Murder on the Thames
Mysterious May Gold Winner 🥇
Disclaimer: This short story contains themes of death and murder which may be unsettling to younger readers.
They’d followed him from the opera house. He did not know who they were, what they wanted, or why he was their target. He debated his options: Call a bobby? No, that would scare them off. Go to the meeting? No, then they would see the obvious, and besides that is probably what they wanted him to do. He had but one choice. He started toward Baker Street.
They followed him until he turned on Easton Road, then they pounced. The figure grabbed him, wrapping his arms around his front. His assailant spoke no words but pushed him into a telephone booth, launching a brown bag at him, covering his face.
I’d seen it in the papers:
‘Murder on the Thames’
Dr. Charles Dover dead
The paper told me little about the subject which naturally intrigued me. This catastrophe was covered up remarkably. There were no suspects and no motives to speak of. The doctor they called in to examine the body had only found two knife wounds, one in the right arm and another through the heart—which the doctor declared must have killed him. I wanted to know more; these sorts of crimes compelled me. It seemed like a clean kill. I somewhat admired the murderer. He’d supposedly committed the perfect crime, no one had any idea it was him. But when murder was on the brain one always needed Kingsley’s special tea to think.
The bell rang as I dropped my last of three sugar cubes in my cup. I got up to welcome my surprise guest, but no one was behind the ringing. Just a small wooden box inscribed with the letters ‘C.D.’ on the lid. I placed the box on my side table. I surveyed it: the box was made of sturdy mahogany, polished within the last fortnight. There were strange vines carved on the back panel in the shape of a cross. Upon opening the lid, I discovered a small, rectangular card with a statement that shook me to the core:
‘He’s alive.’
These chilling words were typed, so there was no hope of a signature match. With little hope of any further clues, I packed the box in my midnight black briefcase, threw my coat over my shoulder, put my hat on, and walked to Scotland Yard. It was not a long journey, but enough to make me glad of the cold waiting room chairs when I finally got to The Yard. Janise Robes, the receptionist, greeted me as she always did with a hearty,
“Shouldn’t you call for an automobile next time you go out, Mr. Chesterton?”
“Never, Miss Robes. I fear I would smell something dreadful if I was forced on such a beastly thing, and besides, old men like me need their exercise.”
“As you wish, sir.”
There was a childish silence then.
“Sir, do you need Robert?”
“I suppose, Miss Robes. Do you mind telling him it’s urgent?”
“Urgent?”
I nodded.
“Then come with me, sir, we must hear your information at once!” She beckoned me to follow, and I did. We made two rights then one left turn. Until we arrived at a door that read:
‘Inspector Robert Hampton’
I stepped inside only to see Inspector Hampton smoking a pipe. He blew a blissful smoke ring as I entered.
“Why, Kingsley, ol’ chap. Take a seat, take a seat. Care for a smoke? No? Well, to what do I owe this pleasure?”
I pulled the box out of my briefcase and situated it firmly on the desk. The inspector picked it up and ran a burly hand over the lid.
“‘C.D.’ I thought you didn’t have a mistress. That’s a joke, old man! You think it stands for Charles Dover, does it now?”
“Someone put it on my step and ran. It’s clean of prints, and I found this inside.”
I removed the typed card from my packet and placed it next to the box.
“Someone pulling a trick on you, Kingsley. Charles died from a knife to the heart and then he was thrown in the Thames. He can’t be alive; I identified him myself! You were always a jokester, ole pal, but this is too much!” He pushed the specimens back toward me and I collected the objects reluctantly, “You must come for tea sometime, Kingsley. Oh, bring your pipe, we can blow rings as big as your tall tales. Goodday to you, ol’ chap!”
He got out from behind his desk and hurried me out the door. I then took one right turn and two lefts to proceed back to the waiting room. Janise smiled at me as I left,
“Goodday, sir”
“If it is good, Miss Robes, I would not be here.”
With that remark, I left Scotland Yard.
After my visit to Inspector Hampton, I was as eager as I had been in ages. Probably since my Oxford days, when my detective club pals and I were intent on solving England’s most nefarious cold cases. People had seen the promise in me, said I’d be a real-life Sherlock Holmes, and said I was better than all of Scotland Yard. But then I disappointed them. People turned their backs on the detective prodigy of the nineteenth century.
There was no place for me now. All that heated anger rose in me. A need to prove them wrong. A need to show them that a young university kid still had potential even in my declining state.
Fueled by a need of worth, I made a few calls. I needed to find out who Charles Dover was and who would have wanted to end his life. While my sources searched the ends of London for intelligence, I made up my mind that I was going to uncover the source of this evil deed and lock them away in Wandsworth.
