Pecunia non olet – Part 4
Sherlock:
"So this is all you have found?" my wife asked when I had finished my tale while steaming in the hot bath.
"Yes, I am aware it is not much, but there are a couple of leads I would like to follow."
"Like talking to the friend mentioned by the other inspector?"
"Inspector Belcher. Yes." I answered.
"I read that Kershaw was arrested in a pub in Lisson Grove. I know where it is, I pass it regularly on my way home. So could Kershaw have hidden the jewels anywhere along the way?" she wondered, taking the sponge from me and washing my back.
"Perhaps. But there are other possibilities to…- to consider." Closing my eyes, my brain refused to function properly under her gentle administrations. "You are distracting me, my dear..."
"Then I'll stop," she whispered into my ear.
"Don't you dare! I can actually do with a bit of distraction. There is currently nothing I can do about the case and it is a long time until the morning."
"And what are you going to do in the morning?"
"Go up to Hatfield and talk to Trenton's friend, then I will have a look at the pub where Kershaw was arrested and perhaps talk to the guard who had first had Kershaw under his care. You know after the initial shock of having been arrested, people sometimes make the one or other significant remark and if I have time after that, I might have a chat with Gilad Trenton's lawyer regarding the man's will."
"Sounds like an awfully long day. I will leave you to get ready for bed then." she teased smiling at me with her eyes sparkling impishly, before attempting to leave the bathroom.
"I said I could do with some distraction." I reminded her, pulling her close and giving her a literally wet kiss, as dripping with water, I drenched her nightshirt and braid thoroughly.
xxx
The next morning I got up at sunrise, which, considering it was already mid-November, was not all that early. Slipping out of bed quietly I managed to not wake my wife, who, smiling in her dreams, was still fast asleep. Preparing myself for a long day and a small journey I kissed her on my way out, while she muttered a drowsy good-bye and left for the station, grabbing a piece of bread on my way out of the house.
Charles Summerton was about the same age Trenton had been, in his mid-seventies, though with his bend shoulders and scuffling walk he appeared even older. He did not seem to be a healthy man and in this instance, I would have appreciated having either Harriet or Watson with me to give me an assessment of him. Seeing him standing there, all I could be certain of, was that he suffered from a skeletal disease and respiratory problems, though the latter could, of course, have something to do with the cold and moist weather this time of year. But whatever his physical condition, his brain worked perfectly and he proved to be an obliging conversationalist.
"Trenton was a good man, Mr Holmes," he began, his voice raspy and feeble, sitting down at a small table with an ivory and jade inlaid chess board and matching pieces, either of breathtaking magnificence. Offering me the chair opposite, he made his opening move. "I miss him. He was a good opponent and we played every Thursday, for more than thirty years. - How old are you, young man?"
"Old enough to not have somebody call me 'young man' for the better part of ten years." I chuckled, moving one of my pawns. "But it is safe to say, that I was still sporting my milk teeth when you played your first game of chess with Mr Trenton."
"I was under the impression though, that Gilad's murderer had been caught. So, why is it, you would like to speak to me?"
"Mr Trenton's heir has arrived from Argentina and he is determined to find the missing family jewels. And hence I was engaged, to assist Scotland Yard in the quest." I explained, trying to concentrate as much on the conversation as on the game.
"I was not aware the jewels were missing. At least Gilad never said anything about them being so."
"But you knew about them?"
"Everybody did. They were marvellous," he stated, taking one of my knights. "I had the pleasure of seeing Mrs Trenton wear them once in a while. Thinking about it, I have never seen or heard of them, since she has died. But then again, Gilad loved her so very much, I would not be surprised if it was too painful a topic for him."
I nodded, while Summerton took the first piece from me.
"Why was it, that the night Gilad Trenton was killed, you did not meet as usual?"
Summerton looked up at me sadly: "I did not feel well, Mr Holmes. I have been ill for many years, being in pain more often than not, and that week I had contracted a severe spell of rheumatic fever. I was only half conscious and my nurse sent a telegram to my friend, so he would not be troubled with coming here, only to find I was in no state to play him."
Sighing deeply he added after a short pause, in which he was staring intently at the board: "If you could just tell me, why? Why from all the Thursday nights we have spent in this room together, the burglary must happen on the one night, the one night in thirty years mind, that we did not meet?"
"If I find the answer to this mystery, Mr Summerton, I will tell you," I promised, moving my bishop across the board. "Did you know, that when his wife died, he cancelled the insurance he had taken out on the jewels?"
"No, as said, he has never spoken of them ever again. Not that he spoke much of his riches anyway, and especially not after Emily has died."
"Has he ever spoken of any relation of his, apart from his wife?"
