Murder in Paradise (18 page)

Muir unlocked the door, whereupon the prisoner Faro stood up and acknowledged the doctors with a polite bow, Dr Grant, the friend of George Wardle and his colleague Dr Innes, who had also attended him during the influenza outbreak. Although they had failed to completely convince him that Erland had in fact died of heart failure, he could go no further with his pleas for a post-mortem without revealing his suspicions regarding Madeleine Smith and the poisoned cocoa.

Surprised by this unexpected visit from the doctors, Faro soon saw through Dr Grant’s questions, eager to prove beyond reasonable doubt that he might have committed the deed while of unsound mind and would therefore spend the rest of his life in an asylum for the insane. To Faro such an existence was scarcely less preferable than the end of a rope.

For Grant’s benefit, Innes had already detailed Faro’s presence in Upton from the very beginning. Now he put heavy emphasis on the fact that Faro had concealed his real identity from his hosts at Red House by not telling them that he was a policeman.

This seemed of considerable significance to his colleague, without revealing why the presence of a policeman might cause some embarrassment regarding the irregular living conditions of the inhabitants of Red House.

Faro’s somewhat vague explanations failed to satisfy the doctors that he was not trying to deceive anyone and the doctor’s more searching questions were directed toward Bess Tracy, having heard from the gardener Dave of Faro’s continual questions regarding a meeting with the girl and his interest in her reputation as a girl of easy virtue.

Dr Grant, of course, was not to know that his supposed questions to Dave had been instigated by Macheath and were part of the trap set for Faro.

The doctor was also interested in his reasons for being in Kent in the first place and his lip curled a mite scornfully when Faro told him he had been obeying the instructions from his superior officer in Edinburgh, and the business of the daily telegraphs sounded very improbable indeed, even to Faro’s own ears, as a piece of incredible fabrication.

As for the doctors, they sighed and exchanged significant glances. Who on earth would behave in such an extraordinary fashion, sending a lone young policeman to track down single-handed a wanted murderer? Detective Sergeant Noble was obviously a close candidate for one of Dr Grant’s mental observations.

There was that other abnormal behaviour too, regarding his deceased friend and the post-mortem, hints that Mr Flett had in fact been poisoned.

Hallucinations regarding the food-poisoning outbreak at Red House, no doubt perhaps brought about by an abnormal temperature during his attack of influenza, were nevertheless an admirable subject for investigation regarding diseases of the brain.

Dr Grant left, however, feeling sadly let down that he had not proved any of his theories in the slightest. He was either dealing with an innocent man or a very clever criminal indeed.

As for Muir’s prisoner, unlike a condemned man but convinced that he could prove his innocence, Faro slept well and awoke to his final morning in Upton.

That evening there was a beautiful sunset, a flight of chattering birds heading homewards across a glowing sky, and an appropriate setting for his farewell to Red House. As Faro had little luggage Muir was wondering if a walk to the railway station might be safely considered.

Faro laughed. ‘Are you also bearing in mind that I might make a last-minute break for freedom?’

‘I have your word,’ said Muir sternly.

‘No handcuffs?’

Muir shook his head. ‘I trust you, Faro, and besides it would create terror in the descending passengers who would form their own conclusions about a uniformed constable escorting a dangerous prisoner.’

They walked briskly, with little exchange of conversation, Muir preoccupied with his own perplexities and Faro mentally going over the material for his defence and the letter to Noble whom he was sure would send immediate assurances of support at his trial.

At the station, they had a short wait on the platform. Steam and vibrations heralded the London train. A few passengers descended and Muir, holding Faro’s arm, hurried forward, gazing anxiously in all directions. The party he expected was not visible but a man was looking towards them leaning out from the step of the first class compartment.

He waved. ‘That must be the inspector,’ said Muir and, as they hurried the length of the train, Faro wondered how they had been so easily recognised by Inspector Holt. On closer acquaintance, the inspector was a rather nondescript fellow of medium height and build, in plain clothes and wearing a tall hat which seemed too large for him. Its brim came well down over his eyebrows and almost seemed to be in danger of meeting the large walrus moustache.

Ignoring Constable Muir’s salute he introduced himself, briefly flashed a card and pocketed it again. ‘So this is your prisoner – Constable Faro.’ A quick glance and again he looked at Muir, demanding sharply, ‘No handcuffs?’

Muir looked confused. ‘I have Constable Faro’s word, sir—’

A grim laugh met this response. ‘You have a lot to learn about human nature, Constable, in your patch. Obviously you do not meet many murderers in Upton.’

