Episode 10: Mr Dalton's Last Excursion

Season 1: The World Unseen

After they had helped Mrs Grimaldi back downstairs and settled her into an armchair, Lock stayed with her while Herbert made a pot of tea. Lock had offered her whisky from his hip flask, but she insisted on tea.

‘It’s my tonic and medicine, Major. Tea is all I need.’

Once they were all seated and Herbert had poured the tea, Mrs Grimaldi’s mind turned to practical matters.

‘What did poor Mr Dalton die of? Is it contagious?’

‘As for the first question, Mrs Grimaldi, I don’t know,’ Lock said. ‘As for the second, we should all be cautious and stay down here until he’s been examined. Now, do you have a local doctor I can call in?’

‘Yes, Dr Clayden, on Lauriston Road. It’s only a short walk from here.’

After getting directions from Mrs Grimaldi, Lock conferred with Herbert in the hallway.

‘I’ll see if I can get this doctor to come out. In the meantime, go up to Dalton’s room and see what you can find: correspondence, documents, diaries, anything.’

‘Right-o, sir.’

Herbert strode up the stairs two at a time. If the major got the doctor to come out right away, he had little time.

Inside the bedroom, the smell was even worse. Herbert put a handkerchief over his mouth and nose, and began his search of the sparsely furnished room. He began with the chest of drawers. It contained underclothes, socks, shirts, neckties, a chest expander, and some postcards of young women with few or no clothes looking seductively or awkwardly at the camera.

There were no ornaments of any kind, not even a clock. And, more importantly, there were no documents lying around. It was as if the place had already been throughly searched and any papers removed.

The wardrobe, containing two coats and three suits, looked more promising. The clothes were well made — Mr Dalton clearly earned enough for the services of a decent tailor. Herbert wondered if Dalton’s usual abode was a better class than this shabby lodging house.

He went methodically through the pockets of each item. The results were most;y disappointing: handkerchiefs, boiled sweets, crushed cigarettes packets, and loose change. But there was an assortment of train tickets and Herbert pocketed them.

Last, there was a bedside table with a single drawer. Searching it meant getting very close to the body lying stiff on the bed. Herbert looked at it properly for the first time. The facial muscles were frozen in a rictus of pain or surprise — it was impossible to tell which. It was clad as if for an outing: three-piece tweed suit, stout boots, high-collared shirt, and necktie. Herbert half-expected it to sit up and swing its legs off the bed at any moment. But the marble-white skin and crusts of what looked like bloody mucus around the mouth and nose showed Dalton would not rise in this world again. He noticed too a blue tinge on the lips and fingernails.

He shook his head and opened the drawer of the bedside table.

Inside was a Bible, a box containing packets of liver salts, a couple of pencils, and a ball of string.

Herbert picked up the Bible and flicked through its pages. No slips of paper fell out, and no words were written in the endpapers. It might not even be Dalton’s, he thought. Another tenant might have left it behind. He suspected that the dead Mr Dalton was not a Bible-reading man.

Nothing here, Herbert thought. No papers or personal effects of any kind. He glanced at the tweed-suited body. But I haven’t searched those pockets.

He had experienced combat in the Sudan and India, and was familiar with the presence of dead bodies. But there was something about this one that unsettled him.

A strapping young chap like that shouldn’t die without some signs of writhing or thrashing about. Though the body didn’t exactly look peaceful, it wasn’t in disarray. It looked as if someone had laid it out, flat on its back, arms straight along its sides. There was something rum about it all alright. It gave him the shivers.

The drawer of the bedside table was still open. He picked up the box of liver salts and examined it absentmindedly. I should go downstairs and see how Mrs Grimaldi is getting on, he thought. I need to get out of this room and away from this body. But he felt he hadn’t finished the job. I don’t want to let the major down. Perhaps I’ve missed something.

He looked around the bedroom again, the room with no tokens of family or belonging, no air of homeliness or comfort. This might be how I end up in a few years, he thought, a lonely existence in a bare room. The major is right. I need to find a purpose in life. Perhaps I can find it with him.

