The Tewkesbury Tomb (14 page)

‘This feels like an “R”,’ said Crabb.

‘And the other?’

‘A “P”.’

‘Exactly! The “R” could stand for “Roger” and the “P” for “Pole”. Roger de la Pole.’

‘Fascinating,’ said the vicar. ‘I have always wondered what the letters were and what they meant.’

‘I think that Sir Roger, by making sure that the letters R and P were inscribed on the wall directly above the tomb, was indicating that this may be the final resting place of the goblet. Reverend, do you think it would be possible for us to open the tomb?’

‘Good Heavens – if you will excuse the expression. I cannot under any circumstances permit that violation,’ protested Anson, throwing up his arms in horror.

‘I am sorry to cause offence. Nevertheless, I believe that it is imperative that we recover whatever is inside the tomb. If the golden goblet is found inside there, then we can ensure that it is displayed in a museum, where it would not only be secure but where its full glory could be enjoyed by everyone. If it is left inside, there is always the danger that someone, entirely lacking in scruples, may uncover the secret of the letters, and will violate the shrine,’ said Ravenscroft, trying to sound as persuasive as he could.

‘I appreciate what you are saying. Inspector. It would indeed be a terrible thing if the tomb was to be broken into, but I’m afraid I cannot give you the permission you require. All I can suggest is that if you write and explain your request to the Bishop of Gloucester and the Church Commissioners, they might allow you to proceed. If that permission is granted, then I would offer no objection.’

‘Thank you, Reverend. I quite understand your position. We will indeed approach the correct authorities. In the meantime, until we are able to return, we believe it is possible that some mischievous person may attempt to break into the tomb, and accordingly I would suggest that you lock the building at all times, except, of course, when you are conducting church services.’

‘Certainly, Inspector, I will be more than pleased to undertake your request.’

‘And if you could keep a look-out for any strangers in the vicinity and let us know if there are any,’ said Ravenscroft handing the clergyman one of his cards.

‘Yes, yes, of course.’

‘Thank you, Reverend. I will write to the bishop today. Until we are able to return, I wish you a very good day.’

Ravenscroft sealed the envelope, let out a deep sigh and leaned back in his armchair. The light from the candle on his desk fell on his pocket watch and he noted that the time had shortly passed the hour of five in the morning.

He had spent a restless night and, being unable to sleep, had risen reluctantly from his bed and had made his way down the stairs to the main room of the house where he had busied himself in composing a letter to the Bishop of Gloucester setting out the full facts of the case, and putting forward his request to open the unmarked tomb. Now at last that duty had been done and he could turn his mind to other matters.

Ross was dead. There was no doubt about it. Killed in a shooting accident they said ten years ago. Yet he and Crabb had interviewed the Scotsman in his own house, and he had been very much alive. Crabb had joked that it had been the ghost of the dead man who had spoken to them, but he did not believe in such fanciful nonsense. Anyway, Ross had also been seen by
others that night at the abbey, albeit only fleetingly, before he had quit the scene. Ross was dead. Ross was alive.

He knew that unless the man was apprehended within the next few hours, he would feel compelled to let the others leave the town, and with their departure might go any hope he had of arriving at the truth of the matter. There still remained the possibility, of course, that Ross was entirely innocent, and that either Jenkins, Ganniford or Miss Eames, either acting alone, or as a group, had committed the crimes in their desire to find the resting place of the goblet for themselves.

Then there was Professor Salt’s telegram, which had been waiting for him at the station in Tewkesbury when he and Crabb had returned late that night from their excursion to Meysey Hampton –
Regret to inform you no living descendants of Sir Roger
de la Pole. Had one son who died in infancy. Salt
.- it had said, the starkness of its words adding yet further to his gloom. So none of the group would have a claim on the treasure should it ever be found. Either the man Crosbie had created the fake chart to make them each believe that they were the true descendants of the old Templar Knight, or the whole story had been yet one more untruthful layer in a mountain of lies. He would have to confront the three remaining members of the group in the morning in a final attempt to obtain the truth.

As Ravenscroft looked into the flame of the flickering candle, he wondered whether he would ever solve the case. Would he ever be able to obtain justice for Hollinger, Anstruther and the man in the open coffin? Despite his apparent death ten years before, Ross had to be his chief suspect, but the wretched man was still out there somewhere and could not be found.

In little over an hour dawn would break and with the coming of the new day there would be new endeavour and with it new hope.

 ‘Good morning to you, sir, Mrs Ravenscroft,’ said Crab entering the room cheerfully.

‘Good morning, Tom. Do draw up a chair and help yourself to some tea and toast,’ said Lucy.

‘Thank you, ma’am,’ replied the constable, seating himself at the table.

‘Well, Tom, what news do you bring?’ asked Ravenscroft laying down his newspaper.