Muir drew himself up to his full height. ‘You have my assurances, sir, that Constable Faro has been a very well-behaved prisoner.’

‘That’s as may be,’ was the doubting reply.

The train’s whistle indicated a slow movement.

‘Get aboard, Faro.’

Muir shook hands with Faro, looked as if he wanted to say something important, perhaps words of reassurance. Another glance at Holt, who said, ‘Leave me your handcuffs, Constable. I am escorting a dangerous criminal and, from bitter experience, not as trusting as you seem to be.’

Muir watched as the train pulled away from the platform. Nearby were the two girls he remembered having visited Faro in his prison cell. The one he had called Poppy was very tearful and was being comforted by her companion. Muir saluted them gravely and, leaving the station a very troubled man, he hurried back to the police office.

Faro and the inspector had the first-class compartment to themselves. The passenger accommodation resembled the interiors of the stagecoaches on which they had been modelled, with railway wheels substituted for horses and one door for access and exit.

Placing his travelling case on the rack, Holt eyed the handcuffs Muir had given him as if unsure of how they worked. Indicating them, Faro said, ‘Those will not be necessary, sir. I have no intention of trying to escape. It would do my case no good and I have every intention of proving that I am innocent of the girl’s murder when we get to London.’

Under the moustache, the lips curled in a sneer as Faro went on, ‘By then my senior officer Detective Sergeant Noble of the Edinburgh City Police will be able to add his commendations regarding my good character.’

‘I wouldn’t rely too much on that,’ Holt murmured as, seizing Faro’s wrists, he clamped the handcuffs shut and from his greatcoat pocket withdrew a revolver. Gazing down the barrel, he added grimly, ‘Cannot be too careful with a dangerous killer, can we? Any move and you will be dead – hardly in a position to prove your innocence then.’

The train gathered steam, moved slowly along the platform and halted. Voices outside indicated the reason was for a late passenger. A foot on the step, a hand on the door as a man’s face peered up at them wearing dark eyeglasses, shouting breathlessly, ‘Any room in there, sir?’

Holt stood up. ‘This is a first-class compartment – reserved! Can’t you read, you fool? Go away.’

‘My apologies, sir, you must excuse me, I am blind.’ The face disappeared and Faro heard the tip-tapping of a stick along the platform as the train began to move again. Holt, swearing at these absurd delays, resumed his seat close to the door.

Beyond the window, the sunset had faded and it was growing dark outside. The countryside, visible through the train’s smoke, flashed by and Faro sensed that Holt was increasingly nervous, with the gun turned on him, his attitude tense as if awaiting a signal, a sign.

Faro, observing him closely, noticed something familiar about those clenched hands, ungloved for easier handling of the revolver – as for the pulled-down hat concealing most of the inspector’s face and the heavy moustache—

His senses became alert to danger. Too late now, he knew the face of his enemy and with recognition came a sickening realisation. He was trapped, handcuffed in a railway compartment, with the bogus Holt pointing a revolver.

Leaning across Holt said, ‘We are about to approach the viaduct over the river and you are to make a bid to escape.’

Faro said, ‘I am grateful for your generous gesture but I must decline.’

‘On the contrary, you are to attempt to escape – and I shall kill you.’

‘And if I don’t?’

The revolver was flourished again. A sigh. ‘Then I shall have to kill you anyway.’

Faro leant back and said, ‘An inspector from the Metropolitan Police – well, well, that’s a new and very respectable role – pity about the hat and the moustache.’

Macheath snarled, ‘Clever, aren’t you? Too damned clever this time for your own good.’

‘Yes, Macheath.’ Faro smiled. ‘So we meet again after all. Last time it was in your other role, Paul Jacks the gardener – who killed Bess Tracy, knocked me unconscious – from behind of course – and put the murder weapon in my hand – for your arranged witnesses to discover,’ he added grimly. ‘We had other encounters; fortunately for you Jim Boone had an abundance of facial hair.’

And playing for time, with an indifference he was far from feeling at that moment, he added, ‘Disguises are well and good but hands are very hard to change.’

Macheath gave a quick glance at his hands as Faro went on, ‘The advantage is all yours, in appearance so undistinguished that no one ever remembers you. Not exactly a face that gets a second glance in a crowd. And that has always been your trump card.’

He paused. ‘Add to this a certain acting ability – I would guess that you tread the boards at one time in your career. As I am not to be alive much longer, I imagine you won’t be returning to Upton now that you have the Emerald Star.’

‘Quite correct, Faro. By the time they find your body, I will have disappeared, on a ship far out to sea heading for a new life in the Americas.’

‘Unaccompanied, I take it. What about your accomplice?’ It was a wild guess.

