A Case of Conspiracy in Clerkenwell Read online

  Freddy was at his desk on time for once the next day, and was immediately handed a particularly dull story about road-works. He was thinking about it and grumbling to himself when Jolliffe at the next desk put down the telephone and stood up.

  ‘Off somewhere?’ said Freddy absently.

  ‘Yes. This murder in Clerkenwell.’

  ‘Which murder?’ said Freddy, raising his head at the familiar name.

  ‘You know—the woman who was found dead at Clerkenwell Central Hall.’

  ‘What?’ said Freddy, astounded. He stared at Jolliffe, all thoughts of road-works forgotten.

  ‘Oh, didn’t you hear Bickerstaffe? Yes, the call came in not half an hour ago. A Miss Olive Stapleton. They found her this morning. A friend of Marjorie Belcher’s, apparently, from that Temperance organization of hers. They’re all up in arms about it.’

  ‘But murder? But what—I mean to say, when—look here, are they sure? How did she die?’

  ‘A dagger to the heart, apparently. There’s some suspicion of robbery, I think.’

  ‘Good God!’ exclaimed Freddy. He could hardly believe his ears.

  ‘Quite,’ said Jolliffe. ‘Mrs. Belcher is devastated, I understand. Miss Stapleton was her second-in-command, you see. It seems there was a meeting last night at the hall in question, and nobody saw Miss Stapleton leave, and then this morning she was discovered in a side room by someone from a club that meets in the hall on Wednesday mornings. Now, what did they say the club was? I ought to have written it down but I couldn’t find my pencil.’ He scratched his head and stared into space, trying to remember. ‘Oh, yes. Raffia, I think it was.’

  ‘Raffia be damned,’ said Freddy. ‘Why, man, do you realize I was there last night and saw Miss Stapleton herself?’

  ‘Were you?’ said Jolliffe in mild surprise. ‘Has Mrs. Belcher got to you at last? I didn’t know you’d gone all in for abstinence.’

  ‘I haven’t, and as a matter of fact it wasn’t that meeting I was at—it was the Communists I was there for.’

  ‘Communists?’ said Jolliffe. ‘Are you sure you’re feeling all right, old chap? You haven’t gone off your head or something, have you?’

  ‘Don’t be an ass. I was there for a—’ Here he stopped, for he could not very well say to one of his fellow-reporters that he had been sent there on a story, since Jolliffe would know perfectly well that it was not true. ‘I went out of curiosity, that’s all,’ he finished lamely.

  ‘I see,’ said Jolliffe, regarding him askance.

  ‘Listen,’ said Freddy. ‘You’d better let me take this one, since I’m in on it already, in a manner of speaking.’

  ‘Oh, but—’

  ‘Never mind that. Here, you can have this one. Road-works.’

  ‘What?’ said Jolliffe in dismay, but Freddy had already pushed the details across to him and was putting on his coat. He then left the office in a hurry, leaving Jolliffe regarding the road-works story with disfavour.

  He took a taxi and arrived at Clerkenwell Central Hall to find that a group of reporters from other newspapers had already arrived and were standing in a huddle outside the front door, for it was bitterly cold.

  ‘Any news?’ he said to the nearest one.

  ‘Nothing we can get out of them,’ said the man in disgust. ‘They’re a close-lipped lot. Can’t even get them to admit there’s been a murder.’

  Freddy went up the steps to speak to the constable on the door.

  ‘No press,’ said the constable. ‘You’d better go and wait with the rest of them.’

  ‘Look here,’ said Freddy. ‘I was here last night and might have some useful information for you.’

  ‘Might you, indeed?’ said the policeman disbelievingly. ‘You’re a member of the Young Women’s Abstinence Association, are you?’

  ‘Well, I mean to say, I wasn’t at the Temperance meeting. I came for the other one—the Communist Alliance, you know. But some of the Temperance ladies are friends of mine, and I helped them tidy up at the end of the meeting. I tell you, I was here last night and spoke to Miss Stapleton.’

  The constable regarded him for a moment, then said, ‘All right, then,’ and admitted him to the lobby.

  ‘What’s all this?’ said a man in plain clothes, who had about him the look of a detective-inspector. ‘I told you not to let anyone in.’

  ‘This gentleman says he was here last night and has something to tell us, sir,’ said the constable.

  ‘He looks like press to me.’

  ‘I am press,’ said Freddy, then went on hurriedly, ‘but it’s true that I was here last night, and spoke to Miss Stapleton.’

  ‘I see,’ said the inspector non-committally, but with a slight gleam of interest in his eye. ‘And what did you speak to her about?’

  ‘Oh, just the best way to stack chairs. I was helping them clear up, you see.’

  ‘Indeed, sir? And are you—er—a champion of the Temperance movement?’ said the inspector.

  ‘I don’t know why everybody always looks so disbelieving when they ask me that,’ said Freddy. ‘If I were the sensitive sort, I might take it personally. However, you’re right—I’m not a member of that worthy group. I was here on behalf of the Clarion, watching the Communists disport themselves in the next room. After the meeting Miss Stapleton asked me to help put the chairs away, so I did that and then left.’