‘Unfortunately nothing, sir. I have just called in at the station, and I’m afraid that there is nothing at all to report. The men have made extensive enquiries in the three counties but there have been no reported sightings of Ross,’ said Crabb, reaching for the toast rack.

‘Damn the man! Where the devil has he got to?’ said an impatient Ravenscroft. ‘Why has no one reported seeing him?’

‘He could be out on Bredon Hill somewhere, or in one of the nearby villages. I could send out some men to scour the hills,’ suggested Crabb, before taking a mouthful of toast and marmalade.

‘Do as you wish,’ sighed Ravenscroft. ‘It can do no harm.’

‘Perhaps the men may soon discover the whereabouts of your mysterious Mr Ross,’ said Lucy trying to sound optimistic.

‘We shall have to let Ganniford, Jenkins and Miss Eames go this morning unless there are more lies to unravel,’ said Ravenscroft gloomily.

‘Things are sometimes never what they seem,’ remarked Lucy pouring out some more tea.

‘All this is confoundedly annoying – what was that you just said?’ said Ravenscroft, turning quickly towards his wife.

‘Things are sometimes never what they seem,’ repeated Lucy.

‘That is it!’ exclaimed Ravenscroft. ‘We have been assuming all along that Crosbie, Anstruther and Hollinger were murdered so that their killer could acquire the treasure for himself. We know that Crosbie had met each of our six members in turn, showing them some made-up chart which purported to show that they were all descended from Sir Roger de la Pole, and had enticed them to meet him in Tewkesbury in order to find the missing goblet – but why do that? Why not seek out the treasure for yourself? Why involve six complete strangers in your search?’

‘Perhaps he thought they might be able to translate the lettering on the side of the coffin, where he had failed,’ suggested Lucy, leaning forward.

‘But there would have been no guarantee of that. After all, many people have read the inscription down through the centuries and yet not one of them, we presume, has ever succeeded.’

‘Your Professor Salt was able to arrive at the solution,’ added Crabb.

‘Yes, but Salt is a medieval scholar, schooled in such learning; a brilliant mind who saw in a flash of inspiration how the code might be solved. Up until now we had assumed that the man Crosbie had been killed by his accomplice after he had found something inside the tomb, and at first we had thought that the tomb had contained the golden goblet. We know now, however, that was not so, otherwise the killer would have fled the scene taking the treasure with him. Secondly, we assumed that Hollinger had worked out what the letters stood for, and had imparted that knowledge to Anstruther in the snug of the Hop Pole that night, and that our killer had overheard them, and decided to kill them to acquire and keep that knowledge for himself. At first we thought that Anstruther killed Hollinger and that he had then made a hasty departure before the body was
discovered – but then if he was the killer why would he have gone in the opposite direction to where the treasure was hidden? It doesn’t make sense. Then we assumed that Anstruther was poisoned because he, too, knew where the treasure was, and our killer had to ensure that he was put out of the way before he revealed all. But if Anstruther had not been party to the secret, why was he poisoned? The more one continues to look at all this, the more we keep going round in circles, and the answers keep evading us. Things are not as they seem, that is what you said, my dear. What if Crosbie, Hollinger and Anstruther were killed for an entirely different reason, one which is not yet apparent – and what if the whole story about the Templar and his missing treasure has been a complete diversion?’ said Ravenscroft, warming to his subject.

‘But we found the marks above the tomb at Meysey Hampton,’ interrupted Crabb, a puzzled expression on his face.

‘Indeed, that much is confirmed. Perhaps there is a treasure, but what if the summoning of our six people to Tewkesbury had nothing to do with the finding of that prize? What if they were enticed here for an entirely different reason?’

‘I don’t see what you are getting at, sir,’ said Crabb, buttering yet another slice of toast.

‘Go on,’ said Lucy, encouraging her husband.

‘Six strangers each believing that they had journeyed to Tewkesbury to inherit that which they thought was rightfully theirs to claim. No, the answer to this mystery lies elsewhere. I am sure the solution has something to do with the man Ross. What if Ross is behind all this? What if he and Crosbie stumbled across the old story about the Templar Knight and saw a way in which they could use it to bring the others to the town?’

‘But why?’ asked Crabb.

‘That is what we have to find out.’

‘Begging your pardon, sir, but we don’t even know if Ross is dead or alive.’

‘Precisely – and that is why we need to find out whether Ross was really killed in that shooting accident all those years ago.’

‘And how will you do that?’ asked Lucy.

‘Eat up your breakfast, Tom, then you and I will seek out the newspaper archives at the local library. Almost certainly the newspapers of the day would have reported the case and the inquest. That is where the answer to all this may be found.’

