Death of an Avid Reader (17 page)

‘He was teaching animals his subject?'

‘He began his classes a year ago, with cat, parrot and horse. He chose cat because of its loquaciousness, loud purr and sociability. But when it came to lessons, Dunce showed no interest whatsoever.'

On hearing his name, Dunce appeared from behind the sofa as if by magic. Leaping onto the chair arm, it dug its claws in my forearm and began to paddle its paws.

‘And the pony?'

‘Now there's a different matter. I watched Dr Potter at work. The results would astound. When he asked Archie three plus three, Archie stamped his hoof six times. I saw it with my own eyes and have been trying to see whether I can persuade him to repeat the exercise for me.'

‘I see. And this would be your other choice of earning a living?'

‘I know. It sounds like a fairground trick but if you heard Dr Potter on the subject, you would understand. He knew so thoroughly what he was about, had designed a scheme of work for Archie that would have taken him through algebra. A German mathematician tried a similar experiment, and there was some testing of his theories that found him wanting. But my master, he knew how to eliminate all possibility of … suggestion I think it was.' He sighed. ‘If only I had paid more attention to his methods.'

‘Mr Morgan, to look at this from a practical point of view, and tell me if I must mind my own business, Dr Potter treated animal learning as his hobby, while drawing a salary from the university. Your situation is different.'

‘This is not just about my future way of earning a living, see you. I feel a loyalty to his ambition.'

‘It does you credit.'

The cat tired of distressing my sleeve and squared up to make a jump at the low tea table. ‘Dunce!' Morgan shouted. It glared at him, stood down, and skulked away.

‘Mr Morgan, do you know if the professor intended to add more pupils to his animal classroom?'

‘Odd that you should say that. Having given up on Polynesia and Dunce, he did begin to consider that he had made unfortunate choices. Earlier this week, he wrote himself a new timetable for working with Archie and was studying it on Wednesday evening. I thought it was to make an adjustment, but when I dusted, I came across something that surprised me. It was a separate piece of paper, the start of a new timetable and work schedule. The heading said, Counting by digits, one to twenty. Well a pony has no digits.'

‘Do you know what kind of animal he thought may show promise, or have special abilities?'

‘He was a keen reader of theories of evolution. The great apes interested him. A book he read most avidly only last week was
The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals
by Mr Charles Darwin.'

‘I see. And you mentioned that you thought he would be coming home in style on Friday.'

Morgan stared at his shoes. The teacup shook a little in his hand. He placed it down carefully and for a long moment held his silence. Perhaps I had said too much. I waited.

‘I do not want this known by that inspector. He will misconstrue or ask me questions I cannot answer.'

‘You can rely upon my discretion.'

‘Dr Potter asked me to dust down the camp bed, giving me the impression that we were to have a guest.' His voice suddenly came close to breaking. ‘The only guest was death himself.'

‘I am so very sorry for your loss. If it is any consolation, Dr Potter was in the highest of spirits when I saw him on Friday morning.'

Morgan gave a sad smile that broke my heart. ‘I don't suppose he said what made him so glad that day?'

‘No, but I do have an inkling. If it is confirmed, I will come and tell you, just between the two of us, though it won't be today.'

‘I am much obliged.'

The only way to confirm my surmise would be to speak to Umberto Bruno, but it seemed a good guess that Dr Potter had seen Percy the Capuchin monkey at work and been impressed by its abilities. I wondered whether Dr Potter had intended to bring both Umberto and Percy to the house. If so, the monkey had narrowly missed an opportunity to become a mathematical genius. At this very moment, it was probably following Mrs Sugden around the house, or shredding back copies of
The Times.

Mr Morgan rose to his feet. ‘I will fetch the books for you.' He sighed. ‘He will never now finish
The Thought and Speech of Animals.
Borrowing from the Leeds Library prevented his university colleagues latching onto his true interests, which he knew some would roundly mock.'

A few moments later, he returned carrying two enormous bags of books. ‘There are too many for you to carry, Mrs Shackleton.'

‘It's all right. You might walk me to my car.'

