The room in which the two men now found themselves, was of an untidy but compact nature. A single bed ran the length of one wall, with an attic window above, which looked out across the crowded tenement buildings of Worcester. A table and chair were situated in the centre of the room, the former being littered with old books and papers; a further few books were to be found on a small bookcase near the door.
‘So this is where our librarian spent his evenings, in this lonely uninviting room, at the top of an old rambling lodging-house, in the centre of Worcester,’ said Ravenscroft beginning to examine the books on the table.
‘You would have thought he would have wanted to move somewhere better,’ said Crabb.
‘One thing I have learned about our friend, is that he was a creature of habit. It would have been completely out of character for him to have disturbed the equilibrium of his daily routine. I suppose the room also suited him, being near his place of work, and the view above his neighbours must have meant that he could have kept an eye on everything that was happening below him. Have a look through those papers on the desk, Crabb.’
‘What are we looking for, sir?’
‘I don’t really know at this stage — just anything which is out of the ordinary; something that does not perhaps fit in with everything else. His books seem dry fare, mainly medieval history, and books about old books and manuscripts,’ said Ravenscroft walking across the room to where another half-open door led into an even smaller room. ‘This must be where he washed and dressed,’ he said, observing the bowl and stand, and the few clothes hanging on the rail.
‘These papers seem to be mainly about books and manuscripts,’ said Crabb.
‘Go through them and see if there is any mention of the Whisperie,’ instructed Ravenscroft, examining the contents of a small chest of drawers. ‘It looks as though our librarian only had one change of clothes. He didn’t appear to eat much either, just the remains of some bread on this plate, and a piece of hard cheese.’
‘Perhaps he had his food brought in?’ suggested Crabb. ‘Or he dined out a lot.’
‘More likely he just bought food back to his rooms when he needed it. Give me half those papers.’
The two men spent the next few minutes going through the librarian’s papers, before finally Ravenscroft threw them down on the table, a look of frustration across his face. ‘Nothing! No mention of the Whisperie. No letters or anything of a personal nature. Don’t you find that strange, Crabb? We have here a man who appears to have had no friends, and no past. A man, in fact, whose life was the same from one day to the next.’
‘Not my kind of life,’ said Crabb.
‘Nor mine. It is as if he found comfort from his drab, ordered life. Do you know what I think, Crabb? I think something occurred in his life a long time ago, something which was so dramatic and upsetting, that it drove him to this life, where he could forget all that which had happened to disturb him.’
‘He could have been engaged to a lady perhaps, and she jilted him at the altar, or she died shortly after they were married?’
‘It could have been something like that, but our Evelyn does not look to have been the marrying type. Whatever it was, he buried it underneath these layers of order and drabness, where he could feel secure and cut off from the world. But then something happened one day, quite recently I would think, that threatened to disturb all this — something which reminded him of his past, and drove him to commit an act that was to be totally out of keeping with his character, and was to lead to his eventual death.’
‘That is all very profound, sir, if you don’t mind my saying so,’ remarked a puzzled Crabb.
‘What was it that drove him out of this room that night, to commit such an outrage? If only we could discover the answer to that question, then we might be able to find out who killed him and eventually recover the book,’ said Ravenscroft pacing up and down the room.
‘That is true, sir.’
‘Well, Crabb, it does not seem as though we will find the answer here, much though I would have hoped. Best make our way downstairs and pay our respects to Mrs Glover once more before we leave. I find this room rather sad and oppressive the longer I have to remain in it,’ said Ravenscroft, moving away from the table, and suddenly catching his boot on the edge of the waste-paper bucket. ‘There are some pieces of torn paper in here. Tip them out on to the desk,’ he instructed, looking down at the contents of the container.
‘Right, sir.’
‘See if we can fit the torn pieces together. It might be something important.’
The two men manoeuvred the fragments of paper around.
‘It seems to be some kind of message.’
‘I can just about read it. Evelyn seems to have screwed up the paper first, before reading it again, and then finally tearing up the note into small pieces. Ah, here we are-’
Tonight. Midnight. Leave book in usual place. You are released
‘What on earth does that mean, sir?’
‘It seems to indicate that after stealing the book, Evelyn is told to leave it in a prescribed place. Clearly the person who wrote this note was planning to collect the book later.’
‘Yes, sir, but what does it mean by “you are released”?’ enquired Crabb.
‘Yes, of course!’ exclaimed Ravenscroft. ‘By stealing the book, and by giving it to another, Evelyn was fulfilling some kind of pledge, and was being allowed to go free.’
‘Perhaps he was just being paid, and had fulfilled his side of the bargain?’
‘I don’t think so. He does not appear to have been the sort of person who sought wealth and riches. No, I think he was being blackmailed. Someone had discovered his dark secret, and was threatening to disclose it to the church authorities unless-’
‘He stole the Whisperie for them!’
‘Exactly!’
‘But we are no further forward in discovering what that secret was?’
‘I agree, but we now know that after stealing the book that night, Evelyn went down to the river with the direct purpose of leaving the book somewhere — “the usual place” — evidently a place where things, messages perhaps, had been left before.’
‘Why didn’t this person just ask Evelyn to steal the book for him, and then hand it over? Why go to all the business of sending messages and such like?’ asked a bewildered Crabb.
‘Because our blackmailer — for want of a better word — did not want Evelyn to know who he, or she was.’
‘Ah, I see now.’
‘Now we must find out where this place was. My guess is that it is somewhere between the base of the cathedral steps, and just off the towpath, and before the entrance to the canal. We need some men to search that area thoroughly. The book might still be there. Our blackmailer might not have collected it yet. Go back to the station and see if you can round up some men, I’ll meet you all at the bottom of the steps.’
‘Right, men, line up here and listen to what the inspector has to say.’
‘Thank you, Constable Crabb. All of you will no doubt have heard about the theft of a book from the cathedral library some nights ago, and the recovery of the body of the librarian from the river,’ said Ravenscroft addressing the four uniformed policemen who now faced him. ‘We believe that after the librarian came down these steps he made his way along the towpath, and out towards where the canal joins up with the river at Diglis. Somewhere between the two places he hid the book. We don’t know exactly where. As we go along the towpath, I will send each of you inwards away from the river. We are looking for a hiding place, somewhere small where the book might still be hidden. If you find a parcel of any kind, recover it, and bring it to me. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir,’ answered the constables in unison.
‘Then, let’s set to it, men.’