‘I am an inspector with the Worcester Police,’ replied Ravenscroft, turning away from the stinking smell of alcohol.
‘Are you, by blazes?’ said Billy, attempting to throw the remaining contents of his glass in Ravenscroft’s direction, but missing and dowsing the piano player instead, much to the delight of the other drinkers.
‘Here, you look what you’re doing!’ she shouted.
A sudden quiet came over the assembly, as everyone stared in the policemen’s direction.
‘Put the cuffs on him, Crabb,’ instructed Ravenscroft in a firm voice, whilst grabbing the shoulders of the offending party.
Crabb sharply snapped the cuffs together around Billy’s wrists.
‘Now come outside, Billy, nice and peaceful,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘Here, where are you takin’ our Billy?’ shouted one of the drinkers.
‘You ain’t takin’ him nowhere!’ chorused another, a sentiment that was echoed from various parts of the bar.
‘You keep your hands off our Billy!’ said an aggressive third voice.
The situation was about to turn ugly, and Ravenscroft knew they would need all their powers as policemen, if they were to walk out of the inn unharmed and with their quarry.
‘I am Inspector Ravenscroft. My colleague is Constable Crabb. This man is required for questioning concerning the murder of a young female in Worcester some days ago.’
‘I don’t care who you are. You ain’t taking our Billy!’ shouted back the first drinker.
‘’Ere, ’ere!’ shouted several others, as the crowd gradually surrounded the two policemen.
‘Now look here. I am a police officer and I am walking out of this inn with this man,’ shouted Ravenscroft, summoning up all his courage, and looking around at the menacing group.
‘The devil you will!’ came back a voice.
‘If anyone tries to stop us, he will be arrested as well, and will spend the night in the cells.’
‘You just try. Bleeding coppers!’
‘Crabb, draw your truncheon!’ instructed Ravenscroft, as the crowd closed in.
‘Oh leave off, you silly buggers!’ The speaker was the lady pianist who was busily engaged in mopping up the ale from her ample features. ‘This is a respectable inn. We don’t want any trouble here.’
‘I’ll poke their lights out first!’ growled one of the drinkers.
‘You’ll do no such thing, Seth Robinson. For God’s sake let ’em go. Come on, let’s have another sing song,’ she said, resuming her seat and striking up a new tune.
‘Crabb, let’s get out of here, while we can,’ whispered Ravenscroft, relieved by the temporary lull in the proceedings. ‘Where’s Billy?’
‘Lord, sir, he’s given us the slip!’ replied Crabb, looking frantically around him.
‘Quickly, let’s get out of here.’
The two policemen thrust their way through the singing crowd, and out into the night air.
‘Things were turning a bit ugly in there, sir.’
‘And our friend Billy has taken the opportunity to escape. He can’t have got far, with those handcuffs on him,’ said Ravenscroft. ‘Where the devil has he got to?’
‘He’s over there, sir. On the bridge!’
‘Quickly. After him.’
Crabb darted along the towpath, Ravenscroft following on behind.
‘Come and get me, you stinking landlubbers!’ taunted Billy, climbing up on to the parapet of the bridge.
Crabb ran forward and reached out to grab the swaying figure, who suddenly lunged in the direction of the constable. Ravenscroft raced up on to the bridge and was horrified to hear a loud splash, as the two toppled over the edge into the waters below.
‘My God, Tom, are you all right?’ shouted Ravenscroft, looking down at the waters and trying to pick out the figures in the darkness. ‘Tom! Tom!’
‘I’ve got him!’ came back a voice he recognized.
‘Hang on, Tom. I can see a rowing boat at the side. I’ll be with you as soon as I can,’ replied Ravenscroft, racing down the steps at the side of the bridge, quickly untying the rope and flinging himself into the vessel.
‘Tom, are you still there?’ he shouted, as he rowed frantically into the centre of the river.
‘Over here!’
‘Hang on, Tom.!’ shouted Ravenscroft, redoubling his efforts, as he rowed towards his colleague.
‘I can’t hang on to him much longer.’
‘Can you push him up on to the side of the boat?’ said Ravenscroft reaching Crabb, and laying down the oars.
‘He’s out cold, sir,’ he spluttered, pushing the old seadog upwards towards the boat. Ravenscroft grabbed hold of the man and hauled him aboard. ‘God, he’s a weight. Now give me your hand, Tom, and I’ll haul you up as well.’
Ravenscroft reached out for his bedraggled colleague, and gradually lifted him upwards and on to the boat.
‘Are you all right, Tom?’
‘The villain grabbed hold of me, and I couldn’t stop us falling into the water,’ he replied, breathless and bedraggled, as he collapsed on to the seat.
‘You certainly frightened me. Get your breath back while I take a look at him,’ said Ravenscroft, turning Billy over at the bottom of the boat.
‘I think he might have hit his head on one of the pillars of the bridge as we went over.’
‘There’s a nasty gash on top of his head. I’m afraid he’s dead,’ pronounced Ravenscroft, sitting back.
‘Save the hangman a job,’ muttered Crabb.
‘Pity we didn’t have the opportunity to question him when he had sobered up. You sit there and I’ll row to the shore and see if we can find the local station.’
As Ravenscroft rowed towards the river-bank, he realized that although it looked as though he had now caught the probable murderer of Ruth Weston, he was still no nearer to understanding why the old sailor had committed such an act. He wondered whether Billy had also killed Evelyn, but if so, for what reason? What would the sailor have wanted with the book? Now that Billy was dead, the questions seemed unlikely to be answered — and the recovery of the Whisperie seemed further away than ever.
CHAPTER NINE
‘Well done, Ravenscroft.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
It was the following morning and Ravenscroft and Crabb had just reported the events of the previous evening to their superior at the station in Worcester.
‘Good work indeed. Show the people here that the police mean business, and that no crime will go unpunished!’ said Henderson stroking his moustache.
‘Indeed, sir.’
‘Pity you couldn’t get a confession out of the murdering swine before he topped himself.’
‘He didn’t top himself, sir. He hit his head on the side of the bridge when he fell into the river,’ corrected Ravenscroft.
‘Yes! Yes, whatever! Result’s the same and that’s what counts,’ said Henderson irritably. ‘Suppose he killed Evelyn as well?’
‘We don’t know that, sir. We still haven’t recovered the book.’
‘Yes, that damn book. You searched the boat, I suppose?’
‘We did, sir, but there was nothing except the red cord that I believe had been used to strangle Ruth Weston.’
‘H’m. Probably sold the book on to some collector or other,’ suggested Henderson.
‘We could get a warrant and search Dr Renfrew’s house,’ interjected Crabb.
‘The blazes you will! Renfrew is a prominent citizen. He’ll have the law down on us in no time. No, Ravenscroft, we can’t go marching over innocent people’s property, without a by your leave. It just isn’t on, man.’
‘I take your point.’
‘Look here, I quite understand if you’ve had enough of this case and want to get back to London. Now that we know that this Billy character killed Miss Weston and probably Evelyn as well, it’s only a matter of time before the book turns up.’
‘If it’s all the same to you, sir, I would like to continue with the case. We don’t know that Billy killed Evelyn, and I’m sure that I will shortly be able to recover the book,’ pleaded Ravenscroft, anxious that the case should not be taken away from him.