Текст книги "The Children of Silence"

Автор книги: Linda Stratmann

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

CHAPTER TWENTY

Frances had not had the opportunity to send a note to Dr Goodwin announcing her visit but she felt that her work had reached that position when speed was more important than custom, so she rang the doorbell and presented her card to the maid. As she expected, the doctor bowed to the inevitable and agreed to see her.

Dr Goodwin showed every appearance of a man living a nightmare. He was clearly trying to go through his daily routine in a vain attempt to delude himself that everything was as before, but his eyes had the dry staring look of a man who had been without sleep, his crescent of grey hair was uncombed, and he was moving about in an uncharacteristically vague and disorganised manner. When Frances was conducted to his study he looked both worried and hopeful. ‘Are you looking into Eckley’s death?’ he asked, waving her to a seat.

‘No, that is the concern of the police.’ She prepared to take notes. ‘I am still pursuing my enquiries on the disappearance of Mr Edwin Antrobus, and to that end I am looking into everything that happened to him and his family and associates in the months before that occurred. Anything out of the ordinary. Rivalries. Arguments.’ She paused. ‘Secrets.’

Goodwin gave a thoroughly dejected and weary sigh. ‘I have already told you all I know.’

‘I am not so sure of that.’

He stared at her but uttered no denials.

‘First of all I wish to know if Mrs Pearce, the mother of Mrs Antrobus and Miss Charlotte Pearce, was a patient of yours?’

He was surprised by the question but not alarmed. ‘Yes, that is not a secret. She had been hard of hearing all her life and had grown increasingly deaf in the years before her death. I did all I could for her.’

‘How did she converse?’

‘Her speech was not affected. She could lip read some common words, but in the main it was best to communicate in writing.’

‘You met with a lady by Mr Pearce’s tomb in Kensal Green. That was a secret, I think.’

It was a risk to be so blunt, but Frances knew she had to declare it as a fact and not a rumour, and certainly not as a story emanating from Mr Dromgoole, which could all too easily be denied.

Goodwin was silent for a time. ‘A gentleman may meet a lady in full view of any passer-by without there being anything wrong in it,’ he said at last.

‘You met more than once,’ she persisted, ‘and I am not implying that anything was wrong, only that others might have thought so and made false allegations which incurred the wrath of Mr Antrobus. Also something might have been discussed at your meetings which could be of importance.’

He shook his head. ‘No, nothing.’

‘And the lady’s identity? The location of these meetings cannot have been chance.’

‘How do you know of this?’ he suddenly demanded.

‘I cannot reveal the source of the information.’

Dr Goodwin stared at the papers on his desk without seeing them and passed his hands over his head, his fingers burrowing down into the fringe of hair at the back. At length he took a deep breath. ‘As you have correctly surmised, the lady I met was Mrs Pearce. She was a patient and a friend. Nothing more. She was extremely anxious about the health of her daughter, Mrs Antrobus, and naturally we talked on that subject. Our first encounter at Kensal Green was chance – I had gone to visit the grave of my parents – but after that we agreed to meet from time to time.’

Frances closed her notebook and looked at him keenly. ‘In the last year of her life Mrs Pearce was unable to walk more than a few steps unassisted and could not have made the journey to her husband’s tomb alone. And you were observed talking to the lady, not passing her writing.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘I am saying that you are lying to me.’

He looked uncomfortable, even a little afraid.

‘I would like the truth now, please,’ Frances went on, as if that was the simplest request in the world and not, as she so often found, the hardest.

He took a deep breath and placed his hands firmly palm down on the desk, a gesture of new resolve. ‘I apologise. You are correct and I ought to be ashamed of myself, but sometimes it is necessary to tell a harmless lie for the greater good. Very well. You shall have the truth. The lady in question was Mrs Harriett Antrobus, and we met in secret in a quiet place because she wished to talk about her difficulties without her husband or anyone else being present. He was not, I am sorry to say, sympathetic to her hardships, and she wished to speak freely and openly to someone who understood them. Since she is a married lady I attempted to deceive you just now in order to protect her reputation.’

‘How often and how many times did you meet there?’

‘Not very frequently, perhaps five or six times.’

‘How many times after Mr Antrobus disappeared?’

‘There was one occasion, which I have already mentioned, when I called at the house as a mark of sympathy. Mrs Antrobus was a patient, nothing more.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘I am very weary, Miss Doughty, is that all?’

