Death of an Avid Reader (25 page)

‘I will ask the Reverend Jones whether he will also take refreshment. He has come from the university, the chaplain you know, here about the memorial service, and the books.' He left the room.

Sykes, fascinated by the talking parrot, crossed over to the cage. ‘Hello, Polly.'

‘Hello, hello,' said the parrot. ‘Two twos.'

‘Four,' Sykes said.

I followed Mr Morgan into the hall, intending to ask whether he needed help. It could be that some coffee other than Camp was hidden in a cupboard and I may be able to suggest a change.

The sound of voices from the study brought me to a full stop.

The man speaking to Morgan sounded strangely familiar.

I drew closer to the study door.

The voice belonged to Father Bolingbroke. ‘Oh yes, I will take these with me now, the Bible and this commentary.'

‘That Bible, it is the one book my master said should come to me.'

‘Then so it will, but I believe it will give me inspiration for the memorial service. I know that if I read from this I will experience a powerful connection to Dr Potter, being that he held this same good book in such reverence.'

Without waiting to hear Mr Morgan's reply, I hurried back into the parlour.

The parrot said, ‘What's your name, your name.'

‘Jim Sykes, Jim, Jim, Jim.'

I shut the door behind me. ‘Mr Sykes, the reverend in the study is a fraud. He is not university chaplain Jones, he is Father Bolingbroke, the one I told you about.'

‘The exorcist?'

‘The same. He is trying to steal a bible. It must be valuable. It's him. He's the book thief. Now I know why
Gothic Ornament
was in the basement. I'd lay a pound to a penny it fell from his cassock pocket. That must be why he stayed in the basement so long.'

‘Three twos, two sixes…'

‘Oh shut up,' Sykes said to Polynesia. ‘Let a man think.'

‘If he sees me, he'll know he's rumbled.'

The parrot tried to regain Sykes's attention. ‘One and one makes two, two and two.'

Sykes scratched his head. ‘Leave it to me. He has to go out of the house with a book, or he hasn't stolen anything.'

‘I'll stay here. If he sees me, he'll backtrack.'

Sykes left the room. In the hall, he called to Mr Morgan.

As he did, it struck me that the bike we had seen outside may not belong to Dr Potter and Mr Morgan but could have been used by Father Bolingbroke, alias Reverend Jones. He had chosen a Welsh name to ingratiate himself with Morgan.

Knowing I should stay put, on an impulse, I left the house, seized the bike and wheeled it out of sight.

Sykes must have drawn Morgan from the study because a moment after I moved the bicycle, Father Bolingbroke came out of the front door, carrying two books.

He spotted me as I spotted him. I should not have peered round the side of the wall.

‘Mrs Shackleton!'

‘Father Bolingbroke, or should I say Reverend Jones?'

He laughed. ‘Poor man, one has to be kind to the Welsh. I thought it would give him comfort if I used my mother's maiden name. Now, my bicycle…'

There was only one way to keep him from having the bicycle and that was to leap on and cycle away, which I did, but awkwardly because it was a big boneshaker. Dunce chose that moment to saunter out onto the path, refusing to give way. I swerved. The bike wobbled.

Bolingbroke came after me. ‘What do you think you're playing at?'

‘Stay where you are!' Sykes called.

‘That is my Bible, hear you!'

I feared that Bolingbroke would outstrip the pair of them and so rode the bicycle in a clockwise circle, heading straight for him. He dodged. This allowed Sykes to seize him from behind and as he did so Morgan rescued the precious volumes. I came to an awkward stop, steadying the handlebars, leaning sideways to reach the ground. By the time I dismounted, Bolingbroke was in handcuffs.

I knew this was what Sykes had always longed to do: put the cuffs on someone. Finally, he had his wish.

‘Consider yourself under citizen's arrest, sir, for the crime of theft. It will be best if you come quietly.'

Surveying our transport, I wondered how to manage the situation, with one car and a bicycle or two between us. Then I came up with the answer.

‘Mr Morgan, if you will harness the pony and trap, you and Mr Sykes could escort Father Bolingbroke to his home, where I suspect there may be a cache of stolen books. I will drive back to town and alert the librarian and the police that we have apprehended a felon.'

