There followed a long silence, before the door opened to reveal a well-dresed, middle-aged man with dark, swept back hair, a thin nose and glasses. ‘Yes, gentlemen, how can I help you?’
‘I am Inspector Ravenscroft and this is Constable Crabb. We are investigating the disappearances and murders of two of your fellow lodgers, Nicholas Evelyn and Ruth Weston. May we come in, sir?’
‘I suppose so. Mrs Glover did mention that you would be calling on me, but I don’t see how I can help you. I am seldom here,’ said Cranston opening the door to a small sitting-room, furnished with a desk, a table and two armchairs.
‘Why is that, sir?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘I am a commercial traveller for the Worcester Porcelain Company. I travel all over the country to visit our retailers, to show them our latest models and wares,’ replied Cranston in a dry, matter-of-fact voice.
‘Why do you live at Glovers?’ enquired Crabb.
‘I have to be in Worcester in order to collect the samples from the company. Glovers is not the best of lodging-houses, as you can see, Inspector, but I find it comfortable and convenient enough.’
‘What can you tell us about your fellow lodgers?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘Very little, I’m afraid, Inspector. As I said I am away a great deal,’ replied Cranston, turning away.
‘Nicholas Evelyn?’ asked Crabb.
‘Hardly ever saw the man. I heard him sometimes pacing up and down in his room, which is above mine, but I never spoke to him. He seemed a reclusive, sad sort of fellow.’
‘And Miss Weston and her son?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘I suppose I did see more of them. I would sometimes see them going into their rooms, as I made my way out in the mornings, and we would exchange a few words of greeting, but that was all.’
‘So you did not mix socially with either Mr Evelyn or Miss Weston,’ said Ravenscroft, walking across to the window and peering out at the old nearby buildings.
‘I have just said that I hardly knew either of them,’ replied the lodger in what Ravenscroft discerned, was an irritated tone of voice.
‘So you did, Mr Cranston. Do you know whether either of them received visitors?’
‘Mrs Glover does not allow visitors in the rooms.’
‘How long have you been here in Worcester, Mr Cranston?’ asked Ravenscroft, finding that he was beginning to dislike the man.
‘For about three years.’
‘And where were you before that, sir?’
‘Look, Inspector, I have told you all I know about Ruth Weston and Nicholas Evelyn. I don’t think it is any business of yours to delve into my past life,’ snapped Cranston.
‘We are not delving, sir; merely enquiring. Two people in this lodging house have met with untimely deaths, and a valuable book has been stolen from the cathedral library. These are matters of grave concern. You would oblige me, by answering our questions.’
‘I was a commercial traveller for the Wedgewood Pottery Company in Staffordshire, before I came to Worcester,’ replied Cranston, sighing and giving them an unwelcoming stare.
‘And how long were you with Wedgewood?’
‘Six years.’
‘Why did you leave?’
‘Look, I’ve had enough of these ridiculous questions!’
‘’Why did you leave?’ asked Ravenscroft, firmly repeating the question.
‘I left because I was offered an increase in salary to join the Worcester Porcelain Company. You can check that with them, if you so wish. Now, I must insist you stop these aimless questions, I have some serious paperwork to complete before tomorrow morning,’ said Cranston, crossing over to the door.
‘We will be doing just that, Mr Cranston. In the meantime, you would oblige me by remaining in Worcester until our investigations are completed.’
‘That, Inspector, will prove impossible. Later tomorrow I must leave for London again. I have appointments with a number of important clients which cannot be put off.’
‘Nevertheless, I must insist, sir, that you remain in Worcester, whilst we continue with our enquiries,’ replied the inspector, annoyed by the other’s objections.
‘And I have just said that I cannot comply with your request.’
‘You would oblige us, sir.’
‘No, Inspector. I will not be remaining in Worcester. If you wish to detain me then you will have to charge me with these murders, or some other crime — otherwise you have no right to prevent my travelling up to London tomorrow to conduct my business affairs. Now I wish you both good day gentlemen.’
The two stared at each other, both seeking to test the mettle of the other.
‘Good day to you, Mr Cranston,’ said Ravenscroft, suddenly walking out of the door, closely followed by Crabb trying to replace his pocket book in the top pocket of his tunic.
‘Well, he was a very unpleasant fellow and no mistake,’ said Crabb as the two men walked away from Glovers. ‘Pity we couldn’t have locked him up in the cells of Worcester gaol for the night. He might have then proved more accommodating.’
‘I doubt it. I must say I was sorely tempted to have taken him into custody, but I couldn’t for the life of me think of anything I could charge him with. He seems the kind of person who would have a brief on to us before we could turn the key in the lock of his cell. But he certainly knows a lot more than he is letting on, I am convinced of that. It is more than just a coincidence that two of his fellow lodgers are now dead.’
‘Perhaps Cranston killed Evelyn. Ruth Weston found out about Cranston’s involvement, so he had to kill her as well, in order to keep her quiet,’ suggested Crabb.
‘Maybe.’
‘We could search his rooms, sir. The book might still be there.’
‘I doubt it. If Cranston is our killer he would have sold it on to a collector by now.’
‘Then your Dr Silas Renfrew would have it.’
‘Possibly; but we have too little to go on at present, and would cause more harm than good if we go searching people’s houses. Your Superintendent Henderson would be very pleased about that, I’m sure. No, there is something which binds the two victims together, and I feel that our Mr Cranston is involved in it somewhere along the line.’
‘Do we check his story, sir?’
‘We certainly will, Crabb, or rather you will. Would you go to the porcelain works and see what they can tell us about Cranston? In the meantime, I am going to pay a visit to that warehouse down by the bridge.’
‘Good day to you, I am looking for Mr Snedden,’ said Ravenscroft, addressing a stout, elderly gentleman who was supervising the unloading of cargo from one of the boats tied up along the quay.
‘You are looking at him,’ replied the man looking up from his note pad.
‘I am Inspector Ravenscroft. I am conducting inquiries into the murder of a young woman by the name of Ruth Weston.’
‘I’ve never heard of her. Here, look where you’re putting that sack, Tom,’ replied the man, shouting at one of his workmen.
‘I would not expect you to have been acquainted with her. We recovered the poor unfortunate woman from the river yesterday at Holt Fleet.’
‘I’m sorry for the poor woman, but what’s that to do with me?’
‘The victim had been strangled, and bundled into a sack before being thrown into the river. The sack bore the name ‘Snedden’ printed on the outside, and there were remains of grain in the bottom.’
‘Who did you say you were?’
‘Ravenscroft, Inspector Ravenscroft.’
‘Funny, we get quite a number of visits from the police. I don’t recall seeing you at all.’
‘I’m from London. I’m assisting the Worcester Police in this inquiry.’
‘I see. Well, we have got hundreds of them sacks. Use them all the time to transport the grain up and down the river.’
‘Do you employ a large number of men to transport the sacks of grain?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘We employ about thirty or forty men, mostly on a casual basis, as and when we need them.’
‘And where do most of the sacks go to?’