A Case of Doubtful Death (40 page)

‘Have you examined Mr Darscot’s walking cane?’ asked Frances.

‘The police have it now.’

‘And do they think it is capable of breaking a man’s skull?’

‘That is the one difficulty,’ said Mr Rawsthorne. ‘Young Darscot’s walking cane is of the light decorative variety favoured by fashionable young men. Not only is it incapable of inflicting the wounds found on the deceased, it is quite the wrong shape. Dr Bonner’s stick, however, is a far more sturdy object. There are no bloodstains on it, but the police are assuming it has been well cleaned. But Dr Bonner is adamant that he did not strike Palmer with anything.’

‘I have interviewed Dr Bonner on a number of occasions,’ said Frances, ‘and like so many medical men, he is able to dissemble with great ease. I do believe, however, that Dr Mackenzie deceived him as to the true reason for his wanting to leave London. If I were you, I would place a watch on Mr Darscot and ensure that if he is bailed, he does not try to escape.’

‘There’s any number of good detectives about Bayswater who would do that,’ said Wheelock. ‘I shall see about employing one.’

Later that day, Frances attended the Marylebone magistrates’ court to see Mr Darscot, assisted by his solicitor, the sour and surly Mr Marsden, granted bail on all charges. As he was hurried away in a cab, she sent Tom to follow on with instructions to place a watch on wherever he went and then report back.

As she left the court, Frances was approached by Mr Gillan.

‘Well done, Miss Doughty, even for getting that slippery fellow this far. I take it you are aware of his true identity?’

‘I am not,’ said Frances. ‘I had no idea he had another one.’

‘He has several and this is not the first time I have seen him in such a situation, although the last time he was calling himself Dalton, and he was operating in East Marylebone with a series of petty thefts and swindles. He got six months on that occasion.’

‘Do the police know this is the same man?’ demanded Frances.

‘Not yet, but they will do when I have spoken to them in about two minutes from now. An interesting customer, his specialty is being the sociable helpful type, and getting to know unsuspecting people. Next moment he is their new bosom friend, playing on their weaknesses and borrowing money they won’t see again.’

‘What about blackmail?’ asked Frances.

‘He’s never yet been caught out in that, but it suits his style.’

‘And moneylending?’

‘Oh, I can’t see him up to that. He spends money on styling himself up to look the gentleman, but after that it’s all hand to mouth with him.’

‘He told me that he had lent £
500
to Dr Mackenzie about a year ago,’ said Frances.

To her discomfiture, Gillan laughed. ‘I doubt he has ever had such a sum in his hands, especially not a year ago when he must just have come out of prison. And even if he had, he wouldn’t have lent it to someone else. No, with that fellow the money all goes in one direction. Now if you’ll excuse me, I am about to have a word in someone’s ear.’

O
n the way home Frances was deep in thought. If Gillan was correct then Darscot had never, as he claimed, lent Mackenzie £
500
. What if she removed the £
500
loaned by Darscot to Mackenzie entirely from the story, as if it had never existed or even been needed in the first place. What followed? She suddenly realised that this made the situation very much simpler. Now there were not two lots of £
500
but one, and instead of Mackenzie needing £
1
,
000
to settle his debts, he only needed £
500
, the money he took from the Life House and had tried to pay back.

But if Darscot had not loaned Mackenzie £
500
, why was he insisting that he had? Again the answer was that there was only the one sum of £
500
. Darscot had blackmailed Mackenzie and demanded £
500
from him, and Mackenzie had had to steal the money from the Life House accounts. The fact that Mackenzie had tried unsuccessfully to take money a second time, suggested that Darscot had renewed his demands. It wasn’t a loan repayment that Darscot had been after at all, but blackmail money. No wonder he had been angry when he thought his quarry was pretending to be dead to avoid paying him.

But what was the subject of the blackmail? There were the Erlichmann revelations, but Frances didn’t see how Darscot could have known about them, and in any case, the original blackmail had taken place a year ago before the danger had become known. The only other possible subject that Frances knew about was the scandal concerning Madeleine Carmichael. But even if the journal had fallen into Darscot’s hands, how would he have been able to make the connection between Dr Mackenzie and something written twenty years ago concerning events in Edinburgh? Given what Frances had been told about the lady it seemed most unlikely that her journal would be in any way explicit about her sufferings, and Mackenzie, even if mentioned, was not an uncommon surname in Scotland.

Tom reported that Darscot had returned to his rooms at the Piccadilly Club and had not strayed out since. His only visitors had been the club manager and his solicitor, Mr Marsden. Dr Carmichael had moved out into some nearby lodgings, which he had taken for a week.

Chas and Barstie arrived with more news, and a little embarrassed that they had not previously known anything about the devious Mr Darscot, or Dalton, or whatever other name he used.

‘This is his longest sojourn in Bayswater,’ said Chas, ‘and very probably his last, even if he can wriggle out of this latest escapade. Have no fear, if he is acquitted we will have our eyes on him in future!’

‘But it seems he is about to turn legitimate,’ said Barstie, ‘or what counts as legitimate in his circles. Mr Darscot is the new owner of the Life House.’

‘But how can that be? He has no funds,’ exclaimed Frances. ‘I know he has made a claim on the estate, but that is far from settled and in my opinion, never will be.’

‘A small payment on account has been made and the papers will be completed very soon,’ said Chas. ‘And when I find out how he has managed it, I will want to try it for myself.’