‘What do you—?’ He gave a mocking laugh that contained a note of uncertainty, then Macheath added hastily, ‘I have no accomplice. I work alone, always have.’

But he had given the game away. Faro knew that this time it was a lie. ‘Come now, you needed one of the gardeners for your plan to work, for me to be found with the girl’s body and a knife in my hand. Aren’t you worried that he might not stand up to questioning if he is called as a witness at my trial?’

‘Your trial, indeed. You’ll never get that far.’

Faro shook his head. ‘Possibly. But it would have been safer to have disposed of Dave – a contrived accident.’

Macheath gave him an angry look. ‘Oh, I thought of that. But there was so little time and dead bodies are tedious to get rid of.’

‘Bodies like Jim Boone – and his dog. You needed the house to keep that poor girl with your plan to rob the Brettles and until you could use her to bait the trap for me. Just as a matter of interest, where have you buried them?’

‘None of your bloody business, Faro.’ To his satisfaction, Faro realised that Macheath was getting rattled.

A moment later he recovered. ‘I underestimated you, Faro. Might as well let you into a secret, seeing that it will never go any further. I was helped – this time – in my ultimate goal by a very worthy gentleman – a policeman.’

A sound in the corridor. He stopped, listened. ‘No more, this is your destination.’ Leaping up, he pulled the communication cord and threw open the compartment door.

A strong wind rushed in at them, the spans of a bridge and the glimmer of dark waters far below.

As the train jerked noisily to a halt, Macheath grabbed Faro’s arm. ‘This is goodbye, this time finally and for ever.’ And pushing him towards the open door, ‘Go on, get out.’

The revolver pressed into his side, Faro had no alternative but to obey.

‘Go on, jump, damn you.’

Aware that to make it convincing that he had tried to escape, Macheath had to shoot him in the back, Faro pretended to stumble at the door.

As Macheath yelled, ‘On your feet – get out,’ there were distant sounds from the end of the train, the banging of doors as the guards ran along the bridge searching the compartments.

Faro had to take a gamble, win or lose, in the hope that he was stronger in physique than Macheath and that the revolver wouldn’t go off and kill him anyway. As Macheath tried desperately to turn him round and push him out of the open door, in what might prove a last desperate attempt he twisted round and brought his handcuffed wrists down hard in a fierce blow on Macheath’s knees.

Macheath staggered, recovered, then, as they struggled together at the open door, Faro heard the shot, felt the agony of the bullet. As he slipped into darkness, he tasted blood and his last sight was of the compartment door opening and the blind man bending over him.

For a long while time ceased. Day became night and turned into day again while Faro fought for his life in a hospital bed in Upton.

Then when all hope was fading, he opened his eyes to the world again to be told that only his excellent constitution had saved him. The doctors had shaken their heads, given up hope for the bullet had narrowly escaped a main artery and his spine.

Suddenly there were familiar faces at his bedside. Muir, awkward behind a bunch of flowers, Poppy, tearful, holding his hand but, most familiar of all, the blind man who he had last seen in the London train.

‘How are you? I thought my young friend was a goner.’

Faro blinked once, and again. Without the dark glasses, the man who sat at his bedside—

‘McFie,’ he whispered.

‘The very same,’ was the cheerful reply. ‘Now, you take it easy – you have still a lot of recovering to do.’

‘What about the trial? What about Edinburgh – does Noble know?’

‘Don’t worry about that, lad. When you’re stronger—’

Faro attempted to sit up. ‘I’m strong enough to hear the truth. I thought you were on holiday with your sister in Sussex. What are you doing here?’

McFie sat back in his chair and sighed. ‘Very well.’

A nurse hovered, frowning. ‘Sir, you are not to tire our patient.’

Faro smiled up at her. ‘This gentleman’s information is very important for my recovery, nurse. I will be out of here much speedier when I hear what he has to say,’

McFie gave the nurse a reassuring smile and, looking doubtful, she drifted off.

‘Now tell me all, sir. What were you doing down here? From the beginning, if you please.’

‘Never got to my sister. I’ve been staying with Constable Muir’s brother who has a boarding house in the village for railwaymen. A convenient arrangement as I had to keep out of sight while Muir brought me the answers to my telegraphs.’

‘I would have welcomed a sight of you,’ said Faro glumly remembering how he would have valued McFie’s advice regarding Erland and Madeleine Smith.

