‘You mentioned something about a boy dying in the cathedral?’
‘The poor boy killed himself!’
‘He was found hanging from a rope one morning.’
‘He was one of the choirboys.’
‘You say one of the choirboys committed suicide in 1851. Thirty-seven years ago. Did they ever find out why he killed himself?’ asked Ravenscroft anxious to learn more.
‘No. I think there was an inquest,’ said Mary Ann.
‘But they said they could find no reason as to why such a young boy should have killed himself,’ added Alice Maria.
‘How old was he?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘Thirteen I think,’ said the eldest sister.
‘No, no, my dear, I think he was fourteen,’ corrected Emily.
‘No sister, I remember distinctly the coroner saying he was just twelve,’ interjected Alice Maria shaking her head.
‘Do you happen to remember the name of the boy?’ asked Ravenscroft replacing his coffee cup on the small table at the side of his chair.
The three sisters fell strangely silent for a few moments, as each tried to remember the name of the boy.
‘No matter, ladies,’ said Ravenscroft presently.
‘I’m sorry, Inspector.’
‘Please don’t worry. Perhaps you would be kind enough to let me know if you recall the name of the poor unfortunate boy. You say he was a choirboy. Then he would have been a pupil at King’s School,’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘All the choirboys are pupils of the school,’ said Alice Maria.
‘Then I may be able to find out more from Dr Edwards and from the school records. Thank you, ladies, for the coffee,’ said Ravenscroft rising from his seat.
‘I do so hope that we have been of some assistance to you, Inspector?’ said Mary Ann.
‘You have been most helpful.’
‘Do please call and see us again,’ said Alice Maria.
‘I certainly will. Good day to you, ladies,’ said Ravenscroft taking his leave, his mind occupied with thoughts of the choirboy who had taken his life thirty-seven years ago and wondering whether this new line of enquiry would prove to have any bearing on the events he was currently investigating.
‘Well, Crabb, what did your research at the library reveal?’ asked Ravenscroft, as they stood outside the entrance to King’s School, later that morning.
‘I discovered that there are no less than five auction houses in New York. I have their names and addresses here. Shall we contact them, sir?’
‘It might take too long. No, at the present we will wait for Renfrew’s return and see what he has to say about the purchase of the Antiphoner. At present I am more interested to learn about this choirboy who hanged himself all those years ago.’
‘Can’t see how it can help us with our investigations,’ replied Crabb, pulling the bell at the side of the door.
‘At the present, neither can I, but I feel it is a line of enquiry that may prove of value to us.’
‘Good morning to you, gentlemen,’ said the porter opening the door.
‘We would like to see Dr Edwards, if you please,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘Certainly, sir, I will see whether he is free. Who shall I say has called?’
‘Inspector Ravenscroft and Constable Crabb. We have spoken to Dr Edwards before. I am sure he will remember us.’
‘If you would care to wait in the hall, gentlemen,’ said the elderly porter eying them with a degree of suspicion, before shuffling off down a long passageway.
Ravenscroft and Crabb waited silently, passing the time in examining the various portraits and photographs, of past masters and recent boys, that hung on the walls.
‘Doctor Edwards will see you now, gentlemen. If you would care to follow me,’ said the porter returning.
The two detectives followed the servant until they reached a door which was opened to reveal a book-lined study.
‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ said Edwards in his loud Welsh voice.
‘Good morning to you, Dr Edwards,’ said Ravenscroft, shaking hands with the headmaster.
Please do sit down. How can I help you? I think I told you all I knew about the night I met Evelyn, when we last met, Inspector. I’m sure that I have nothing further to add,’ said Edwards.
‘I have come to see you on an entirely different matter. I have just learnt that in the year 1851 a choirboy from this school committed suicide and I was wondering whether you could throw any light on the matter?’
‘Good heavens. 1851. That was long before my arrival here.’
‘We appreciate that, sir. You arrived in…?’
‘1876.’
‘When you came to King’s did anyone mention anything about the incident?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘How have you come by this knowledge?’ asked Edwards. Ravenscroft thought he could detect a degree of caution creeping into the schoolmaster’s voice.
‘The Tovey sisters recalled the incident to me. Apparently their late father had been a teacher here at the school.’
‘So I believe, although he had died many years before my own arrival here. I must confess, Inspector, that this is the first time anyone has spoken to me about such an incident. Certainly no one mentioned it to me when I arrived twelve years ago, but then there was probably hardly anyone on the staff who would have been here as long ago as 1851,’ replied Edwards removing his spectacles and breathing on them before wiping them on a cloth which lay on his desk.
‘I see,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘Perhaps the Tovey sisters’ memories are at fault. They could be confused. Age can play many tricks. Maybe the incident happened elsewhere or at an earlier date,’ suggested Edwards, replacing the glasses on the end of his long nose.
‘They seemed quite certain, although I must admit that they could not remember the boy’s name. Does the school keep records?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘It does, going back many years. There might be something here,’ said the master rising from his seat somewhat reluctantly, and walking over to one of the large bookcases. ‘1851? Let me see. 1840. 1845. 1850. Yes, here we are, 1851,’ he said, taking down a large volume from the shelves and laying it upon the table. ‘If you would care to go through it, gentlemen, you might find something. You don’t mind if I carry on writing a few letters?’
‘Not at all,’ replied Ravenscroft, opening the volume.
For the next few minutes the two policemen worked in silence, turning over the pages of the school records, whilst Edwards busied himself with his correspondence.
‘Nothing at all!’ announced Ravenscroft, sighing and closing the volume.
‘Perhaps the Tovey sisters had the wrong year?’ suggested Crabb.
‘No. They were most insistent that the year was 1851. They remembered it because their father took them to see the Great Exhibition.’
‘Well, gentlemen, it appears that the school can be of little assistance to you in this digression from your investigations,’ said Edwards, in a tone which Ravenscroft felt almost bordered on sarcasm.
‘Thank you for your time, Dr Edwards.’
Edwards looked up briefly from his writing, and gave Ravenscroft and Crabb a casual glance as they left the room.
‘Well, no luck there. I thought Edwards was a bit off hand.’
‘He was probably not too enthusiastic our searching through the school records,’ replied Ravenscroft.
‘Perhaps your Tovey sisters invented the whole story,’ suggested Crabb as the two men walked away from the school.
‘No. I consider it the more likely that the school did not enter details of the incident because they felt it reflected badly on them. If there was such an incident, they obviously thought it better to forget that it ever happened at all.’
‘You could be right. But if the school has no record of the incident, what are we to do?’
‘The Tovey sisters said there was an inquest. It could be that the local paper sent a reporter to cover it. Take me to the library, Crabb. Let us see if they have any back copies filed away.’