Page 5 of Dead Beside the Thames
Quietly listening without interrupting, Stokes added to his notes. This was precisely why he—and Scotland Yard—needed the help of this pair of consultants.
When it seemed that Barnaby and Penelope had extracted every last detail of Charlie’s recent encounters with Sedbury, Stokes turned to another issue of which he didn’t as yet feel sufficiently informed. “This business of whip collecting.” He looked at Charlie. “You mentioned there are other whip collectors in London. Who are they?”
“Well.” Charlie blew out a breath. “There are six others, including me. The other five are Crookshank, Quisley, Ellerton, Napier, and Hoskings.”
“And you each have a collection?”
“Yes, although mine, Quisley’s, and Napier’s are the best known.” Charlie frowned. “I knew Sedbury was a collector because he would occasionally outbid one of us when a notable whip was auctioned, but I’ve never heard anyone describe his collection.” He tipped his head, considering. “In fact, I couldn’t tell you how extensive Sedbury’s collection is. It might be quite sizeable.”
Stokes grunted. He looked over his earlier notes, then said, “The way you spoke of the whip Sedbury was carrying in Long Acre, it sounded as if it was a specific whip. You called it ‘his whip’ as if it was a particular one.” He raised his gaze to Charlie’s face. “Was it?”
Charlie nodded emphatically. “He had a favorite whip—a particular type of horse whip known as a Duckleberry Longe—that he carried most frequently. That was the whip he had in Long Acre.”
“I see.” Stokes added the name to his jottings.
Penelope fixed her gaze on him. “You must know more about how Sedbury—his body—was found.”
That wasn’t a question. Stokes faintly smiled. “All I’ve heard thus far is that two boatmen pulled the body from the river about noon on Sunday and ferried it to the River Police. They found a card case in his jacket pocket and made out enough to guess his identity and notify the Yard. The commissioner dumped the investigation in my lap first thing this morning, and that sent me to White’s and, subsequently, to Hastings’s door. When I went back to get permission to call you in, there was a note from the sergeant at the River Police office, saying that the postmortem will be carried out sometime today, and they’ll send word so I can speak with the examiner. The only other tidbit the sergeant imparted was that when the examiner came in, he glanced at the body and declared that Sedbury had been strangled and, either dead or unconscious, was then tipped into the river. They’ll have more details when I get there later.”
Barnaby pulled a face. “That’s really not a lot of information regarding the actual killing.”
“It isn’t,” Stokes agreed. “We’ll have to wait for the postmortem and hope the examiner can tell us more.”
“All right,” Barnaby said. “So what do we actually know to this point?” He glanced at Charlie. “Sedbury was known tobe an aggressive, belligerent, pugilistically inclined brawler. He was larger and significantly heavier and stronger than most gentlemen and was widely known as a bully of the worst sort.”
Barnaby transferred his gaze to Stokes. “I have to say that, all things considered, it’s really not credible to assert that Charlie strangled Sedbury, then heaved the body into the river.”
Penelope put in, “Certainly not without sustaining some degree of damage himself, of which there appears to be precisely none.”
Stokes and Barnaby obediently looked at Charlie, who stared innocently back, his face and hands entirely free of marks, scrapes, cuts, or bruises.
“Right,” Stokes said. “I believe we can all agree that Hastings does not fit the bill for our murderer.” Stokes flashed them all a sardonic smile. “I confess that I wasn’t enthralled by the notion of Hastings as murderer, but given the situation as it currently stands, that only underscores the urgent need to find the real murderer.”
Barnaby blinked as the situation—the one Stokes had already seen—blossomed in his mind. “Ah. Yes. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
For a moment, Penelope regarded him in mystification, then understanding lit her features. “Oh, good heavens! Yes, of course.”
Proving that he was not as slow-witted as he sometimes appeared, Charlie somewhat waspishly retorted, “While I’m delighted at no longer being the prime suspect, we all know what the ton is like, and with Stokes having already interviewed various staff at White’s, some version of my altercation with Sedbury immediately before his death will already be doing the rounds, and ton gossip being what it is, my name and reputation will be mud—besmirched beyond repair—unless the real murderer is laid by the heels, and quickly, too!”
Penelope grimaced. “Unfortunately, you are one hundred percent correct. Just the weight of mere suspicion will be a cloud over your name.”
Barnaby glanced around the circle. “I believe we’re all on the same page. We need to find Sedbury’s murderer with all speed.”
“And then there’s the complication of Sedbury’s family.” Penelope looked at Stokes. “Has the next of kin been informed?”
Stokes stirred. “The commissioner has taken on that task. However, he didn’t mention who the next of kin actually was.” He looked inquiringly at the others.
Barnaby replied, “That would be Sedbury’s father, the Marquess of Rattenby.”
Stokes groaned. “I knew he was a viscount, but a marquess’s heir?”
Penelope tried not to smile. “Late heir.”
Stokes grumbled, “So I can expect a visit from the marquess, breathing fire and demanding an immediate arrest, at any moment.”
Penelope tipped her head. “Actually, you’ll most likely be spared such a meeting for at least a few days. If I’m remembering correctly, Rattenby prefers to remain in the country at his principal seat in Gloucestershire. I know that he and the marchioness are not in London at present.”
Stokes reached for his notebook. “What do you know of the family?”
