After the Exhibition: A Jack Haldean 1920s Mystery (A Jack Haldean Mystery) (20 page)

‘I imagine it is,’ said Bill with a grin.

‘Anyway, to cut my fairly long story short – I got paid by the word in those days – it turned out that, far from being the invention of the Ancient Chinese, electroplating seemed to have been invented independently by the Ancient Persians, the Ancient Greeks, the Mughal Empire and the Ancient Assyrians, to say nothing of the Ancient Egyptians.’

‘That seems remarkable,’ said Bill, his grin widening. ‘I suppose all the dodgy items were knocked off in a workshop in Birmingham and flogged to the museums in question?’

‘Actually, no,’ said Jack. ‘That was the puzzling thing. A great many of the items had been in the possession of some of the museums for years. Nearly all of the artefacts had impeccable credentials and, in the case of some of the more recent acquisitions, the curators had been on the archaeological digs when the articles had been uncovered. That was particularly worrying. Archaeological digs, for the most part, aren’t desperately keen on precious metals, as the dig organiser has to pay the workmen the value of the piece in hard cash to prevent the article being stolen and melted down. It ups the cost of the dig tremendously, as you can imagine.’

‘But there is some jiggery-pokery going on, isn’t there?’ asked Bill. ‘I mean, all this about Ancient Whoevers discovering electroplating all at the same time is nonsense. It just has to be.’

‘Exactly. It turned out that Scotland Yard, when it was reported to them, thought the same. What had happened was that a forgery gang had broken into the various museums, taken wax copies of the articles – as they were precious they were all fairly small – made forgeries and then substituted the forged item for the real thing. The real things were sold to collectors, and, in some cases, to other museums. By and large, the purchases were shown to have been made in good faith, but it’s simply not known how many forgeries were made. The beauty of these particular thefts, you see, was that nobody knew a theft had taken place.’

Bill whistled. ‘I see. And I don’t suppose that any museum curator is desperate to tell the public that the pride of his collection is actually a fake.’

‘No. There was a great deal of highly embarrassed covering-up and, in many cases, a flat refusal to investigate.’

‘They must have been damn good forgeries. Did Scotland Yard get to the bottom of who’d done it?’

Jack nodded. ‘Yes, they did, and that’s where, as far as we’re concerned, it gets interesting. Frederick Bannister, a highly skilled thief, and Cornelius Croft, an expert model-maker, both of whom had previous convictions, were caught, tried and sentenced to twenty years’ hard labour. Poor old Dr Jacob Anstruther, who had been absolutely convinced that he was on to the discovery of a lifetime, shot himself, but the man popularly supposed to be the brains behind the scheme, the electroplater himself, was never convicted. However, suspicion fell on someone whose name we know, a highly respected church artist.’

‘Lythewell,’ said Bill softly.

‘He’s the man. Josiah Lythewell, Daniel Lythewell’s father. There’s no mention of this, by the way, in that printed history I picked up.’

‘No, I don’t suppose there is. It’s not something to boast about.’

‘No, I’d say not. The firm was simply Lythewells, then, of course, not Lythewell and Askern, as it later became. Lythewell did stand trial, but he was defended by Sir Havelock Collison Soames, a noted orator. There was a lot of attention given to the fact that Lythewell was a skilled electroplater, but, as Sir Havelock said, expertise in one’s chosen profession is not usually taken as a sign of guilt. In his address to the jury, he roared – he was a great roarer – “Does this mean, gentlemen, that a great surgeon is to be suspected of murder because he knows how to use a scalpel? Or a butcher, a tailor or a cabinet-maker because they, too, are skilled in the use of sharp implements? Nonsense, I say! Let a man have the tools of his trade without let, hindrance or fear!” Anyway, the jury, who, coincidentally I’m sure, had amongst its members a butcher, a tailor and a cabinet-maker, loved it, and Lythewell got off.’

‘Was he guilty, Jack?’

Jack shrugged. ‘It’s hard to tell. The police never suspected anyone else of being involved, that’s for sure. It’s interesting, though, isn’t it? If Lythewell really was the brains behind the scheme, he was certainly in a position to have lots and lots of lovely loot. Or, to put it another way, treasure.’

‘Yes,’ said Bill, ‘he was. What about his confederates? The model-maker and the thief? If they kept quiet, they’d want their share once they got out.’

‘They both died inside. That, by the way, wasn’t unexpected, as they were both men in their fifties, but it could account for Lythewell hiding his treasure.’ He looked at the magazine article again. ‘Here we are. Their trial was in 1869, so they’d be due for release in 1889, by which time Lythewell had built the chantry and, presumably, stowed away the swag.’ He looked at Bill with bright eyes. ‘Interesting, eh?’

