The Barker's Dozen - Reminiscences of an Early Police Dog (30 page)

‘Unfortunately my father had suffered another seizure and I did not get to see him. My own dear sister, Caroline, refused to let me even enter the house and shrieking like a harpy ordered some of the servants to throw me off the estate.

‘I was thoroughly frustrated and extremely angry at the way I was being treated so I refused to leave quietly. It took eight of them eventually to subdue me and all of them bore the marks of the struggle. It is with great pleasure that I recall tapping the butler’s claret with a straight left to his nose; I have always found him to be an over-mighty servant.’

‘It took eight of them?’ my master interjected quietly.

‘I did win my blue at boxing,’ Sebastian replied with a certain amount of pride. ‘I did have one ally, the gamekeeper’s
Labrador joined in. I’m not sure if she thought it was only a game but she knocked some of them over.

‘There was only one possible result and I was carried by my hands and feet down the drive before being hurled, at the under-gardener’s suggestion, into the ditch outside the gates. There was nothing to be gained by prolonging the confrontation so I gathered my tattered dignity around myself and went to the station.

‘I remember calling into the Red Lion; I was there for several hours and I admit that I got quite drunk. Inspector Bowman told me that I was very aggressive and made some threats. This was not the behaviour of a gentleman, I agree, but it had been a bad day.

‘My friend O’Brien asked me if I wanted to join his family’s company, even if only on a temporary basis until I managed to persuade my father to reconsider his decision. I was convinced that the old man would think about the affair and realise that he had never asked me for my side of the story. He was, as I have said before, a very fair man.

‘On November the twelfth I saw a paragraph in the
Telegraph
that made me sit up. The brig
Emma
on her way into St Malo had come across some wreckage in the approaches, included a name board identifying it as coming from a ship called the
Gordon and Prudence
. It was assumed that she had foundered suddenly and had taken her crew down with her. This report, on its own, justified my actions. It proved that I had been right to doubt the sea worthiness of the ship and cast real doubts on the judgement of Arrat.

‘Rather than trying to see my father at home I decided to go to our local racecourse where the old man can normally be found on race days. He was inordinately fond of horses, a passion that my sister and her husband never shared. I had every expectation, therefore, of seeing him alone and knew that his innate politeness would force him to listen to me.

‘I came across him being pushed around in a bath chair and politely asked him for a moment of his time in private. With some reluctance he agreed to give me five minutes so I quickly sketched my doubts about the
Gordon and Prudence
and the reasons for my actions. Finally I handed over three pieces of paper; the bill of lading for the
Gordon and Prudence
, the same document for the
Ranee of Bengal
and finally the article from the
Telegraph
.

‘My father read these documents and then reached out and clasped my arm. I will not repeat what we said to each other but it suffices to say that all the bad feelings of recent weeks were quickly laid to rest.

‘We were still talking when Mr MacDonald, the family solicitor, came bustling up; a belligerent set to his features reminiscent of an outraged grouse. It was obvious that he intended to rescue my father from my attentions. His expression changed as he neared and saw my father’s smile.

‘My father summarised my story for Mr MacDonald and showed him those proofs that I had presented. The solicitor was not willing to take anything at face value and asked a few searching questions that would have exposed any falsehood on my part. At last he nodded and offered me his hand. I cannot describe the relief I felt when those two decent men accepted my account.

‘There were a few more minutes of conversation during which my father arranged that Mr MacDonald would come and see him on the sixteenth to reinstate his original will. I was invited to dinner the following evening when my father promised that he would tell the family about my reinstatement. He was definitely of the opinion that my brother-in-law had been deceived by Arrat and was looking forward to working with the two of us to even the account.

‘I returned to
London and spent most of the morning planning the future of the business. I just could not wait to take up my job again and this time I would be able to use the agents I wanted.  In the early afternoon I went to Fortnum’s and purchased a large box of Turkish delight, which was my father’s favourite sweetmeat.

‘I reached the Hall about an hour before dinner and walked into a very tense atmosphere. I had expected that there would be some stiffness as my sister is a proud woman who would find it very hard to apologise, but, for my father’s sake, I was prepared to let the past lie and endeavoured to act as if the previous few months had not happened.

‘The meal was difficult as my sister and her husband seemed to resent my presence and left the table at their earliest opportunity. My father and I retired to the library where we played several games of chess. It was a wonderful evening and by the time I left to return to London I had forged a new and stronger relationship with my father based more on friendship and a mutual respect than previously.

‘I walked back to the station in a good mood and having some time in hand dropped into the Red Lion for a pint or two. It seemed to me that there was definitely something to celebrate. I stayed at the inn for slightly longer than I intended and only just managed to catch a later train.

‘You can imagine my consternation when I received a telegram informing me that my father had been poisoned. I sat in a state of shock for several hours before realising that I was one of the last people to see my father and that the police would need to ask me some questions.

‘I had just sent my man out with a cable asking Mr Macdonald to arrange for me to see the investigating officer when a large, loud, officious and generally obnoxious individual came barrelling into my study accompanied by two uniformed constables. I had only time enough to confirm my name before I was clapped into handcuffs and literally thrown into a police van.

‘After several hours in a cell the same charming gentleman came to see me and informed me that I was under arrest for the wilful murder of my father. I protested my innocence and he slapped me hard over the face. The suddenness of this assault silenced me and I was dumbstruck when he lent towards me and said in a chilling whisper, “I know you are guilty, it is self evident that you killed your father. You cosseted, work shy aristocrats think you are so much better than the likes of us normal folk and it will give me pleasure to see you hanged, and hang you will.”