Frances rose to leave, although she could not help feeling that Dr Goodwin had not told her everything. Recalling the expression Cedric had used to the sergeant at Paddington Green, she approached the desk and leaned forward confidentially. ‘I know your secret.’

It was there, the sudden loss of colour from the cheeks, the look of terror behind his eyes. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he gasped. ‘I did not harm Mr Eckley, the police have found the cabdriver who was conveying me at the time he was killed. I did not conduct an intrigue with either Mrs Pearce or Mrs Antrobus. Isaac is not my natural son, in fact I have no natural children.’ He recovered his composure. ‘Please leave me now.’

‘Very well,’ said Frances, more pleasantly. She made to go, but at the door she turned to face him. ‘Oh, by the bye, I have read your booklet on the subject of sign language, it is a fascinating art.’

‘Yes, indeed it is,’ he agreed, looking relieved that the subject of the conversation had changed.

‘Some of the signs illustrated are very elegant, and one might almost guess what they are as they mime their subject so well. But I was wondering if you could tell me what this one is? I observed it recently.’ She made the sign placing her fingers and thumbs together then drawing her hands apart in a curve.

‘Silence.’

‘Ah, of course, it indicates a closed mouth. I see it now. And what of this one?’ She mimed the motion with clawed hands at her shoulders.

Dr Goodwin looked astonished.

‘Perhaps I am not performing it correctly. It looks like the action of a monkey, but I can’t see why that would be.’

‘Ah, yes, indeed, it can depict a monkey, but so many signs have more than one meaning – this one might also be taken to mean a scamp or a scallywag.’ He frowned. ‘Where did you see this conversation?’

‘I am not at liberty to say.’

When she left him he looked puzzled and very worried.

The following morning’s post brought a letter from Matthew Ryan, the Bristol detective, which was so startling that Frances entirely forgot her breakfast, and when Sarah saw it she almost forgot hers too.

Dear Miss Doughty

I have some new information for you, but I don’t know what use you can put it to since the informant came to me under a veil of anonymity, refused to give me her name and is most reluctant to appear in court. The best I could do was to suggest that I should put a notice in the newspaper if I wished to speak to her again.

The lady concerned saw the advertisement I placed very recently for any further information relating to the disappearance of Mr Edwin Antrobus. She confessed that in the past, whenever Mr Antrobus was in Bristol on business, he was in the habit of paying her a visit. The lady was at the time married to a sea captain who was often from home. She did not come forward in 1877 for reasons that must be obvious. She has, however, recently been widowed and therefore felt able to reveal what she knows, if with some reservations.

The last time she saw Mr Antrobus is an occasion she remembers well. She had gone to the railway station to meet her sister, who was visiting with her new baby, an event which was eagerly anticipated and which she made a note of in her diary. It was 13 October 1877. She had just arrived at the station when she saw Mr Antrobus, although she did not think it appropriate to greet him. He presented his ticket to the Inspector and passed onto the platform, and she is quite sure it was the platform from which the Paddington train departed. He was not alone but in the company of another man. They were talking, and while not actually quarrelling, they did not appear to be on good terms. The only description she can offer as to the identity of the other man was that he walked with a very pronounced limp.

I am continuing my investigations and will write again if I have anything further to report.

Matthew Ryan

For a few moments Frances was puzzled. The clerk at the George Railway Hotel had not mentioned Edwin Antrobus’ mysterious companion walking with a limp. Was this the same man or another? She checked through Mr Ryan’s original report and saw that the clerk had seen the men standing talking to each other but had not seen them walk away, so had not had the opportunity to note any unusual gait.

There was only one limping man known to Edwin Antrobus and that was Mr Luckhurst. Had he followed his partner to Bristol and had an altercation with him there? Frances could hardly think he had not been questioned about his movements during the week between his partner’s departure and last journey, but a train ride from Paddington to Bristol and back was not a lengthy expedition thanks to Mr Brunel’s wonderful railway. Frances was also obliged to consider what credence could now be attached to Mr Luckhurst’s important evidence at the inquest if he had in some way been involved in Edwin Antrobus’ disappearance. Had he lied to ensure that the remains found in the brickyard were not identified as Edwin Antrobus? And if so, why?

Mr Wylie had lied too, apparently to assist Harriett Antrobus’ case, but Frances was obliged to wonder if she had been duped into thinking there was no more sinister motive.

