‘Who wants him?’ said a gruff voice from somewhere inside the barn.
‘Police. Malvern Police. Can you spare us a minute or two of your time Mister Troutbridge,’ shouted Crabb.
‘Don’t have much time,’ said the voice emerging from behind one of the cows.
‘I believe you are Mister Denis Troutbridge. My colleague and I are making enquiries regarding the murders of Jabez Pitzer and Doctor Sommersby in Malvern, and believe you may be able to assist us with our enquiries,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘Never heard of them, don’t mean nothing to me it don’t. I never goes into Malvern,’ said Troutbridge stepping forward. Ravenscroft looked at the tall, well built, late middle aged man of rough appearance, who sported an untidy beard and a large scar down one side of his face. The farmer banged his pail of milk on the floor, slopping some of its contents over the side and onto Ravenscroft’s boots
‘You know Old Lechmere’s Almshouses at Colwall?’ continued Ravenscroft not put off by the white liquid dribbling over his walking apparel.
‘I might have,’ replied the farmer grudgingly.
‘Do you know the warden there, a Mister Armitage, Mister James Armitage?’
‘Never heard of him, don’t know anyone called Armitage.’
‘He appears to know you. He pays you one pound and ten pence every month.’
‘I should be so lucky,’ laughed the farmer picking up his bucket and moving on to milk the next cow.
‘You don’t know Mr. Armitage then?’
‘That’s what I said.’
‘You don’t have any dealings with the almshouses then?’ continued Ravenscroft, determined to persist with his questions.
‘No.’
‘Do you supply the almshouses with food or any other type of goods, for which you receive payment?’
‘No.’
‘You never have cause to go to the almshouses?’
‘No.’
‘And you don’t receive money from Mr. Armitage?’
‘No.’
‘What would you say if I told you that someone saw you there last week, talking with Mr. Armitage?’ said a frustrated Ravenscroft, deciding to try another line of questioning.
‘I’d say he were a damned liar! I’m getting tired of all these damnable questions. Who did you say you were?’ replied the farmer becoming increasingly surly in his manner.
‘We are both from the Malvern Constabulary. I am Inspector Ravenscroft and my associate here is Constable Crabb.’
‘That’s as may be. I’ve told you I don’t know anything about any almshouses. Now let me get on with my milking.’
‘You have never met with a Mister Pitzer?’
‘No.’
‘What about Doctor Sommersby from Malvern College.’
‘No. I’ve just about had enough of these stupid questions,’ said Troutbridge laying down his bucket, walking over to Ravenscroft and thrusting his features close up before his face. ‘If you don’t get off my farm within the next minute I’ll set the dogs loose on you!’
‘Now then my fellow, have a care. This is the law you’re talking to,’ interjected Crabb, drawing himself up to his full height.
‘I don’t care a damn whose law it is. If you ain’t off my farm in next minute I won’t be responsible for who gets hurt!’ snapped the farmer, glaring at the constable.
‘Have a care sir. If you set your dogs on us, you’ll find yourself up before the bench tomorrow morning and no mistake,’ said Ravenscroft firmly.
‘Maybe you won’t live to tell the tale, if the dogs have you first!’ growled Troutbridge.
‘Don’t you threaten us my man!’ continued Ravenscroft.
Troutbridge and Ravenscroft stared at one another, each determined to hold their ground and to test the mettle of the other. Finally Ravenscroft turned quickly away. ‘Come Crabb. We have done all we can do for now. Mr. Troutbridge, you should be warned that we will return, next time with constabulary assistance, and that you may be taken into custody.’
‘On what charge?’ snarled the farmer.
‘Threatening behaviour, wasting police time, keeping savage animals on the premises — that will do for a start,’ said Ravenscroft walking away.
‘If you come back again, I’ll have the dogs ready. I warn you!’ threatened Troutbridge as the two policemen left the barn.
‘What an unpleasant fellow,’ remarked Crabb as they mounted their cab.
‘I quite agree with you, but I have seen his type, many times before, and in my experience they are all bravado and bluster, and soon break down when you take them into custody. Our Mr. Troutbridge certainly has a great deal to hide. I noticed the way he looked when I mentioned Armitage’s name. He certainly knew him alright. It would seem that our decision to visit here was the right one, but there is little we can do on our own. I am not inclined to have a piece of my leg being removed for some animal’s supper.’
‘We can come back tomorrow sir, with more of my colleagues if you so wish. A few days in the cells should cool his temper.’
Their driver turned the cab round and they started to drive away from the farm buildings. Suddenly Ravenscroft gripped Crabb’s arm, ‘Don’t look over there at the house!’ he instructed, aware that Troutbridge was standing outside the milking shed, observing their departure.
The cab sped out of the yard and down the trackway.
‘What was all that about sir?’ asked a bewildered Crabb.
‘If I was not very much mistaken, I would say that someone was watching us from one of the upstairs windows of the house, as we drove away!’
After stopping for refreshment at one of the inns situated on the western slopes of the hills, the two men returned to Great Malvern and made their way to the recently opened Assembly Rooms where the coroner’s inquest was to be held into the death of Jabez Pitzer.
‘Make a note Crabb of all the people who are present at the inquest,’ said Ravenscroft as they entered the building, ‘It will be interesting to see who attends.’
‘I can see Mrs. Pitzer with her maid sitting near the front sir, and Doctor Gladwyn and the Rev. Touchmore. Who the other people are, I don’t know sir.’
‘It would be useful at the end of the proceedings if you stopped them all on their way out, take their names and addresses and ask for their interest in this affair.’
‘That may prove difficult sir. Mr. Pitzer was well known in the town, and a great many people seem to be arriving to attend the inquest,’ said Crabb as the two men took their seats.
The coroner entered, and took his place at the large desk, which had been placed at the front of the assembly.
‘We are here today to hold an inquest into the death of Mr. Jabez Pitzer of Malvern Wells,’ began the coroner in a formal dry tone. ‘However, before we begin I’m sure you would all join me in extending our condolences to his widow, Mrs. Pitzer, who is with us today. Madam, we all sympathise with your great loss (sounds of affirmation from the room). Mr. Pitzer was a highly respected figure, and will be a sorely missed in the community here in Malvern (‘hear’, ‘hear’ from various sections of the room). We will begin today by calling Doctor Gladwyn to the stand, as I understand he was the first to examine the deceased.’
Gladwyn took his place and began to answer the coroner’s questions. Ravenscroft looked around him. The room was certainly full. He estimated an audience approaching a hundred, and wondered why so many people had taken the trouble to attend the inquest — out of respect for the dead man, or was it just a simple curiosity to learn more about the events of the night in question and an opportunity to confirm or deny the many rumours concerning Pitzer’s death that must have been circulating around the town. Many of those attending wore black, no doubt out of respect for the deceased. Some would undoubtedly have been his business associates, his fellow councillors, his friends and neighbours; others would merely have known about the man and would have wanted to learn more about his demise. As Ravenscroft examined the rows of seated figures, he looked in vain for Armitage or the veiled lady, and wondered whether one of these highly respectable citizens present was in fact the murderer of Jabez Pitzer.