Murder at the Ashmolean, page 8
Charles did not look convinced. ‘The gentleman who told me not to say anything was very firm. One might also say threatening.’
‘I understand, and if you’re unhappy with what I’ve just suggested – which, I stress again – won’t involve you saying anything, I can ask Mr Marriott to come and have the conversation with you. Although, I do feel he won’t be happy about being brought from the very important work he’s engaged in at this moment, but hopefully that won’t affect his decision-making when it comes to making booking arrangements for his visitors and guests.’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘Trust me, I was a detective inspector for many years at Scotland Yard, and what I’m suggesting is an old and established tradition for situations such as this. So, did this man show you a police warrant card?’
Charles hesitated, and then nodded.
‘And did he ask to look at the hotel register?’
Again, after a hesitation, Charles nodded.
‘Thank you.’ Daniel smiled. ‘Lastly, was the name on the police warrant card Inspector Grafton?’
The shock of recognition at the name was enough to give Daniel his answer.
‘Thank you, Charles. You have told me nothing. And if I’m pressed, that is what I will say.’
He became aware that Abigail had joined them. She handed her room key to Charles, and then steered Daniel away from the desk.
‘I don’t think he was in our – my – room. Nothing has been disturbed.’
‘Well, I’ve established it was Grafton, and he can be very careful about covering up when he wants to be.’
‘Trust me, I would know. I left certain personal items which he would have had to move to get to the contents of the drawers, and they were untouched.’
‘So, he went into my official room first, and was just about to root around in yours when he must have come upon Esther, and so he scarpered.’
‘And it’s thanks to Esther that we know about it,’ added Abigail.
‘Yes, alright,’ said Daniel. ‘I’ve already agreed with you on telling her about Grafton.’
‘I thought I’d also pick her brains about which titled family might own this alleged Shakespeare play, especially if the lady in question is unhappy in her marriage. Newspaper reporters are usually in the know about that sort of gossip, especially those who write the women’s page.’
‘Alright but do be careful how much you tell her. As I said, we don’t know her.’
‘I’ll be discreet,’ Abigail assured him. ‘And now I’d better get back to the Ashmolean and read her article on me before she arrives. And, after that, I’ll go and find this restorer, Ephraim Wardle, while you seek out this Mr de Witt at this gentlemen’s club.’ She grinned. ‘But be careful, I know what some of these gentlemen’s clubs can be. Hotbeds of debauchery.’
‘Oh, and how do you know that?’ asked Daniel.
‘My sister, Bella, used to read cheap romantic novels where the hero was always being trapped by loose women in such places.’
Daniel grinned back at her.
‘I promise you I shall keep my virtue intact.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Inspector Pitt had told Daniel that the Quill Club was in the Broad, which Daniel learnt was Oxford-speak for Broad Street. As he walked from St Giles’ along the street, passing Boswells department store, he reflected that this, of all the places in Oxford, showed its ancient history as a seat of learning, and also philosophical and religious dissent. A granite cross set into the road outside Balliol College marked the spot where the Protestant martyrs, Hugh Latimer, Nicholas Ridley and Thomas Cranmer had been burned at the stake in the middle of the sixteenth century. The original Ashmolean Museum had been established here in the Broad, before moving to Beaumont Street. No one, he felt, could fail to be impressed by the superb architecture of the sandstone Sheldonian Theatre, and the ancient building that housed the Bodleian Library. There were ghosts here of hundreds of years of erudition and thought. And the two bookshops, Thornton’s and Blackwell’s, had obviously been located here to take advantage of the readers, writers, thinkers and philosophers who still inhabited this part of Oxford.
Daniel followed Pitt’s directions and found the Quill Club, although there was nothing to indicate that it was here. A gap in the row of metal railings gave on to stone steps that led down to a basement area, where a door of black oak furnished with brass fittings was set into a blank wall. A bell pull was by the door, and Daniel gave it a tug. After a few moments, the door opened and a middle-aged man in shirtsleeves looked out at him, wariness and suspicion writ large on his face.