  ‘I see,’ said the inspector. His face was impassive, but Freddy could sense the suspicion welling up inside him. ‘Do you happen to remember at what time you last saw Miss Stapleton?’

  Freddy thought.

  ‘It must have been about half past nine, I think. At what time did she die?’

  ‘We don’t yet know for certain, but most likely not long after she was last seen.’

  ‘And at what time was that?’

  ‘About half past nine,’ said the inspector significantly.

  ‘Don’t look at me,’ said Freddy. ‘I had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘Can you prove it?’

  ‘I think so, yes. I was in company with several people while we cleared up, and we all left the hall together shortly afterwards.’ He explained further what everybody had been doing the night before, and the inspector listened attentively.

  ‘And I dare say the others will testify to that?’ he said.

  ‘I should hope so. It would be particularly uncivil of them not to,’ said Freddy.

  ‘Did you speak to Miss Stapleton when you left?’

  ‘No, she’d disappeared somewhere, so we went without saying goodbye. I saw Miss Hodges onto her ’bus and the two girls to their door, and then went home.’

  ‘You didn’t return to the hall afterwards, by any chance?’

  ‘No,’ said Freddy. Of course this was not true, but ought he to mention it? He was not sure, for it would require awkward explanations he was not permitted to give at present, and so he said nothing.

  ‘Did you see anything suspicious at all?’

  Freddy hesitated.

  ‘There was something—’ he began.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘When I passed the hall again on my way home, I saw someone slip out of the building and hurry off down the street. It might easily have been somebody who was at the meeting, although I didn’t recognize him.’

  ‘Are you sure of this?’ said the inspector.

  ‘I’m sure I saw somebody, yes,’ said Freddy. ‘But as I said, it might not have been anything important. I only mentioned it because of the man’s manner, which I should describe as distinctly furtive.’

  ‘Certainly a man, you say?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘And you’re sure you didn’t recognize him?’

  Freddy shook his head.

  ‘There were a lot of people there that evening,’ he said.

 
‘Hmm,’ said the inspector, and made a note. Freddy looked at him as he wrote. He had never seen the man before, but he had a quiet authority about him which spoke volumes. This was not the usual sort of policeman, and there was obviously more to this than met the eye.

  ‘This isn’t an ordinary murder, is it?’ he said.

  ‘What makes you think that?’ said the inspector suddenly, and Freddy was sure his guess was correct.

  ‘You chaps,’ he said.

  The inspector regarded him searchingly for a moment.

  ‘We have no reason to believe it was anything other than what it appears to be,’ he said.

  ‘I heard something was stolen,’ said Freddy. ‘What was it?’

  ‘A takings box belonging to the Young Women’s Abstinence Association. It was kept in a locked drawer in the office that’s used by some of the organizations which meet here, but according to Mr. Bottle, the Association’s treasurer, it is now missing.’

  ‘Was it stolen from the drawer?’

  ‘It doesn’t appear so. We assume Miss Stapleton had removed the box from the drawer prior to taking it home herself, since the lock of the drawer had not been forced. It looks as though the murderer came upon her, killed her and took the takings.’

  Freddy paused, thinking.

  ‘Look here, is that really what happened?’ he said at last. ‘Or is this all something to do with what was going on in the next hall?’

  Again there was that searching look.

  ‘We are examining all the circumstances of the killing,’ said the inspector. ‘However, at present we’ve no reason to believe the crime is anything other than that which it appears to be. Miss Stapleton seems to have encountered a particularly violent thief, and there was a struggle and she was killed.’

  ‘How did she die?’

  ‘She was stabbed with a sharp object,’ replied the inspector. His manner was bland and calculated to discourage inquiry. He stood up. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to my duties. You’d better give me your name in case I have any further questions.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure you will, inspector,’ said Freddy cheerfully, and handed him a card. ‘You’ll always find me at the Clarion’s offices. Although it’s probably safest to call after ten,’ he added, as he went out.

  The group of reporters had grown, and as Freddy went to join them they crowded around him, demanding to know what he had found out—which, he was forced to confess, was very little. There were one or two grumbles of disbelief, but since it was obvious that Freddy either could not or would not say anything, they soon left him alone and returned to their vigil, stamping their feet and blowing on their hands, and leaving Freddy to reflect on his conversation with the police. He had judged it best to maintain the fiction that he had been sent by his paper to attend the East London Communist Alliance meeting, and so had necessarily kept quiet about having returned to the central hall later. But that meant he had not given the police all the information he had. He had mentioned the man he had seen leaving the hall, but had said nothing about the fact that Peacock and Dyer had remained behind after the meeting—as had Ivor Trevett and Anton Schuster. Was one of them to blame for Miss Stapleton’s death? Freddy knew the police were likely to take it amiss once they found out he had lied to them, and so went to find a telephone box in order to call Henry Jameson and give him the full story. He hoped Henry would not deny all knowledge of him to the police. Mr. Jameson was not in his office, he was informed, but was expected within an hour or so. Freddy clicked his tongue in impatience at the delay and went back to join the others, for he still had a story to write. After they had all stood an hour or so in the freezing cold, the detective inspector came out and told them what Freddy knew already. The victim was a Miss Olive Stapleton, aged fifty-five. She had been found dead in the committee-room of Clerkenwell Central Hall at a quarter to nine that morning, having died in unexplained and suspicious circumstances. More information would be given as soon as they had it, but in the meantime the gentlemen of the press were advised to leave, for more details were not expected that day. The reporters wanted to know whether it were true that Miss Stapleton had been stabbed in the heart with an ornamental dagger, as had been rumoured, but the inspector would state only that she had died by means of a blow from a sharp implement. Yes, Miss Stapleton’s body had already been removed, and the press would be informed of any further developments in the case as soon as the police were permitted to disclose them. The inspector then went inside, and the reporters were left to cool their heels on the steps.

