‘Have it your own way, Troutbridge. I’ve tried to help you,’ said Ravenscroft leaning back in his chair. Troutbridge glowered at him. ‘Let’s turn to something else. Why did you poison Mister Pitzer?’
‘I ain’t poison no one!’ protested Troutbridge loudly.
‘Why did you hit Mr. Sommersby on the back of his head and then topple the bookcase on top of him, so that it looked like an accident?’
‘Here, I ain’t hit no one on their head. You can’t have me for that.’
‘Then there was poor Doctor Gladwyn. You killed him by hitting him on the temple, over at Raggedstone,’ said Ravenscroft quickly, raising his voice again.
‘No! I never did!’ shouted Troutbridge.
‘And Old Penny, did you push him off the hill by the cave, a poor innocent blind man?’ said Ravenscroft banging the table with the palm of his hand.
‘No! I ain’t killed anyone. You can’t pin all these murders on me!’
‘We can do whatever we like. My superiors are anxious for a satisfactory conclusion to this affair. They won’t mind if we say we have caught you. In fact they will be more than happy that we have finally caught our man. You will hang Troutbridge, make no mistake. You will hang very slowly and in great pain, I can assure you. Your days are at an end,’ smiled Ravenscroft adopting a tone of resignation.
‘You can try and hang me if you likes. You can’t put anything on me. I never killed anyone,’ protested Troutbridge, anxiously looking around the room.
‘Do you have a walking stick Mr. Troutbridge?’ asked Ravenscroft suddenly changing tack.
‘Walking stick? What use have I got for a bloody walking stick?’
‘Here, watch your language Troutbridge!’ interjected Crabb.
‘Do the initials M. W.B. mean anything to you?’
The farmer looked puzzled. Ravenscroft went on, ‘Have you ever owned a walking stick with the initials M.W.B. engraved on the handle? The question is a simple one to answer.’
‘I told you, I never had any walking stick.’
‘Have you ever seen a walking stick with those initials on?’ asked Ravenscroft quickly.
‘No.’
‘Perhaps you saw the stick when Mr. Pitzer came out to your farm?’
‘Don’t know any Pitzer. I has no visitors out at my farm.’
‘What about Doctor Sommersby?’ asked Crabb, looking up from his pocket book, where he had been making notes.
‘Never heard of Sommersby; don’t know anything about him neither.’
‘Was Doctor Gladwyn your doctor?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘What needs of I for a flaming doctor?’ mocked Troutbridge.
‘This is your last chance Troutbridge,’ said a frustrated Ravenscroft, realising that his own anger was in danger of rising to the surface. ‘If you don’t tell us what we want to know, I’m locking you up in our cells until you go up before the Magistrates tomorrow morning. They won’t deal with you so lightly. God help you then.’
‘Go to blazes! Do what you like’ replied Troutbridge defiantly.
‘You’ve had your chance Troutbridge. A night in the cells might make you see sense. Lock him up Crabb!’ said Ravenscroft firmly, pretending to adopt an air of indifference.
Crabb escorted the farmer from the room, leaving Ravenscroft alone with his thoughts. It did not seem likely that Troutbridge had murdered the three men, but he was certainly hiding something, and clearly that secret was bound up with Armitage. Perhaps Armitage had killed Pitzer, Sommersby and Gladwyn, and Troutbridge had been his accomplice? Or perhaps the farmer had discovered that Armitage had committed the crimes and was blackmailing him? Troutbridge appeared to have some hold over Armitage, otherwise why would he have been content to have sought sanctuary with the farmer? Then there were the payments. Armitage had been paying Troutbridge a regular sum of money, each month, for the past three years. Why had he paid the farmer the money — or had Armitage invented the payments, and kept all the money for himself? But then, if he had done that, why would he have gone to Troutbridge for help? The more he considered these questions, the more there remained a number of unanswered possibilities. He had expected that Troutbridge under his questioning would have been frightened into a confession, and he had been both annoyed and irritated when this had not happened. The farmer was clearly made of stronger stuff. All he could hope for now, was that his other prisoner might prove more forthcoming.
Crabb returned to the room. ‘Well sir, we didn’t get much out of him.’
‘No, our Mr. Troutbridge seems very reluctant to tell us what we want. Whatever he is hiding must be of great importance to him. Time we had some words with young Armitage,’ said Ravenscroft, trying to put a brave face on it. ‘Go and bring him in Crabb.’
Crabb returned a few moments later with Armitage. Ravenscroft looked across the table at his prisoner, who was still attired in the same clothes he had seen him wearing on his first visit to the Almshouses. In fact, the warden’s unkempt, bedraggled appearance gave the impression that the man had not changed his clothes for several days. Ravenscroft knew however that his line of questioning with Armitage might even prove more difficult than his interrogation with Troutbridge. The warden might turn out to be a more intelligent, cunning adversary.
‘Well Mr. Armitage, this is a right mess you seem to have got yourself into,’ began Ravenscroft, ‘Let us see where we can begin. Ah, the accounts. When we last spoke, you mentioned that you kept the accounts of the almshouses with your sister in Ledbury. I have to tell you that we have visited your sister — ‘
‘You leave Lucy out of this. She has nothing to do with my situation,’ protested Armitage, glaring at his questioner.
‘I would hope not. I have to tell you that whilst at your sisters we went through the accounts, and we found that they made interesting reading. Every month you were paying the sum of one pound and ten shillings to Mr. Troutbridge — regular payments, every month. What was that payment for?’
‘Mr. Troutbridge provided the almshouses with food. I paid him every month. There was nothing wrong with that.’
‘He denies knowing anything about such payments. Rather strange I should think, don’t you, that he should say that, if there was nothing to hide?’
Armitage stared down at the floor and said nothing.
‘Why did you leave the almshouses so suddenly after our visit?’
‘I had business to transact in Hereford for a few days. On the way back I stopped off at Troutbridge’s to discuss our order for next month, and as it was so late in the evening, he suggested I stopped the night with him. I had just woken up, when you entered the bedroom. I was still half asleep. I panicked and ran down the stairs,’ said the warden, running his hands through his untidy hair.
‘I’m afraid I don’t believe a word of that Mr. Armitage. Troutbridge says you had been at the farm for several days, and that in fact you paid him to stay there for the week,’ said Ravenscroft leaning forwards.
‘Troutbridge has a vivid imagination,’ mumbled Armitage.
‘What do you know about the new Tewkesbury to Leominster Railway Company?’ asked Ravenscroft, deciding to change his line of questioning.
‘Nothing; I have no interest in railway companies.’
‘When we searched your cottage, Mr. Armitage, we found an old copy of the Malvern News. An article in one of the issues had apparently caught your attention. So much so, that you had even drawn a line all round it.’
‘Please continue Inspector, I am fascinated by all this,’ said Armitage recovering his composure and adopting a more defensive posture.
‘The article mentioned that the new railway company intended constructing the line through Colwall. When we made further enquiries, with Mr. Clifford the agent at the Malvern Reading Rooms, we discovered that the almshouses would have to be demolished if such a line were to be built.’
‘Then this is a serious matter, of which I was not aware.’