Ravenscroft spent an uncomfortable night. The intermittent noises of the late night revellers outside his bedroom window celebrating the commencement of the Worcester Races, rendered the chance of any sleep almost an impossibility. At two o’clock in the morning a large scale fight that threatened to involve both the inhabitants of the whole of Friar Street and the visitors, accompanied by loud jeers and broken raucous applause, made him despair. When at three o’clock the affray seemed to die down only to be replaced by numerous encores of what he supposed to be Irish songs of a particularly unsavoury nature, Ravenscroft decided that it would be futile to remain in his room a moment longer. He dressed quickly, opened the door of the Cardinal’s Hat and made his way through the merry songsters until he reached the calm and peace of the cathedral Close.
Ravenscroft found his usual seat and sat down beneath the dim light of the hissing gas lamp. Most of the buildings in the Close were in complete darkness, except for the dim hall light which shone in the house of Sir Arthur Griffiths. The moon illuminated parts of the great cathedral building, throwing shadows across the grass, thereby emphasizing its age and grandeur.
Drawing his coat closer around him, Ravenscroft stretched out his legs, and rested his head on the back of the seat, before giving a deep sigh of relief that he had at last escaped the ribaldry of Friar Street. Closing his eyes, and feeling the gentle breeze of the night air upon his face, he found his thoughts returning to the day when he had first sat there on the same seat and had encountered Ruth Weston and her son. Now Ruth was dead, leaving her child an orphan except for the generosity of the Crabbs, and, without anyone to care for him in the world. Then he remembered the long climb up to the top of the tower and the words which Brother Jonus had spoken to him. For a moment he recalled peering down over the parapet and seeing again the ground revolving around him, and he felt a cold shiver run down his spine at the recollection of the scene. His thoughts turned to the little cottage in Ledbury where he knew that Lucy Armitage would be found, and wondered whether she might have rid her mind of their past meetings, or yet have retained some affection for him, but then he concluded that he must cast away such pleasant thoughts and false hopes.
Gradually his head became heavier and, as it fell downwards on to his chest, he saw himself again in Silas Renfrew’s library and heard once more the casual drawl of the American — ‘… part of the Worcester Antiphoner, a composite liturgical work dating back to the fourteenth century …’ The words kept repeating themselves, going round and round in a never ending spiral, until he broke away only to find his exit barred by the threatening presence of the Italian manservant.
‘Here, what are you doing out at this time of night?’
Ravenscroft awoke with a start.
‘Oh, begging your pardon, Inspector. I thought you were some vagrant or some other ne’er-do-well.’
Ravenscroft looked up into the face of the intruder of his dreams, and recognized the speaker as one of the constables who had assisted him in his search for the missing book along the banks of the river a few days earlier. ‘No, I am not a vagrant. To tell you the truth, Officer, I came out here for some peace and quiet. The noise of the revellers outside the Cardinal’s Hat was making it impossible for me to sleep.’
‘I know what you mean, sir. The cells back at the station are full of them, drunken Irishmen mainly.’
‘How long do the races go on for, Officer?’
‘Usually about three days. We’ll be glad at the station when it’s over and they’ve all gone back to their homes.’
‘What time is it?’
‘It’s just gone six, sir. Soon be dawn.’
‘That is good.’
‘Well, sir, I’ll leave you to your thoughts. Sorry to have disturbed you,’ said the police constable, giving Ravenscroft a salute, before walking back towards the town.
Ravenscroft looked up at the sky, where the new day would soon dawn, stretched his legs and gave a loud yawn. ‘The Antiphoner’ The words kept repeating themselves. ‘The Antiphoner — a work dating back to the fourteenth century’. Renfrew had said that he had purchased the work at auction in New York some years before, but surely such a precious item as the Antiphoner should be where it belonged — in the cathedral library — rather than in a private collection? Had he acquired the work illegally, and if so, had he purchased it from Evelyn?
As Ravenscroft made his way back to the Cardinal’s Hat in the hope of securing an early breakfast, he became more and more determined to investigate the origins of the ownership of the Antiphoner.
‘An excellent breakfast, landlord.’
‘Glad it was to your liking. We aim to please at the Cardinal’s.’
‘I wonder whether it would be possible to move to another room at the rear of the property?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘Noise keep you awake?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Sorry, sir, all our rooms are full; with them all attending the meeting I haven’t an inch to spare,’ replied his host shaking his head.
‘That’s a pity,’ sighed Ravenscroft. The thought of another night listening to the sounds of drunken revelry held little appeal.
‘I tell you what, seeing as you are practically a regular, I’ll see if I can get one of those Irish chaps to move into your room and you can have his room at the back.’
‘Splendid! I would be most obliged to you,’ replied Ravenscroft, feeling somewhat relieved.
‘It’s not quite as large as you’ve been used to.’
‘That is no matter; just as long as it’s quiet.’
‘See what I can do, can’t promise anything, mind.’ ‘Thank you, landlord; I would be most obliged.’
‘Good morning,’ said Crabb, entering the dining-room. ‘My word, the town’s busy today; hundreds of them making their way to the races. Superintendent Henderson will have his hands full.’
‘I know. Most of them have been celebrating the prospect of their winnings outside my window most of the night.’
‘Bad was it, sir? If things get too unpleasant, you could always come and stay with Jennie and me,’ offered Crabb, helping himself to a piece of uneaten toast.
‘That’s uncommonly generous of you, but I’ve asked the landlord to find me a quieter room. If he has no success, I might well take you up on your offer. How is that little lad, young Arthur?’
‘Still upset, sir, with the loss of his mother, as you would expect. Jennie does her best to comfort the lad as best she can.’
‘I’m sure she does. He is fortunate to be looked after by such kind people.’
‘Well, what is our plan for today?’ asked Crabb.
‘When I was at Renfrew’s I saw an old manuscript called the WorcesterAntiphoner. It was very early — possibly fourteenth century. The sort of book that rightfully belongs in the cathedral, and yet Renfrew claimed he had purchased it some years ago at auction in New York before he came to this country. We need to go back to the cathedral library. There may be records there which would indicate that the cathedral once owned the work, in which case we would have grounds to recover it, and that would then give us an excuse to make a search of Renfrew’s premises for the Whisperie at the same time. Also, we need a reply from Wedgewood regarding Cranston. There is something I don’t quite like about that fellow and, as he lodged with both Evelyn and Ruth Weston, he remains a strong suspect. Right then, Crabb, let us be on our way.’
Ravenscroft strode out of the Cardinal’s Hat, narrowly avoiding the low beam as he did so, with Crabb helping himself to the remaining piece of toast as he followed.
Entering the cathedral through the main entrance, they encountered Reverend Touchmore, who was busily fixing a notice to the board. ‘Good morning to you, gentlemen. I hear that you have apprehended the murderer of poor Miss Weston.’