McFie shook his head. ‘I made a brief appearance at your friend’s funeral, in my role as a blind man. However, if Macheath was around, as I had good reason to suspect, then he was keeping a close watch on you and if he saw us together… Remember, I am still a well-kenned figure among the criminal fraternity in Edinburgh. He would have recognised me and then we might have lost him before I checked on Inspector Holt. And, as I suspected, there was no such man at the Metropolitan Police, by the way. That was his first mistake.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘In prison, awaiting trial for the murder of Bess Tracy as well as one in Scotland and an impressive list of burglaries.’

‘What about Lady Brettle’s jewels?’

‘Recovered with the Emerald Star in his travelling case, alongside a faked passport and a sailing ticket to New York.’ Pausing, he shook his head. ‘Bit of a scandal about her ladyship’s jewellery – turned out to be fakes.’

‘So she told me, when she was very anxious not to bring in the Metropolitan Police to investigate.’

‘Too late for that now. All has been revealed and I’m afraid the Brettles will not be living happily ever after in their nice new home and Macheath was expecting a big haul that did not exist. However, the Emerald Star would have made it very much worthwhile.’

‘Tell me, how did he find out about that particular jewel?’

McFie laughed. ‘That’s easy. There’s a criminal network in Britain who make it their business – and a very profitable business, I might add – to know about such matters. Precious gems, portable small items are vastly preferred. Big houses employ many servants and there is always someone who can pass on valuable information regarding the layout of safes and so forth. The Brettles also lost two valuable pictures.

‘Macheath was blamed. Apparently he found these two items too large to carry and they were discovered hidden under hay in the barn. Doesn’t sound like him, but that’s the story according to Sir Philip.’ He smiled, dryly confirming Faro’s theory that Sir Philip had hidden the paintings himself in the hope he might add them to his wife’s insurance claim.

‘What of his accomplice? Macheath told me he was a policeman – do they know who he was?’

‘They do indeed. And so do you.’

Faro looked puzzled and McFie said, ‘I was doing an undercover investigation for the Edinburgh police. That is why it was convenient for all to believe that I was visiting my sister in Sussex. As soon as I heard that Noble was sending you on what, as I told you, I completely disapproved of as a waste of time, a wild-goose chase indeed, I had my suspicions.

‘Still have friends in high places and they decided that Noble should be investigated. It soon became evident from a bank account that could hardly be justified by his sergeant’s pay, that the man was dishonest and it evolved that he was in league with Macheath, helping him with inside information about wealthy homes for years, even during his time in Glasgow and doubtless all ready to leave the country when the truth came out, as it would eventually.

‘However after it transpired that you were the only one who had ever seen Macheath face to face, in that other fight that almost cost you your life,’ he added grimly, ‘he realised that you were a tenacious stumbling block that must be got rid of.

‘Macheath was here for the Emerald Star and the fortune it would bring them both. A priceless jewel that could be reshaped and sold abroad, the fact that the lady was daft enough to keep it in the house, was irresistible. The rest was easy. He almost walked into the hands of the police at Abbey Wood to make them arrest him, lure you down and then made his escape. All he had to do then was wait until you arrived, on Noble’s instructions – and kill you.

‘He had a very convenient base for his activities,’ McFie continued seriously, ‘A recluse’s cottage no one went near on the Brettle estate. Kill the old man first and take his place. With his genius for disguise, it was easy. He had plenty of opportunities, no doubt.’

And Faro remembered that rifle shot while he was walking on the heath in the early morning after the masque.

McFie went on, ‘But it was an elaborate cat-and-mouse game for him. So he set a trap by killing that innocent lass and making sure that you would be blamed. A little too clever, and a little mad, I should say, but hang he most certainly will.’

‘Is Macheath his real name?’

McFie shrugged. ‘So he claims. No one knows for sure who he is really. As for you, lad, you will go back to Edinburgh when you are fit again without a stain on your character, with commendations for bravery – and promotion too. And, we all hope, a shining career in the future with the Edinburgh Police Force.’

Later that month Muir escorted them to the train bound for Edinburgh.

With a grin at Faro, he said, ‘Glad I’m handing you over to a real inspector. The last time we stood on this platform together, I had my doubts about Holt. I wanted to warn you but this gentleman here had given me strict instructions that all would be well, that he and the police officers would be on that train. When they weren’t in evidence – lurking out of sight at the end of the platform – you can imagine—’

And it was indeed left to Faro’s imagination as he and McFie boarded the train with hasty goodbyes and handshakes.

Faro leant out of the window, a final glance.

On the opposite platform, a woman awaiting the London train. Their eyes met. He saluted her, she raised her hand, smiled sadly and as the smoke hid her from view, he remembered her words about redemption.

The enigma of Madeleine Smith remained. He would never know the truth and neither would anyone else.