‘Perhaps they had every confidence in the school, despite the death of their eldest son. After all we don’t know what caused the elder Tinniswood to take his own life,’ suggested Crabb.
‘I wonder why the younger brother left the school so suddenly? The boy, Malcolm, was born in 1853. That would make him 35 now, if he was still alive.’
‘Cranston and Renfrew’s age, I would say.’
‘It seems to me that we could have been looking at this case from the wrong direction. Up to now we have assumed that Evelyn was killed for the Whisperie alone. We now know that he could have been involved in some way with Martin Tinniswood’s suicide all those years ago. Perhaps Malcolm found out the true cause of his brother’s death when he was a pupil here. That knowledge, in some way, leads to his expulsion from the school, but years later he returns and claims his revenge on Evelyn?’ said Ravenscroft thinking aloud.
‘It all sounds a bit too involved to me,’ said Crabb, a puzzled expression on his face.
‘Yes, perhaps you’re right. Sometimes I feel we are clutching at straws. Probably the death of Martin Tinniswood has nothing whatever to do with this business after all, and we are being distracted from our main line of enquiry.’
‘Good morning, Inspector!’ shouted a voice from across the green.
‘Mr Taylor. Might we have a quick word with you?’ shouted back Ravenscroft, quickening his pace in the choirmaster’s direction.
‘Always at your service, Inspector, but I must warn you that thirty rebellious choirboys are threatening to burn down the cathedral, unless I can bring my restraining influence to bear within the next five minutes,’ said the young choirmaster smiling.
‘We won’t detain you long,’ replied Ravenscroft. ‘Does the name Tinniswood mean anything to you?’
‘Tinniswood? Tinniswood? Can’t say it does, Inspector. Sounds like the name of one of those three-legged horses at the Worcester Races,’ said the young man running his hand through his untidy hair.
‘He was a member of the choir. He committed suicide in 1851.’
‘Good Lord, was his singing that bad?’
‘This is a serious line of inquiry, Mr Taylor,’ said Ravenscroft sternly.
‘Yes, I’m sorry, 1851 was long before my time, Inspector. At that date I was but a mere thought in my mother’s eye.’
‘How long have you been choirmaster here?’ asked Ravenscroft quickly changing the subject.
‘I came last year. There wasn’t a vacancy going at the time at St Paul’s, so London’s loss was Worcester’s gain — or is it the other way round?’
‘Have you ever had any association with the town of Hay-on-Wye?’
‘Hay-on-Wye? The Lord has saved me from that dreaded experience! Some dreary backwater on the edge of Wales, I believe. Sounds the kind of place you send your maiden aunt to, in the hope that she may never return!’
‘Thank you, Mr Taylor. We won’t detain you any longer.’
‘Then I bid you farewell. Tallis and Tompkins await the ruination of their works, yet again, by the angelic voices of the cathedral song birds. Will nothing survive the murderous onslaught?’ said the choirmaster, shaking his head and quickly heading off in the direction of the cathedral.
‘You think he might be our Malcolm Tinniswood? He did treat the whole matter somewhat lightly,’ said Crabb.
‘Mr Taylor sees himself as nature’s jester. But to answer your question, he would certainly be the right age, and it would have been easy for him to have changed his name from Malcolm Tinniswood to Matthew Taylor. In this world, Crabb, you can never be sure of anything,’ replied Ravenscroft. ‘But I know one thing.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s time we sought some refreshment. Let’s go to the Diglis. It’s not far from here and a breath of air by the river would be most welcome.’
A few minutes later Ravenscroft and Crabb entered the Diglis where they were welcomed by the landlord like old friends.
‘Good to see you again, gentlemen.’
‘And to you, landlord,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘Same as last time, is it?’
‘If you will.’
‘Shame about old Billy; I would never have thought he would have been the murdering type,’ said the landlord wiping the bar with a cloth.
‘People will sometimes do anything for money,’ replied Ravenscroft, as their host disappeared round the back of the bar.
The two men seated themselves by the window, which afforded them a view over the river.
‘Henderson has given us just two more days to solve the case. Time is running out for us, Crabb. I’m sure that the death of that choirboy has something to do with this case.’
‘It was a very long time ago.’
‘Yes, but if Nicholas Evelyn was responsible in some way for the boy’s death, and the younger Tinniswood later found out the truth when he was a pupil here, then he could have returned many years later and blackmailed Evelyn with that knowledge, forcing him to steal the Whisperie for him — and possibly the Antiphoner as well.’
‘Thank you,’ interjected Crabb, as the landlord placed two tankards of ale before them.
‘Tinniswood. Who is the younger Tinniswood? Who is our murderer?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘There is the choirmaster, Matthew Taylor. Sir Arthur would be too old. My money would be on Cranston,’ said Crabb, taking a drink of his ale.
‘I’m inclined to agree with you. Cranston is certainly an unpleasant enough fellow. We must not forget Renfrew however.’
‘But he is an American, sir.’
‘The Tinniswood family might have moved to America when young Malcolm was just thirteen, which would account for him leaving the school so early. When he grew up he could easily have changed his name to Renfrew before he returned to England. He also has the desire to possess early valuable manuscripts.’
‘There is also Edwards.’
‘No. He is far too old. Had he been our murderer he would never have shown us the other card which contained details of Malcolm Tinniswood.’
‘What do we do next then?’ asked Crabb.
‘I think we should pay a visit to Hay-on-Wye tomorrow, and see what we can find out about the Tinniswood family. I am still convinced that this present mystery has its origins back in 1851, when that poor choirboy took his own life. How far is Hay from here?’
‘It must be about sixty or seventy miles. It’s the other side of Hereford. I’ll consult the railway timetables, and find out when the trains are running.’
‘Could be a long day, Crabb. We will need refreshments.’
‘That will be all right, sir. I’ve got my Jennie. She’ll see me right,’ said Crabb.
Ravenscroft suddenly banged his tankard down on the table.
‘Whatever is the matter?’
‘What was that you just said?’
‘I said, I’ve got my Jennie. She’ll see me right,’ repeated Crabb, mystified.
‘Of course! That’s it. How stupid I have been not to have seen the connection before. We’ve been following the wrong path all this time. Drink up. It’s time we made an arrest. I think I now know who paid Billy to kill Ruth Weston!’
‘Do sit down, Inspector,’ said Sir Arthur.
‘Thank you, sir. Good afternoon to you as well Miss Griffiths,’ said Ravenscroft accepting the seat. The young lady nodded briefly in his direction.
‘You have some news regarding the case?’ asked the Member for Worcester.
‘Yes, sir. I hope to be making an arrest shortly,’ replied Ravenscroft with confidence.
‘That is good news. It will give me great pleasure to see the villain who paid old Billy to kill Miss Weston behind bars,’ smiled Sir Arthur. ‘Did you hear that, my dear? Ravenscroft says he is about to make an arrest. We will have justice at last.’
‘Yes, Father,’ replied his daughter, staring out of the window.
‘Before I begin, sir, can I assume that your daughter is fully acquainted with the facts that you disclosed to me the other day?’
‘My father has never kept any secrets from me,’ said Miss Griffiths nervously turning her fingers in her lap.