‘Yes indeed. It is most kind of you to do this.'

I rose to go. ‘One more question, if I may, Mr Morgan.'

‘I am at your service.'

‘Dr Potter mentioned a plan for the library to move premises. Unfortunately I missed the committee meeting where that was discussed.'

‘Oh that, the Stayers or Removers Jolly Sub-Subterranean-Sub Committee. That was his nickname for the matter. It had yet to be thrashed out. He and Professor Merton were particularly looking deeply into the question, but my master was very much in favour.' There was an ever so slight narrowing of the eyes, indicating distrust perhaps. ‘I should hate to speak out of turn.'

‘Whatever you say will stay within these walls.'

‘It was the university vice chancellorship, see you, that was the bugbear between Dr Potter and Professor Merton. It became difficult for them to discuss anything in a civil manner, not that I breathed a word of this to the police because I do not believe a man of learning like Professor Merton…' He rested the bags of books on the chair seat.

‘They were rivals for the post I understand.'

‘Indeed they were. Not that I am a betting man you understand, but they were joint favourites.'

In spite of her cage cover, Polynesia, the learn-by-rote parrot, began to squawk.

We left the house, escorted by Dunce the cat, and walked back along the lane towards my car. I opened the car door. ‘Was there much rancour between Dr Potter and Professor Merton about the post of vice chancellor?'

Morgan placed the bags of books carefully in the car. ‘Oh indeed there was. It kept Dr Potter awake at night worrying about it.'

Suddenly, here was a motive. I wondered whether my neighbour, Professor Merton, had an alibi for the time of Dr Potter's death.

Sixteen

As I drove back along Weetwood Lane, the mental picture fixed itself firmly in my mind: Dr Potter and Umberto Bruno in the basement, Percy watching as money changed hands, gold sovereigns counted into a hessian bag. Umberto had found time to strap the moneybag to his belly.

How had the creature escaped from the basement when his new owner and his previous owner had become entombed there? It was Mrs Sugden who had pointed out that the monkey had no harness, collar or lead.

I tried to imagine what was going on in the men's thoughts, and to picture the scene. After two failures in his attempt to teach arithmetic to animals, Dr Potter believed himself to be on the road to success with Clever Archie. He wanted to discover whether his methods worked across different species. When parting with so much money, he would need to be sure that Percy would prove a good subject. He may well have asked Umberto to remove the collar and lead, to make sure the monkey understood commands and was not simply responding to a tug in this or that direction. That would explain why the monkey was not tethered. Mr Bruno, feeling ill and in need of funds, would of course oblige.

If Dr Potter had intended to go home by taxi, had he arranged for a car or a cab to collect him and the monkey, and perhaps Umberto? Potter had Saturday and Sunday to see the monkey settled in. He may have planned for Umberto to come too, for a night, or the weekend, to reassure the creature.

Inspector Wallis and PC Hodge thought it possible that Umberto had killed Dr Potter. Suppose that could be so? Umberto may have wanted money and monkey. While Dr Potter bent his lofty frame to speak to Percy, Umberto had walloped him on the head and then strangled him. But if he had the strength for that, he would have had the strength to leave.

Someone else was there, but who and why?

Umberto held the answer to that question. If only he would rally, he may be able to help. There was something niggling at the back of my mind. I must be patient, and wait for a half-formed thought to turn into a definite idea.

I parked my car by the side of the infirmary.

Porters are sticklers about not allowing visitors except on the appointed day, and certainly never allowing visitors without passes. Now that I no longer had a legitimate reason for coming to the ward, and had no nurse's uniform that would allow me to pass unchallenged, I had to consider how best to find my way inside.

Bluff. Or, come into the building by a back door. I decided on the latter, and was prepared to engage in the former.

I had worn my motoring coat and hat to drive to Dr Potter's house. But I have a cape in my car. I tucked my motoring coat by the dickey seat, covering the bags of books, and put on the cape. It might pass as a nurse's uniform.

I walked to the rear of the building where the bins are kept and where staff padlock bicycles. The door was open.

I took the back stairs, counting the floors until I reached the second.

