Unaware of the events transpiring across the water, the police went forward with the arrest of Ashok Ram, to the great astonishment and delight of the crowd of small children and good housewives of Portsea. Karim Lal’s defection had gone unnoticed by Inspectors Fletcher and O’Ferrall, who bundled their prize into the Black Maria and sent him off to Southsea.
The two policemen exchanged glances, then conferred as to what should be done with their officious and unofficial medical examiner.
“Dr. Doyle,” O’Ferrall said with a grimace aimed at his colleague, “we’re off to Southsea. We can take you up in the carriage, if you like.”
“Just a courtesy,” Fletcher added. “We can take your statements as we go, to save us all the trouble of sending for you later.”
Dr. Doyle glanced at Mr. Dodgson. “I’ve no objections,” he decided. “We can kill two birds with one stone. I’ve found out what all the fuss is about.”
“You don’t say!” Fletcher exclaimed, heavily sarcastic.
“And once I’ve told my tale, you will release Ram immediately.”
“That’s for the magistrate to decide,” Fletcher stated.
They arranged themselves in the brougham, and the constable on the box edged into the late afternoon traffic of Portsmouth. It took some time before they had negotiated the narrow streets of Portsea, threaded their way through the Hard, crossed the causeway, and set back on the paved road to Southsea. The last deliveries of the day were being made, and the now-lightened wagons were on their way to stables and barns, both the horses and drivers looking forward to their evening feedings.
“How did you find Mr. Ram so quickly?” Mr. Dodgson asked, as the brougham stopped to let a large dray loaded with beer-kegs pass.
“Simple police work,” Fletcher said, stroking his mustache. “I had the pawnbrokers’ shops watched, and the constables alerted to send word as soon as something suspicious occurred. Ashok Ram’s description was circulated. If he tried to pawn or sell anything, we’d nab him, and we have!” Fletcher folded his arms triumphantly.
“If that is so,” Mr. Dodgson said slowly, “then Ram would have had every reason to preserve Mrs. Cavanaugh’s life. You see, she knew where the Rajitpur Treasure was.”
“Eh? What’s this about a treasure?” O’Ferrall asked.
Dr. Doyle briefly explained. “Captain Arkwright had stolen a box of jewels in India. Apparently he has been living off them ever since.”
“And this fellow Ram heard about it,” Fletcher decided. “He hires a few waterfront lads and has them break into Treasure House while the ladies are out at this séance, trying to grab the stones for himself.”
“There is more to it than that,” Mr. Dodgson began, but Fletcher interrupted him.
“Why he wanted them is not the point. For whatever reason you give, Ashok Ram arranged for Treasure House to be burgled. That is a crime, sir, and for that he will be arrested, tried, and convicted.”
“Verdict first, evidence afterward,” Mr. Dodgson murmured to himself.
“But that doesn’t have anything to do with Mrs. Cavanaugh’s death,” Dr. Doyle argued. “How is he supposed to have done that?”
“You yourself said it. She was poisoned, with that handkerchief.” O’Ferrall glared at Dr. Doyle.
“Quite so, but Ram didn’t hand it to her. He was nowhere near the woman. He couldn’t possibly have poisoned her.” Dr. Doyle glared back.
“We’ll see what the coroner says,” O’Ferrall told him. “As for you, Doyle, your part in this is over. Get back to your patients, or write your stories.” From the sound of O’Ferrall’s voice, Dr. Doyle might have concluded that both pursuits were equally useless.
They rode on in silence along the paved road back to Southsea, where the carriage pulled up in the courtyard in front of the Kingston Street Police Station, behind the Black Maria.
Ram stepped out of the wagon with immense dignity. Dr. Doyle strode up to him, mustache bristling with indignation.
“Sir, I believe you are innocent of murder, whatever else you may have done. I will not rest until you are freed!”
“And I,” Mr. Dodgson chimed in, “assure you, sir, I will find your missing jewels and shall assist Dr. Doyle in finding the evidence that will remove all taint of wrongdoing from your reputation.”
“Thank you for your efforts,” Ram said, with a hint of a smile behind his eyes. “However, I believe a solicitor’s advice will be more to the point.”
“You’ll get your lawyer,” Fletcher promised.
“Are you aware that Mr. Ashok Ram is the representative of His Highness, the Rajah of Rajitpur?” Dr. Doyle reminded him.
