about her lack of progress tried to interest her in a slice of apple pie, without success. Frances took out her notebook again and studied it. ‘What do you think that word is?’ she asked, pointing to her copy of the illegible word in Dr Stuart’s letter.

Sarah regarded it from several angles. ‘Blowed if I know.’

‘Dr Bonner thought it was “Books”.’

Sarah stared at it again. ‘No that’s never “Books”. Where’s the ‘s’ on the end?’

‘Or just “book” I suppose.’

‘If that’s two ‘o’s in the middle, they’re the funniest ones
I
ever saw.’

‘Whatever it was didn’t arrive,’ said Frances. ‘A parcel of some sort.’

‘Or a person. That could be a name. Anyway, I don’t see why we’re puzzling our heads over it. Why not write to this Dr Stuart and ask him?’

‘I will,’ said Frances. She felt impatient for a reply and at first considered sending a telegram, but on reflection decided that a peremptory demand for information from a complete stranger might not be received favourably and she would do better to use a little more leisure in which she might both introduce and explain herself. She took notepaper and ink and wrote a letter, took it to the postbox and then ate a slice of apple pie.

A
t St Stephen’s Church on Sunday morning the Reverend Day once again appealed to the congregation for information about Henry Palmer. There was an atmosphere of silent regret. All present would have done their utmost to help if they could, but no one had seen the missing man and no one apart from his sister believed him to still be alive. Dr Mackenzie’s bag was also described, with the suggestion that Palmer might have been carrying it. Reverend Day said that he would be happy to speak privately to any person willing to come forward, or ladies might prefer to call on Miss Doughty. Once again there was no stir in the congregation, no sign that anyone had guilty knowledge. After the service many people, strangers to Frances, came to wish her success and commiserate with Walter, who told Frances that the same announcements had been made in other churches too, and someone, he was sure, must have seen something.

It was too cold and wet to take a walk after church, so that afternoon Frances and Sarah contented themselves with some reading. The approved literature for the Sabbath was of a religious nature and Frances often used that quiet time to think of her family, and offer the kind of private prayers that she somehow felt were best made when away from a crowd, but on that day she managed to persuade herself that Friedrich Erlichmann’s pamphlet, which considered the nature of life and death, was acceptable material on which to focus her thoughts. Sarah, who had located a booklet describing cases of doubtful death in melodramatic detail, perused it with interest and a complete lack of guilt.

The enthusiastic journalism of Mr Gillan had ensured that it was a matter of public knowledge throughout the whole of Bayswater that Frances Doughty, the celebrated lady detective, was engaged in the search for the missing Henry Palmer. The result was the arrival of a flood of messages recommending actions that she had already pursued, theories which she had already thought of, suggestions as to where Palmer might be which emanated from the imaginative brain of correspondents who knew nothing of the man’s character, offers to find him on the payment of a substantial sum of money, and recommendations for fortune tellers and mystics.

The information that Frances would take commissions to find missing persons had also excited a confidence that she was able to succeed, and she received several letters asking for her help and saw two new clients. The wife of a printer’s assistant, who had not been seen for a week, had come to see Frances in a state of both emotional and financial distress. The woman was just twenty-nine years of age, had seven children and was soon to become a mother again. Her husband, who had, when sober, claimed to welcome the impending addition to his family, had, after a glass or two of beer, expressed the hope that either his wife or the child, or preferably both, would not survive the accouchement. The unfortunate woman sat in Frances’ parlour and wept and Frances gazed at her hopelessly and wondered if she could ever find the man, and if she did, whether returning him to his family would be a good or a bad thing for them. Frances promised that she would do what she could and assigned the investigation to her eager assistant, who implied with a grim expression that the husband, once safe in the bosom of his family, would devote himself uncomplainingly to meeting his responsibilities.

A harassed mother next brought in a red-faced blubbering girl who said she had lost her puppy dog, Rosie, in Hyde Park, an animal that was apparently the most beautiful and affectionate puppy dog in the whole world. They seemed to expect that Frances would either spend all available hours running about Hyde Park in search of the dog, or produce it by some form of conjuring trick. Frances decided to ask Tom if he could look for it, half dreading that he would find it and then she would be expected to find every lost animal in Bayswater.