Another possibility was that the skeleton found in the brickyard was that of the limping man last seen with Edwin Antrobus. The witness questioned by Matthew Ryan had stated that the two men had not been on good terms. Supposing they had quarrelled and Edwin Antrobus had murdered his companion and then been obliged to disappear? A man who devoted his life to the wellbeing of his sons might have chosen to leave them fatherless in preference to their suffering the disgrace of their father being hanged for murder. Frances looked at the inquest report but all she could glean was that the dead man had once suffered a leg injury that had healed, which from the description was probably insufficient to produce a noticeable limp.

The obvious thing to do with the new information was take it to Inspector Sharrock.

The Inspector was available, and he readily agreed to see Frances when he saw she was bringing information. She sat facing him across his tumbled desk, resisting the urge to tidy the papers and discover and polish the wood beneath, a surface that had probably not seen daylight in many years.

Judging by the length of time he spent perusing the letter Sharrock must have read it through several times, sniffing and grunting and nodding to himself. He jutted his head forward and squinted at the date. ‘Do you mean to say you didn’t hold onto this until it was old news? Didn’t rush off to Bristol and look into it yourself?’

‘I received it this morning and brought it here at once.’ Frances might have felt insulted at the suggestion that she sometimes concealed information from the police, if it had not, for excellent reasons, occasionally been true. ‘I was thinking —’

‘Ladies thinking is a dangerous thing,’ interrupted Sharrock, ‘and twice as dangerous when you do it.’

‘I was thinking,’ Frances repeated, ‘that there is only one man who matches the description of the man who was seen with Mr Antrobus at Bristol.’

‘I got eyes in my head, same as you, but you don’t think we forgot to ask Mr Luckhurst to account for his movements do you?’

‘I am sure you did ask him, but I have seen Mr Antrobus’ will, and it included a legacy of two thousand pounds to Mr Luckhurst. Men have been killed for far less.’

‘You have a wicked mind,’ growled Sharrock. ‘When I was young and innocent I never thought of such things. Took me twenty years to get as cynical as you are now. What will you be like when you’re forty? It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

‘I just wanted —’

‘Won’t get a husband like that, you know.’

‘I’m not looking for a husband,’ declared Frances, irritably.

‘I was going to introduce you to my brother, but he’s just taken up with a widow so you’ve missed your chance there.’

‘Inspector —’

‘What about that Mr Lionel Antrobus? He’s rich and single. Bit old perhaps, but you could do a lot worse.’

‘All I would like to know,’ said Frances through gritted teeth, ‘is whether Mr Luckhurst had an alibi for when his partner went missing.’

Sharrock leaned back in his chair, which creaked in protest. ‘Yes Miss Doughty, he did.’ He dived forward abruptly, burrowed under a disorganised pile of papers, and brought out a folder, which he opened. ‘At the very moment when Mr Antrobus was leaving his hotel in Bristol, Mr Luckhurst was in the company of two – er – persons. An hour later he was in his office where he attended to business assisted by his clerk, and an hour after that he met a customer by appointment. Four independent witnesses who place him in London for the whole morning. He was not in Bristol when Antrobus left and neither could he have met him at Paddington Station.’

‘I must confess I am somewhat relieved to hear it. He did not strike me as a man who would murder his partner for money. Of course that does not mean that he was telling the truth about Mr Antrobus’ wisdom teeth.’

‘Oh but he was,’ revealed Sharrock, triumphantly. ‘You haven’t got all the answers, you know. The police can do brain-work, too.’

‘I never doubted it. But he was said to have had the teeth extracted in America when he was a young man. I am impressed that you were able to make such a discovery after so long a time.’

Sharrock preened himself. ‘Ah, well, we have our methods. We found the name of the company in America where Mr Edwin Antrobus spent two years studying the tobacco plant and its cultivation. Very interesting indeed if you like that sort of thing. Turns out the company is still very much in business, and by means of the Atlantic telegraph we were able to learn two things. While Mr Antrobus was there he had his wisdom teeth out. All of them. He was not a brave man in the dentist’s chair, but then how many of us are, even under ether? Struggled so much he half-killed the dentist before he went off to sleep. And the whole time he was there he did not suffer any accident with broken bones.’

Frances nodded. ‘Then we can be quite sure that the second set of remains are not his, and I am sure the court will come to the same conclusion.’

‘At least we now know who the man in the canal was. All credit to you for that one,’ the Inspector added reluctantly. ‘Dr Magrath has come clean and taken the blame on himself.’