Inspector Fletcher waved the Rajah away with one arm and held on to Ram with the other. “I don’t care who he works for,” he said. “He hired a pair of waterfront chummies to break and enter into a private home. That’s incitement to burglary, and it’s a crime here in England, no matter what they do in Rajitpur, or whatever heathen country he’s from.”
Ram was dragged into the Kingston Street Police Station by the two constables, while Fletcher and O’Ferrall followed, leaving Dr. Doyle and Mr. Dodgson in the courtyard.
Harrison of the Portsmouth Evening News was waiting in the anteroom of the station, notebook in hand, ready to embellish his next story with even more detail. He had already been able to inform Portsmouth that Mrs. Emma Cavanaugh, housekeeper to the late Captain Arkwright, had died under mysterious circumstances at a séance. He had even managed to discover the weapon, a common pocket-handkerchief, soaked in a deadly mixture of nicotine. Now he could add to the already sensational report the news that an Indian had been arrested for the crime!
“Has this person been charged?” Harrison called out, as Ram was marched up the stairs.
“When we have an arrest, we’ll tell you,” Fletcher shot back. Harrison had to be content with that. Scribbling madly, he went off to file his story. Deadline was approaching, and the news that an arrest was imminent would at least keep the pot boiling for another day.
Ram was led, not too gently, into one of the bare-walled rooms, furnished with a table and two chairs, delegated by the Southsea Constabulary for the interviewing of prisoners. The prisoner was seated, with two stout constables on either side, to prevent his escape. Fletcher strutted into the room with the air of the conquering hero, while O’Ferrall stood at the door.
“You cannot keep me here,” Ram declared as soon as he saw Fletcher. “I am the minister of the Rajah of Rajitpur. I am not a British citizen—”
“The Queen, God bless her, is Empress of India,” Fletcher reminded him. “You may do what you like at home, but here you obey our laws, and that means you don’t hire a couple of toughs to break into the house of a respectable pair of ladies like Miss Arkwright and Miss Bedelia.”
“And who says I did so?” Ram glared at Fletcher, daring him to produce the thieves.
“Your own boatmen,” Fletcher told him. “They saw you talking to two men, whose descriptions we have, and who we will find in due time. You shouldn’t be so trusting, Mr. Ram. Those two will turn Queen’s evidence as soon as we arrest them. Why don’t you save us all a lot of bother and admit to hiring a pair of thieves to break into Treasure House?”
“If I hired such persons,” Ram said carefully, “it was on the orders of Prince Jahal; and you cannot prosecute him.”
“That’s as it may be,” Fletcher said with a shrug. “But we can prosecute them, and we can send you and your Prince back where you came from!”
“That would not be wise,” Ram warned him. “Prince Jahal is very much in favor with Her Majesty at the moment.”
“Then let the Indian Office sort it out,” Fletcher said. “You are in custody, and here you will remain.”
O’Ferrall shook his head, as Fletcher stamped out of the room. “Now look what you’ve done,” he said sorrowfully. “Inspector Fletcher likes his cases neat and tidy, tied in a bow, so to speak. Now, I am not so quick to judge a man before he’s seen his solicitor. You’ve got one, I hope?”
“My cousin has a man of business in London,” Ram said. “It is he who arranges our affairs in England.”
“Then you’d better get him down here, because it looks very bad for you, sir. Robbing a house is one thing, but murder …!” He gazed at Ram with the eyes of a bulldog who has been deprived of a juicy soup bone.
“I tell you, Inspector, I had nothing to do with the death of that wretched woman!” Ram exclaimed.
“But you knew her,” Inspector O’Ferrall said, ticking off the particulars on his fingers.
“I met her for the first time at Treasure House yesterday. You were present at the meeting. Did I evince any sign that I recognized her? I took her for some sort of servant when she opened the door to me—”
Inspector O’Ferrall interrupted the tirade. “You had correspondence with her.”
“A single letter, couched in general terms, setting an appointment. It was my understanding that it had been sent by Captain Arkwright.” Ram was keeping a tight grip on his temper.
Inspector O’Ferrall shook his head. “It was a connection, all the same. That fellow in the shop …”
“Karim Lal? An acquaintance, nothing more.”
