Sarah wiped Frances’ brow with a handkerchief and settled her back onto her pillow. ‘I would be nothing without your companionship,’ smiled Frances, and she soon drifted into a dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
At the resumed inquest on Mr Eckley, Ratty appeared in the new suit of clothes, hat and shirt supplied by Cedric, his face scrubbed to a shine. He looked quite the man, albeit a very nervous one.
‘Now then, young fellow, if you are to make your way in the world you must have a name,’ advised Cedric. ‘Even if it is Smith or Jones or Wilkins.’
‘I dunno,’ said Ratty. He glanced at the door as if tempted to dart through it. ‘Ain’t got no name ’cept what I get called. It’s done all right for me, but the coppers don’ like it.’
‘When the coroner asks you for your name,’ suggested Frances, ‘tell him you are called John Smith. I am sure Mr Smith will not mind you borrowing his name for the morning.’
Ratty nodded. ‘Will you be ’ere?’
‘Of course.’
‘ ’N you, Mr Garter?’
Cedric smiled at the curious rendition of his name. ‘Your first public appearance as a boy detective? I wouldn’t miss it for the world!’
Ratty managed a grin, squared his shoulders and stood up straighter.
‘If you are very good then Mr W. Grove might write a story about you, and you will be as celebrated as Miss Doughty.’
‘Wot, are you Mr Grove?’ asked Ratty. ‘Tom’s bin showin’ me the books ’n I c’n read a lot of it now, ’n it’s very ixcitin’ wot with all the thieves ’n that.’
‘Would that I had the talent to write such immortal works of literature!’ exclaimed Cedric, with elaborate regret. ‘Sadly I must confine my efforts to such tawdry trifles as lectures on art.’
The crowds were beginning to gather. Dr Goodwin did not put in an appearance, which might have been commented upon by the press had he done so, but Mr Wheelock, Mr Rawsthorne’s unpleasant clerk, was sitting at the back, sucking ink from his fingernails, and Frances surmised that he had been sent to watch the proceedings on the doctor’s behalf.
Frances looked about her to see if there were any faces in the assembled throng that she did not know, but there were not. Even the pressmen were becoming familiar to her by sight. Mr Gillan was there, as she might have expected, and young Ibbitson, who had been permitted to attend his first inquest, sat enthralled by his surroundings. She wondered if the detective employed by Mr Eckley had been traced. If so, he was not present.
The first medical man on the scene had been Dr Collin, who had certified death caused by a single stab wound to the abdomen that had severed the aorta. He could not comment on whether the assailant had been experienced with a knife or not. Some abdominal wounds gave more hope of survival, but the fact that this one had been rapidly fatal could have been mere chance. The knife had been driven to the hilt in a slightly upwards direction, probably when the victim and the attacker were at close quarters. A torn piece of paper, the corner of an envelope, had been found clasped firmly between a forefinger and thumb of the victim. He theorised that Mr Eckley, not believing himself to be in any danger, had been handing the envelope to his attacker when he was stabbed.
The position of the wound suggested that the murderer was neither very much taller nor very much shorter than the victim, who was five feet, nine inches in height. A woman might have done it, but Collin doubted that. The single swift stab showed both courage and resolution; he thought a woman would have been more hesitant, less firm.
Ratty, who had given his name to the coroner’s officer as Mr Jonsmith, was called to give his testimony, and Dr Thomas, seeing that underneath his smart exterior the young witness was trembling with fright, spoke to him gently and guided him through the events with careful questions.
‘Can you tell the court where you were at about eight o’clock on the evening of Wednesday the 22nd of June?’’
‘Yes, yer ’ighness, sir, I was near Pembridge Mews up by the deaf school.’ The wry smiles of the scribbling pressmen were tempered by close interest when Ratty explained that he had been doing some secret work for ‘Miss Doughtery, wot is the best ’tective in Lunnon.’
‘And what did you see there?’
‘Well there was the dead gent, only ’e weren’t dead yet, ’n ’e wen’ inter the mews walkin’ all smart like, not jus’ loafin’ about. So I knows summink is goin’ on, cos yer don’ ’urry inter a mews ter do summink less’n it’s ter be kep’ secret.’
‘Did you follow him?’
‘Yes, yer ’ighness sir, ’cos I thort well wot’s ’e a doin’ of, so I creeps arter ’im all quiet like, wot I am very good at ’cos I’m a ’tective, ’n proper ’tectives are very good at that, sir.’
‘Tell me what you saw next.’
‘Mr Ecklerley ’e wen’ roun’ the corner, and I stayed back.’
‘No one else came into the mews as you stood there?’
‘No sir.’
‘Were you able to hear any conversation?’
‘No sir, nuthin’ I dint even know there was another person there, I thort ’e was waitin’ to meet a doxy.’
Sniggers in court.
Dr Thomas ordered silence before continuing the questioning. ‘What happened next?’
‘Then there was a gaspin’ noise like what gents make when they are wiv a doxy sir, an’ I ’eard ’im fall over, which they don’t usually do, ’n I thort ’e might ’ave been took bad, ’n I wen’ to see if I could ’elp but this person came out runnin’ and knocked me down an’ I banged me ’ead. ’N when I woke up I went ter see if the gent wuz ill, ’n ’e wuz lyin’ there with blood all over ’is front. ’N I ran out in the street an’ shouted “murder”, ’n then the coppers came ’n took me down the nick.’
‘Did you see the face of the man who knocked you over?’
‘No, yer ’ighness, sir, I din’t see nothin’ it were all black, not even eyes.’
It was with enormous relief that Ratty was finally able to take a seat beside Frances, and she and Cedric both reassured him that he had done very well.
The next witness was the young man who acted as secretary to the school. On the day of the murder there had been several items of post, three of which had been marked for the personal attention of Mr Eckley, which he had passed to the headmaster unopened, as was usual. Two of the envelopes were addressed in handwriting he recognised, a governor of the school and the parent of a pupil. The writing on the third he had never to his knowledge seen before. When he tidied Mr Eckley’s papers, he had found only the first two letters. Shown the fragment of paper found in the dead man’s hand, he said that it looked very like part of the envelope of the third letter. Mr Eckley would usually have gone to his home by eight o’clock, but on that occasion he had intimated that he would work a little later than usual.
The implication was very clear. Mr Eckley had received a letter arranging a meeting in the quiet dusk and had been asked to bring the letter with him. Once he lay helpless on the ground, the killer had removed the evidence. Neither the meeting nor the murder was chance.
Once all the testimony was heard the jury returned the verdict that Mr Eckley had been murdered by a person or persons unknown. The pressmen did not scamper away as usual but sent messages via runners and waited for the next inquest.
‘I think the coroner was pleased with you,’ Frances reassured Ratty.
He grinned with relief and puffed out his thin chest. ‘Mr Jonsmif, ’tective! That’s me!’
‘Now I had meant to tell you something about the signs you saw when you observed the conversation between Mr Isaac Goodwin and the schoolboys,’ Frances went on. ‘This one,’ she made the gesture as if drawing a closed mouth, ‘means silence.’