‘Horse shit! That fop is drowning in it!’
Jack continued to fume. ‘He has no desire to get to the truth. Crindle is what he has been praying for. Now he can report to the Town Council that the criminal has been identified; and what will really please them is that they do not have to go to the expense of trying and hanging the villain.’ He banged his fist furiously on the table. Instead of feeling grateful that he now had an excuse to leave Newcastle, he found himself incensed at Sheriff Ridley’s ambivalence.
‘I could tell that bastard Axwell wasn’t satisfied either.’ He shivered as he remembered Axwell’s softly spoken threat as he showed the sheriff and the sergeant out of the house only minutes before. ‘Don’t think you’ve wriggled free, laddie. I’ll be watchin’ you like a hawk.’
Jack crossed over to Bessie and gently stroked her hair.
‘Who has the letter?’ she asked in a distant monotone. The sight of the box had affected her deeply. For some reason, which she could not explain, it had brought home to her the magnitude of her loss. She had rarely seen the object, and open only once when she had pinched the key and read the letter. As she held it, images of happier times flitted through her mind. It was ironic that in her nomadic life, she had never been without her father and when at last all seemed settled, they were to be parted forever.
‘Courtney, I presume,’ replied Jack. ‘Of course, it would never occur to that muttonhead of a sheriff that there might have been something of significance in the box. Even if he had considered the idea of any missing contents, he would have quickly dismissed it as it would raise other awkward questions.’
‘Why do you think Courtney has the letter?’ There was sadness in Bessie’s voice.
‘Bessie, you know why. It was for the letter that he killed your father. I am sure it was not planned. They came back here and suddenly the opportunity presented itself. I am sure it only happened in a moment of madness. Years of festering frustration.’
The sharper Bessie now returned. ‘So how is it that this ill fellow Crindle was in possession of it?’
‘That is easily accounted for. Crindle was used by Courtney to do his dirty work, such as the extinction of my good self. In this role, he is the one person who knows for certain that Courtney committed the murder unless, as is possible, Courtney actually got Crindle to do it. If that is so, then Courtney is doubly despicable.’
‘This I know, Jack. Stop blathering.’
‘Very well. I believe Courtney knew that I had tracked down Crindle. That is why he was dead when I arrived with Axwell. The box was placed there deliberately in the knowledge that eventually it would be traced back to this house. The natural conclusion, which the brave sheriff so quickly jumped upon, was that Crindle committed the murder while trying to rob the house. It has worked sweetly. The sheriff is satisfied, the law will proceed no further and Courtney is now as free as a bird.’
‘You are saying that Courtney killed Crindle.’ The incredulity in her voice was exaggerated.
‘Why not? Unless he paid yet another villain to do it.’
‘Pray tell me, how could Courtney possibly know that you were on the trail of Crindle?’
‘I believe he overheard me talking about it at the theatre.’ Only once the words had come out did he realise the implication of what he had said.
Bessie’s eyes narrowed. ‘And with whom were you conversing at the time?’
‘Does it matter?’ Jack answered too swiftly.
‘Most certainly it does. It is not the sort of information you toss carelessly around like tavern gossip.’
Jack coloured. He dared not mention that it was Catherine, for that would unleash the full force of Bessie’s fury. She would then want to know what else he had discussed with her. ‘It was Southby.’
‘That overblown lumpkin! What possessed you to talk to him?’
‘Good question, yet the answer is simple.’ If only it were. Jack prodded the fire with the poker to give himself more time to think up a rational reason.
‘Because I am aware that you hold Courtney in such affection, I decided not to close my mind completely to the possibility that the murder might have been committed by one of our other suspects. That is why I told Southby about Crindle to see if he would react in a guilty fashion.’
‘And did he?’
‘There was nothing to give him away.’
‘It still might be him,’ Bessie said hopefully. Why was she so damnably awkward?
‘No, Bessie. He was all for going to the sheriff’s at that very moment and hunting Crindle down.’
