An Old Betrayal

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“How did your brother proceed, Miss Godwin, when he heard from Parson’s and the other merchants?”

“He wrote to the police immediately, and of course to Berry’s and Parson’s, telling them that the items for which they had billed him were not ones that he had ordered. They were apologetic. Since my brother conducted most of his business through the post, it was apparently easy to deceive the clerks at these shops as to his appearance.”

“What strikes me,” said Lenox, “is that this person must have somehow known your brother — his habits, where he shopped — in order to impersonate him. Who were Archibald’s acquaintances?”

Hetty, with a frustrated shake of her head, said, “That was precisely what so vexed us. My brother had few friendships outside of the valley. The one time that brought him into contact with the broader world — the London world — was his time at Wadham, I suppose, at Oxford. It is the only period of his life when he did not live in Hampshire.”

“Could any of the shops provide a description of the man? Or the address he left?”

“The address he used was a false one in South London. Rather than have them delivered he sent a man, by his description his valet, to pick up the goods he had purchased upon my brother’s name.”

“I am amazed it was so easy,” said Jenkins, perhaps thinking of the stingy lines of credit extended to members of the lower classes in England, who might find it difficult to buy ten shillings of groceries without ready money.

“A genteel manner goes a very long way in this country,” said Lenox. “Did the clerks describe this man physically?”

“Yes. They all agreed that he was a tall man, well turned out, with a trim mustache and light hair.”

So. It was the man from Gilbert’s, or somebody of such a similar physical aspect that it was a very great coincidence. What relation could he bear to Grace Ammons?

Lenox still had one important question. “If your brother handled these matters of business by mail, Miss Godwin, may I ask why he ventured to London?”

“Three days ago my brother received a letter from his school friend Michael Almerston, who lives in Grosvenor Square. In his letter, Mr. Almerston mentioned that he had thought to write because nearly every night he saw a man dining alone at Cyril’s Restaurant, whom the waiters all called Mr. Godwin. Mr. Almerston takes most of his meals there, too, from all I gather. Hearing the name had reminded him of Archie, living down in the country, and he wondered whether Archie might get up this season for a visit. Well, Archie, whose suspicions were already high, of course, wrote back by the next post to ask what the man looked like.”

“Yes?” said Jenkins.

“Almerston’s description fit the man who had been shopping at Berry’s, Ede’s, and Mr. Parson’s,” said Hetty. “My brother came up to confront the man at Cyril’s, to see this charlatan with his own eyes. He thought it would be a simple matter for the police, once he could be sure.”

“Would he have consulted a police officer when he arrived in London?” asked Jenkins.

“I do not know — but I wouldn’t think so. Now as a result, as of course you know, he is dead.”

Upon saying this Miss Godwin, who had been strong indeed to tell her story so clearly and carefully, broke down again into tears. It was some time before the gentle words of the three men could tame her agitation, and in the end Jenkins, an experienced hand in such matters, was forced to resort to the expedient of a tall glass of sherry.

Henrietta Godwin, her tale delivered, said that she thought she would now go to the Parchment and rest: She and her brother kept country hours.

Jenkins, his whole manner beautifully tactful, asked if she might have the strength, it would only take the briefest moment or two, to view the victim’s body, and confirm that it belonged to her brother. The sister hesitated, plainly pained, but at last agreed to make the trip.

“You will remain in London?” asked Lenox.

“For a day or two, more if I am needed. It was always very hard upon our nerves, both of us, coming to London. Archie is spared that, anyhow. I wish he had never come to this beastly place.”

Dallington, unoffended by this slur upon the city that had nursed him from childhood, said, “Did you ever hear the name Grace Ammons?”

“Who is she?”

“The same fellow who practiced upon your brother may have had other victims.”

“I’m sorry to say that I do not know the name. How did you find her? I pray she did not meet the same end that Archie did?”

“She is still alive, and when we catch this blackguard will feel safe again,” said Dallington.

There was vehemence in Dallington’s voice — and Lenox perceived for the first time that for his young protégé, the fact of George Ivory’s existence might not seem the unalloyed delight it did for Grace Ammons.

“You have business with Inspector Jenkins,” Lenox said to Miss Godwin. “Thank you so much for your patience, and your admirable equanimity. Were it my brother I doubt I could have done half as well.”

“Hear, hear,” said Dallington.

As soon as Jenkins led Henrietta out of the room, Dallington plummeted into his chair and took a gulp of cold water. “Damn,” he said.

“Are you still so very ill?”

“Yes.”

“You should consult with McConnell again.”

“There is a doctor at my door every morning at nine, there to interrupt the first peaceable half hour of sleep I’ve had all night, thanks to my mother. Anyhow McConnell is busy, from everything I hear.”

Lenox ignored that. “You should go home, then.”

“Are you not curious why I was late?”

“Because you are ill, I assumed. As it happened all three of us were late — no great credit to Jenkins or ourselves.”

“You said that Grace Ammons lied to us.”

Lenox hailed a passing waiter. “Bring my friend another glass of water, please,” he said. “I’ll take a whisky and soda.”

The waiter left. “A whisky? Aren’t you in the Commons this evening?”

“You think I should have made it a double?”

Dallington grinned, a little more color in his face now that he was seated, and not making any special effort to keep his spine straight. “Back to Grace Ammons. I wondered all through lunch what you meant, and I decided to start with George Ivory. You were correct. She lied to us.”

“Oh?”

“First tell me what you meant — the suspense has been long enough.”

Lenox was disappointed that Dallington had found out Grace Ammons on his own; he had a secret weakness for showmanship, though he deplored it as a trait in others. “There were two things,” Lenox said. “The first was that she would not go to the police. In her account there was no compelling reason whatsoever that she would simply submit to such blackmail. Her future husband’s firm of solicitors certainly wouldn’t stand for the harassment of a woman. The story didn’t make sense.”

“And the second?”

“She said that the man who threatened her was ‘in a knock.’ There is a very narrow section of the country in which that is a common phrase, and it’s several hundred miles south of Yorkshire — near my own part of the world, unluckily for her.”

“Shall I tell you what I have done?”

“Please.”

“I spoke to George Ivory’s firm, Joseph and Joseph. You’ll recall that he often spoke to her about his clients — the Chepstow and Ely?”

“Yes.”

“Then you may be surprised to learn that they are not, and have never been, a client of the firm.”

Lenox was silent for a moment, staring with a furrowed brow at two unconsolable pieces of bacon, left over from Henrietta Godwin’s tea. “What do we know of this George Ivory?” he asked.

“For that matter, what do we know of this Grace Ammons?” Dallington responded.