The only comforting event was the satisfactory conclusion of the enquiries on behalf of the gentleman of means into the
bona
fides
of the applicant for a business partnership. Chas and Barstie had greeted the information Frances had provided with some hilarity, as the name was one of several aliases used by a rogue who was currently wanted for misappropriation of funds in more than one country. The personal description of the individual and his method of address confirmed the identification. They supplied a list of questions to be put to the applicant by Frances’ client, together with the anticipated replies, which would entirely satisfy him of the attempted deception. They added, however, that the client was not himself without blemish and it was up to him, after discovering the applicant’s true identity, whether he had him arrested, or entered into a profitable business agreement based on mutual understanding. Frances did not convey this last comment to the client, who was suitably grateful, and promised early and generous settlement of the account.

The next morning Frances received a visit from Walter Crowe, who was in a state of very great excitement. He was bearing a rank-smelling object wrapped in brown paper, and was breathless and perspiring. ‘Miss Doughty, I think I have found it! Dr Mackenzie’s bag! Of course, in all my previous searches I had not been looking for such an item – rather a – well, to be frank with you I had anticipated finding a body – but early this morning I was walking along the canal side near the gasworks and saw something floating and pulled it out, and here it is!’

Sarah took one look at the parcel and grimaced.

‘Let us take it down to the basement,’ said Frances, and Walter, who was cradling his find as if it was an adored infant, agreed and they hurried down the stairs and outside, where he laid it reverently on top of the ashbin. Frances was less excited than her visitor, largely because she half expected to see something that would not prove to be the missing bag, but as the paper was pulled back she saw a wet, crumpled object, scuffed and scratched brown leather, and a handle with its leather covering split and bound about with cord.

‘Well Mr Crowe, you have done wonders,’ said Frances, examining the bag. ‘Have you opened it?’

He shook his head. ‘No. Of course I wanted to, but I thought it would be best done before a witness.’

‘I agree.’ Frances’ first impulse was to take the bag straight to Kilburn police station, but she was concerned that having handed it to the police she would be thanked politely and it would be taken away, and she would never see inside it. She opened the clasp, which to her surprise parted without any difficulty, and pulled the bag open. The contents proved to be very disappointing; a shirt and a change of underlinen, neither of which were new, and a gentleman’s shaving requisites, a brush and razor of very inexpensive manufacture but apparently unused, and a pot of shaving soap, unopened. After a very thorough search, feeling all about the lining, hoping for a hidden pocket or compartment, Frances had to admit herself defeated. She asked Sarah to fetch a map and Crowe showed her exactly where he had found the bag.

‘What do you think I ought to do?’ he asked.

‘I think that it should be taken to the police. Let them know where it was found and they will pursue their enquiries.’

Walter, who had hoped for some wonderful revelation, a startling clue that would lead him to the missing man, looked very despondent as he left.

‘It seems to me,’ said Frances, as she and Sarah washed the stench of the canal from their hands, ‘that the items found in the bag show that Dr Mackenzie
was
intending to go away on the night he died, although it would only have been for a short while. Unless of course they are merely the things he always kept in that bag. For a longer absence he would have had to purchase more when he arrived.’

‘But there was no money,’ said Sarah.

‘There might have been a pocket book with money in his coat. Or if there was money in the bag any thief could have taken it and then thrown the bag in the canal.’ Frances brought out her map and studied it. ‘It was found by the towpath alongside the gasworks. Hardly any distance from the Life House. If Palmer had taken it, there would easily have been time for him to throw it in on his way to Mrs Georgeson’s. But why would he do such a thing? Maybe he was protecting Dr Mackenzie’s reputation by taking something from the bag and hiding it.’

Sarah shook her head. ‘Whoever put the bag there didn’t do it the night Dr Mackenzie died. That bag has never been in the water a fortnight. It was a good stout bag once all right, but the leather is that thin and worn in places, it would have been more soaked than it was. A day or two at most I would say.’