Renfrew smiled and turned to leave the room.
‘We will find the Whisperie,’ announced Ravenscroft, trying to sound as confident as he could.
‘I sense that your search will prove fruitless, Inspector,’ said Renfrew, a superior tone to his voice. ‘I look forward to receiving a full apology.’
‘Close the door, Crabb,’ instructed Ravenscroft after they had gone.
‘He’s a slippery cove, if ever I saw one,’ said Crabb.
‘The man is insufferable. It was more than I could do to restrain myself from laying my hand on that supercilious face. The worst thing is that he’s probably right. He will no doubt hire the cleverest brief in London and get off on all charges unless we can find the Whisperie first.’
‘The men are searching the rest of the house. It will only be a matter of time before they turn up the work,’ said Crabb optimistically.
‘I’m not so sure. If you wanted to hide the Whisperie, where would you hide it?’
‘Under my bed, in a chest-of-drawers, in that desk over there,’ Crabb suggested pointing at the item of furniture. ‘Or perhaps the house has a secret room or cavity somewhere.’
‘All obvious places, I fear, which we will check, nevertheless. No, if I wanted to hide a particular coloured stone I would place it in the middle of a group of similar coloured stones where it would not stand out. I feel that the Whisperie is probably somewhere in this room, lying on the shelves between similar volumes or within one of these cases with other manuscripts.’
‘You could well be right, sir.’
‘Then we’d best set to work. You take those shelves over there; I’ll do this bookcase. Take down every book and see that there are no loose manuscripts inside.’
Dawn was breaking as Crabb pulled back the curtain of the library. Ravenscroft, slumped in one of the armchairs, raised his hand to shelter his eyes from the light.
‘Nothing, absolutely nothing. We’ve searched through every book and manuscript. Nothing!’
‘The men made a search of the rest of the house, and checked both the cellars and the outbuildings. I sent them home three hours ago, sir,’ replied a weary Crabb.
‘Where the devil is it, Tom? It has to be here, but the deuce knows where,’ sighed Ravenscroft, ‘We’ve even checked the walls and furniture for hidden cavities.’
‘Perhaps Renfrew has moved the manuscript elsewhere. Placed it in a bank vault somewhere in London, or even posted it off to America,’ suggested Crabb.
‘Somehow I don’t think so. Renfrew is not the kind of man who would lock things away. He would want to gaze upon his recent acquisition every day, revel in its detail and history, run his fingers over the ornate lettering and decipher its meaning. No, he would want it close at hand — the question is where?’
‘Perhaps we should go home, and get some rest. Come back later in the day?’
‘We would then have to let Renfrew go, much against my better judgement and humour, and once he returns here he could quickly leave Worcester taking the Whisperie with him, before we were able to return.’
‘We could always place some men on guard to see that he did not do that, sir.’
‘Then we would have his brief breathing down our necks, saying we were hounding his client. No, Renfrew would lie low, until all this had died down, then he would take his opportunity to slip quietly out of the country, no doubt taking it with him. The manuscript would then be lost forever to the cathedral,’ replied Ravenscroft dejectedly.
‘We can search again, sir.’
‘You’re right, Tom, we have obviously missed something. It’s probably right here under our very noses, and we have been too blind to see it. Renfrew is a proud, self opinionated man, and I am determined to see that his fall from grace is a mighty one, and-’ Ravenscroft stopped suddenly.
‘What is it?’
‘That’s it! Renfrew has left us a clue. He is such a vain man and confident of his own success, yet unable to resist the temptation of teasing us. His arrogance, however, may well have got the better of him this time,’ said Ravenscroft walking over to one of the cases. ‘See here, Crabb, the first folio of the works of William Shakespeare. Open at King Henry VIII. Those lines are spoken by Cardinal Wolsey after his fall from grace-
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
This many summers in a sea of glory,
But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride
At length broke under me, and now has left me,
Weary and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream that must for ever hide me.
‘Bit beyond me, sir,’ said Crabb puzzled.
‘Open the case, Tom. Don’t you see? The words say that his pride has left him, leaving him to the mercy of a stream that will forever hide him,’ said Ravenscroft excitedly.
‘I still don’t see. There’s no stream here to hide the Whisperie,’ said Crabb, opening the case.
‘No, but there is a book. What Wolsey, or rather Renfrew, is telling us is that the Whisperie is hidden within this work. When I first saw this volume, I accepted it at face value, the First Folio of the Works of William Shakespeare published in the early part of the seventeenth century,’ said Ravenscroft reaching into the case, ‘But I think we may find that the work is not all that it purports to be. Look, the first few pages appear to belong to the First Folio — but see how they lift up, to reveal a secret cavity of some sort underneath.’
‘You think Renfrew has hidden the Whisperie within it?’ asked Crabb.
‘We shall see. Let’s find how to open the lid of the compartment.’
Ravenscroft ran his fingernail along the edge of the lid, and opened the top of the cavity.
‘Good Lord, sir! You’re right!’
Ravenscroft carefully lifted the manuscript from its hiding place and laid it upon the table. ‘Renfrew hid it in the last place where anyone would think of looking for it, in a secret compartment concealed within another work. And this, Tom, if I am not mistaken, is the Whisperie!’
The two men stood in silence, looking down at the ancient work, admiring the ornate cartouche on its outer page.
Ravenscroft smiled, and breathed a sigh of relief. His quest was at an end — the Whisperie had been recovered!
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
‘Well, Inspector, words fail me.’
The three men were standing in the library of Worcester Cathedral, some days after the arrest of Henderson and the recovery of the lost manuscripts.
Ravenscroft smiled, knowing that Touchmore would continue.
‘To see the Antiphoner and the Whisperie returned to their rightful places here in the library, is joy indeed. I must admit there were times when I thought we would never see them again. Lost on the bottom of the River Severn, or spirited away to some foreign country, but no, here they are, safe and sound, for future generations to gaze down upon and rejoice. Our prayers have been answered!’
‘I am pleased that we were able to recover them,’ replied Ravenscroft gazing down at the works displayed in the glass cabinet.
‘Rest assured, Inspector, that we shall take far greater care of them than we have done in the past.’
‘I am pleased to hear that, Dean.’
‘A new librarian has already been appointed. But I hear that you are leaving us today?’
‘Yes, my work is completed. I have given evidence at the trials of Henderson and Miss Griffiths. Both have, of course, been found guilty of their crimes.’