“This is magnificent.”
Layton and Phipps stood in the rotunda of the almost completed Royal Physicians Hall. Above them soared four stories of balconies, topped by a ribbed dome. Each rib was done in gold leaf gilt; between were murals depicting milestones in medical history. Workmen were busy setting the green-and-white marble floor and staining the oak arches and columns that framed the entry foyer.
What a tremendous feeling, to watch a design on paper transformed into a real building! Layton had almost forgotten the rush. Strange. For almost ten years, he had seen design after design built. Each gave him the confidence to do something better, bolder. How could he have lost sight of that experience?
Beside him, Phipps gazed up at the dome, a pleased expression on his face. Layton didn’t fault him; he’d have been proud to design such a place. This was the first of his buildings Phipps had shown him; he realized now how talented his friend really was. To be so young and such an important British architect! From what he’d told Layton, he had built hospitals, men’s clubs, a corn exchange, banks, and country estates.
A feeling of sadness came over Layton like a cold draught. He would never design anything again.
“Thank you, Doug,” said Phipps, giving a slight bow. “A compliment from you means a lot to me.”
“The way you detailed the directors’ conference chamber was topping. And that fireplace is stunning.”
All architects lapped up compliments like a cat at a saucer of milk. Phipps beamed at Layton and said, “I’m on a run of luck. Not all my buildings are as fancy as this. I’m doing an electric power plant in Manchester right now.”
They continued to stroll through the building with Phipps occasionally stopping to give instruction to a worker. Back in the grand entry foyer, he turned to Layton.
“You’re right about Beverly,” he said. “He probably tampered with the rivets at the cantilever splice, and he wanted more money to keep quiet. So he got the snuff, poor bugger. Buried alive in cement.” Phipps gave a tiny shudder of disgust. “Terrible way to go.”
“But who murdered him?” Layton said. “I can’t make it out.”
“The more I go over it, the more I put my money on Clifton and Glenn. To both of them, Rice was the biggest threat. And they had other scores to settle too.”
“But then again,” Layton countered, “Shaw hated me so much, he wanted to frame me for murder of all those people. He could have easily set up the collapse. His name was in Peter’s appointment book too. And Stockton wanted to destroy the chain, to put them out of business. It was his bad luck that most of the top stars didn’t show up that night.”
“True,” Phipps said. “But a man has to be full of hate to do something like that to a rival.” He shook his head. “Whoever it is, we need proof.”