Of course this brought me to the wrong end of the ward, where I would have to pass the men's beds, the nursing desk and Sister's office.

Press on. I could only be evicted.

Adopting a cheerful busy-nurse manner, I strode purposefully into the ward. Only one nurse was in evidence. I recognised her from the change of shifts. Giving her a big smile, I walked on.

Not knowing how long I might have with Umberto before the on-duty policeman intervened, I tapped lightly on his door and went inside.

He was propped up on several pillows, no doubt to help his breathing which was laboured, but he looked a little brighter in himself.

What a relief to see that the handcuffs were gone. I wondered whether Mr Castle was responsible for their removal, and hoped so. That would be one in the eye for Inspector Wallis.

‘Umberto?'

He opened his eyes.

Wishing I had brought him something, fruit or flowers, I smiled. ‘You look a little better today, without the bracelets.'

He glanced at his wrists and managed something like a crooked smile, murmuring a few words in Italian.

Whoever was taking care of him had excellent nursing skills, but poultices and balsam had not alleviated the wheeze and rattle in his chest. To fire questions at him seemed mean.

‘Do you remember last Friday, when you were in the basement of the library, with Percy, and Dr Potter?'

He frowned.

‘The man with the scarf.'

‘He was doctor?'

‘A doctor of mathematics.'

‘Ahh,
si.
He want Percy. Since summer he want Percy. I say no.'

‘Why did you change your mind?'

‘He promise. No experiment on Percy, kindness, teaching numbers. And money, gold.' His breath whistled as he spoke.

‘Your money is safe. Do you remember that I brought you here?'

‘Someone I remember. You?'

‘Yes. My name is Kate. Umberto, what happened in the basement?'

He glanced at his wrists, as if the handcuffs might reappear. ‘When other man come, I hide.'

‘What other man?'

He shook his head. ‘Don't know. Angry. Angry words. And me so tired, so tired. That is why I part with Percy. I think, no more summers for me. Dr Potter, he promise to take good care of Percy. Give me money, to go home to Napoli.'

‘Did you see anything at all, or hear what the men said?'

He shook his head. ‘Nothing. Only I call for Percy. He does not come. I think they must be gone, all gone. I'm jiggered. Want a kip.'

I smiled that he suddenly sounded like a Leeds man.

‘Yes, you were exhausted.'

He began to cough.

I gave him a sip of water.

‘Percy is very well. I'm taking care of him, and your money is safe. Think about Napoli. You'll be there soon. When you come out of hospital, I'll arrange your passage. I've never been to Naples. Perhaps I'll come with you.'

He laughed and it changed his face, brightened his eyes, but it made him cough too, a terrible fit of coughing that racked his body and brought tears.

I waited till the coughing had subsided.

His breath came in short, panting gasps. ‘I want priest.'

‘I'll see to it.'

He was shaking his head, holding up his hand. ‘Good priest, Father Daley, St Patrick's.'

‘Then you shall have him. I'll see to it now.' I gave him my hand and he held it in his, reluctant to let go.

‘Goodbye for now. I'll see you soon.'

At least I had not said, ‘Everything is going to be all right.' Usually, the words pop out when everything is far from all right.

Leaving the infirmary building was easy. No one challenged me, including the policeman who sat in the chair by the ward entrance, and the porter who did not look up from his newspaper.

Back in the car, I tore a page from my notebook and wrote, ‘Mr Umberto Bruno, gravely ill patient at the General Infirmary, requests a visit from Father Daley.' I folded my card inside, and set off for St Patrick's on York Road.

I brushed away the thought that Umberto would never come to trial. Inspector Wallis's mistake would go unchallenged.

Not if I could help it.

Seventeen

Having put in two night shifts at the infirmary and had very little sleep on the third night, I still expected to wake at the usual time on Monday, but slept late and stared bleary-eyed at the clock. I slid from the bed and pulled on my dressing gown.

Gingerly, I made my way downstairs. This was Mrs Sugden's day for removing all the stair rods and setting them on the kitchen table. The smell of Brasso filled the air.