He studied the knife in the box. Yes, it was definitely foreign – and valuable. He would leave it as it was, with its bloodied blade, but place the box in the safe in the police-house. He folded up the brown paper with its crudely written address and rolled up the length of twine. He placed them both inside the cardboard box, along with the letter. He slipped his clasp-knife back into his waistcoat pocket.
Once he had deposited the package in the station at Court Lane, he would set about investigating the murder of Eustace Flask. He would make a show of activity. He would question people and take statements. He would satisfy the Chief Constable, Alfred Huggins, who had so recently been demanding that action be taken against Flask. He would be rigorous, a model of professionalism. Yet, even so, the murderer of Eustace Flask might never be found. It happened from time to time. Despite the best efforts of the police, people occasionally got away with murder, didn’t they?
The Perseus Cabinet
It was fortunate in one way that Helen Ansell had been taken to the gaol even if it was only for a few miserable hours. Fortunate because Aunt Julia’s distress and outrage at this completely eclipsed any disturbance she might have felt at the news of Eustace Flask’s murder.
She said she would speak to the Chief Constable and the Bishop of Durham. She was going to protest to their Member of Parliament. She would write to The Times. But before that, she insisted that Helen should bathe, sleep, be seen by a doctor, be dosed up, eat a good meal, imbibe pots of tea, and swallow several cordials, all at the same time. Helen did agree that her dress, which was stained by Flask’s blood, ought to be got rid of rather than laundered, but otherwise she distracted herself in the attempt to calm her aunt. Septimus Sheridan too was upset and fussed around in an ineffectual way, muttering about the indignity of incarcerating a lady and the sacrilege of a murder committed a few hundred yards over the river from the cathedral.
Helen put on a good front so it was only Tom who knew how deeply she had been shaken by what happened. She could not sleep that night and, at one o’clock in the morning, they lay side by side talking about the peculiar turn events had taken.
‘Thank goodness that parcel was sent to the police-house, Tom. I might be spending my first night in Durham Gaol otherwise.’
‘But you are not. Thank God you are here with me. We are together.’
‘It is odd though, isn’t it? If you had committed a murder and someone else – the wrong person – was apprehended for the crime, what would you do?’
‘Nothing, I suppose.’
‘Instead you would be pleased that the police were on the wrong scent. You would want them to go on holding that wrong person for a long time, even for the person to be put on trial and…’
‘And all the rest of it.’
‘We know what the ‘rest of it’ means even if we don’t want to spell it out. Why, if you were the real murderer you might even be pleased to see someone sent to the gallows in your place. A scapegoat. Or, if not pleased, then at least prepared to have him standing on the trapdoor rather than you. Even to have her on the trapdoor.’
‘Don’t talk in that way, Helen. Your imagination is too vivid.’
‘But you see, Tom, what we have here is a murderer with a conscience. He – let us assume it is a he, perhaps the very man I saw running away from the scene – he is capable of killing but he acts quickly when the wrong person is apprehended. He is scrupulous. He doesn’t wish to share the blame. He goes so far as to deliver the murder weapon and a helpful note to the police saying that he has done the deed.’
‘Helen, I haven’t said this yet but I recognized the knife, the one which was sent to Harcourt.’
Helen sat straight up in bed.
‘What!’
Tom had kept silent so far about the fact that the knife in the box and the Lucknow Dagger were one and the same. Now he rapidly explained that it was the very implement which Sebastian Marmont had shown to him in the County Hotel.
‘My God, Tom, why didn’t you tell the superintendent?’
‘Because I sense that this business is more complicated than we realize, Helen. How do we know what passed between Flask and the magician last night after the performance? He made the medium disappear but what happened next? I must speak to the Major before doing anything. He is a client of Scott, Lye amp; Mackenzie, after all.’
‘Oh, so anything he says or does is privileged?’
‘Not exactly,’ said Tom, ‘but-’
‘You could not protect Major Marmont if he was the murderer.’
‘Of course not. I will go and see him tomorrow.’
‘You will not go alone. I have a stake in this now.’
‘Then both of us together will lay things out as fairly as we can to Marmont, mentioning the murder weapon and so on. If he cannot explain himself, then we will hand him over to Superintendent Harcourt. And, Helen, it’s not only me… you too have held back a piece of information.’
‘Me?’
‘I could see that you recognized the bit of material in the box with the knife. I recognized it too. It was the same as the handkerchief which that man tried to give you on the riverbank.’
‘The very same. It was a woman’s handkerchief although it was not mine. I suppose I was afraid that, if I drew attention to it in the Court office, then the Superintendent might have looked at me with even more suspicion.’
‘But you said nothing about the man either. You didn’t even mention you saw someone running from the woods.’
‘I know.’
Tom waited. Eventually Helen said, ‘There was something rather… frightening about that man. Can you remember what he looked like?’
Tom struggled to recall the encounter on the river path the other morning. The man had been tall, dressed in a shabby coat and hat. He had deep furrows on his face and a thin mouth. Helen had said he reminded her of someone. Would Tom recognize him if he saw him again? Probably. Was he the murderer of Eustace Flask? Possibly.
‘I can remember enough to give a description to the police if we need to.’
‘Can we leave it for a time, Tom? Just as you are going to leave informing on Major Marmont. There’s something else about the murder of Mr Flask, you see.’
‘What is it?’
‘It is rather shameful to confess.’
‘Even to me?’
‘I cannot be altogether sorry that Mr Flask is dead. I had rather he had never arrived in Durham. I had rather my aunt had never taken such a shine to him. But he did arrive and she did take a shine and we cannot alter that. Now he is dead and, however it occurred and whoever did the deed, I cannot be wholly sorry. There, is that not a terrible thing to say?’
‘You want me to show you how it works? Nothing could be easier.’
Major Sebastian Marmont did not have the look or manner of a murderer. He welcomed Tom and Helen like old friends. He expressed his regret at the death of Eustace Flask even if he did so in a somewhat perfunctory manner. He explained that Superintendent Harcourt had already visited him. According to the magician, the policeman asked only a few questions and was soon satisfied by his answers. Marmont did not seem to be aware of the details of how Flask had died, the fatal wound to the throat, and the use of the Lucknow Dagger as a murder weapon. Either that or he was a good actor; not implausible considering that he performed on the stage for a living.
The magician was candid about the sequence of events on the evening when Flask had been made to disappear. In fact he was willing to demonstrate the mechanism of the disappearance to the Ansells.