‘Yes,' Sykes said. ‘It would be an uncomfortable squeeze for four of us in the car, and undignified for a man of the cloth.'

‘Not the police.' Bolingbroke stared at his handcuffs and looked at each of us in turn, as if trying to bore a hole into our souls. ‘This is not a criminal matter. I am trying to do my best for the library.'

Morgan nursed the precious books in his hands. ‘I will find some suitable wrapping and then see to the pony and trap. Archie will be glad of an outing.'

Bolingbroke stared in disbelief at his wrists. ‘Let us go to the police station, see what they say about the illegal use of handcuffs.'

Sykes smiled. I could hear what he would say if the question of handcuffs arose. ‘Handcuffs? What handcuffs? The man came voluntarily, as he should when caught red-handed by three upright subjects of His Majesty.'

‘You don't know where I live,' Bolingbroke spluttered. ‘And don't think I'll tell you.'

Fortunately, thanks to Miss Merton, I did know where Bolingbroke lived: on Street Lane where he paid little or nothing for bed and board with a kindly proprietress of the library. I gave Sykes the address, and then set off for the library.

Twenty-Four

‘Come in!'

Mr Lennox, poring over a ledger, pencil in hand, looked up. ‘Mrs Shackleton.'

‘Mr Lennox.' I stepped inside and closed the door. ‘I need you to come with me to Father Bolingbroke's lodgings. There has been an unusual development.'

‘Oh dear, is he ill?'

‘No. I can explain as we go, but it would be helpful if you bring a note of the books that have gone missing.'

Mrs Carmichael came in, carrying a file. ‘Mrs Shackleton, I saw you come in. Is there anything I can do? Mr Lennox has an appointment with the auditors shortly.'

A sharp frostiness in her manner made me realise that she thought I had designs on her lover.

‘It's Mr Lennox I need to speak to, but you may as well hear what I have to say. I believe we will find that your book thief is Father Bolingbroke. I and my assistant, along with Dr Potter's manservant, apprehended him at Dr Potter's house. He was helping himself to a valuable Bible and commentary.'

Lennox's eyes widened. ‘Potter's
Geneva Bible?
You mean to say he just kept it on the shelf?'

‘Come and see for yourself. You are the expert.'

Mrs Carmichael smiled with evident relief. ‘Heavens no, you are much mistaken. Father Bolingbroke is a true scholar. The thief was … well, she was dismissed, as we told you.'

‘And no books have gone missing since? And it was a pure fluke that
Gothic Ornament
was found where Bolingbroke had knelt to attend to Dr Potter? And you imagine that your sacked library assistant was fully aware of the value of the volumes that were taken?'

Her mouth opened every so slightly and a flicker of doubt came into her pale blue eyes. ‘Everyone knows which books are valuable.'

‘What did any of us know about Father Bolingbroke before he came here? You were deceived. We all allowed ourselves to be deceived by him.'

Mrs Carmichael's hand went to her lips. ‘It can't be true.'

‘Bolingbroke was caught red-handed this morning, impersonating a university chaplain and calling himself the Reverend Jones.'

Lennox stared at Mrs Carmichael. ‘You were so sure.'

‘Yes, very sure. The book was in Marian Montague's bag, the index cards in her waste bin. We both saw them.'

Lennox's voice dropped to a whisper. ‘She swore she was honest. I wanted to believe her, but you convinced me.'

‘You are too gullible.' Mrs Carmichael thumped her fist on the desk, which must have hurt.

His mouth tightened. ‘And you are too quick to rush to judgement.'

‘You wanted rid of her. Don't deny it. She had become a nuisance.'

He took a step towards her. ‘No, you wanted rid of her, out of jealousy.'

I have never been sure of why anyone would want to pour oil on waters, troubled or untroubled, but I attempted to do so. ‘This is no time for recriminations.' I stepped between them. ‘Come with me, Mr Lennox, to Roundhay. Let us see what treasures Father Bolingbroke has in his room.'

A sudden misgiving crawled up my spine. What if Bolingbroke had already despatched the stolen books to whoever would buy them from him?

Without another glance at Mrs Carmichael, Lennox reached for his coat.