“We’ve had our eyes on that shop for a while. Interesting things go in and out of there. You should choose your friends more carefully, sir.”
“I know nothing of Karim Lal’s present occupation. He only wrote to me to inform me that something of value had been brought to him, something in which I was interested.”
“This treasure?”
Ram looked startled. “How did you learn about that?”
“Dr. Doyle told us all about it. Arkwright and his mate, Cavanaugh, stole a box of jewels, and hid them somewhere. Mrs. Cavanaugh found them and brought one to your friend, who told you about it—”
“Which should be proof enough that I did not kill her. In fact, I had every reason to preserve her life, since she was the only one who could have told us where the jewels were. Why should I remove the only one who could lead me to the treasure?”
O’Ferrall sighed. “I suppose you’re right, there,” he admitted. “Of course, you could have sent your chums to find them. Once they were out of Treasure House, you could get rid of the Cavanaugh woman, and the sooner the better.”
“But nothing was taken from Treasure House,” Ram reminded him.
“So Mr. Dodgson said,” O’Ferrall agreed. “I’ll have a word with Fletcher, and then we’ll see what’s what.”
He left Ram seething under the cold eyes of the two constables, and joined Fletcher, who was waiting for him in the hall outside the room.
“He’s the one who ordered the burglary,” O’Ferrall said with a decided nod. “Probably picked up some waterfront scum, paid them a few shillings, and then went off to General Drayson’s little séance, cool as a cucumber. You’ll never get him to confess to anything else.”
“Why not put the murder on him?” Fletcher asked jocularly. “He’s an Indian. I’ve heard they get up to all sorts of nasty tricks with poisons there.”
O’Ferrall shook his head. “Not nicotine, they don’t. Besides, he’s right. Why would he kill the only one who could find his treasure? You may have your thief, Fletcher, but I’m short one murderer.”
“You’re not fool enough to believe that meddler, Doyle,” Fletcher scoffed.
“That meddler’s been right more than once,” O’Ferrall countered. “If he says Mrs. Cavanaugh was poisoned with nicotine, then nicotine it probably was, and that would rule out our Indian friend. Where would he get the stuff? How could he find a handkerchief to soak it in? And when did he give it to Mrs. Cavanaugh? Take that to the coroner and you’ll be laughed out of the court.”
“We may not even be able to hold Ram for the theft,” Fletcher said sourly, as two men in the uniforms of the Royal Navy marched around the corner and approached the cell, accompanied by His Highness, the Rajah of Rajitpur.
“I am informed that you are holding my Chief Minister, Ashok Ram, on a charge of robbery,” Jahal snapped out. “I demand his release immediately.”
“With respect, sir,” Inspector Fletcher began, “Mr. Ram has just confessed to hiring two thieves to break into a house to remove something—”
“Has he seen a lawyer?” Jahal demanded.
“Er … not yet,” Fletcher admitted.
“Have you a signed deposition to the effect that he instigated this robbery?”
“No …”
“In that case, I have the authority to remove Ashok Ram from your custody and take him aboard my own ship,” Jahal told them. “He will be made available to you when—and if—his testimony is needed.”
There was nothing Fletcher could do. He stepped aside to allow the navy to take his prisoner away.
Chief Inspector Bray was not pleased when his underlings explained that they had solved one crime, but the perpetrator had been removed from custody by the navy. “Bloody interfering bluecoats,” he swore. “And what about this murder? Have we just let a killer go free?”
“I don’t think so, sir,” O’Ferrall said. “There’s more to this Cavanaugh business than theft, I think.”
“Been talking to Doyle, have you?” Bray harrumphed.
O’Ferrall shrugged. “I may have to pay another call on the Misses Arkwright, to let them know what’s happened—”
The consultation was interrupted by a commotion outside the Chief Inspector’s office.
“You can’t go in there, sir!” A constable was struggling with Captain Cavanaugh, who seemed to be getting the better of the argument.
“I can go anywheres, you bloody swab!” Cavanaugh shook off the constable and marched into the Chief Inspector’s office. “Which one of you’s supposed to be finding out who killed my Emma?” Cavanaugh looked much the worse for wear. His jacket retained several soup stains, and there was a bruise over one eye, as a memento of the Battle of Big Bertha’s.
Chief Inspector Bray, Inspector Fletcher, and Inspector O’Ferrall turned arround to face the infuriated seaman. “And who are you, sir?” demanded Bray.
