‘You are most kind sir.’
The two men shook hands as the door opened and the manservant entered, leaving Ravenscroft wondering as to how the Italian had known that his departure was imminent.
‘Georgio, show Inspector Ravenscroft out.’
Ravenscroft followed the servant across the hallway, cast a final look at the statue and stepped out in the late summer air.
‘And how was your visit to Doctor Renfrew, sir?’ asked Crabb, as he and Ravenscroft supped their mugs of Worcester ale at the Old Talbot.
‘Quite interesting, but also very revealing,’ replied Ravenscroft.
‘In which way?’ said Crabb, helping himself to a large chunk of cheese.
‘The man is an American scholar. He lives alone in a large rambling house on the edge of Worcester, except for an Italian manservant and a French cook. Says he has been living here for the past three years whilst undertaking research into the documents at Worcester Cathedral. He possesses, what appears to be a large collection of early English books and manuscripts including one rare item, the Worcester Antiphoner, which I am sure should be part of the cathedral collection, although he claims he purchased the work at auction in New York five years ago.’
‘Do you think Evelyn could have sold him the book?’
‘If Evelyn took the book, it would seem logical that he would first offer it for sale to Renfrew, although that might seem a little too obvious,’ replied Ravenscroft, cutting up a piece of ham and placing it on his fork.
‘We could make a search through his collection?’ suggested Crabb.
‘We could, but I don’t want to alarm him just yet. Anyway if he had the book, I’m sure he would not have left it lying around for someone like myself to discover. He will have hidden it where no one could find it.’
‘I suppose you’re right. Remarkably good cheese this.’
‘I can’t say I particularly warmed to our good doctor. He is the kind of man who enjoys showing off his knowledge, feeling secure behind a cloak of learning. I felt he knew all the questions I was going to ask, long before I asked them, and his answers seemed very precise and well thought out, — too well thought out perhaps.’
‘Sounds a suspicious sort of character to me, sir.’
‘Although he did contradict himself, once, however,’ said Ravenscroft, deep in thought and ignoring Crabb’s last remark. ‘When I first asked him if he would purchase the Whisperie, should it be offered to him, he replied that he would not, as it would damage his reputation. Later though, when I asked him again, he replied that he would purchase the work but would then hand it back to the cathedral. It is probably nothing. Now, Crabb, tell me how you got on with your investigations this morning?’
‘Well, sir, I first enquired in the Old Diglis to see if any of their customers could remember Evelyn meeting anyone there the night he disappeared, but I’m afraid no one could recall seeing anyone of his description visiting the inn then, or upon any other occasion. However most of the regulars were not there so it could be worth while our returning again this evening.’
‘I take your point, Crabb. And what did you find out at the canal?’
‘Again, no one can recall seeing him, although several of the barges there that night will be halfway to Birmingham by now. Certainly the lock keeper cannot remember seeing anyone resembling Evelyn.’
‘I don’t think he got as far as the canal that night. If he had arranged to meet anyone by appointment, it must have been either at the Old Diglis or by the banks of the river.’
‘You are probably correct, sir. What is our next line of enquiry?’
‘After we have eaten this excellent ham and cheese, I suggest we go and pay a visit to Evelyn’s rooms. We may be fortunate enough to find something there that might just assist us in our investigations.’
The two men looked up at the old black beamed building, which bore the name Glovers in faded letters above the door.
‘This must be the place. Evelyn apparently had rooms on the top floor,’ said Ravenscroft, banging his fist on the studded door. Receiving no reply, he repeated the action.
‘All right, I’m coming. Give an old woman a chance, can’t you? I ain’t got three hands, has I?’ shouted a voice from behind the door.
The two policemen exchanged glances as they heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. Presently the door opened a few inches to reveal a blotchy red nose and two tired-looking eyes.
‘Yes, what do you want? We’re full up. We got no rooms, at present; plenty of regular lodgers.’
‘We are not after a room-’ began Crabb.
‘Then why are you wasting my time?’ growled the face.
‘We are policemen, madam, investigating the disappearance and death of one of your lodgers, a Mister Nicholas Evelyn. Can we come in?’ asked Ravenscroft smiling.
‘Dead, you say! Evelyn dead! God bless us all! You best come in then,’ replied the old woman opening the door wider. The two policemen stepped into the darkened hallway where Ravenscroft found himself speaking to an elderly stout woman with a red complexion and thinning untidy hair, who was wearing a dirty apron, a pair of slippers and a dress, that he estimated had clearly seen better days.
‘Dead,’ she repeated.
‘I’m afraid so. His body was recovered from the Severn yesterday. He had been in the water for several days. I am sorry if this has come as a shock to you. You are…?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘Mrs Glover. Mr Glover passed on twenty-seven years ago, he did.’
‘I am sorry to hear it,’ said Crabb.
‘Bit late now!’
‘Can you tell me how long Mr Evelyn had lived here?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘He were ’ere, when old Glover bought the place thirty-five years ago,’ muttered the old woman, shuffling further along the hallway.
‘Did he always have the same rooms?’
‘On top floor. Never wanted to move.’
‘I wonder whether we might examine Mr Evelyn’s rooms?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘Don’t know why you want to do that for. Thought that churchman had done that before you. He didn’t find anything.’
‘Yes, I believe the Dean, The Reverend Touchmore, did call to see if Mr Evelyn was ill, shortly after his disappearance. Tell me, Mrs Glover, was Mr Evelyn ever in the habit of receiving visitors in his rooms?’
The old woman thought for a moment. ‘No, he never had no visitors. You best come this way then, if you want to see his room.’
‘No one at all?’
‘Never. No one ever called on him. Not in the last thirty-five years anyway.’
‘He was a man who kept very much to himself then?’ said Ravenscroft following behind the old woman, who began to haul herself up the stairs.
‘Suppose so.’
‘Do you know whether Nicholas Evelyn had any relatives at all?’
‘None that I knows about,’ replied the landlady, becoming short of breath.
‘Do you know where he came from, before he came to Worcester that is?’ asked Ravenscroft observing the peeling wallpaper on the walls.
‘Don’t know. I never asked where he came from.’
‘When you supped together, did he ever say anything about his past, or about people he knew?’
‘Don’t provide supper. Lodgers look after themselves.’ Mrs Glover paused on the landing, holding the side of the banister whilst taking in deep breaths.
‘Are you all right?’ enquired a concerned Ravenscroft.
‘This is as far as I go. I can’t manage the other two flights, on account of me leg. Follow the stairs up, as far as you can. Door ain’t locked.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Glover, I’m sure we can manage,’ replied Crabb.
Ravenscroft and Crabb made their way up the two remaining flights of stairs, until they reached a small landing, with a door facing them. ‘Our Nicholas Evelyn was a man who liked to climb up stairs,’ said Ravenscroft pushing open the door.