‘Have you come to any conclusion?’ asked Mr Fiske eagerly as he made short work of a glass of ale.
Frances, as she sipped her mineral water, saw that he was hoping that her tour of the tavern had somehow resulted in her solving the mystery. She was obliged to confess that she had not. ‘It is easy enough to see how Mr Dobree could not have left the building, but I cannot yet determine how he did, and knowing that could well tell us why. You told me before that you thought he had something on his mind. Were there family troubles that might have demanded his presence?’
‘Not as far as I am aware,’ said Mr Fiske. ‘But he might well have kept personal matters to himself.’
‘I know of nothing of that sort,’ said Neilson.
‘Was there any business reason that might have made him leave so suddenly?’
‘He was a silk mercer, but long retired from trade,’ said Mr Fiske. ‘He is still a very busy man, although nowadays his interests mainly rest with charities. You must have seen him mentioned in the newspapers; making donations, and giving prizes at schools.’
‘I have. Is there anything in that area that might have caused him concern?’
‘I don’t believe so,’ said Neilson.
‘He didn’t reveal where he was due to go that night?’
‘No, but he ordered a meat pie, a bottle of ale and some bread and cheese for the journey, so he wasn’t expecting to dine anywhere.’
Mr Fiske looked pensive. ‘He did mention quite recently that he wished to found a school in the name of his late wife. Her loss was a grief from which he never truly recovered.’
‘Whereabouts is this school to be?’
‘In Kensington, I believe, but it is all just a plan at present.’
‘Do you know if he had bought a premises, or was hoping to buy one?’
‘I’m afraid not. Of course his brethren in Mulberry Lodge might know.’
Frances hesitated before asking her next question, and the interlude that followed the arrival at the table of a basket of warm bread rolls, fresh butter and potted cheese allowed her to decide how best to word it. ‘This is a difficult question, but it is one that I am sure the police will ask. Do either of you have any reason to suspect that Mr Dobree was involved in an activity which was against the law, or questionable in any way?’
Fiske and Neilson glanced at each other but it was not a guilty look. Neilson coughed discreetly. ‘You should know, Miss Doughty, that if a brother Mason breaks the law, his brethren do not, as so many people believe, draw ranks and protect him from the consequences. On the contrary, we are duty bound by our obligation to report him to the authorities. Such a man would certainly be expelled from freemasonry. Speaking in my capacity as Tyler to both the Literati and Mulberry Lodges, I can advise you that we have never suspected Dobree of anything illegal or underhand. Neither have we ever had occasion to question his morals. As his friend, I can reiterate that statement.’
Frances took out her notebook. ‘I accept your assurance. Mr Fiske, can you provide me with the names of all the members of the Literati Lodge, and let me know which of them were present on the night Mr Dobree disappeared?’
‘Of course, once I have examined my records. Although not all those who attended that night were actually in the Lodge room when the lights were extinguished.’
‘Oh? Why was that?’
‘The ceremony which was being performed that evening, the one where there is a period of near darkness, was what we call a raising. I should explain. There are degrees in freemasonry – ranks, I suppose you might call them – and brethren only attend those portions of the ceremony appropriate to their degree. A man is first initiated, and that is the First Degree. When he is ready he is passed to the Second Degree. The next stage is raising to the Third Degree. A raising is only attended by the candidate and those who have already achieved that rank, so those of lesser standing would have been outside the room.’
‘In that case,’ said Frances, ‘I will need to know exactly where every member who was in the building that night was situated during the ceremony.’
‘The signature books are held in the trunk upstairs,’ said Neilson. ‘I will fetch them.’
As the manager departed, a thought occurred to Frances and she turned to Mr Fiske. ‘I had assumed that the lights going out was a usual part of your ceremonies. What you have just told me suggests that it only takes place during some of them. Is that the case?’
‘It only happens during a raising and not at any other time,’ said Mr Fiske. ‘Is that important?’
Frances had no idea if it was, but she made a note of it all the same.