“Cavanaugh!”
Inspector O’Ferrall frowned. “You’re supposed to be dead,” he commented.
“I’m as live as you like,” Cavanaugh blustered. “And I want to know who killed my wife!”
O’Ferrall stared him down. “I am conducting inquiries,” he said stolidly.
“And have you gotten any forrader?”
“We have a suspect in custody.”
“Who? Let me at ’im!”
“We are not ready to make that matter public at this time,” O’Ferrall said in his most official tone. “Captain Cavanaugh, I understand that you may be overwrought at the news of your wife’s unhappy death—”
“Talk the Queen’s English!” Cavanaugh glared at the trio.
“In a nutshell,” Fletcher said, “there is a man called Ashok Ram, who may know something about—”
“Ram?” Cavanaugh’s face crumpled. He stopped shouting. “Is … is he from Rajitpur?”
O’Ferrall’s eyes narrowed. “Would it make a difference if he was?” he countered.
Cavanaugh muttered to himself, “It’s judgment, it is. First I hear about the Old Mogul, and now Jethro’s gone. With old Vizier Ram done in, there’s only me left alive …”
Cavanaugh looked around for a chair. Fletcher motioned to one of the constables, who slipped a stool under the Captain’s rear just at the right moment. “Thank’ee,” Cavanaugh said. He produced a large bandanna from his jacket pocket and mopped his face with it. “I beg pardon for the rumpus, but it’s a hard line to swaller. The two best friends I had in the world, gone … and me not even there to give them a send-off.”
“Indeed,” Chief Inspector Bray decided to take part in the interrogation. “When did you get into Portsmouth, Captain Cavanaugh? Most of us here were under the impression that your ship had disappeared some seven years ago. I understand that steps were being taken to declare you officially dead, so that you … that is, Mrs. Cavanaugh, could claim your estate.”
“Estate?” Cavanaugh let out a loud guffaw. “Jethro kept my savings, such as they was. Emma knew that. She had no reason … unless …” His face darkened. “That bitch!”
“Mind your language!” Fletcher warned him.
“Her and Jethro! Oh, the artful baggage!” Cavanaugh’s wrath was beginning to bubble up again. “Living in the same house! Knowing what she knew! Marriage, that’s wot she was after!”
Inspector O’Ferrall thought this over. “But … that would make even less sense,” he muttered to himself. “If Mrs. Cavanaugh was about to marry Captain Arkwright, she would certainly not wish to kill him.”
“I thought we’d agreed that Captain Arkwright died of natural causes,” Bray said testily.
“Sir, what if Doyle is right and both of them were murdered?” Inspector O’Ferrall argued.
“Then you have a nastier problem than we thought,” Fletcher said. “At least my job’s finished. I’m off to the pub for a pint.”
“And I suppose I must go back to Treasure House,” O’Ferrall said grimly. “This is getting more and more difficult to understand. First we have whatever Ram was after—”
“The Rajitpur jewels,” Cavanaugh said tersely. “Jethro had ’em.”
“Really? Where?”
Cavanaugh smiled craftily. “Now, that’s just the point, gents. He took ’em when we left Bombay, but what he did with ’em he never told me. Just that they was safe, and he could lay hands on ’em when he needed ’em. He sold one of ’em to buy our ship, and another to set us up in Bermuda. It’s anyone’s guess what he did with the rest of ’em.”
“So they may very well still be in Treasure House,” Fletcher said.
“And with Ram on the loose again …” O’Ferrall picked up the thought.
“He may try again!”
Chief Inspector Bray tapped a finger on the desk. “Station a pair of constables to watch that house,” he ordered. “Captain Cavanaugh, you have my deepest sympathy on the death of your wife and friend. We will do all in our power to find their murderer.”
“And if you don’t,” Cavanaugh growled, “I will!”
“What next?” O’Ferrall looked at his Chief Inspector.
“Get back out to Treasure House. Talk to Miss Arkwright, and see what she knows about these jewels.”
“What about Doyle?” Fletcher asked, with a sly grin directed at O’Ferrall.
“Let Doyle tend his patients,” Bray said.
“Or write his stories,” O’Ferrall murmured, as he and Fletcher left their chief to mutter to himself about interfering civilians.