‘It was an absolute nightmare; no words of mine would persuade him that I was innocent. There was no evidence that I could produce that he could not twist into another proof of my guilt. Inspector Bowman never questioned me about the events of that terrible day: he would just tell me his version of events and try to force me into signing a confession.’

Sebastian paused for several minutes and then said quietly, in a voice ragged with suppressed emotion, ‘Inspector, please find out who murdered my father.’

There was something terribly noble about the Honourable Lloyd Carney and I could not believe that he was a self-serving patricide. I looked at my master and Sergeant Allen and could see that they had both reached the same conclusion.

‘Thank you, Mr Lloyd-Carney, ‘my master said gently. ‘I will be investigating the case properly and will talk to you again soon. In the meantime if your solicitor wants to apply for you to be released on bail I will raise no objections.’

Sergeant Allen summoned a constable who escorted the Honourable Lloyd-Carney from the room. For a few minutes your uncle and the Sergeant sat quietly summarising their observations of the interview into their pocket books. It was a basic rule of my master’s that all the police officers involved in a case recorded their observations before discussing anything with their colleagues.

‘Sergeant, I would be obliged if you would contact Mr Macdonald and ask him if he could meet me at the Red Lion. I would suggest that six o’clock would be convenient,’ my master capped his pen and replaced it in his pocket. ‘While you are doing that I think I should warn the boss that the press are going to have a good time at our expense when this case finally comes to court.’

We travelled down to Lower Monksford in the afternoon pausing at Basingstoke to make the acquaintance of the local county officer, an Inspector Thorpe, who had first investigated the case. He was not able to help us because Bowman had unceremoniously dismissed the local officers as soon as he had arrived. It is this type of cavalier action by some of the Metropolitan police that leads to the resentment that I have observed during some of my master’s cases.

Mr MacDonald arrived at the Red Lion a few minutes early for our meeting. He was an elderly and faintly fussy man who looked like a rather absentminded vicar with an air of befuddled abstraction. A few minutes conversation, however, revealed him to be a very astute man who knew a superior Spaniel when he saw one.

Your uncle asked Mr Macdonald to describe the changing relationship between Lord Reventhorpe and the Honourable Sebastian. The solicitor described the two of them as having a very good friendship that was deepening into a mutual respect when, suddenly evidence of Sebastian’s duplicity had come to light causing a frost to come between the two men. When the son had later defied his father and had removed cargo from the
Gordon and Prudence,
Mr Macdonald had been quite shocked and was not in the least surprised that Lord Reventhorpe had disowned Sebastian.

After the meeting at the racecourse Lord Reventhorpe’s demeanour changed totally. It was as if a curtain had been opened letting sunshine pour into a darkened room. In a few minutes he went from being a hopeless invalid to a man bursting with energy and full of plans. According to Mr MacDonald he had left Lord Reventhorpe, at the racecourse, laughing and joking with two other local land owners.

By the time Mr Macdonald left us I was certain that his rather unworldly appearance was a pose and behind the friendly face there was a very sharp legal mind. He was definitely not the man you wanted to cross-examine you in court, a veritable danger to the ungodly.

The next morning we borrowed the Landlord’s trap and made our way to Hevershap Hall. It was a glorious winter morning with the low sun shining off the overnight frost. The ditches by the side of the road had a thin coating of ice and the hooves of the horse made a sharp sound on the frozen track.

We turned into the drive and saw the Hall for the first time. It is quite a modern house that manages to be both smaller and more pretentious than Arlesford. It had obviously been built to impress by someone who had more money than breeding. I wondered if the family had made all their money through trade and whether the first Lord Reventhorpe had made an astute political donation.

The cart stopped in front of the house and we alighted. No servants appeared to ask after our business and more importantly no grooms came to take charge of the trap.

‘It looks like it’s going to be one of those visits, Sir,’ Sergeant Allen remarked as he took hold of the horse’s bridle. ‘They must have seen us coming with that long drive and the depth of this gravel makes it certain that they heard us and all.’

‘I quite agree,’ my master said in a resigned voice. ‘As I sent a note from the inn last night informing Sir William of my intention to call this morning I think we can conclude that the residents are not feeling co-operative.’

With that my master strolled casually up the steps to the front door and rang the bell. As I bounded after him I could hear the bell ringing and expected a rapid response. To my surprise the door remained firmly closed. Your uncle grabbed the bell pull and tugged it more violently setting the bell to ringing loudly.

The sound of the bell died away and we could hear footsteps approaching in the hall. After a moment the door opened part way and a man stood glaring at us. He was a tall well proportioned fellow with a natural arrogance. He looked us up and down slowly before allowing his face to assume a very haughty sneer. His expression was ruined by the fact that his nose had been badly broken at some time and now pointed noticeably to one side.

‘Are you the police officers?’ he inquired in a slow and pompous voice. ‘My master informs me that he is too busy to see you as he has already wasted enough time with the other detective. If you go round to the tradesman’s entrance I will attempt to answer any questions you might have.’

This paragon of hospitality was starting to close the door when my master took a half pace forward and leaning on the door put his face close to the butler’s.

‘Go and tell Sir William that Major Thompson, from Scotland Yard, is here to see him,’ my master spoke in a deceptively quiet tone. ‘Unless he changes his mind I will be forced to make him come to the station, even if I have to arrest him to enforce his attendance.’

There is something about your uncle that makes people understand that he is not joking. The butler took the card that my master had proffered, asked us to wait and disappeared into the house.