Bessie was downcast. ‘So it sounds as though it is not him.’
‘Precisely,’ Jack said while still avoiding eye contact. ‘Unfortunately, when Courtney came to haul us back to the rehearsal, he must have overheard the vital piece of our conversation.’
She laid a hand upon Jack’s arm. ‘Thank you for keeping your mind open about Tyler Courtney despite the weight of evidence against him.’
‘No matter.’ His tale had further raised his esteem in her eyes. His shameless lying was improving, as even Bessie had swallowed this story.
‘And yet,’ and Bessie sat up, ‘and yet there could be some truth in the sheriff’s deduction.’
‘Bessie, you are clutching at straws.’
‘No, Jack, listen.’ He gave her an indulgent smile. ‘The sheriff could still be right. But, remember, he didn’t know there was anything in my father’s box. He thinks that the box itself just took Crindle’s fancy.’
‘I do not understand.’ Jack seated himself opposite Bessie.
‘Let us imagine that Crindle tricked his way in here. He uses some pretext to gain admission. He wants to see the contents of the house for himself so that he can creep back later to steal whatever has caught his eye. From the items in the sergeant’s sack, it is safe to assume the man was an accomplished thief.’
‘That I grant you.’
‘Something happens, I do not know what. Maybe my father grew suspicious. Whatever, the consequence is that he strikes my father down. He then takes the box and flees.’
‘But why would your father take the box out of its hiding place to show to someone like Crindle? And what about the key? Where is that?’
‘It wasn’t about my father’s neck when his body was taken away. So, did he open the box, or did his murderer?’
‘I do not know. And why would Crindle only steal the box? Why not those candlesticks over there, or the clock on the mantel?’
Bessie gripped the box firmly and held it out triumphantly. ‘Perhaps he spies the letter in the box and, once the significance dawns on him, he has no need to worry about stealing anything else. He could make more money blackmailing Courtney.’
Now that was a thought. When Jack had first seen Courtney and Crindle together at St. Nicholas’ Church, the actor did not appear to be a happy man. It would also explain why Courtney was still in Newcastle and had not hotfooted it to London as he told Thirsk he was intending to do.
‘What do you think, Jack? Could it be possible?’
‘I think you have made a case for Courtney. Yet there are two points which might dispel your argument. Firstly, where is the letter? If it was not found at Crindle’s, then someone else must have it.’
‘Could not Courtney have it now? He may have paid the price that Crindle demanded for it.’
‘The Crindles of this world do not let their prey escape so easily. Yet if that is true, here is my second point. You can call me a Saracen if I am mistaken, but I do not believe for a moment that Crindle would have been able to read a word. And even if he could read a little, he would hardly be able to appreciate the significance of what he had stumbled across.’
Bessie was not to be deflected. ‘He could have shown it to someone who could read. And that other person could have killed him and taken the money extracted from poor Tyler.’ It was “poor Tyler” now.
Jack was getting irritated. Bessie was contradicting herself now. ‘How would Crindle know that the letter was important enough to be stolen in the first place if he only got someone to read it later?’ He was too tired to carry on the discussion. ‘Bessie, I must to bed. I have never known a day as long as this one and my eye begins to throb again.’
Bessie gently put the box down on the table and stood in front of Jack. ‘My poor Jack.’ At least he was on the same level of sympathy as Courtney. ‘In all this excitement tonight, I did not even ask how you came by that awful bruise.’
‘I bumped into a wall,’ he said dismissively. ‘A silly accident.’
‘Does it really hurt you, my love?’ He felt it gingerly and winced. ‘There is only one cure. Distraction. So you do not feel the pain.’
‘Distraction?’ Was this a new concoction from the apothecary? They were forever coming up with fresh remedies with rum old names.
‘Yes.’ And slowly she lifted up her skirts to her waist to reveal her stockinged legs.
‘Oh, that “distraction”.’ Jack hoped he had enough energy left. His body had already been horribly abused that day.