Without thinking, he flipped open the top of the box. He almost missed it in the pale light, but under the flap, there was a scrawled word, its letters shaky and childish: the single word, ‘REECE’.

Was this was significant? What did it even mean? Could it be the last message of a dying man? Herbert pocketed the box and went downstairs to wait with Mrs Grimaldi for the return of Lock and, with any luck, the doctor.

Lock had indeed been successful. After showing the doctor upstairs, he joined Herbert and Mrs Grimaldi in the parlour.

‘How are you, Mrs Grimaldi?’ he said.

‘Quite settled now, Major. Thank you for asking. It was a bit of a shock, though. I haven’t had a tenant go and die on me for at least six years. Now, I’m feeling myself again, I’ll make another pot of tea. I’m sure you two gentlemen could do with a cup now.’

Herbert, whose mouth was as dry as sawdust, was relieved when Lock assented.

Once Mrs Grimaldi had returned with the fresh pot of tea and had poured them all a cup, Lock said, ‘Now, this Mr Dalton, what can you tell me about him?’

Mrs Grimaldi, though clearly impressed with Lock, was still wary of him. ‘This is a legal matter, you said?’

‘Yes, madam. You see, I believe — and please keep this information to yourself — that Dalton was involved in the theft of some important papers from my brother’s house.’

‘Oh dearie me,’ Mrs Grimaldi said.

‘Yes,’ Lock said. ‘Now I appreciate that we’ve descended on you out of the blue, but I’d be quite happy for you to contact Sir Edward Bradford at Scotland Yard. He’ll be able to assure you that my activities in this matter are lawful.’

‘Sir Edward Bradford?’ Mrs Grimaldi said.

Lock gestured at a copy of the previous day’s Evening Standard on the table. ‘It’s clear you’re a woman who keeps up with the news, so I’m sure you’re familiar with Sir Edward and his position at the head of the Metropolitan Police.’

‘Oh, yes, of course,’ Mrs Grimaldi said, fiddling with her cardigan buttons.

‘Now, tell me what you know about Mr Dalton.’

‘Well, he took the room about four months ago. Told me he was the London representative of a brush manufacturer. Promised to get me some samples when he first moved in, but never did.’

‘Can you remember the name of the company?’

Mrs Grimaldi frowned. ‘No, I can’t, but it was based in Northampton, I think.’

‘I see. And did you see much of Mr Dalton?’

‘Oh no, he was out most of the day, and like I said before, he kept late hours. I cook breakfast for most of my lodgers, but Mr Dalton never took it. And when he got up, he went out quietly and came back late. He’d ask me to do some laundry for him from time to time. But he was away a lot too. Travelling. He told me he had to travel all over the south of England for the firm. And sometimes further afield.’

‘Further afield?’

‘Well, he recently came back from Ireland.’

Lock and Draper exchanged a glance.

‘When was that, Mrs Grimaldi?’

‘Let me think — must have been five or six weeks ago.’

‘And he told you he was going to Ireland?’

‘Only when he came back. He bought me a souvenir, you see.’ Mrs Grimaldi pointed to a china leprechaun leering from the shelf.

‘And did he tell you what he’d been doing in Ireland?’

‘No, not in so many words. But I got the impression it was to do with his business.’

‘Representing the brush manufacturer.’

‘Yes, I suppose so. Mr Dalton was a private man. He never talked much. But he was always very polite. Never had any trouble from him.’ Mrs Grimaldi shifted in her armchair and pursed her lips. ‘Unlike some I could mention.’

Before Lock could ask any more questions, the doctor reappeared.

‘Seems like a case of pneumonia. When did you last see him?’ he said to Mrs Grimaldi.

‘About seven o’clock yesterday evening, Doctor.’

‘And how did he seem then?’

‘As fit as a fiddle.’

The doctor frowned. ‘Hmmm… deuced odd. These things don’t normally come on suddenly and kill a man within a few hours. Still, it’s pneumonia alright. And you’re certain the body up there is that of Mr Dalton?’

‘Yes, yes, I am,’ Mrs Grimaldi said with a tremor in her voice.

The doctor shrugged. ‘Well, I’ll make out the death certificate. Are you aware of any next of kin?’