Summerton huffed: "Yes, there was his wife's sister, Christine something, I cannot remember her name. Got married to a good for nothing chap. If I remember it correctly they fell out shortly after her wedding and did not speak for many years, because of this husband. After Mrs Trenton's death, they crawled up to Gilad like ivy up a church wall, presumably in an attempt to inherit some of Emily's finery. As far as I know, they did not get any, but Gilad helped them out with a loan."
"And they were the only relatives, save for Everett Trenton?"
"I have never heard of this Everett, but I believe there was a female cousin on his side. They have only met once or twice in their lives. Gilad never travelled for pleasure, only for business and he was a man of principles. He stuck to the few people he dearly liked and loved and all the other ones were left aside unless he could not help meeting them." he sat me into check, but I parried and moved my king out of the way.
"So he was not a sociable type?"
"No, by no means. Emily Trenton was, though. She kept their social life going and it literally died with her. Checkmate!"
xxx
Had I originally intended to go first to 'The Wheat-sheaf' down at Lisson Grove, I decided to now make my way over to Gilad Trenton's lawyer, as it was more or less on the way from Hatfield anyway, having his chambers in Barnet.
I was surprised to find a rather younger man than myself. A bright young fellow with red hair, a clean-shaven face and a pair of thick gold-rimmed glasses. With his freckles and the well-humoured expression he looked like an oversized boy and I wagered many a fellow lawyer had underestimated him thus.
When the clerk announced me, he looked up from a stack of papers, with a welcoming smile and ease and some degree of wit. He politely enquired after my troubles, obviously taking me for yet another client. His face, however, did not falter, when I set him to rights and leaning back he invited me to ask, whatever I liked, concerning Trenton.
"I presume you yourself have not been originally Gilad Trenton's lawyer, Mr Peters?"
"No, that was my late grandfather. I took over the office about four years ago, after his death," he answered sincerely.
"But you have met Gilad Trenton?" I dug deeper.
"Yes, I have. Though only twice. He was a quiet sort of fellow, living a retired life."
"Did he ever mention any valuable jewels, being in his possession?"
"No, not he. But grandfather once told me about Mr Trenton having a very exclusive collection of very fine gems. As a boy of fourteen or fifteen, that is, how old I was, when I had heard of them, I found it almost as intriguing as reading Treasure Island."
Trying to assess his age, which I at last estimated of being at least twenty-eight, I calculated that the conversation between grandfather Peters and young Peters must have taken place more than twelve years ago and hence a few years before the death of Emily Trenton, who had passed away in 1889.
"On what occasions did you meet him?" I wondered.
Furrowing his brows Peters seemed to try and recall these instances and after a short pause answered: "Both times it was about a loan he had given to his late wife's brother in law. The man seemed to constantly need more funds and Trenton, having been a businessman all his life, did get angry at long last and let me draw up a waiver with the intention of severing all ties that held him to his wife's relations."
"When was that?"
"Not long before he was killed. Perhaps four to five months prior to the first appointment and about a month or a little more for the second, when I was finally able to finalise this unpleasant business."
"What about his will?" I carried on.
"When it was opened, it turned out that his wife was still his sole beneficiary. He had never changed it after her death," he informed me without hesitation.
"And so you were employed to find the heir?"
"No, that was an Inspector Jacob Belcher, for whatever reason." Peters seemed to think as highly of the man as I did. His demeanour now had an annoyed undertone. "Can you believe it, he needed more than six months to find this Everett Trenton – and he was only found because the man himself had heard of his cousin's death somehow, presumably through the newspapers, and had come to England straight away producing all the necessary papers and took possession of the inheritance."
"Do you know who else could have benefited if Everett Trenton had not turned up?"
"There is another cousin living up north, a Mrs. so and so – I would have to have a look if you could just wait a moment."
Of course, I could, being most appreciative of his eagerness to help me out with as much information as he could give.
"A Mrs Barbara Broderick of Edinburgh. - Married to Harry Broderick, the owner of a shipping company."
"Did she make any claims?"
"No, at least not to my knowledge. But the sister in law did. A Mrs Dawson. - She is the sister of the late Mrs Trenton. They were quite upset by not inheriting anything. He – the husband quite forgot himself during the opening of the will." the young man's face distorted to an expression of disgust and I realised that he must be a very decent fellow, especially considering his profession, to feel such in a situation as the described one.
"Have you an address?" I asked, wondering if not perhaps the answer could be as simple as this for once.
On occasion it is a great mistake of the criminal investigator, to think overly complicated. Sometimes the difficulties lay with what was most simple.
"Sure, 86 Campden Road, Croyden.
"Thank you very much, Mr Peters."
"Pleasure, Mr Holmes." he stood up to take my offered hand and then escorted me out of his rooms himself.
As I stepped onto the street, I spotted a post office opposite the chambers I had just left and in a perhaps rather silly impulse, I decided to send a telegram to my wife, containing nothing but three words.