‘Yes?’ he snapped.
‘Good day. My name’s Daniel Wilson and I’d like to see Mr de Witt, if that’s possible. Mr Vance de Witt.’
The man hesitated, and Daniel got the impression he was about to close the door, when another voice from inside said, ‘That’s alright, Albert. I’ll deal with this.’
Albert moved away, and the door opened to reveal a short, well-built man, dressed in an expensively cut dark suit, with a high-collared white shirt highlighted by a blue silk tie. His longish blonde hair was immaculately coiffured, as was his pencil-thin moustache.
‘Mr de Witt?’ asked Daniel, although his ear had already picked up the flat tones of South Africa in the man’s voice.
‘You say you wish to see me?’
‘Yes, with your permission. My name’s Daniel Wilson and I’ve been asked by the Ashmolean to look into the death of Mr Gavin Everett.’
De Witt looked at Daniel warily. ‘And why would your investigations bring you here?’
Daniel produced the small card Abigail had found in Everett’s wallet and showed it to de Witt.
‘I believe this was Gavin Everett’s membership card of your club.’
‘And what makes you think that?’ asked de Witt.
‘The quill feather.’ Daniel smiled. ‘Along with information received.’
‘Information from whom?’
Daniel gave de Witt the smile again. ‘Let’s just say that’ll have to remain confidential for the moment. I promise you, I’m very good at keeping secrets.’
De Witt studied Daniel, then said, ‘If we’re going to have a conversation, shall we do so in more comfortable surroundings? My office?’
De Witt led the way into the club. It was small, but elegant. The tables had white linen tablecloths covering them, and to one side was a bar stocked with a variety of bottles and glasses, behind which stood the man, Albert, who watched Daniel suspiciously as he followed de Witt through an avenue between the tables to a door at the rear. De Witt opened it and gestured Daniel in. The office was as elegant as the club room itself.
De Witt gestured Daniel to a leather chair and took a seat behind his desk.
‘Can I get you anything to drink?’
‘No thank you, I’m fine. As I said, I’m looking into the death of Mr Everett and hoping you might be able to help throw some light on it.’
De Witt pursed his lips in a thoughtful frown, then said, ‘Everett was a member. But there’s nothing unusual or mysterious about that. The Quill Club has a membership list drawn from the very best in Oxford.’
‘Yes, so I understand,’ said Daniel. ‘I’m certainly not suggesting there’s any sort of skulduggery here. I’m just trying to find out why Everett should do such a thing as take his own life.’
‘Who’s to say why anyone does such a thing?’ said de Witt with a shrug.
‘What sort of man was he?’
Before de Witt could answer, there was a knock on the door, which opened and Albert appeared.
‘Sorry to trouble you, Mr de Witt,’ he apologised, ‘but the suppliers have short-changed us on the order for champagne. Again.’
‘You’re sure, Albert?’ asked de Witt.
Albert nodded. ‘I’ve counted the crates twice, and there’s definitely one with four bottles missing. If you remember, it happened about two months ago.’
‘Yes, I do,’ said de Witt. ‘Very well, I’ll write to the supplier telling them that this is the second time this has happened and reminding them that the first time they discovered the missing case had been left at their depot and was returned to us with fulsome apologies and a promise it would not happen again. Yet it has.’
‘I don’t believe it was ever just left at their depot; I reckon the driver swiped it,’ said Albert.
‘Yes, I believe you’re right, but a warning should bring them to their heels. They’ll be worried we might go to a competitor, even though we’ve got a good deal with them.’ He smiled. ‘Thank you, Albert.’
Albert nodded and withdrew, pulling the door shut.
‘He’s a good man,’ said de Witt. ‘Most bar managers aren’t as tenacious as Albert in making sure we get what we pay for. He’s worth his weight in gold.’ He turned to Daniel. ‘What were you asking before we were interrupted by Albert?’
