Curse of the Poppy (Penny Green Series Book 5) Page 23

  “Come and sit in the dining room. We’ve only just finished breakfast, so I’ll ask Doris to bring up some fresh toast and eggs.”

  I felt the need to explain my tired appearance, so I told her about James’ disappearance and of my fruitless search for him.

  “How terrible! I suppose we usually assume that detectives never come to any harm. They somehow seem infallible, don’t they? You must be extremely worried.”

  I nodded. “I have to remain hopeful and determined. I don’t trust Chief Inspector Cullen, his superior at the Yard. I think he’s withholding something from me.”

  “That other chap was murdered, wasn’t he?”

  “Which one?” I asked, buttering a slice of toast. I suddenly realised how hungry I was.

  “The man Alfred mentioned in his diaries. Mr Mawson.”

  “Yes, it was a dreadful attack. I interviewed a member of staff at the India Office who had spoken to the perpetrator shortly before he carried out the act. It’s just awful. I cannot make head nor tail of what’s been happening these past few days. Have the Holborn police been of any help with regard to the theft of your brother’s diaries?”

  “None at all.”

  She sighed, and I felt disappointed that she appeared to have nothing new to tell me.

  “I think the man who attacked Mr Mawson could be the same man who murdered your brother,” I said. “Inspector Raynes at Scotland Yard is looking after the case. Has he spoken to you?”

  “No, I haven’t heard from him. Perhaps he’s planning to.”

  “I hope so. I should like to know where your brother’s diaries have got to. They clearly contained information someone wished to remain hidden.”

  “Yes, they contained quite a few damning accusations. I don’t know how true it all is, but I have no reason to believe that Alfred would lie.”

  “Just the accusations regarding Mawson, or others as well?”

  “Alfred was also caught up in something. I was too upset when I saw you last to explain what else I had read.”

  “Did you manage to read much of the diaries before they were taken?”

  “I got as far as July, but I hadn’t found the chance to update you. I visited your offices yesterday evening in the hope that I would catch you just as you finished work for the day.”

  “I was already heading for the East End with Charlotte Jenkins at that time. What exactly was Alfred caught up in?”

  “After Mawson was dismissed a man approached Alfred. It seems he told him in no uncertain terms that because he had caused Mawson’s dismissal Alfred would have to take his place.”

  “Oh dear. Did your brother say who the man was?”

  “No, I don’t think he knew his name, but he wrote that the chap was a native.”

  “And did Alfred agree to the man’s request?”

  “No, he declined. He explained that many forms had to be completed when the opium arrived from the districts, and that other people oversaw the filling out of these forms. He made it clear that the opium pots were locked away as soon as they arrived and told the man he couldn’t agree to such a thing.

  “But it seems the native didn’t give up. He made a second approach and Alfred refused once again. Then he approached him a third time and it seems his manner became more threatening. He told my brother he would inform the factory that Alfred was stealing opium from them, which was untrue of course, if Alfred wasn’t acquiescent. He also offered him money, and in the end I think Alfred was worn down by it all.”

  “So Alfred began stealing opium from the factory?”

  “Yes, just as Mawson had.”

  “And was he found out?”

  “I presume that was why he returned to England. By then he was using opium regularly, and I don’t think he ever recovered from the shame of what he had done.”

  “Did he write in any detail about the people for whom he was stealing?”

  “He was trying to find out more. In the last entry he wrote that he was about to question the native man who met with him once a week. They had begun to get along quite well, and Alfred seemed to think he had gained the man’s trust.”

  “So it’s possible Alfred did find out more and wrote about it in his diary?”

  “Yes, although unfortunately I didn’t get as far as that part before the diary was stolen. There was a mention of some sort of unofficial trade with China.”

  “Presumably illegal trade, away from the jurisdiction of the Indian government.”

  “I can’t say that for certain, but his diary certainly implied it.”

  “Anyone obtaining and selling opium in that way must be making good money as they would avoid paying tax to both the Indian and Chinese governments.”

  “I imagine so, though I really don’t know enough about it.”

  “Your brother and Charles Mawson found themselves caught up in the trade of stolen opium. I wonder if Mr Forster also had a hand in it. That may be the connection between their deaths.”

  “I suppose it could be. But how can we prove it? And how do we find out who killed them?”

  “I think it has to be the person who didn’t want Inspector James Blakely to find out. It must be the man behind James’ disappearance.”

  Chapter 55

  “I’m convinced that Chief Inspector Cullen of Scotland Yard knows more than he is letting on about Inspector Blakely’s disappearance,” I said to Mr Sherman in his office later that morning.

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “I have deduced it from the way he conducts himself; from the things he says and the things he doesn’t say.”

  “If he does know something I’m sure he must have an extremely good reason for withholding it.”

  “But not from Inspector Blakely’s fiancée. The woman is beside herself! Poor Charlotte. Chief Inspector Cullen won’t even tell her what he knows.”

  “Perhaps he doesn’t know anything more.”

  “I am certain that he does!”

  Mr Sherman sighed. “You’re simply assuming.”

