A Case of Doubtful Death Page 11

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘I see that immediately on entering the main door, there is a small antechamber.’

  ‘Yes, we call it the office. There is a desk where the orderly may sit to do his paperwork, a cabinet with surgical equipment and materials, and a place where coats and umbrellas and galoshes may be left.’

  ‘Then an inner door leads from the office to the ward.’

  ‘Yes, that again is locked and secure.’

  ‘When Dr Mackenzie arrived on the night of his death, did he use the main entrance?’

  ‘Yes, he did.’

  ‘And you told me earlier that when he arrived you were in the ward with Mr Palmer?’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘So if Dr Mackenzie had been carrying his bag that night, would he have left it in the office, or would he have carried it into the ward with him?’

  ‘Ah, I see what you mean. Yes, he would have left it in the office, and I would, therefore, have been unaware that he had it with him.’

  ‘Now, there then followed the unhappy death of Dr Mackenzie. And you decided that as there was to be a viewing the next day, his body should be removed to the chapel. This may be reached two ways, it has its own side entrance for use by the public, and there is also a door connecting it with the ward. Is that connecting door kept locked?’

  ‘Oh yes, always, and the same persons who have the keys to the main door are the only ones who have the key to it.’

  ‘How was Dr Mackenzie’s body carried to the chapel – did you and Mr Palmer use the connecting door?’

  ‘Yes, we did. Palmer unlocked the door, brought out the wheeled stretcher, lifted the body onto it, and took him through. I was able to afford him only a little assistance. My old affliction, the gout, was especially troublesome that evening.’

  ‘So once the body had been placed in a coffin, Palmer left to go to see Mrs Georgeson. Which door did he use?’

  ‘He would have gone through the office as his coat was there and he had to sign the record book to show that his period of duty had ended. Oh I see – that is very perceptive Miss Doughty, and I had not thought of it – if Mackenzie had left his bag there, then Palmer would have seen it.’

  ‘And if he had seen it, would he have known it belonged to Dr Mackenzie?’

  ‘Oh, undoubtedly.’

  ‘So he might have picked it up?’

  ‘He might have done, but I would not have seen him do it as I was still in the chapel. But why would he do such a thing?’

  ‘He might have thought that as he was going to see Mrs Georgeson he should take it to her. Of course, it ought to have been left for you as Dr Mackenzie’s executor, but in the excitement of the moment Mr Palmer might not have considered that.’

  Bonner nodded. ‘That is possible.’ Out of the corner of her eye Frances saw Mr Fairbrother, his coffee forgotten, the cup held suspended halfway to his lips, watching her with great attention.

  ‘And then you were left alone in the Life House and some while later Mr Darscot arrived.’

  ‘Yes. He said that he had come from seeing Mrs Georgeson, who had given him the sad news, and he wanted to see Dr Mackenzie’s body. I told him there would be a viewing the next morning and if he could return at ten he would be very welcome, but he insisted and as he seemed very upset, I agreed.’

  ‘And he both came and left by the chapel door, and never entered the ward or the office?’

  ‘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 21st 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.

  CHAPTER SIX

  At 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 see
n 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.’

  Frances nodded. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. You’re right.’

  Frances later spoke to Inspector Gostelow about the bag, which Walter had duly delivered, and found that he had drawn the same conclusions as she about Mackenzie’s intentions and the length of time the bag had been in the water. He had asked his constables to pay especial attention to the area where the bag had been found, but he didn’t see that there was any more he could do. The bag and its contents, once dried out and restored to a more hygienic condition, would shortly be examined by Dr Bonner, as Dr Mackenzie’s executor, and who migh
t take it away with him if he liked. Perhaps, suggested Gostelow, he might have some observations.

  Frances went home, troubled. There was something about the bag that did not fit with a comment made to her very recently and she could not determine what it was. She decided to occupy herself with other concerns as she often found that a special corner of her mind would address a problem without her being aware of it. That evening she and Sarah, wearing their purple sashes of membership, attended a meeting of the Bayswater Ladies Suffrage Society in Westbourne Hall, where Frances had been prevailed upon to make a short speech about her work as a detective, while Sarah was deputed to act as doorkeeper in case any disruptive elements sought admission. The ladies were told that petitions were being made to Parliament, and the meeting ended in a surge of tea-fuelled optimism that it was only a matter of months before the women of Britain secured the franchise.

  When Frances awoke the next morning she had the answer. Mabel Finch had mentioned that Dr Mackenzie’s beard had become grey. Why then had he been carrying all a gentleman needed for a shave?

  As Frances and Sarah discussed the question of Dr Mackenzie’s beard over breakfast a letter arrived from Aberdeen.

  Dear Miss Doughty

  I have never met Dr Mackenzie, only being acquainted with him due to some pamphlets he sent me about his work at the Life House. I was not expecting to receive a parcel of books from him. The letter to which you refer was written the day before I learned of his unfortunate death. He had recommended to me the services of an orderly, a Mr Breck, who he described as a useful, active and reliable person, and was due to appear here to take up his duties on Thursday 23rd September, but the man did not arrive and after waiting a week I wrote to Dr Mackenzie to discover what had occurred to delay him. I can advise you that as at today’s date, Mr Breck has not appeared and I have heard no word from him or indeed anyone else in connection with the appointment.

  Yours truly