‘No, Doctor.’

‘Very well. I’ll notify the Hackney Hospital and the borough council. Between them, they’ll decide what to do with the body. Good day, Mrs Grimaldi.’

‘Excuse me, Doctor, but he’s not going to be lying up there for the rest of the day, is he?’

‘No, no, I’ll make sure someone’s along soon,’ he said. ‘Well, good day, gentlemen.’

Mrs Grimaldi, upset by the finality of the doctor’s confirmation that Mr Dalton was actually dead, required more tea before Lock’s questioning could continue.

‘Did Mr Dalton have many visitors?’ he said, eventually.

She shook her head. ‘No. None until recently. I’m not keen on lodgers having personal visitors. But Mr Dalton, well, he was so polite and discreet, like, that I made an exception for him. He had a business colleague who paid a few visits recently. Since he came back from Ireland. They would sit up in Mr Dalton’s room talking. In fact, the gentleman was here only last night. He said goodnight to me when he left. I happened to be upstairs, sorting out a sash window that wasn’t closing properly.’

‘Did you ever happen to overhear what they talked about?’

Mrs Grimaldi looked offended.

Oh, you’ve done it now, Major, Herbert thought. You’ve practically accused her of listening at Dalton’s door.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Grimaldi,’ Lock said. ‘I just thought —’

‘Oh, I know what you thought, Major. Well, I can tell you my lodgers have perfect privacy when they’re in their rooms and no, I don’t have any idea what the gentlemen talked about when they were together.’

‘Yes, very good,’ Lock said awkwardly. ‘And could you describe both Mr Dalton’s visitor for us?’

‘Well, there wasn’t much to make you remember him. About as tall as your friend there, dark hair, though he always had his hat on when I saw him. A thin pasty face, a little moustache like a toothbrush. That’s all I can remember.’

‘Well, Mrs Grimaldi, you’ve been very helpful,’ Lock said. ‘As a token of my appreciation,’ — he took his wallet out — ‘please accept this small recompense for your help.’ He handed her a crisp five-pound note.

Mrs Grimaldi’s eyes widened. ‘Well, thank you, Major. That’s very generous of you, I’m sure.’

Lock bowed his head slightly.

There was nothing more to be done, and they left Mrs Grimaldi to await the removal of Mr Dalton’s body.

‘I could do with a drink,‘ Lock said to Draper once they were outside.

‘I’m right with you, sir,’ Herbert said.

They found a public house on Mare Street. It was a shabby-looking establishment, but it would do.

Lock bought two pints of bitter and they sat in the saloon bar. It was near empty and they could talk freely.

‘Well, Draper, I’m very uneasy about this business. An apparently healthy man, a quick onset of illness and death within a few hours. There’s evil work going on here, and I fear it isn’t done yet.’

‘And yet the doctor seemed very sure Dalton died of pneumonia.’

‘Yes, he was, wasn’t he? As was the Irish doctor who completed the death certificates for my brother and sister-in-law.’

‘Then what do you make of it, sir?’

‘Well, none of the descriptions is very detailed, but I feel certain that the man who visited Dalton last night is the man called Barker who was with him in Ireland. And I’m equally certain that Barker is a killer. Here’s my theory. Dalton was a hired man. He was the one who kept watch on Henry’s house, broke in, and took the notebooks. The other chap was the brains, if you will. Once Dalton had outlived his usefulness, Barker killed him, with some sort of lethal agent, in the same way that he killed poor Henry and Kitty.’

’Should we go to the police, sir?’

‘Not yet. We can’t prove a damned thing. But I wasn’t lying to Mrs Grimaldi. I’m in regular contact with Sir Edward Bradford about this business. He had an inkling of it before I even realized what it would do to my family.’

‘Sir Edward?’

‘Yes, he was the one who first told me about the missing children and the connection to my brother’s work.’

‘You’ve lost me, sir. Missing children?’

Lock frowned. ‘I’m sorry, Draper. It’s about time I gave you a full briefing on the situation.’