  “I have never liked nor trusted the man.”

  “That’s where the root of this sentiment lies, isn’t it? You assume that he’s up to no good because you’ve never trusted him.”

  “We need to find Inspector Blakely urgently. Charlotte is desperate with worry.”

  “As are you, no doubt.”

  “Yes, I am! If Chief Inspector Cullen would only tell me what he knows I could help him.”

  “You need to leave all this to the Yard.”

  “But I don’t trust the man”

  “What would you have me do about it?”

  “We need to publish a story about Inspector Blakely’s disappearance and hope that someone reading it will come forward with useful information. And I’d also like you to speak to your cousin.”

  “Commissioner Dickson?” Sherman sighed again.

  “Yes, your cousin is the chief inspector’s superior, after all. He can wring the information out of him!”

  “It’s not my job to get involved, Miss Green.”

  “But we have to do something. Chief Inspector Cullen soon got himself involved when I wrote that article about the wrong man being hanged for the Doughty Street murders. He used the relationship between yourself and Dickson to have me suspended me from my job.”

  “So getting Dickson involved again is your opportunity for revenge.”

  “Of course not! I just want someone to ensure me that the chief inspector is being quite honest about Inspector Blakely’s disappearance.”

  “Surely it’s not a question of who’s being honest. The important point is that the chap’s found, isn’t it? I’m sure Cullen has no interest whatsoever in complicating the case. He’ll be doing his best to ensure the safe return of his colleague, and his methods are not for you or me to question, Miss Green. I certainly can’t use my familial relationship with the commissioner to ensure that Cullen is doing his job properly! I can understand your frustration, but there’s a
limit to what I can do. You must trust the Yard to find their man. You may not agree with the way Cullen conducts himself, but he’s worked for the Metropolitan Police for more than thirty years. On this occasion I insist that you defer to his considerable experience.”

  My jaw was clenched tightly as I left the editor’s office.

  “I thought you were supposed to be resting at home, Miss Green,” said Edgar.

  “I cannot rest while Inspector Blakely is missing,” I retorted.

  “If you’re working today perhaps you would like to pursue one of the news stories Sherman has dropped on me and Potter,” continued Edgar. “We have far too much to do.”

  “Maybe later,” I replied, packing my papers into my carpet bag. “There’s someone I have to go and see.”

  My brother-in-law worked at a law firm in the narrow, cobbled thoroughfare of Austin Friars in the City of London. He appeared surprised, and slightly displeased, to see me.

  “Penelope I’m extremely busy. You mustn’t make a habit of disturbing me at work.”

  “I think this is the first time I have ever disturbed you at work, George.”

  He sat in a large office with mahogany wainscoting and red-and-gold flocked wallpaper. A leather easy chair beside the fireplace looked particularly comfortable and I could picture him having an afternoon rest in it.

  “Although I welcome you here as my sister-in-law, I’m aware that you’re currently acting in your capacity as a news reporter and that I am here in my capacity as a lawyer —”

  “I won’t detain you for more than a minute, George. Please can you tell me where I might find Mr Sheridan?”

  “Oh no, Penny, I cannot allow you to go pestering that man again. Both he and I are working extremely hard on the contract with the India Office, and negotiations have reached the most critical stage.”

  “Yes, he mentioned that contract to me when I last spoke to him. However, I’m sure he won’t mind speaking to me again. He was quite amenable outside the Burlington Hotel last week.”

  “He’s a busy man, Penny.”

  “We’re all busy, George. Where’s his office?”

  His mouth open and closed, but no words came out. He seemed torn between telling me and keeping the information to himself.

  “It’s in the City, isn’t it?” I said. “It can’t be far from here. Just tell me and then I’ll be on my way.”

  “What are you going to ask him?”

  “About Mr Forster. I have reason to believe that he may have been caught up in something illegal, and I should like to find out whether Mr Sheridan knows anything more about it.”

  “Mr Sheridan certainly won’t know of any illegal activity! He’s one of my most prestigious clients, and if he finds out I’ve sent you to his door —”

  “He won’t find out.”

  “Can you promise me that?”

  “If I had really wanted to find out where Mr Sheridan’s office was I could have researched his company’s address in the records kept at the British Library. I came here because I assumed it would be quicker.”

  “You’re going to tell him that you searched for the address of his company at the British Library?”

  “Of course! Your name won’t come into it, I promise. Now where is he?”

  “You mustn’t pester him.”

  “I won’t! I have a single question to put to him about Mr Forster, and that is all. This is important, George. You heard about the murder in Whitehall, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, a shocking business, that is.”

  “Indeed it is, and I intend to find out who’s behind it.”

  Chapter 56

  “Mr Sheridan doesn’t see visitors without an appointment,” said his secretary, Miss Wainman.

  She was a plump lady in a dark stuff dress. Its hem skimmed the shiny floor of a large hallway in which white pilasters supported an elaborate plasterwork ceiling. A glittering chandelier was suspended over our heads and on the wall a flattering portrait of Mr Sheridan hung next to a large map of India.