‘I was asking what sort of man Gavin Everett was.’
‘Outside of the club, I’ve no idea,’ said de Witt.
‘And inside the club?’
De Witt shrugged. ‘He was a member. Not particularly noticeable. He didn’t cause any trouble, but then most of the people who come here don’t, otherwise we’d rescind their membership. We run a very quiet, very sedate little establishment where members can relax with like-minded people, talk, drink, play cards and escape from the humdrum for a brief while. We are an oasis.’
‘And a very discreet one,’ said Daniel. ‘For example, there’s no mention of the name of the club on your membership cards.’
‘There’s no need,’ said de Witt. ‘People who hold membership know who we are and where we are. We don’t advertise; we have no need to. Members who enjoy their time here introduce their friends.’
‘And who introduced Gavin Everett?’
De Witt chuckled. ‘Really, Mr Wilson. I think I’ve made clear we are very discreet about our members, and that includes who may have brought someone else in.’
‘Was there anyone among your members you’d think of as being particularly close to Everett? As a friend? Someone he spent more time with than others?’
De Witt frowned as he thought the question over.
‘Not really,’ he said. ‘There was no one I can think of I’d say he was particularly close to. Not that he was antisocial, far from it. Always friendly, with a smile for everyone. Easy-going.’
‘Did you know him before you came to Oxford?’
‘No,’ said de Witt, his answer coming just a little too quickly. ‘Why should I?’
‘I’m guessing you both had South Africa in common,’ said Daniel. ‘Your accent suggests you have a South African background, and Everett spent a couple of years there before coming to England.’
‘South Africa is a vast place, Mr Wilson. There are thousands and thousands of people in South Africa I’ve never met. Among those was Gavin Everett.’
‘Until you and he came to England.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Which part of South Africa were you in?’ asked Daniel.
‘Why?’ asked de Witt suspiciously.
‘No reason,’ said Daniel. ‘Just curious. I had a cousin who went out there to dig for gold and he used to write to me urging me to go out and join him and make my fortune. He used to wax lyrical about the country, saying how magnificent it was.’
‘It is,’ agreed de Witt. ‘I assume your cousin was in the Transvaal? That’s where most of the goldfields are.’
‘Indeed, although I can’t remember exactly where he was. Unfortunately, he died soon after he returned to England, so I can’t ask him.’
‘Myself, I came to England from the Orange Free State about eighteen months ago,’ said de Witt. ‘There, it’s mostly diamonds, rather than gold.’
‘Did you prospect yourself?’
De Witt shook his head. ‘Prospecting is not my kind of activity. I prefer more sedate pursuits. A hand of cards, for example. We have some enjoyable games here and I’d invite you to join, although I must warn you, the stakes can be quite high.’
Daniel smiled. ‘I expect they’d be too high for me.’
‘I’m sure we could extend you a line of credit. We do for most of our members. And we’d make you an honorary member for the evening.’
‘Credit has to be paid off in the end,’ said Daniel. ‘What about Mr Everett? Did he use extended credit?’
De Witt chuckled. ‘If you’re asking if Everett ever got out of his depth financially here, and that may be why he ended it, I can assure you that was not the case. Everett always paid his bills. Once or twice he may have been held up for a day or two, but then any bills were always paid in full. He certainly didn’t appear to have any money troubles.’
‘Yes, I was told he had a private income that kept him comfortable.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ said de Witt. ‘We don’t enquire where our members’ money comes from, so long as it comes.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Is there anything more, Mr Wilson? Only I have things to do to prepare for this evening, and the afternoons are the only quiet time I have. I call it the lull before the storm.’
‘Of course, and I thank you for your time,’ said Daniel. He got up, as did de Witt. Daniel was about to head for the door, when he stopped and asked, ‘One final question, if you don’t mind, Mr de Witt. You said before that if members misbehaved, their membership would be withdrawn. Is that what happened over the matter of Eve Lachelle? I understand she complained to the police that she was attacked here by some of your members.’