‘Then you should have the opportunity of finding out,’ said Frances. ‘I would like you to call on him. Find out as much as you can about his interests; also if he has a journal which once belonged to a Madeleine Carmichael. If he does, he might be willing to sell it.’

Chas and Barstie had no difficulty in obtaining an interview with Mr Darscot, the details of which they reported to Frances the following day.

They had found Darscot sitting alone in his room at the Piccadilly Club with a bottle of brandy. He was quiet, but neither drunk nor despondent.

‘What can I do for you gentlemen?’

‘This is in the nature of a business call,’ said Chas. ‘We have heard that you have been experiencing a little difficulty and were wondering if there was any service we might perform for you.’

Darscot looked wary, but waved them both to some chairs and offered brandy, which they declined.

‘It is true that I have been accused of a number of misdemeanours,’ he said casually, ‘but as you see, I am a free man, and my solicitor has advised me, although at exorbitant cost, that he will be able to clear me of any suspicion.’

‘You are not intending to leave Bayswater?’ asked Barstie.

‘No, it is best if I remain here. A sudden departure would not help my reputation, and in any case, all my business interests are here, and I am very comfortable. The manager has been to see me in some anxiety on that point; he seemed to imagine that I was about to pack my bags and leave. I have mollified him with assurances that I intend to remain, and what weighed with him far more, I paid my rent up to date. He is now satisfied.’

‘I have heard that you have recently purchased an interest in a business hereabouts,’ said Chas.

‘Your spies are most efficient.’

‘Thank you.’

‘But, it will be some days before the papers are completed, indeed if they ever are, as this latest difficulty may cause a delay and it could be some weeks before I can turn my new property to any useful account.’ He poured himself another brandy. ‘I have to confess that securing an interest in the Life House has temporarily exhausted all my means. If you really wish to perform a service for me, then you could lend me £
100
.’

Chas affected to consider the matter. ‘That is a useful sum and while we are not prepared to lend it to you, we might offer to make a purchase.’

‘That is very kind,’ said Darscot, in some surprise, ‘but I am not aware that I have anything that might be worth that sum to you. I am not yet in a position to sell an interest in the Life House, although we might come to some arrangement over that, but it would not come to fruition for some time and I am in need of the funds rather sooner.’

‘Do you not own any other properties?’ asked Barstie.

‘There are rumours that I do and I am sure I don’t know where such ideas come from, but I regret that I do not.’

‘Papers, then,’ said Chas. ‘I have heard that you may be the possessor of valuable documents.’

‘Am I?’ Darscot took a substantial swig from his brandy glass. ‘I wish I were.’

‘Let me be more specific,’ said Chas in a firmer tone. ‘A Dr Carmichael, who has until recently been lodging at the Piccadilly Club, claims that you have something which belongs to him and which he is most anxious to recover.’

Darscot gave a snort of amusement. ‘Then you have been misled. I can assure you, gentlemen, I have nothing belonging to Dr Carmichael. If I did, I would be most happy for him to have it. Obviously, I would appreciate a small consideration for my trouble.’

‘Then if the item is not in your possession, it may be in the possession of an associate of yours,’ Barstie suggested.

‘I do not have any associates. And if this item even exists, I know nothing of it.’

Chas and Barstie looked at each other. ‘Perhaps I might jog your memory,’ said Barstie. ‘The item, according to Dr Carmichael, takes the form of a journal composed by his late sister. He believes that it was stolen from him by a friend of yours, which is how it came into your possession. The journal, understandably, has very considerable sentimental value.’

Darscot began to laugh heartily. ‘Oh, I know what all this is about now! I recall a conversation with Carmichael, but that was a year ago when he made his first visit to London. The gentleman is an unwise talker in his cups and he became very maudlin about this saintly sister of his – who in my opinion was no better than she should have been – and how she had been mistreated by Dr Mackenzie who, it seems, was her lover. He was angry that a man he regarded as a monstrous scoundrel was now a respected person in Bayswater and he wished there was some proof of this so that he could denounce him.’

‘But surely the journal was the proof,’ said Barstie.

Darscot laughed again. ‘Oh, he would have
liked
there to have been a journal, but there was none.’

‘Dr Carmichael believes there is and he is very anxious to find it.’

Darscot leaned back in his chair, his good humour unabated. ‘If you have had any dealings with him at all, you will know that the man is a fool. It was a joke, that was all, but he must have taken it seriously. After a few whiskies he said how sorry he was there were no papers to prove his suspicions and how he wished he could conjure them into existence. So I said that as it was a good cause, bringing a scoundrel to justice, he might consider doing just that.’

‘You mean forging what he needed?’ said Chas.

‘Yes – well as I have said, it was just a joke. He had a letter of his sister’s that he always carried about with him, so a clever forger could have copied the hand, and of course he knew details of the family and events, which he could have imparted to make the content convincing. Maybe he
did
approach someone, but it wasn’t me. I have no skills in that area and do not know anyone who does.’ He waggled the brandy bottle at them again, but they shook their heads. ‘So gentlemen, I wish I could oblige you, as I would find £
100
a very useful sum of money to have in my possession at the moment, but if that is what you require, I am unable to help.’ He paused. ‘You don’t know a Mr Horton, do you? Used to be a member here before he was asked to leave, and then died in a drunken fall. I promised his sister I would help her look after his affairs, but she has been unable to discover where he lodged.’