‘Does Mrs Antrobus know?’

‘Oh yes, Mr Rawsthorne went hotfoot to tell her. He’s hoping for new business on behalf of Mr Wylie, suing either Magrath or the Asylum Company or both for all those wasted legal fees.’

The rest of Frances’ day was taken up with receiving the last of the reports on behalf of Mr Candy, writing to him with the results and acting on a sudden inspiration on how she might alleviate the troubles of that affectionate yet mistrusting couple Mr and Mrs Reville. She also wrote to Harriett Antrobus to advise her of recent developments, although she decided to omit the detail concerning the unusual friendship between her husband and the lady witness at the railway station. Although Lionel Antrobus was not really her client he was paying for Tom’s work to find the woman who pawned the ring, and it seemed only courteous to write to him too.

That evening she and Sarah attended a meeting of the Bayswater Women’s Suffrage Society and were accorded the plaudits of the members for their work. Whenever Frances appeared at the meetings there was always a small spate of new clients to follow, and on the way home she reflected that there were bound to be some bad husbands and dishonest servants whose careers would soon come to an end.

Even in Sarah’s company Frances still found the night-time streets unsettling, and although it was a warm evening she was unwilling to walk home. They took a cab, thus avoiding the narrow pathway where the attack had taken place. She usually slept well after such a busy day, but this time it was not to be.

There was the stench of unwashed clothing, bad teeth and stale tobacco, the bristly scratch of an unkempt moustache. She fought hard against a horrible strength, the hard muscles of a man so much more powerful than she. All her resources could do nothing against him, the weight and force of a brute. His body pressed violently against hers. He was trying to force a chloroformed pad over her face, and she turned her head aside and fought as hard as she could, dreading the shock of a blow with his fist when she would not give in. Then another figure appeared, a dark presence, tall and strong but not threatening, holding her firmly, taking her to safety, and she smelled the rich warm spice of a cigar.

France awoke, gasping for breath, her whole body shaking convulsively, and found herself enveloped in the warmth of Sarah’s massive hug. Some minutes passed before she could or even wanted to speak. It was still night and her room was unlit and very peaceful.

‘Another one of them dreams?’ asked Sarah.

Frances nodded. She had never told Sarah about them, but somehow was unsurprised that she knew, and she supposed that she must have been crying out. Sarah slept in the adjoining room, and Frances often heard the low rumble of her snores, which was a great comfort. ‘I only wish they would stop.’

‘They will,’ promised Sarah. ‘But if you think one might come on, go for a long walk. Walk till you sweat. Sweat hard and then sweat harder.’ She was so assured that Frances did not need to ask if she had ever had such dreams herself. ‘And you want to come to the ladies’ classes,’ she added. ‘I’ve got them exercising with a big stick. You can do a lot with a big stick.’

Sarah wiped Frances’ brow with a handkerchief and settled her back onto her pillow. ‘I would be nothing without your companionship,’ smiled Frances, and she soon drifted into a dreamless sleep.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

At the resumed inquest on Mr Eckley, Ratty appeared in the new suit of clothes, hat and shirt supplied by Cedric, his face scrubbed to a shine. He looked quite the man, albeit a very nervous one.

‘Now then, young fellow, if you are to make your way in the world you must have a name,’ advised Cedric. ‘Even if it is Smith or Jones or Wilkins.’

‘I dunno,’ said Ratty. He glanced at the door as if tempted to dart through it. ‘Ain’t got no name ’cept what I get called. It’s done all right for me, but the coppers don’ like it.’

‘When the coroner asks you for your name,’ suggested Frances, ‘tell him you are called John Smith. I am sure Mr Smith will not mind you borrowing his name for the morning.’

Ratty nodded. ‘Will you be ’ere?’

‘Of course.’

‘ ’N you, Mr Garter?’

Cedric smiled at the curious rendition of his name. ‘Your first public appearance as a boy detective? I wouldn’t miss it for the world!’

Ratty managed a grin, squared his shoulders and stood up straighter.

‘If you are very good then Mr W. Grove might write a story about you, and you will be as celebrated as Miss Doughty.’

‘Wot, are you Mr Grove?’ asked Ratty. ‘Tom’s bin showin’ me the books ’n I c’n read a lot of it now, ’n it’s very ixcitin’ wot with all the thieves ’n that.’

‘Would that I had the talent to write such immortal works of literature!’ exclaimed Cedric, with elaborate regret. ‘Sadly I must confine my efforts to such tawdry trifles as lectures on art.’