‘Good morning to you, sir, I believe your library may contain back copies of the local newspaper,’ said Ravenscroft, addressing the grey-haired librarian who was seated behind a large desk scattered with piles of books.

‘Oh, I would not know whether that is the case, or no,’ replied the man, turning over a page of one of the open volumes.

‘We were given to understand that we might find back issues of
T
he Evesham Journal
here.’

‘I would not be sure on that rash assumption, my dear sir. No, not at all. Dear me, no. May I be so bold as to enquire who is requesting such material?’ asked the librarian looking up from his studies and peering over his spectacles at the two men.

‘Inspector Ravenscroft – and this is Constable Crabb.’

‘I see. Can’t help you I’m afraid. No, cannot be of any assistance whatsoever,’ replied the man, resuming his reading.

‘Do you, or do you not, have back copies of
The Evesham Journal
within the confines of this library?’ asked Ravenscroft irritably.

‘
Confines
you say? What an unusual expression to use on such a day. Very neat indeed. You could have used interior, or even inside, or some other expression of equal meaning, but, no, you chose confines. Such an unusual word.
Confines
. Yes indeed.’ 

‘Look here, do you have the back issues of
The Evesham Journal
in this library, or not? I would be obliged for a straight answer,’ said Ravenscroft, more and more annoyed by the librarian’s strange manner.

‘
Obliged
for an answer, my dear sir? Would that I could give you an answer. Dear me, no. I can give you one answer, but then that may not be the correct one. Then I could give you another answer, and that may well prove to be the one you are looking for. But then indeed it may not. You see my predicament.’

‘Will you answer my question?’ said Ravenscroft raising his voice.

‘There is no need for annoyance. Annoyance will get you nowhere. Dear me, no. Annoyance will not do at all. No, it will not.’

‘The man speaks in riddles, sir,’ muttered Crabb.

‘If you do not answer my question, then I will search every inch of this library until I find what I am looking for,’ said Ravenscroft, leaning forward until he towered over the little man.

‘That would be extremely unwise, my dear sir. Extremely unwise indeed. Dear me no, that just won’t do at all. Not at all. That is not to be borne. Indeed not.’

‘Then you leave me no choice. Lead on, Crabb. We will turn this library upside down until we find what we are looking for,’ said Ravenscroft angrily brushing aside the other’s comments.

‘Right you are, sir,’ said Crabb, adopting a business-like tone.

‘
Evesham Journal
you say? If you would care to accompany me, gentlemen, you will soon be aware of my predicament,’ said the librarian, rising hastily from his chair and crossing over towards a large oak door at the other side of the room. ‘
Evesham Journal
. Well I never. No one ever asks to see that. No one at all.’

‘Well
I
am asking. It is a matter of the gravest importance,’
said Ravenscroft sternly.

‘Gravest importance you say. Then I suppose it may be to some people. To others it is apparently not, for had it been so, we would have had a far greater number of enquiries for such material over the years. Indeed we would,’ said the man unlocking the door with a large, rusty, iron key.

Ravenscroft sighed and gave Crabb a look of frustration.

‘There, my dear sir!’ exclaimed the librarian pulling open the door of the room.

‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed Crabb, staring at the piles of books and papers that seemed to occupy each inch of the darkened room.

‘Now you see my predicament,’ said the librarian, nodding his head from side to side.

‘I do indeed,’ sympathized Ravenscroft.

‘I believe you might well find what you are looking for here – but then again you might not.’

‘Can you bring us a candle?’ asked Ravenscroft.’It is very dark in here.’

‘A candle? And where might I obtain such an item, I should like to know? Then indeed if I were to acquire the said requested item, it could prove of a dangerous nature with so much combustible material at our disposal. No, sir, a candle is not to be advised at all, even if one could be located. No, not at all. Dear me, no.’

‘No matter, sir,’ said Crabb, edging himself between several piles of books and opening a small window on the other side of the room.

‘How extraordinary!’ exclaimed the librarian. ‘No one has ever opened that window for as long as I can remember. No, they have not.’

‘Well done, Crabb. Might I suggest that you leave my
constable and I free to find what we are looking for?’ suggested Ravenscroft. ‘I am sure you must be greatly occupied with your books, and we would not wish to take up any more of your time than is absolutely necessary.’

‘Indeed I am, sir. Busy indeed. I wish you well in your endeavours,’ said the man forcing a brief smile before he left the room.

‘Close the door, Tom. I think we might do a lot better on our own, and without interruption.’

‘Right, sir,’ said Crabb closing the door.

‘What an irritating little man.’

‘Where do we begin?’

‘I would think that the past copies of
The Evesham Journal
, would have been bound. I know it is the custom for such newspaper companies and librarian to bind their past issues into six-monthly periods.’

‘Right, sir,’ replied Crabb making his way between the stacks of books.

‘I’ll take this side of the room.’