SIXTY-FOUR
After they had said their goodbyes to Miss Pippery and she had been removed to the mortuary, Sister Spence had invited them to her tent for her special brew of hot chocolate with rum.
Mrs Gregson, uneasy at the truce that had apparently been declared between them, said very little as Watson, forced to address an audience despite the sombre occasion, told them what he thought was the most likely explanation for the events they had all witnessed.
‘Mrs Gregson here found three marks on Hornby’s coffin,’ said Watson as he took a sip of the invigorating drink.
‘I shan’t ask how,’ said Sister Spence, handing her a mug.
‘Thank you,’ said Mrs Gregson, her voice thin after all the crying she had done at poor Alice’s side.
‘Which means that the murderer couldn’t get to the body, so had to do the next best thing. Mark the box that Hornby was to be buried in.’
‘Why?’ asked Sister Spence. ‘Why mark the bodies?’
‘I don’t know,’ Watson admitted. ‘One thing at a time. This is the next step.’
He passed Sister Spence part of the message from Holmes, which she in turn handed to Mrs Gregson. ‘Lord Stanwood was victim number one in the sequence,’ she read.
‘Stanwood, Leverton, Hornby, Shipobottom, numbers one to four,’ Watson added.
‘And Captain de Griffon, potentially five,’ said Sister Spence.
‘No,’ Watson said, giving her the second section of the telephone message.
Captain de Griffon is an imposter.
‘My goodness,’ the sister said, showing it to Mrs Gregson. ‘How can this be?’
‘The murderer was, is, de Griffon, or someone pretending to be him. Right under my nose.’ He balled a fist and swept it through the air, as if striking an invisible table.
‘Our nose,’ Mrs Gregson corrected. ‘We were all fooled.’ She thought for a moment. ‘But he saved your life. From the gas.’
‘I’ve thought of that. Was he saving my life? Or was he trying to save his horse?’
‘Save his horse?’ Mrs Gregson asked. ‘He shot his horse, remember?’
‘Or was it to silence Sergeant Platt?’ continued Watson. ‘Perhaps he wanted to put Platt in the frame so we would think this was all over. That we had our murderer.’ The sergeant was hardly the shiniest button in the box; Watson was certain it would have been easy for a charmer like de Griffon to subvert him to his cause.
‘But de Griffon nearly died himself. I saw him. You saw him. The fits.’
‘Mrs Gregson, I think we are dealing with a man of many parts. What if he knows just how much of this toxin is fatal? What if he diluted the dose?’
‘But his fever. The pulse.’
‘Bah,’ said Watson. ‘How blind could I be? The pallor, the palpitations. Chewing cordite would do that. A mix of his poison and the propellant would be enough to blur the symptoms. And a fit is easily imitated. You don’t have to be Edmund Kean to do that.’
‘A risky strategy,’ she said.
‘And killing your own men isn’t? Don’t imagine we are necessarily dealing with a rational mind here.’
‘Hmm.’ Sister conceded the point but went on gnawing at the bone of doubt. ‘How on earth could he have arranged the gassing? He was here, man, in this station.’
Watson had considered that. ‘Cecil.’
‘Cecil?’
‘The dog. I would wager anything you will find his collar contains a sleeve or similar for messages. It was how he would communicate with Platt. So he could be here and tell Platt to take me out of the picture.’ He thought for a moment. ‘In fact, Platt offered me a tot of rum at one point, just when I had mounted Lord Lockie.’ He shivered at the thought of what might have happened had he accepted. ‘The gas was the second attempt on my life, perhaps.’
‘But why all the deaths?’ asked Mrs Gregson. ‘What links them? And why would he kill Myles? He’s not on your little list.’
Watson already had a theory about that, but he knew enough not to blurt it all out at once. He could see that he had already strained their credulity. ‘We’ll just have to ask de Griffon.’
‘The Leigh Pals have pulled out of Suffolk Farm,’ said Sister Spence. ‘So he’s at the front.’
Watson pinched the bridge of his nose. Gassed, shot at, bombed, saddled with cracked bones he may be, but he had to summon up some more reserves. He had to see this through. By himself, for once.
‘Then that’s where I’ll have to go.’