The crowds were beginning to gather. Dr Goodwin did not put in an appearance, which might have been commented upon by the press had he done so, but Mr Wheelock, Mr Rawsthorne’s unpleasant clerk, was sitting at the back, sucking ink from his fingernails, and Frances surmised that he had been sent to watch the proceedings on the doctor’s behalf.

Frances looked about her to see if there were any faces in the assembled throng that she did not know, but there were not. Even the pressmen were becoming familiar to her by sight. Mr Gillan was there, as she might have expected, and young Ibbitson, who had been permitted to attend his first inquest, sat enthralled by his surroundings. She wondered if the detective employed by Mr Eckley had been traced. If so, he was not present.

The first medical man on the scene had been Dr Collin, who had certified death caused by a single stab wound to the abdomen that had severed the aorta. He could not comment on whether the assailant had been experienced with a knife or not. Some abdominal wounds gave more hope of survival, but the fact that this one had been rapidly fatal could have been mere chance. The knife had been driven to the hilt in a slightly upwards direction, probably when the victim and the attacker were at close quarters. A torn piece of paper, the corner of an envelope, had been found clasped firmly between a forefinger and thumb of the victim. He theorised that Mr Eckley, not believing himself to be in any danger, had been handing the envelope to his attacker when he was stabbed.

The position of the wound suggested that the murderer was neither very much taller nor very much shorter than the victim, who was five feet, nine inches in height. A woman might have done it, but Collin doubted that. The single swift stab showed both courage and resolution; he thought a woman would have been more hesitant, less firm.

Ratty, who had given his name to the coroner’s officer as Mr Jonsmith, was called to give his testimony, and Dr Thomas, seeing that underneath his smart exterior the young witness was trembling with fright, spoke to him gently and guided him through the events with careful questions.

‘Can you tell the court where you were at about eight o’clock on the evening of Wednesday the 22nd of June?’’

‘Yes, yer ’ighness, sir, I was near Pembridge Mews up by the deaf school.’ The wry smiles of the scribbling pressmen were tempered by close interest when Ratty explained that he had been doing some secret work for ‘Miss Doughtery, wot is the best ’tective in Lunnon.’

‘And what did you see there?’

‘Well there was the dead gent, only ’e weren’t dead yet, ’n ’e wen’ inter the mews walkin’ all smart like, not jus’ loafin’ about. So I knows summink is goin’ on, cos yer don’ ’urry inter a mews ter do summink less’n it’s ter be kep’ secret.’

‘Did you follow him?’

‘Yes, yer ’ighness sir, ’cos I thort well wot’s ’e a doin’ of, so I creeps arter ’im all quiet like, wot I am very good at ’cos I’m a ’tective, ’n proper ’tectives are very good at that, sir.’

‘Tell me what you saw next.’

‘Mr Ecklerley ’e wen’ roun’ the corner, and I stayed back.’

‘No one else came into the mews as you stood there?’

‘No sir.’

‘Were you able to hear any conversation?’

‘No sir, nuthin’ I dint even know there was another person there, I thort ’e was waitin’ to meet a doxy.’

Sniggers in court.

Dr Thomas ordered silence before continuing the questioning. ‘What happened next?’

‘Then there was a gaspin’ noise like what gents make when they are wiv a doxy sir, an’ I ’eard ’im fall over, which they don’t usually do, ’n I thort ’e might ’ave been took bad, ’n I wen’ to see if I could ’elp but this person came out runnin’ and knocked me down an’ I banged me ’ead. ’N when I woke up I went ter see if the gent wuz ill, ’n ’e wuz lyin’ there with blood all over ’is front. ’N I ran out in the street an’ shouted “murder”, ’n then the coppers came ’n took me down the nick.’

‘Did you see the face of the man who knocked you over?’

‘No, yer ’ighness, sir, I din’t see nothin’ it were all black, not even eyes.’

It was with enormous relief that Ratty was finally able to take a seat beside Frances, and she and Cedric both reassured him that he had done very well.

The next witness was the young man who acted as secretary to the school. On the day of the murder there had been several items of post, three of which had been marked for the personal attention of Mr Eckley, which he had passed to the headmaster unopened, as was usual. Two of the envelopes were addressed in handwriting he recognised, a governor of the school and the parent of a pupil. The writing on the third he had never to his knowledge seen before. When he tidied Mr Eckley’s papers, he had found only the first two letters. Shown the fragment of paper found in the dead man’s hand, he said that it looked very like part of the envelope of the third letter. Mr Eckley would usually have gone to his home by eight o’clock, but on that occasion he had intimated that he would work a little later than usual.