  Freddy waited a few more minutes then gave it up and returned to the telephone box. Henry Jameson had just arrived, he was informed.

  ‘Hallo,’ came Henry’s voice at the other end of the line. ‘I can guess why you’re calling. Have you had lunch?’

  ‘No,’ said Freddy.

  ‘Then come and eat, and we can talk in comfort.’

  Freddy liked this way of conducting business, and approved greatly of a man who knew how to do things properly. They met in a discreet restaurant near Whitehall, but to Freddy’s surprise Henry talked only of general subjects throughout lunch.

  ‘One gets tired of talking shop all the time,’ he said vaguely, and asked another question about a big story to which Freddy’s newspaper had given much attention over the past few weeks, wherein it had ‘scooped’ its rivals most resoundingly. Freddy answered obligingly, but gradually began to notice that the questions Henry Jameson was asking were not general at all. Taken one at a time they might have seemed quite innocent, but the overall direction of the conversation was unmistakable. He was being sounded out, he realized. It appeared Henry wanted to make certain that he had taken on the right man for the job, and had not yet lowered his guard. It was a sensible attitude to take on the part of the Head of Intelligence, Freddy supposed.

  ‘Well, do I pass muster?’ he could not help asking at the end of lunch.

  Henry gave a small smile of acknowledgment.

  ‘You’ll do for the present,’ he said. ‘Now, let’s go to the park and talk.’

  St. James’s park was only five minutes away, and they strolled around the lake as though they had come purely to take the air. Henry—not the sort of man to volunteer information himself unless forced to do so—seemed to be waiting for Freddy to begin. Freddy took the hint.

  ‘You know about this murder in Clerkenwell, of course,’ he said. ‘A Miss Stapleton.’

  ‘I had heard something of it,’ said Henry cautiously.

  ‘She was stabbed with something, although the police won’t say what.’

  ‘It was a paper-knife,’ said Henry.

  ‘Oh?’ said Freddy.

  ‘Taken from a drawer in the office.’

  ‘I see,’ said Freddy, thinking. ‘At any rate, I hear the motive was simple robbery—in which case, why Special Branch?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Henry.

  ‘Oh, come now. It was perfectly obvious. I could hardly get a word out of them. They weren’t ordinary C. I. D, were they?’

  ‘No,’ admitted Henry.

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Miss Stapleton was known to the police. She had three or four times reported that she believed the East London Communist Alliance were up to something, although she could provide no evidence of it—only a suspicion born of the fact that they tend to whisper conspiratorially in corners, and that once or twice she had overheard snatches of their conversation which seemed to indicate they were up to no good. The police considered her to be more of a nuisance than anything, and so did little more than record her complaints and send her on her way politely.’

  ‘But you think there was enough in her suspicions to make it worth sending in Special Branch when she got herself murdered?’

  Henry bowed his head in acquiescence.

  ‘If there’s nothing in it, then we’ll hand it ba
ck to the usual chaps,’ he said. ‘But in view of my current suspicions as to what’s been going on lately, I thought I’d better have this lot take a look at it first. And now you must tell me what you have found out—about the murder or anything else. I gather you attended last night?’

  ‘I did,’ said Freddy. ‘And if you’re looking for proof of what you told me the other day, I’m afraid I didn’t find it—although I don’t suppose you expected me to on the strength of one public meeting.’

  ‘No,’ said Henry.

  ‘I did, however, observe events rather closely, and saw one or two suggestive things that may or may not interest you. I saw—as did Miss Stapleton, it seems—that Ivor Trevett, who is the President of the Alliance, and Anton Schuster, are prone to gathering in corners to whisper together. I also met two chaps of my sort, who claim to come to the meetings for fun. Friendly enough, top-drawer and all that, but if you were to ask me I should say they reminded me of nothing more or less than hired toughs. They found me snooping around the hall after the meeting ended, and escorted me from the premises pretty sharpish. One of them may or may not be misbehaving with Schuster’s wife.’

  ‘Indeed?’ said Henry with interest. ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Just a look between them, but there’s no mistaking that sort of thing as a rule. Whether it’s got any further than a look I couldn’t tell you.’

  ‘What did you think of Schuster?’

  ‘He does his best to avoid looking suspicious,’ said Freddy. ‘He knows that you chaps have your eye on him, by the way.’

  ‘I should think the less of him if he didn’t,’ said Henry.