‘I see,’ said Brother Jonus deep in thought. ‘Well I think I can give you my assurance that it was not one of my brothers — and I saw no one else in the cathedral that night.’
‘You saw no one at all?’
‘No one, Inspector.’
‘Is there any way that someone could have entered the cathedral, unnoticed, earlier in the evening, before your arrival?’
‘That is a possibility.’
‘It would have quite easy for such a person to have remained hidden for some time?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘There are certainly many places within the cathedral where such a person might be concealed.’
‘Could someone acquire a monk’s habit similar to your own?’
‘We usually have two spare robes hanging in a cupboard in the Chapter House,’ replied Brother Jonus.
‘I wonder whether we could go there now, to see whether one of them has been taken.’
‘Of course, Inspector, if you would care to follow me.’
Ravenscroft followed the monk out of the cloisters, and the two men made their way across to the Chapter House. Entering the room, Jonus opened the door of the cupboard — to reveal a single robe hanging on one of the pegs before them.
‘It seems you are right, Inspector.’
‘You would definitely say that one of these robes has been taken?’
‘We always have two hanging here. Of course it is possible that one of the brothers might have taken it, to replace his own if it were soiled. I could make enquiries should you so wish.’
‘I would appreciate that, Brother Jonus. You have been most helpful, but I must leave you now, if you will excuse me. If anything else occurs to you, I would appreciate it if you would get in touch with me.’
‘Certainly, Inspector: I do hope that you will be able to recover the lost book, it means so much to us all here in the cathedral. You see it is part of our legacy, and it is our duty to see that it is cared for and passed down for future generations. It is as though we have all lost a child,’ said Jonus.
‘I will certainly do my best to find and return the Whisperie,’ replied Ravenscroft with confidence.
‘When you have time my son, it will be good for us to speak again. You know where to find me. I sense that there is something disturbing you. It often helps to confide in another,’ said Brother Jonus, giving a gentle smile as he closed the door to the Chapter House.
‘Thank you, Brother Jonus. I will remember that,’ replied Ravenscroft as he walked away, deep in thought.
‘Well, Crabb, tell me the fruits of your research at the local library this morning?’ asked Ravenscroft, helping himself to a large slice of ham at lunch at the Old Talbot.
‘Quite a great deal concerning our Member of Parliament; not so much about Dr Edwards,’ replied Crabb, taking out his pocket book.
‘Tell me about Edwards first.’
‘Born 1828 in Cardiff. Educated at some private school in Bangor — the name of which I can’t pronounce — then studied for a degree in Latin and Mathematics at Cardiff University, after which he undertook a number of teaching appointments in Wales, before becoming assistant master at Monmouth College. He was appointed Master of King’s School twelve years ago, and has a wife and two grown-up children. He has also written three books on Latin grammar, and a book about Welsh Druids. That’s about all. Pretty dull fish, if you ask me, sir.’
‘And Griffiths?’
‘Sir Arthur Granville Sackville Boscawen Trevor Griffiths — quite a mouthful that, sir — born in 1840, second son of Gaspard Boscawen Griffiths of Chester. Educated at Rugby School before going on to Queen’s College, Oxford where he gained a degree in History and Politics. Whilst at Oxford he was President of the Oxford Union. He is a member of two London clubs — The Athaneum and Carlton. Also owns another house in London, in Kensington Gardens, I believe. First contested Tunbridge Wells for the Tory Party in 1865, where he was unsuccessful, but later contested Worcester, which he won in a by-election in 1870, and has remained the member ever since. He was knighted three years ago, for services to the party.’
‘Any family?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘There was a wife, Cecily, but she died about ten years ago. He does not appear to have remarried, and there is one child still alive from his first marriage, a daughter, I believe.’
‘Yes, Ruth Weston, the parlour maid, mentioned her. She apparently runs the house for her father. Did you find anything else?’
‘No, sir. I think that’s about all. Oh, I did take the trouble to look up your Dr Silas Renfrew whilst I was at the library. Born in New York in 1842, son of wealthy American parents; he came over to England about four years ago. He has quite an important collection of early English books and manuscripts, and has written one or two of books on the subject. Belongs to a number of learned academic and literary societies in both America and London,’ concluded the constable.
‘Well done, Crabb.’
‘And how was the rest of your morning, sir?’
‘I had a good look round the cathedral, and encountered one of the monks, a Brother Jonus, who remembers Evelyn both entering and leaving the cathedral on the night the book was taken. However, he cannot recall anyone else being there at the time — but we did find that one of the monk’s habits had been taken from a cupboard in the Chapter House.’
‘So whoever killed Evelyn and took the book from its hiding place, disguised himself as a monk, so he would not be recognized?’ remarked Crabb taking another drink of his ale.
‘It seems that way.’
‘But why kill Evelyn, once he had the book?’
‘Because he wanted to make sure that Evelyn would not talk about his role in the theft. Also he wanted to create the impression in the eyes of the world, that Evelyn had taken the book, and that it had been lost in the river when Evelyn was drowned.’
‘Very clever, seems we are dealing with quite a ruthless person!’
‘And we have to find out who this person is, so that we can recover the book. Drink up, Crabb, it’s time we called on the household of our Member of Parliament, to see if its occupants can shed any more light on this matter.’
A few minutes later found the two men making their way across the Cathedral Green, until they arrived at an imposing Georgian residence, the outside of which bore a brass plaque bearing the words — SIR ARTHUR GRIFFITHS, MP.
Crabb rang the doorbell.
‘Good afternoon, my name is Inspector Ravenscroft. This is Constable Crabb. Is your master at home?’ said Ravenscroft, addressing the maid who opened the door to him.
‘I’m afraid Sir Arthur is busy at the moment, sir. Perhaps you would care to make an appointment and call back later?’ replied the girl.
‘Could we see Miss Griffiths? I understand she is the lady of the house. Perhaps you would be kind enough to give her my card,’ said Ravenscroft, taking it from his pocket and giving it to the maid. He had half expected that Ruth Weston would have attended to them, but then he concluded that Sir Arthur would probably have more than one maid in such an imposing residence.
‘If you would care to wait in the hall, sir, I will see if Miss Griffiths is free to see you.’
‘Thank you. Could you say to your mistress that the matter is of great importance.’
Ravenscroft and Crabb stepped into the hall, as the housemaid walked away with Ravenscroft’s card on a round silver tray.
‘Well, this looks a fine place and no mistake,’ whispered Crabb looking around the hall with its ornate furniture and fine paintings. ‘Worth a shilling or two this lot, I’d be bound.’
‘Our Member of Parliament certainly seems to have done well for himself,’ replied Ravenscroft smiling, as he looked at a set of hand-coloured political satires on one of the walls.
The sound of a man’s voice could be heard talking in low tones from behind one of the doors.
‘Sir Arthur?’ said Crabb in a whisper.
‘Possibly,’ replied Ravenscroft.
‘Always makes me feel uncomfortable, places like this,’ said Crabb in a slightly louder voice.