‘Mrs Carmichael.' I spoke as kindly as I could in spite of her barely concealed hostility towards me for having brought such news. ‘Would you be so kind as to telephone the police and ask them to come to Father Bolingbroke's lodgings as soon as possible?'

She nodded, gave a long anguished look at Lennox, and then picked up the telephone receiver. I felt a sudden pity for her.

‘I'm sure you did what you thought best at the time.'

She did not look at me. ‘I shall ensure the police are aware of the urgency. You see, people don't always take the theft of books seriously. I do.'

Lennox took a sheet of paper from the top drawer of his desk.

Mrs Carmichael spoke into the telephone mouthpiece. ‘Police please.'

Without a backward look, Mr Lennox went out, buttoning his overcoat. I followed.

*   *   *

By the time the police arrived at Bolingbroke's large upstairs front room, Lennox had placed neat ticks alongside nine of the books on his list of twelve.

In spite of its ample size, the room was crowded. Mr Morgan sat on a dressing table stool; Sykes stood by the window.

Bolingbroke was seated at what would not for much longer be his desk. ‘This is all an unfortunate mistake. I borrowed the books. Not being a library member, I had to do so unofficially.'

Inspector Wallis spoke softly. ‘You can explain all that at the station, sir, when we take your statement.'

Sergeant Ashworth took charge of the books. ‘I'll give you a receipt for these, Mr Lennox. We'll take good care of them.'

Morgan hugged the good book to his heart. ‘I cannot be parted from this Bible. It is part of my master's effects, see you. His last will and testament will proclaim it mine.'

Wallis considered. ‘Mr Morgan, come to the station with Mr Sykes. You can make your statements, as the arresting citizens. I will release your property to you.'

The lady of the house was not at home but Inspector Wallis took the liberty of making use of the kitchen and dining room, so that the constable and sergeant could do what was necessary by way of taking preliminary accounts of the day's events.

Bolingbroke was whisked away to the bridewell in the company of Sergeant Ashworth.

There was a moment when Wallis and I met on the landing, and I managed a brief word.

‘Inspector, that copy of
Gothic Ornament
found near Dr Potter's body, do you think there might be just a possibility that Dr Potter suspected Father Bolingbroke?'

Wallis said, ‘What makes you think Bolingbroke is a “Father” of any kind? I have had my eye on him. Prison pallor is a very particular shade. His real name is Aiden Parrott. He spent three years in a seminary before the war, training for the priesthood, until some altarpieces caught his fancy. The inmates at Armley Gaol preferred him to the real thing. That's probably where he stole the cassock.'

‘So that was why he was in such a hurry to be away on Friday. He thought that one of you may recognise him.'

‘It was enough for me to know where he was, for now.' Wallis surprised me by answering what was really in my thoughts. ‘If I had not arrested the organ grinder, and with reason, we would have released him onto the street, to die a little sooner and in less comfort. You would not have liked that either, I suppose.'

This is how we all departed the Roundhay lodgings of Father Bolingbroke. Inspector Wallis, now in charge of Bolingbroke's house key, left a constable on duty outside, to await the owner's return.

Sykes, Morgan and I hovered at one side of the front porch. The constable and Lennox, who had engaged him in conversation, were at the other.

‘To think I gave that rogue free run of my master's study. It is beside myself with annoyance I am.'

‘Mr Morgan, he deceived everyone.'

Sykes said, ‘Put it down to your good nature that you were taken in. The man is a confidence trickster, but you had the wit to catch him out.'

‘That bicycle he rode, was that stolen too?'

The constable took a sudden interest, being one of those people who can listen to two conversations at once. ‘What bicycle is that, sir?'

‘A boneshaker, painted green it was.'

This cheered the constable no end. ‘If you will all stay here while I make an enquiry of the neighbours, I may find out about the bicycle.'

It was only then that I realised Mr Lennox and Mr Morgan had not been introduced, and so I undertook the formalities. The two men fell into conversation about Dr Potter.

Sykes and I drew apart and discussed what to do next.

Sykes glanced at Morgan. ‘I must stay with him until we have given our statements. The poor chap looks desolate.'

‘How will you get home?'

‘I'll ride back to Weetwood with Morgan in the pony and trap. If that bicycle Bolingbroke rode turns out to belong here, I'll bring it back, and then catch the tram.'