  “I realise he would prefer me to have made an appointment,” I said. “However, I spoke with him just the other evening and I only wish to ask him a quick question about Mr Forster.”

  After my protracted conversation with George I was growing tired of people being obstructive.

  “Please, Miss Wainman,” I continued, “can’t you at least let Mr Sheridan know that I wish to have a quick word with him? Then perhaps he can decide for himself whether he wishes to speak to me or not.”

  “He employs me to make these decisions for him.”

  “Perhaps you could remind him that he spoke to me outside the Burlington Hotel last week. I’m sure he’ll remember.”

  At that moment a door at the far end of the hall opened and a young man with a dark moustache stepped out. He acknowledged me with a nod.

  “May I have a word, Miss Wainman?” he asked.

  They both looked at me as if waiting for me to leave, but I stayed put. If I left, how would I ever find out any answers about Mr Forster?

  “I’m here to see Mr Sheridan,” I explained to the young man.

  “I see, well I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Miss Wainman,” he replied.

  I was about to argue with her further when the short, round form of Mr Sheridan stepped through the door.

  “I forgot to say, Grieves… Oh, hello, Miss Green. What can I do for you?”

  To my relief he gave me a warm smile. I was impressed that he had remembered my name from our brief meeting.

  “Good morning, Mr Sheridan. I realise this is probably an inconvenient time, but I should like to ask you a quick question about Mr Forster if I may?”

  He checked his pocket watch. “I only have a few minutes. What’s happening with the investigation into his murder?”

  “I wish I knew, sir.”

  “Bear with me one minute, Grieves. Just wait here while I speak to Miss Green.”

  “You’ve heard about the dreadful murder of Charles Mawson, I presume?” I said as he bid me sit on a velvet chair in his capacious office. Sunlight streamed in through a row of tall windows.

  “I have indeed. What an awful situation.”

  “Do you remember me asking you about Alfred Holland?”

  He paused for a moment. “I think so… Yes, I remember now. This was before the dinner at the Burlington Hotel, wasn’t it? You asked me about Mr Forster and then Mr Holland.”

  “I have discovered that both Mr Mawson and Mr Holland worked at the Ghazipur opium factory.”

  “Did they indeed?”

  “And they both stole opium from the factory.”

  “Really?” Mr Sheridan raised an eyebrow. “How ever did they manage that? There are so many checks and balances in place I would have thought it impossible.”

  “They falsified records.”

  “Goodness me!” He sat back in his chair. “Both were caught and subsequently murdered.”

  “It has to be the reason they were murdered, doesn’t it?”

  “When you put it like that, I suppose it does. Presumably the Indian government took a rather dim view of their behaviour.”

  “Yes, more so with Mr Holland than with Mr Mawson. Apparently, Mr Mawson had an uncle at the India Office who arranged employment for him there. Both men were coerced into stealing and Holland was apparently approached a number of times. He only agreed to it when he began to fear for his life.”

  “Oh dear, that is terrible.”

  “The opium the men stole was part of an illegal trade, and I’m wondering whether Mr Forster might also have had something to do with it.”

  Disappointingly, Sheridan shook his head. “Oh no, never.”

  “Are you sure? It might explain why all three men were targeted.”

  “No, Mr Forster wasn’t the type to get involved in anything like that.”

  “He had money troubles, did he not?”

  “He did, and perhaps if he had got involved in something of that i
lk his money troubles might have been solved!” Mr Sheridan gave a congenial laugh. “I apologise, that was rather flippant of me. No, he liked to do things properly. He wouldn’t have got himself mixed up with stolen opium, that’s for sure. It’s far too dangerous.”

  “Are you quite sure about that?” I asked, disappointed that my theory had not been confirmed.

  “Quite sure, Miss Green. He worked for me for a number of years and also ran his own merchant company for a time. You and I know that it wasn’t successful, but he tried. It’s a shame he wasn’t particularly good at managing his money. That’s ultimately what led to his downfall.”

  He observed my downcast face. “I apologise that I haven’t told you what you wished to hear, but if there’s anything else I can help with at any time do just ask. I want to find out what happened to the poor man just as much as you. In fact, I’m considering putting up some money through Scotland Yard to offer a reward for any information that leads to an arrest.”

  “I’m sure that would be of great help. Thank you, Mr Sherman.”

  Chapter 57

  “I wondered whether I would see you again, Miss Green,” said Mr Chakravarty. He sat back in his chair and regarded me with a slight sneer. “Your attire is quite different today from when we last met. I hope you’re not still expecting the mortgage offer to stand.”

  “Mr Chakravarty, I’d like to explain —”

  He held up his hand to stop me. “There’s no need; I know you’re a news reporter with the Morning Express. I can’t say that I understand what that charade was all about with Mr Billington-Grieg, but as there was no attempt to rob or defraud me I can only view it as a harmless waste of time.”

  “I wish to apologise for being deceitful.”

  “Is that why you’ve come to visit me today? Did your conscience get the better of you?”

  “Partly yes, and —”

  “You want something from me.”

  “I came here to ask you a question.”

  “What sort of question?”