that Julia reached across and patted his knee.
‘But I suspect many men, younger and fitter men, would have done just the same.’
‘Your niece did not, she was brave, she went to investigate. It may have been her who I heard coming.’
Septimus did not mention that he had also heard distant screams as he was stumbling through the graveyard, the screams of a woman. That would have been an admission too far. Miss Howlett would think even worse of him if he revealed that he had not gone back to assist.
‘Perhaps you are right in saying Helen is a robust girl,’ said Julia. ‘A little foolhardy too. But, Septimus, there is one thing which you can do — one thing which you must do — to make amends. You must tell the police everything which you have told me.’
‘I already have. I visited the police-house earlier today. I spoke to Superintendent Harcourt.’
‘Good, good. Your account is useful because it helps to exonerate Helen even more. Since you saw poor Mr Flask when he was already dead or dying and then heard a person approaching, a person who was most likely my niece, it confirms she cannot possibly be considered responsible for this heinous crime.’
‘That is what Harcourt said although he didn’t put it quite like that. The trouble is-’
‘What is the trouble now, Septimus?’
‘The Superintendent seemed to think I might have done the deed.’
‘You! That is as ridiculous as imagining that Helen did it. Almost as ridiculous.’
‘He established that I lodged with you, Miss Howlett. He was already aware of your, ah, friendship with Mr Flask. He asked whether I like the medium, whether I approved of him.’
‘Which you did not.’
‘Was it so obvious?’
‘You never said much but I could see from your expressions, even from your silences, that you were a sceptic.’
‘A sceptic not so much on my own account but on yours, Miss Howlett. I did not like to see Eustace Flask practising on you.’
‘I can look after myself,’ said Julia firmly. ‘But if you related all this to the policeman, I can see that you might have made him suspicious. But not so suspicious that he locked you up, like poor Helen.’
‘Perhaps I should have been locked up. It would be a fitting punishment, Miss Howlett, for my many failures. But I did not lay a hand on Mr Flask. And I do not believe that Superintendent Harcourt really thought I might have done. Instead he said something rather odd.’
‘Well?’
‘He said, “The more the merrier”.’
The Visitor from the Yard
Earlier that afternoon, a mystery had been solved. Detectives from Great Scotland Yard did not wear uniforms. The individual sitting in Superintendent Frank Harcourt’s room was wearing an ordinary suit, and if Harcourt had passed him in the street he would not have given him a second glance. He’d scarcely have looked more than twice if they were sharing a railway compartment. Inspector William Traynor, with his round face and bland gaze, was average in every respect. Harcourt began to relax slightly.
‘Welcome to Durham, Inspector. I do not think we have been privileged to receive a visit from Scotland Yard before. You have had something to eat, I hope.’
‘I bought a meat pie when I changed at Derby. But I would appreciate it if you could recommend a place where I might stay in the city for a day or two.’
The Inspector had come straight from the station. He travelled light, his only luggage a small portmanteau by his chair. Harcourt was about to suggest a couple of places when a better idea occurred to him.
‘We have some good hotels and lodging houses in Durham but it would be a pleasure if you would stay with us, Inspector. My wife would be delighted to meet a detective from Scotland Yard.’
Traynor nodded and was, in his quiet way, effusive in his thanks.
‘Although I am a bachelor, Superintendent, there is nothing that pleases me more than the sight of domestic felicity. Your invitation is appreciated.’
Harcourt was thinking such a guest would impress Rhoda. It will do my career no harm either when the Chief Constable gets to hear of it. And it would be better to have this stranger from the Yard in a place where I can keep an eye on him. But, on the heels of these thoughts, it occurred to him that he had yet to discover exactly what Traynor was doing in Durham. What was the urgent and confidential business that had brought him all the way from London?
Harcourt decided to grasp the nettle. ‘You’re here about the Flask business, I expect.’
‘The Flask business?’
‘A well-known local…’ Harcourt hesitated. How to describe Eustace Flask, since he was reluctant for some reason to say ‘medium’? He settled lamely for ‘… a local character.’
Inspector Traynor looked even blanker and Harcourt relaxed even more.
‘Mr Flask had the misfortune to be murdered yesterday. The crime was perpetrated near the river.’
‘I know nothing about that.’
‘Well, that’s a — that’s not surprising. I mean, it would be surprising if the news had already reached the London papers.’
‘I dare say the news will eventually,’ said Traynor. ‘An interesting case? You have apprehended someone?’
‘Only a matter of time,’ said Harcourt. ‘So, if it isn’t to do with this murder, why are you here, Inspector?’
‘Just as I am unaware of your man Flask, Superintendent Harcourt, I don’t suppose you have heard of a recent accident in London. It occurred in the suburb of Norwood. A married couple died because one of them had carelessly left the gas jets open. It was fortunate there was no explosion. A neighbour caught a whiff of gas, and smashed a window. She alerted the constable on the beat and together they ensured that no one caused a spark in the vicinity, until the supply could be turned off at the mains and the house thoroughly ventilated. But it was far too late. The man and his wife were found upstairs, asphyxiated in their bed.’
Now it was Harcourt’s turn to put on a blank face. Had the Inspector travelled all the way from Great Scotland Yard to give him a first-hand account of an accident in a London suburb? He wondered how to respond.
‘A sad story. I hadn’t heard it. To be frank, Inspector, an accident such as this — a London accident — is unlikely to feature in The Durham Advertiser.’
Harcourt spoke not knowing of the article which Helen Ansell had mentioned to Tom.
‘I suppose not,’ said Traynor. ‘The name of the couple was Seldon. He was a policeman. And you are also a policeman, Superintendent, like me. Anything about the story strike you as odd?’
Now Frank Harcourt put on his thinking face. A dead policeman. That explained the Inspector’s interest. Mentally, he ran over what he’d just heard about the gas mains in the Norwood house but without result. Was this a Scotland Yard test? Why didn’t the fellow on the other side of his desk get to the point? Harcourt shrugged and Traynor said, ‘You see, you might be careless enough to go to bed leaving the gas lamps on but only after you had cut off the supply at the mains. Alternatively you might leave the mains supply on but only if you ensured that all the jets in the house were turned off.’
‘Yes, I see,’ said Harcourt, glimpsing what Traynor might be on about.
‘This was a murder, a double murder. Someone had broken into the house via a back window to a privy. We know that because one of the window bars was prised away. The same someone went round turning on the gas taps and, after that, the supply from the mains. He was careless. He left his coat on the floor of the privy.’
‘And you’ve traced the owner of the coat, Inspector?’
‘No such luck. The burglar — the murderer, I should say — did not leave his name with the coat. It was an old, battered item, impossible to trace back to a shop or manufacturer, let alone an owner. Just the kind of thing you might be glad to discard. But a day or two later we received a note at the Yard. It was anonymous,
