Page 57 of Murder on the Brighton Express
That would be anything about Clement Beecroft, including the latest scandal of his visit to Brighton at the same time as Geraldine Lacroix.
Harry nodded at the bulging joints of Mr. Salter’s hands. “You were a boxer?”
“What gave it away?” Mr. Salter’s voice was thick with sarcasm. He instantly regretted his tone. “I’m sorry. That was unnecessary. Yes, I was a boxer in my youth. After one knock too many, I threw it in. I’d noticed reporters attending the fights then writing up an account for their newspapers, so I decided to try my hand at journalism. I specialized in boxing tournaments, and given I knew many of the contenders, I gained access where others couldn’t. I started atThe Evening Bulletin, which is where I met Ruth. I moved toThe London Tattlerafter they offered me a job writing about all sports, not just boxing.”
“Including scandals that happen in sports,” I said. “You’ve got a nose for them, it seems. Pardon the pun,” I added when I realized he might be sensitive about his most distinguishing feature.
“This face is why I find the scandals that others don’t. People underestimate me. They think I’m just another former boxer with mashed potato for brains. They don’t hold their tongues in my presence, and they don’t worry about hiding evidence when I stroll in. It’s impossible for them to believe that I’m capable ofsayinga grammatically correct sentence, let alone writing one. As ugly as it is, this face has opened up possibilities for me. I’m just fortunate it didn’t disgust Ruth.” He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath before opening them again. “Iwasfortunate. She loved me despite my appearance.”
“People underestimated her, too,” I said gently.
He nodded. “She looked as though a harsh word would reduce her to tears, but she was strong, tenacious. More tenacious than me.”
“Did you go to Brighton to be with her? It would be the perfect escape for you both, outside of London and away from Enoch and Mrs. Scoop. You could be together, and no one would care.” I already knew he hadn’t stayed at the same hotel as Ruth, but I wanted to test him. If he lied and said he was with her, I’d have to doubt everything he said.
“I went to Brighton to speak to someone who works with Alastair McAllister, the driver and part-owner of an automobile company who a source claims cheated in the Thousand Mile Trial back in April. I’d made contact with one of the other engineers and organized to meet him. I decided to take the opportunity to also watch McAllister. It just so happened that Ruth needed to go to Brighton for work, too. We didn’t meet each other, but I saw her when McAllister met with the man she was following. She saw me, too, but didn’t approach. We just nodded in acknowledgment and left it at that. We would have discussed their meeting when we were both back in London, but…” He lowered his gaze.
“Lord Pridhurst and McAllister were in cahoots?” Harry asked.
“It’s likely Pridhurst invested in McAllister’s motorcar company. Given he’s a gambling man in heavy debt, he probably knew about the cheating scheme.”
“Did McAllister see Ruth?” I asked.
“I don’t know. If he has anything to do with her death…” He passed a hand down his face. “Ruth left a message at the inn where I was staying to meet me on the night before we were due to leave, but I didn’t return until very late and was only given the message the following morning. I assume she wanted to discuss Pridhurst and McAllister meeting.” He studied his brutalized hands, then closed them into fists. “If I had met her, perhaps she wouldn’t have died.”
“Or perhaps you would have died, too,” Harry told him.
Mr. Salter continued to stare at his hands.
“Where did you stay?” I asked.
“The Horse and Cart Inn. I chose it because it’s located closer to McAllister’s team’s workshop than most of the hotels. It was also cheap. I’m sure the staff will remember me if you want to ask them.”
I wrote the name down in my notebook. “We know Ruth was in Brighton to watch the Pridhursts, and we know she saw Clement Beecroft and Geraldine Lacroix there, too. We also know she telephoned Mrs. Scoop on her last day in Brighton, telling her to print a story she’d uncovered. A witness says she was very insistent, so it seems it was a big story. Do you think it was about McAllister and Pridhurst meeting?”
He thought about it a moment then shook his head. “McAllister was my story. She wouldn’t have told Mrs. Scoop about the connection without first asking me how much to share, and how much to withhold so I could use it.”
I wasn’t sure an ambitious woman would be so generous as to simply hand over information, but I didn’t know how ambitious Ruth was, or how much she cared for Mr. Salter.
Something just occurred to me. Something that, if I was correct, could give us the identity of the last remaining mystery passenger. “What does McAllister look like?”
Mr. Salter sifted through the newspapers stacked on the floor beside his desk and opened one to an article he’d written about Alastair McAllister cheating. The illustration showed a smiling man standing beside a vehicle. His face was side-on. It was the same article as the one in my bag.
“Are there any photographs of him, rather than sketches?”
“Not in our paper, I’m afraid. The budget doesn’t extend to photographs. Not that the photographs would tell the full story. McAllister makes sure they’re all taken of his right side, not his left.”
I turned to Harry, but he’d already realized the same thing as me.
“Is that because of a burn scar on his left side?” Harry asked.
Mr. Salter nodded. “He’s sensitive about it.”
So much so, that when he dressed as a woman to catch the train from Brighton, he lowered the large hat over the left side of his face to cover as much of the scar as possible.
I tried to contain my excitement, but Mr. Salter was too observant.
He sat up straighter. “What is it? How is McAllister connected to Ruth’s death?”
