Chief Superintendent Armstrong led the way up the gleaming white marble front steps to the imposing black hardwood front door of Lord Yaxley’s residence. He was followed by Inspector Feather, Sergeant Cribbens, Dr Snow, a uniformed sergeant and the two constables. At the kerb stood their two vehicles, a police van and a carriage.
Dr Snow had been added to the team at the tentative suggestion of Inspector Feather.
‘Why?’ Armstrong had demanded aggressively when Feather made the suggestion.
‘If you remember, sir, he was able to identify the speck of sawdust Wilson and Miss Fenton found in the boot print in Sickert’s studio, which tied Joe Wallace to O’Tool’s murder. If we locate the carriage at Lord Yaxley’s, he might find traces of evidence inside it that will link the carriage to the murders of the two women.’ Then he added quietly: ‘And Dr Snow is the home secretary’s nephew.’
Armstrong’s face broke into a slow grin. ‘Point taken, Inspector.’
Armstrong pulled on the bell pull and they heard the ringing sound from inside the house. There was a few minutes’ wait, then the door opened and the butler looked out at them.
‘Chief Superintendent Armstrong from Scotland Yard,’ announced Armstrong imperiously.
‘The tradesmen’s entrance is at the side,’ said the butler curtly, and began to close the door; but Armstrong planted his boot in it to stop it.
‘I have a warrant to search this house,’ he snapped. ‘You will direct me to Lord Yaxley.’
‘What’s going on, Purkiss?’ called a voice, and then the elegant figure of Lord Yaxley appeared.
‘Police, your Lordship,’ said the butler in a tone of great disapproval.
‘Again!’ raged Yaxley. ‘This the third time I’ve been bothered in this way.’
‘But the first time with warrants,’ said Armstrong. ‘One for your arrest, Lord Yaxley, as an accomplice to murder. The other a warrant to search these premises.’ He looked coldly at Yaxley. ‘We have your son in custody, and he’s made a full confession.’
Yaxley stared at the chief superintendent, and then he began to retreat into the house.
‘Get him!’ Armstrong shouted at the uniformed sergeant and one of the constables, and the two rushed in and grabbed hold of Yaxley and hauled him back to the doorway. Purkiss, the butler, stared at the police, and at his master, in bewilderment.
‘Put him in the van,’ ordered Armstrong. ‘And the butler, too. I’m not taking any chances on him messing with evidence before we’ve had a chance to look at everything.’
‘No!’ howled Purkiss, and he backed away.
‘Sergeant Cribbens!’ snapped Armstrong.
Cribbens stepped forward, grabbed the butler by an arm and twisted it up behind his back, making the butler cry out in pain.
‘Come on, you,’ snapped Cribbens.
‘Put them in two separate holding cells,’ said Armstrong. ‘We’ll be with you once we’ve gone over this place.’
‘You can’t do this!’ raged Yaxley. ‘I’ll have you sacked!’
Struggling and resisting, Yaxley was forced to the police van and pushed inside, and locked into the van’s cell. Purkiss, all the fight gone out of him, trudged unhappily up the wooden steps and into the back of the van, where he was also locked in.
‘Right, Inspector, Dr Snow, let’s get to work,’ said the chief superintendent grimly.
Abberline returned to the hospital and found Abigail still beside Daniel’s bed.
‘Any news?’ he asked.
‘He’s still breathing,’ said Abigail. ‘I’m waiting for Mr Heppenstall to arrive. The sister said he’d be along. How did it go with Simon Anstis?’
‘A full confession,’ said Abberline. ‘It also looks like it was Lord Yaxley who drove the carriage on the nights of the murders.’
‘Anstis’ father?’
‘Yes. The chief superintendent and the others have gone to bring him in.’ He smiled. ‘A bit of a coup, I think.’
Suddenly both stopped and turned their attention to Daniel, caught by a sudden rasping sound.
‘He coughed,’ said Abigail, and she bent down to listen to him. Daniel was still prone, but his eyelids flickered, and then opened.
‘Where am I?’ he asked hoarsely.
Abberline patted Abigail on the shoulder.
‘I’ll find a nurse,’ he told her. ‘And then I’ll leave you two together. I’ll be back later.’
The short, round woman wearing an apron and with the worried expression looked at the chief superintendent.
‘Where are you taking the master?’ she asked.
‘To Scotland Yard,’ replied Armstrong. ‘He’s helping us with our enquiries.’
‘I heard you say “murders”,’ said the woman anxiously.
‘That’s right,’ said Armstrong. ‘Who am I addressing?’
‘Mrs Phillips, the housekeeper.’ She looked bewildered. ‘You took Mr Purkiss as well?’
‘We did. Now, can you direct us to where Lord Yaxley keeps his carriage?’
‘In the stables,’ she said. ‘In the courtyard.’
‘And where do we find the driver?’
‘Bert Stoke. He doesn’t live in, he lodges with his sister.’
‘Do you have his address?’
‘Yes, I’ve got it in my book.’
As Mrs Phillips left to get Stoke’s address, Armstrong turned to Feather.