Mr Neilson returned with the books, and as luncheon proceeded so the pages of Frances’ notebook filled, and she was able to establish that twelve members of the Literati had been in the Lodge room at the time of Lancelot Dobree’s disappearance, and six others in the lounge bar. There were in addition five members of the Lodge who had not been present at all.
She was just completing her notes when a new arrival joined them at their table. Frances was introduced to a Mr Herman, who she saw from her list was a member of the Literati who had not been present at the last Lodge meeting. A gentleman in his middle fifties, he was tall with a dignified bearing, wavy hair the colour of slate, well-trimmed whiskers, and anxious grey eyes. ‘I have just returned to town to hear the news about Lancelot Dobree! Do say that all is now well!’
‘I am afraid not,’ said Fiske. ‘Dobree is still missing, the police have been called, and we have engaged Miss Frances Doughty to look for him.’
Herman, looking upset, made a cursory nod to the barman, who obediently brought a glass of beer and a hot beef turnover to the table. ‘I was due to have a meeting with him at my office this afternoon.’
‘What was this concerning?’ asked Frances, reopening her notebook.
‘I am an architect by profession and we have been looking for a suitable property in the area for him to purchase and convert for use as a school. Some days ago Dobree said he thought he had found the right one and wanted me to come with him to look at it.’
‘Do you know the address of this property?’
‘I’m afraid not, but I had the impression that it was not far from here.’
‘Is the property currently occupied? If so the police may already have visited it or will do so soon. They have been making enquiries at all the nearby houses.’
Herman swallowed a deep draught of ale and bit thoughtfully into the turnover. It looked appetising enough but he hardly seemed to taste it. ‘I do recall him mentioning that it was empty. A former lodging house, I believe, in need of renovation, but he thought it most suitable both in size and location.’
‘If it is locked up then the police may not have been able to gain access yet. Do you know who has the keys?’
‘No, but there is a property agent only four doors away. Munro & Son.’
‘Then I think we should ask them.’ Frances gathered her papers and put them away. Mr Herman took the hint and quickly dispatched his informal luncheon, while Mr Neilson took the signature books back to the anteroom. They were ready to depart in minutes.
At the agent’s office, Mr Herman, who was known to the proprietors, took the lead in the enquiries and spoke to Mr Munro, a trim and active individual with a head of short dark curls and a neat moustache, undoubtedly the ‘Son’ of the partnership as he was aged no more than thirty-five. In the rear of the office a rather more elderly gentleman, dressed in an old-fashioned but faultlessly turned out ensemble, was casting experienced eyes over some weighty ledgers with an air of quiet authority. Young Mr Munro readily confirmed that Lancelot Dobree had recently made enquiries regarding properties for sale that could be converted for use as a school, and had been intending to view a nearby premises, a former lodging house, much in need of refurbishment, which had lain empty for two months. Mr Dobree had not thus far made an appointment for the viewing and nothing had been heard from him for several days. Knowing that Mr Dobree was a busy man, the agent had not been especially worried. The house, as it turned out, was the end terrace property in the next street, number 2 Linfield Gardens, the very one overlooked by the Duke of Sussex Tavern. Munro, on being informed that Dobree was missing, was naturally anxious and seeing the implications, at once went to fetch the keys.
‘Is that the only set of keys?’ asked Frances.
‘There are two, and both are still here,’ said Munro.
‘Could Mr Dobree have obtained another set?’
‘Only if he knows the owner, and I am fairly sure he did not.’
‘Do you think we should summon the police?’ asked Mr Fiske, nervously.
‘It would be for the best,’ Frances advised him. ‘I suggest that we notify a constable of what we have learned and bring him to the house. But I don’t want to delay. Supposing Mr Dobree had somehow obtained the keys and decided to explore the property in advance of his meeting with Mr Herman. If he is in the house and has had a fall or been taken ill then he might still be alive and urgently in need of help. I am competent in rendering medical aid.’ Frances hurried away, feeling sure that the worried gentlemen would follow her, as they did. On the way, Mr Fiske quickly hailed a messenger boy and dispatched him to bring a constable.