‘Very,’ said Bill. ‘If I mention this to the Chief, I think any difficulties about the warrant should fade away pretty fast. A breath of an old scandal should do the trick nicely. Thanks, Jack. Let’s get back to the Yard.’

‘I understand,’ said Daniel Lythewell, leading the way up the path to the chantry, the key in his hand, ‘that you’ve got hold of the old story about my unfortunate father.’

Bill, warrant safely in his possession, had arrived at the chantry together with a detective sergeant and two constables. Jack had driven down and met Bill and his men at the station and they had arrived together at Lythewell and Askern.

‘Commander Pattishall,’ continued Mr Lythewell, ‘mentioned as much to me on the telephone.’

‘It’s a matter of public record, sir,’ said Bill smoothly.

‘Yes,’ agreed Lythewell unenthusiastically. ‘As long as you remember that it’s also a matter of public record that my father was discharged without a stain upon his character.’

‘It must have been hard for him, to have been caught up in an affair like that, sir,’ said Jack.

‘Oh, I believe it was, Major Haldean,’ said Daniel Lythewell, unbending slightly at this show of sympathy. ‘I was only a child at the time, but, as I understand it, my mother took it very hard. Indeed, she found life here completely impossible after the trial. My grandparents had established themselves in New York some years previously and my mother decided to go and live with them, until the fuss had died down. She took me with her, of course.’

‘Did she ever return home?’

Daniel Lythewell shook his head. ‘No, she didn’t. She was never very strong-minded, and the anxiety affected her greatly. I have very few memories of my mother, but, as I understand it, it became obvious that she, poor woman, was completely incapable of making any rational decisions either for herself or her family.’ He cleared his throat in a meaningful way. ‘It was thought better that she should live away from the world. It was many years, of course, before I understood the truth of the matter and, by that time, she had been dead for some time.’

He heaved a sigh. ‘A thoughtless accusation, Major, can have many unpleasant and unlooked for consequences. Take this story of my niece’s, for example. I have no doubt that, but for her interference, this whole unhappy business between Askern and his wife could’ve been discreetly cleared up without any real harm having been done. As it is …’ He sighed once more and shrugged his shoulders expressively. ‘Suffice it to say that young Askern is very concerned about his father, as, indeed, speaking as John Askern’s old friend and business partner, so am I.’

He unlocked the chantry door and stood back. ‘Well, there you are, gentlemen. I must say I’m at a loss to even guess what you hope to find?’

There was a question there which Bill decided to ignore. ‘There probably is nothing to find, sir,’ he said cheerfully, ‘but if your property has been used for anything untoward, I’m sure you want us to get to the bottom of the matter.’

‘Very well,’ agreed Lythewell reluctantly. ‘Please be careful with the fabric of the building and its contents. It might not be to everyone’s taste, but, as you say, it is my property and I would be very unhappy if it was damaged in any way.’

‘There’s no danger of that, sir,’ said Bill evenly. ‘We’ll be very careful.’

With a final disapproving look, Lythewell left them. Bill relaxed as they heard his departing footsteps down the path.

‘Now we can get on with things.’ He rubbed his hands together, looked round the chantry and shook his head. ‘What a mausoleum!’ He stared at the painting of Josiah Lythewell being received into heaven and shuddered. ‘I see what you mean about old Lythewell, Jack. He must’ve been as mad as a hatter.’ He raised his voice. ‘As I said, men, there was a report of a light and the sound of knocking was heard from here at about half-one last Saturday night.’

‘Knocking, is it?’ repeated Constable Morgan in his Welsh lilt, looking round the chantry. ‘I’m not surprised. Is this place meant to be haunted?’

‘Don’t run away with any fanciful ideas, Morgan. We’re looking for evidence of a crime, not a ghost.’

The other men laughed.

‘It wouldn’t be the first time that someone’s allowed the idea of ghosts to cover up some very real wrongdoings,’ said Jack. Constable Morgan looked pleased at his support. ‘We think there’s a body in here. Let’s see if we can find it.’

After a very dusty hour or so, Bill was ready to throw in the towel. They had covered the entire chantry to shoulder height, exploring, measuring, testing every place, probable or improbable, that could conceal a body.

The empty tomb merited special attention. Jack’s half-formed idea that the stone sarcophagus could be moved or perhaps rotated, revealing a cavity beneath, was tested, but the open tomb, with the metal statue of the grieving man, remained obstinately in place.

