‘Yes, yes, all right then. I suppose a few more days won’t hurt. You might turn up something. Must get on now, Ravenscroft; races start tomorrow. Worcester will be full by teatime with every rogue and villain that was ever born under the sun; but we’ll be ready for them Ravenscroft, yes, we’ll be ready for them,’ said Henderson, pulling on his coat and striding out of the room.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Ravenscroft, as the door banged behind their chief.
‘So, we’ve got a few more days to solve this crime,’ said Crabb. ‘I suppose there’s no doubt that old Billy did kill Ruth Weston?’
‘I have no doubt at all. He evidently lured Ruth Weston down to the river-bank late at night, where he strangled her aboard his barge. Then he placed the body in one of Snedden’s sacks, and kept it on board the boat until he was able to dump it in the river, further upstream. The question remains, however — why?’
‘Money, sir?’
‘Exactly!’
‘He murdered the poor woman for the money she had on her person?’
‘Somehow I doubt that. He would have not known how much money she had in her pockets. Also, it does not explain why she left her son and her lodgings to go walking alone, late at night, down by the river.’
‘She could have been meeting someone?’ suggested Crabb.
‘I think you are probably right. Ruth Weston had an appointment with someone down by the river. Instead she meets old Billy, who is the worse for drink, and who then kills her for what little money she has, unless, of course, unless Billy was paid by a third party to kill her!’
‘But why? Why would someone, this third party, want Ruth Weston out of the way?’
‘That is what we must find out. My guess is that, by some means or other, she had found out who had killed Evelyn, and the killer then lured her down to the river-bank, where he paid Billy a sum of money to kill her and dispose of the body.’
‘Seems highly probable, sir, when you think about it.’
‘Unfortunately, we are still miles away from finding out who is our killer. I tell you one thing Crabb, I don’t like that Cranston fellow. I feel he is hiding a great deal from us. Go to the telegraph office, and send a telegram to the Wedgewood factory in Stoke on Trent, asking them if they can tell us more about him.’
‘Right, sir, I’m on my way.’
‘I’m going back to the cathedral to have another word with Brother Jonus. Meet me there later.’
Walking into the cathedral, Ravenscroft first encountered Matthew Taylor who was busily engaged in collecting up hymn books from the choir stalls.
‘Good day to you, Inspector. I trust you are fully recovered from your night time excursion to the fair town of Bewdley,’ said the choirmaster, looking up from his task.
‘Yes, thank you. But how did you know-?’ began Ravenscroft.
‘The walls of this cathedral have ears. Speak always in low tones, or your whispers will find you out!’ said the other in a light-hearted manner.
‘I had not realized that the news travelled so fast. Did you know Billy at all?’
‘Oh, everyone knew old Billy, smelly and as damp as a cowpat! He was often seen late at night staggering past the cathedral on his way back to his old tub. It’s a wonder he was ever able to find it, the condition he was generally in, but they always say a drowning rat will often return to the scene of his greatest triumphs. And now the drunken old fool has gone and killed the saintly Miss Weston. Could you please hold these books, Inspector, whilst I gather up the rest?’ said Taylor unloading a pile of hymn books into Ravenscroft’s outstretched arms.
‘Why do you think old Billy killed Miss Weston?’
‘How would I know, Inspector? I’m only a poor humble songster, and am completely unaware of the workings of the criminal mind,’ he laughed.
‘This is a serious matter, Mr Taylor,’ said Ravenscroft peering over the top of the increasing stack of books.
‘Of course, Inspector. You must excuse my frivolous nature. Now, let me see — why do I think Billy killed Miss Weston? Money! There that’s your answer. He killed her in return for money.’
‘I had deduced that already,’ replied Ravenscroft, annoyed. ‘Perhaps you might also be able to suggest, who you believe paid Billy to kill Miss Weston.’
‘Paid, was he? Well, yes, I suppose he must have been. There are plenty of candidates. What about Renfrew? My mother used to say, you can never trust an American, all descended from rustlers and deported highwaymen. Then there is my employer, Dr Edwards — although please don’t let on that I told you so, or I’ll be out of a job. You could try the famous illustrious Member for Worcester, his eminence the mighty Sir Arthur Griffiths, or perhaps one of those Tovey sisters thought they needed some entertainment to liven up the dull evenings,’ said the choirmaster, loading yet more books on to Ravenscroft.
‘You’ve left one person out, Mr Taylor.’
‘Have I? Dear me, who can that possibly be? No, surely not — but, yes, it must be me! I must be the evil mastermind behind these terrible deeds. I killed Evelyn to get my hands on the Whisperie, so I could sell it to the crooked American, thus enabling me to spend my ill-gotten gains on the gambling tables at Monte Carlo! Just follow me over here, Inspector. We stack the hymn books on the table.’
‘Mr Taylor, what can you tell me about Ruth Weston?’ said Ravenscroft, doing his best to ignore the previous remarks.
‘Oh the poor Miss Weston, she was such a plain, simple soul. I often saw the poor woman and her son at Holy Communion. She generally sat over there, amongst the servant classes, some rows back from Sir Arthur and all the other Worcester nobility,’ he replied, taking the books off Ravenscroft one by one, and stacking them in neat piles on the table.
‘Did you ever notice anyone with her? Did she ever have company?’
‘No. They always seemed alone. Rather sad, I suppose.’
‘Thank you, Mr Taylor. I’m looking for Brother Jonus.’
‘Then you will need to gird your loins: it’s a long way up to Heaven,’ said the choirmaster, taking the remaining books.
‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand?’
‘Up to the tower. That’s where Brother Jonus goes at this time of day.’
‘I see, and the way to the tower?’
‘You go up the steps over there,’ said Taylor, pointing. ‘Keep going until you get to the top. That’s where you will find Brother Jonus — and that is where you must also stop climbing, otherwise you might fall over the edge!’
‘I’ll try and remember,’ replied Ravenscroft, walking away.
‘Until next time, Inspector,’ called out the choirmaster.
Ravenscroft made his slow progression up the stairs of the tower, pausing now and again to steady himself against the walls and to ease the congestion in his lungs. Eventually he found himself stepping out from the gloom of the stairway into the bright sunlight of the upper platform of the tower.
‘Inspector Ravenscroft, you have come to admire the view,’ said Brother Jonus smiling.
‘Brother,’ replied Ravenscroft, shaking hands with the learned monk. ‘I was told I might find you up here.’
‘From here you can see not only the whole of Worcester but also the surrounding countryside. You have chosen an excellent day to make the climb. See the course of the river as it flows down to Upton and Tewkesbury, and over there where it joins the Birmingham canal at Diglis. There are the Malvern Hills. Now, if you turn the other way, Inspector, you can see the tents being set up on Pitchcroft in preparation for the races.’
‘It is certainly a fine view,’ replied Ravenscroft, gradually recovering his breath. He walked across to the edge of the platform and peered down.
‘You also have a good view of the green, although if you look down too long it can make you rather dizzy.’
‘I see what you mean,’ he replied, steadying himself and taking a few steps back from the edge. ‘I must admit, Brother Jonus, that heights are not always to my liking. Do you come up here often?’