‘Right, once we’ve got his address, you go and see him, Inspector. Find out about the carriage’s movements, and when he drove it and when he didn’t. I’ll stay here with Dr Snow.’ He then turned to Snow and said: ‘You use whatever instruments you’ve brought with you to go over that carriage, inside and out, but especially inside. If they used it to transport the bodies, there might still be traces we can use as evidence.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Snow delightedly. He patted the large bag he’d brought with him. ‘I’ve brought a magnifying glass and bags with me, and a scalpel and tweezers to take samples that I can examine properly back at the laboratory.’
‘Excellent,’ said Armstrong. He gave a grim smile. ‘If you can nail him with what you find, Doctor, I’ll make sure this laboratory of yours becomes permanent.’
Abigail stood to one side and watched as Edmund Heppenstall carried out his examination. Daniel had been helped to sit up by two nurses and now he rested against a heap of pillows. He’d been turned on his side, then on his back, for Heppenstall to examine the gunshot wound, which had now been cleaned and re-dressed.
‘You’re coming on well, Mr Wilson,’ said Heppenstall. ‘Even though you may not feel it.’
‘Who shot me?’ asked Daniel, his voice still hoarse.
‘I’ll let Miss Fenton answer those kinds of questions,’ said Heppenstall. ‘I handle medical matters only. The main thing for you now is rest. You’re going to be here at least another week before we can consider letting you go home. And after that I’ll arrange for a district nurse to call in on you to check the wound.’ He turned to Abigail and said: ‘I would ask that you don’t tire him, Miss Fenton. A few minutes more now, but then he needs rest. Proper rest. I suggest you go home. The staff here will take good care of him.’
‘May I return later?’
‘No. Leave it until tomorrow. And late morning, no earlier. I’ll leave you now so you can say goodbye, but I shall return in ten minutes and will insist you leave if you’re still here.’
After Heppenstall and the nurses had left, Abigail took her seat beside Daniel’s bed and took hold of his hand.
‘He’s a good man,’ she said. ‘He saved your life. I’m glad he wasn’t our killer.’
‘So am I,’ said Daniel. He frowned. ‘But we still don’t know what happened to his wife.’
‘Sssh,’ said Abigail with an apprehensive glance towards the door. ‘This is not the place to talk about things like that, not if you want the staff to treat you kindly. Mr Heppenstall is viewed as some sort of saint here.’
‘It’s still an unanswered question,’ said Daniel. ‘Who shot me?’
‘Simon Anstis. He’s been arrested and he’s made a full confession.’
‘So, we got the killer.’
‘We did.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘We’ll talk more when I come tomorrow. I don’t want Mr Heppenstall throwing me out when he returns, he might bar me.’ She leant forward and kissed him gently on the mouth. ‘I love you, Daniel. Mr Heppenstall bought you back from the dead, so now you have to do as he says and rest. I’ll never forgive you if you try and do things and end up dying. Promise me?’
‘I promise,’ said Daniel. He forced a smile. ‘I’ll make sure I won’t die because I have no intention of leaving you, Abigail. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Bert Stoke was a small man in his fifties and he looked at John Feather in surprise when the inspector introduced himself.
‘Scotland Yard? Why are Scotland Yard coming to me and asking questions?’
‘You are the carriage driver for Lord Yaxley?’
‘Yes, but not just his driver. I also do general handyman stuff for him. Small repairs to the house, that sort of thing.’
‘May I come in?’ asked Feather.
Stoke nodded and took the inspector into the small parlour.
‘Are you the only one who drives the carriage?’ Feather asked as he took a seat.
‘Mostly, but sometimes his Lordship likes to drive himself.’
‘Did you drive the carriage on the nights of 14th and 17th February?’
‘No, his Lordship gave me the night off both nights. Said he didn’t need me. Funnily enough, when I got to work next morning on the Monday, the 15th, the first thing I did was check on the horse as I always do, and I was sure he’d been out. I always make sure he’s wiped down before I stable him for the night, but it looked to me as if there was mud around his hooves. I asked his Lordship, but he said I must have missed the mud the last time I took him out. In fact, he got quite short with me about it, but I know I didn’t miss the mud. I’m very particular.’
‘What about the night of the 17th?’
‘Well, that was another funny thing. I had an arrangement to play in a dominoes match. I’m part of a team and we play on Wednesday nights at the Rose and Crown, so I make that my night off. But I always check with his Lordship in case he’s got a change of plans and might need me. But that night he said again I wasn’t needed.’
‘Does that happen often, him not needing you?’
‘Not really. He likes me to be available and if he needs me in an evening and he hasn’t told me beforehand, he sends someone to fetch me. So I was quite pleased to know I wasn’t going to be called for. It meant I could enjoy my dominoes with an easy mind.’
‘And when you got to work on the morning of Thursday 17th February, did you notice anything about the horse that might indicate it had been out?’
‘Not the horse, no. But there was a smell of cleaning fluid inside the carriage.’
‘Did you ask Lord Yaxley about it?’
Stoke shook his head. ‘No, not after the way he’d had a go at me when I mentioned the mud on the horse’s hoof the day before. I didn’t fancy getting another earful. His Lordship can get quite nasty when he’s in a bad mood.’