So Lock recounted the main points of his meeting with Sir Edward Bradford in October, his subsequent trip to Ireland, the incident of the stolen notebooks, and the visit to Galway with Peggy. It was a long story, and Herbert occasionally interrupted with questions and observations.

‘So there you have it, Draper,’ Lock said at the tale’s end. ‘That’s how you and I came to be breaking into a solicitor’s office last night and chasing down a dead man this morning.’

‘It’s a rum business alright, sir. But do you really believe all this stuff about children with psychic powers?’

‘Yes, I do, Draper.’

Herbert looked at the major open-mouthed.

‘Not the sort of thing you’d expect of me, eh?’

‘Well, sir…’

‘But I’ve seen enough on my travels to convince me that there is more to the world and to human beings than mere materiality. For example, surely you remember that sadhu in India who warned Crichton not to ride out to Konark after dark?’ Lock said urgently. ‘Or the monk in Tibet who knew that your wife and child were — I’m sorry, Draper, that was insensitive of me.’

Herbert shook his head. ‘It’s alright, sir. I think about that a lot myself. Not that what he said did me any good. Indeed, I wish he hadn’t said anything at all. But that’s the East. Us white men don’t really understand that side of it all. Things are different there.’

‘Not so different,’ Lock said. ‘By the way, did you find anything in Dalton’s room?’

‘Not much. I think this Barker, if that’s who he is, pretty well cleaned it out.’

‘Well, let’s have another glass of beer and look at what you found. Then I must go. I have an appointment to look at a set of rooms in Bloomsbury.’

‘Tired of the club already, sir?’

‘No, it’s not that. But I’ve decided I need a more permanent base in London. Besides, Peggy is coming down next week for the reading of her father’s will. I want her to stay in London for a few weeks. She’s been settling in at Tarian Hall, helping to get the place sorted out, riding, exploring, that sort of thing. But I think a change of scene and company will do her good. You’ll like her, Draper. She’s a fine girl.’

‘I’m sure I will, sir. But look, let me get this round. You treated me to breakfast, after all.’

Draper with returned with two more pints of beer and then showed Lock his scanty finds from the dead man’s room.

‘Let’s see.’ Lock examined the pile of railway tickets on the tabletop between them. ‘Liverpool… Galway… Dublin… Euston. Well, we know about that trip. Various underground tickets, impossible to tell where he was going with those.. Yarmouth and Cambridge… well, those might mean something further along the way. Anything else?’

‘Just this, sir.’ Draper passed the box of liver salts to Lock. ‘Look under the flap.’

‘Hmmm… REECE. Do you think it’s significant?’

‘Well, I have a notion now, after what you said about that lethal agent business…’

‘Go on.’

‘Well, let’s suppose the killer administers a lethal agent. He doesn’t leave immediately because he wants to make sure the job is done. But he uses that time to strip the room of any documents. While he’s occupied with that, our man Dalton, feeling the effects kicking in, knows something’s up. Suppose, by the time he realizes, he can hardly move. All he can reach is the bedside drawer that holds this box and a pencil or two. While Barker is occupied with searching the place, Dalton scribbles this name on the inside of the box.’

Herbert paused. ‘Though now I’ve said that, I wonder why he didn’t write BARKER?’

‘Yes, this might be a false scent,’ Lock said. ‘Dalton might have borrowed the box from a fellow lodger or that name might have some other significance altogether. Even so, we’ll keep it in mind.’

Lock checked his pocket watch. ‘Now, I must go. Oh, and before I forget…’

He reached into the breast pocket of his coat and pulled out a envelope. ‘Here’s your first month’s salary. I trust it’s acceptable. It’s equivalent to your sergeant’s pay, with something extra for London expenses.’

Draper took the envelope. ‘Thank you, sir. And Tommy, will we be talking to him soon?’

‘Yes, we’ll see him tomorrow.’

‘Thank you, sir. That’s good of you.’

‘No, not good of me, Draper. We have a lot of work to do yet, and I’ve a strong feeling some of it’s going to be dirty and dangerous. Oh, and you can stop calling me sir. We’re both back on Civvy Street now.’

But what the devil does he want me to call him if not sir? Herbert wondered, as he put the envelope in his pocket.