De Witt gave him an apologetic smile. ‘I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed, Mr Wilson. Yes, I believe that Miss Lachelle lodged a complaint, but on investigation it was found to be without foundation. A false accusation against some completely innocent men.’
‘Why would she do such a thing?’ asked Daniel.
De Witt shrugged. ‘As I said about Gavin Everett shooting himself, who knows why people do the things they do. Suffice to say that the police dropped the investigation, although they did threaten to charge Miss Lachelle with wasting police time.’
‘And what happened to her? I assume you sacked her.’
‘There was no need to. She left of her own accord. She simply failed to turn up for work, and no more was heard of her.’
Abigail handed the two sheets of paper to Esther with a smile of approval.
‘I have to say, you’ve done a marvellous job with the interview,’ she complimented the young woman. ‘It was flattering to me, but not too effusive. And also very accurate. I wish all journalists were as correct about facts when writing.’
‘Thank you,’ said Esther, putting the pages into her bag. ‘I’ll tell Mr Pinker, my editor, you were pleased and hopefully he’ll print it as it is without wanting changes.’
‘Tell him if he changes anything, I shall be very upset.’ Abigail smiled. ‘By the way, we have some news for you, but at the moment it’s for your ears only, not for publication. The man who you saw coming out of Daniel’s room at the Wilton Hotel was an inspector with Special Branch at Scotland Yard, called Walter Grafton.’
‘Special Branch?’ repeated Esther, puzzled. ‘I don’t know what that is.’
‘According to Daniel, they’re a branch of the police that investigate terrorism and work to prevent assassinations.’
‘Like the attempts that were made on the Queen’s life?’
‘Just so,’ said Abigail.
‘But why would someone like that be searching Mr Wilson’s room?’
‘We’re not sure, but we think it might be to do with the fact that we’re looking into Gavin Everett’s death.’
Esther looked even more bewildered. ‘But what has his death to do with terrorism and assassinations? He killed himself.’
‘To be honest, we don’t know. But Daniel thinks it’s the only reason why a detective inspector from Scotland Yard would be in Oxford and poking around like that.’
‘Does his being here mean that Mr Everett didn’t kill himself, but was murdered?’ asked Esther, shocked.
‘It’s possible,’ said Abigail. ‘But at the moment, this has to be between us. None of this is for publication.’
Esther nodded. ‘I understand. And you have my word I’ll keep it to myself until you tell me I can write it.’ She gave a smile of delight. ‘If it is a murder, and I write about it, this could make my name as a proper journalist!’
‘Indeed, it could,’ said Abigail. ‘Which is why we’re going to keep you informed of whatever we find, but – again – only on your promise that you keep it between us until it’s ready to be made public.’
‘Is there more?’ asked Esther eagerly. ‘I get the impression there is.’
She’s quick, thought Abigail. Whatever Daniel’s reservations about her, I’m sure she could be an asset to our investigation. Aloud, she said, ‘There is. We’ve received information that just before he died, Everett was due to meet someone to discuss buying an alleged play by William Shakespeare, which we’ve been told a lady from a titled family was offering for sale.’
‘And you think this could be one of the reasons why Everett died?’ asked Esther. ‘Why? Was it because of some sort of scandal?’
‘We’re not sure,’ said Abigail. ‘Frankly, there’s a lot we don’t know but which we’re trying to gather information about. For example, who’s the titled lady who was offering the play for sale?’
‘Do you think she really had one to sell?’ asked Esther. ‘I know a lot of people say there are plays that Shakespeare wrote that have never been seen, but I’ve always been a bit suspicious of them.’
‘And rightfully so,’ agreed Abigail. ‘Personally, I have my doubt if such a play even exists, but we have to investigate. So far, from what we’ve been told, the person we’re looking for is a titled lady who we believe to be unhappily married. Her husband’s family have had their title for many centuries, certainly since the late sixteenth century.