Armed, as the police were, with powerful torches, it was easy, if depressing, to see that the fine film of dust that covered most of the surfaces and floor hadn’t been disturbed for some time.

Bill straightened his aching back and slumped onto an elaborately carved pew. ‘I’m just about ready to call it a day,’ he announced.

Jack looked up from where he was copying the last of the inscriptions on the flagstones into his notebook.

‘It’s depressing, isn’t it?’ he remarked, joining Bill on the pew. ‘At first sight, this place looks as if it should be bulging with secret passages and hidden chambers, but if they’re secret, they’re very secret indeed.’

‘And yet I’d swear that chap, Sam Catton, wasn’t making things up.’ Bill broodingly took his cigarette case from his pocket, then, with a glance at his surroundings, thrust it back. ‘I don’t suppose we’d better smoke in here. It’s too much like a church for comfort. Damnit, Catton heard knocking! That surely means something was moved, but what, for heaven’s sake? There’s nothing to move.’

‘Unfortunately, I agree. I did wonder if the inscriptions on the flagstones might contain directions to a hidden chamber, but if they do, I can’t see it.’ Jack passed his notebook to Bill. ‘See what you make of it.’

‘“The church is your true and worthy treasure”,’ read Bill. ‘It seems like pious advice, to me. “Stop, my son, to pause and pray for treasure. A far lesser treasure also behold.”’ He frowned. ‘He’s got treasure on the brain, if you ask me, not secret passages. “Worldly goods will always fade and wither.” That’s the sort of sentiment you’d expect to read in a church, I suppose. “Art which is wrested from that evil root”. Is that the root-of-all-evil root?’

‘I thought so,’ agreed Jack. ‘That’s an interesting line, isn’t it? If he was the crook behind the museum forgeries and used the money to build this place, it’d fit, certainly.’

‘It would, but I can’t see it helps us. “That doorway, greater than man can measure.” He can’t mean a real doorway, can he?’

‘I don’t think so. Not if it’s really greater than man can measure. Look, the next inscription is: “The doorway’s here to eternal life”.’

Bill sighed. ‘A fat lot of good that is, then.’ He gestured to the painting of Josiah Lythewell before the gates of heaven. ‘That’s probably the door he’s got in mind. What’s the next inscription? “Open – look! – to all curious eyes.” I say! I don’t suppose that’s the secret hiding place we’ve been looking for, is it?’

‘The flagstone seemed solid, but come and see for yourself.’ Jack took him to the flagstone set off to one side. ‘It had the same amount of dust on it as everything else. If it does move, I can’t shift it.’

Bill carefully examined the joints around the stone, then trod heavily on each corner. Nothing happened. ‘I bet he’s talking about the doorway to eternal life again,’ he said regretfully. ‘That’s meant to be open to everyone, isn’t it?’

‘That’s sound theology, but if he really is talking about the doorway to eternal life, I’m surprised he says it’s “Open to all curious eyes”. I’d have expected him to say pious or reverent,
not curious, but you’re probably right.’

‘Blimey, Jack, I’ll be amazed if these mottoes mean anything at all. I think he was nuts. After all,’ he added, lowering his voice, ‘that’s more or less what Mr Askern said, isn’t it? What’s the next inscription?’

‘It’s by the tomb. “It is yours, O my son, but for your soul”.’

‘But for your soul
what
?’ Bill asked blankly.

‘I dunno,’ said Jack. ‘But for your soul’s sake be careful, perhaps? It sounds as if the son – Daniel Lythewell, I presume – might have to trade in his soul in some kind of bargain.’ Bill looked puzzled. ‘Like Faust,’ Jack added helpfully. ‘A bargain with the Devil, that sort of thing.’

Bill shook his head. ‘Perhaps.’ He read the next inscription in Jack’s notebook. ‘“Be wise. Shun greed, let avarice be mute”. That sounds like all-round good advice. What’s next? “But true metal wrought, cast, forged, small in size”.’

‘That’s over by the tomb, as well.’ Jack grinned. ‘It’s interesting that true metal is wrought, cast or forged, not electroplated. I imagine electroplating could’ve been a sensitive subject.’

‘I’d say so.’ Bill read the next entry and tapped his finger on the book. ‘Look, all these things he writes about doors that open, they do mean eternal life. “Is opened for you after earthly strife.” That’s life after death, isn’t it? He’s got an odd way of expressing himself though, hasn’t he? What’s next? “Not copper, silver, precious stones or gold.” I think we’re back to treasure again.’