The implication was very clear. Mr Eckley had received a letter arranging a meeting in the quiet dusk and had been asked to bring the letter with him. Once he lay helpless on the ground, the killer had removed the evidence. Neither the meeting nor the murder was chance.

Once all the testimony was heard the jury returned the verdict that Mr Eckley had been murdered by a person or persons unknown. The pressmen did not scamper away as usual but sent messages via runners and waited for the next inquest.

‘I think the coroner was pleased with you,’ Frances reassured Ratty.

He grinned with relief and puffed out his thin chest. ‘Mr Jonsmif, ’tective! That’s me!’

‘Now I had meant to tell you something about the signs you saw when you observed the conversation between Mr Isaac Goodwin and the schoolboys,’ Frances went on. ‘This one,’ she made the gesture as if drawing a closed mouth, ‘means silence.’

Ratty nodded. ‘Yes, ’e did that ’n then the boys did it too. It was like —’ he thought hard. ‘Like he wuz askin’ ’em to be quiet and they wuz saying “yes”.’

‘But what about, I wonder? And then there was the sign like this —’ she did the clawing movement at her shoulders. ‘That means a monkey or, more likely, a scamp or scallywag. Perhaps someone has misbehaved.’

Ratty shook his head. ‘It weren’t like that, it were like this.’ He did the movement but this time Frances saw that the clawed fingers were not at his shoulders but met at his chest and were drawn outwards. ‘Is that diff’rent?’

‘It looks different,’ she agreed. Frances puzzled about it not only because she wanted to know what the gesture meant, but also because she had a feeling that she ought to know what it meant because she had seen it before.

There was a surge of excitement as Dr Bond arrived, which signalled the fact that he had finally concluded his examination of the skeleton that had been deposited in the cellar of Queens Road, and it was hoped that the inquest on the remains could be concluded.

Mr Marsden arrived together with Lionel Antrobus, and on seeing Frances he uttered some words to his client with a sour twist of his mouth. Antrobus’ expression was unreadable.

‘I wanter go now,’ said Ratty, when he saw Inspector Sharrock appear. ‘Don’ like coppers and don’ like him!’ he was out of the door before Frances could say another word.

The inquest on the unnamed skeleton resumed, and Dr Bond was called.

‘Since the last hearing I have examined additional pieces of bone, pieces of a human fibula, recovered from the site where the earlier remains were found. They are compatible with the conclusion that they are part of the same skeleton. None of the human bones have been duplicated. At the last hearing, and based on the condition of the right tibia, I was of the opinion that the deceased would have made a good recovery from the fracture. The new remains have led me to revise that opinion.’

There was a stir of interest in the court.

‘The injury to the fibula was very substantial. I think that the deceased must have twisted the leg and either struck or collided with some hard uneven surface. The bone was shattered into several fragments, some of which would undoubtedly have protruded through the flesh. The process of healing would have been a long one. The fracture was not skilfully set and the bones have not knitted well. There is evidence of a subsequent infection. The deceased would have walked with a noticeable limp. I have also, on the basis of the new evidence and further examination of the tibia, concluded that the injury was suffered less than five years before death. I cannot be more accurate than that.’

‘Have you any suggestions to offer concerning the identity of the deceased?’

‘I am afraid not.’

Dr Bond stood down, and Lionel Antrobus was called forward to state very emphatically that his brother had walked with an entirely normal gait.

There was no further evidence and the jury could only conclude that the identity of the remains was unproven and the cause of death was in all probability a broken neck, but whether by accident or design it was impossible to say.

Frances and Sarah discussed the outcome of the inquest over a simple luncheon of ham and stewed peas, with bread and butter and tea.

‘The limping man, whoever he may be, is very probably the same individual seen in Bristol with Mr Antrobus,’ Frances concluded. ‘He travelled on the Paddington train, and he could have met with an accident or been robbed and killed soon after he arrived. But precisely where that occurred and how and why his remains came to be at Queens Road no one can say. Why was Mr Antrobus’ bag found with him? Did he steal it? Or did Mr Antrobus, wishing to disappear, kill his companion and leave his bag by the body in the hope that when it was found it would be thought to be him?’