My first stop on this quest was to discover what Charles was doing on the day of his death. So, I headed to his medical practice on Crowndale Street. I headed out the door and made my way to Paddington Station; from there I got on the train to Regents Park. The train halted at Marylebone Station where I detected a strange sense that I was being followed. My tail was a woman; she possessed a tall figure, and though she was skilled in the art of espionage, her height gave her away. I resolved to stop. As I sat on a bench, the mystery woman proceeded to sit next to me.
“Would you like a chocolate?” she offered.
She knew.
“Perhaps. My head could use a break.”
She knew too much.
“Don’t go on. I beg you. They know you’re looking for them. Do not go on,” she pleaded
“And if I do move forward?”
“They’ll take a lesser life.”
I was weary of her words, what did she know?
“You’re an old man, you know the dangers of sniffing places you’re not wanted. Remember Dayton.”
She knew Dayton…
I looked at the empty bench next to me…
She knew about Dayton…
I resolved to turn back, and upon arrival at my humble abode near Hyde Park, I found a most disagreeable sight sitting in my favorite smoking chair.
“I was wondering when you were going to show up,” Lucy tilted the chair back and put her muddy boots on my side table, “I have uncovered everything you could ever want to know about Charles Dover. Shall I brief you?”
At the slight nod of my head, she began. “Charles Dover, born around 1876, died well two days ago. No surviving family that I know of, and I know everything, never married, no children. He studied medicine at Oxford College. Kingsley, sorry to disappoint, there’s not much else. Dover is too common a name, and he sprouted out of nowhere in 1906.”
“Thanks, Lucy.” I pondered the information. “It’s almost like he never existed.”
“There’s one more thing if you don’t mind.” I nodded and she went on. “Covent Gardens found a silver dagger, mahogany handle, in their E-flat organ pipe.”
“Why is that relevant?” I mused.
“The Opera House was the last place he was seen. It could be possible he was murdered there.”
“When’s the next concert?”
“Tonight. Purple or black tie?”
“Black.”
“I’ll get everything ready. We’ll need to leave by 5:00 to get there on time.”
“Of course, Lucy.” She smiled, excited at the prospect of a Bach concert, and set off quickly. We had a case to solve.
I’ve never seen Covent Gardens so lit up. Lucy walked beside me into the opera house.
“It’s like they knew I was coming,” I muttered under my breath.
“I heard that, Kingsley.”
“Lucy, you know I’m right.”
“Aren’t you always?” she mused.
“I hope so.”
The gatekeeper waved us in, and the blissful atmosphere of a Bach symphony wafted into my head. I pushed the flashbacks of dancing through these halls out of my mind and offered Lucy my arm,
“Lead the way, Miss.” She smiled and led us down the side hallway. We passed other patrons, none of whom questioned our presence. Lucy took a few more turns, and we landed in a spacious amphitheater.
I could see the millions of stars I had once dared myself to count; I never could. I reminded myself of the real reason for this outing, so I hastily started peering under chairs and felt along railings. Meanwhile, Lucy went straight for the organ. After an unsuccessful search, I joined her, inspecting the pipes for clues regarding our dagger.
“Lucy, who has the weapon now?”
“The Yard, of course. A certain Inspector Hampton, I believe. His assistant informed me that he’s not at liberty to show it to anyone.” My disgust must have been evident, for Lucy laughed. “Don’t worry, Kingsley, I’m friends with Robert. I'll get it from him.”
“I’m not going to ask.”
“Smart man. Oh, here’s our E-flat pipe.”
“Do you feel anything?” I implored.
“There’s a small panel here, airtight. That must be how the dagger got in. But who put it there?” Lucy retreated, so I went in.
“There’s not much here—” Abruptly, there was the hasty sound of dress shoes on cobblestone, ruining my investigation. Lucy heard it too, and she dragged me into the shadows. As we crouched there, the boots, and my breathing, grew heavier. I peered around the corner and what I saw was a little unexpected.
I beheld a rather well-dressed gentleman. His tailcoat fluttered behind his tall figure. I spied a top hat and a mustache that had been trimmed recently. He made his way over to the organ and found our airtight panel. He took something out of his coat pocket and deposited it in the pipe. He then stepped back, took an impulsive look around, and trotted off. Without speaking a word, Lucy hopped up and tailed him back into the building, leaving me to uncover our mysterious package.
I darted across to the panel, trying to be as silent as possible. Opening it, I revealed a short stack of cards. Each card had a seemingly random set of letters typed on it. My thoughts went instantly to the mixed-up letter codes, my buds and I would create in university. I pocketed my find and made the short trip back into the Opera House. Lucy greeted me with a hurried ‘we should go’ look. So out we went.
We took the Tube back to my lodgings. We headed inside, and that’s when Lucy spilled her findings.
“His name’s Lawrence Haversham. So far all I know is that he’s rich: heir to some major estate. He’s also dreadfully cocky, I can barely stand being in his vicinity.”
I rolled my eyes, that statement was a very Lucy-like thing to say, “Any connections to Dover?”
“Not that I know of at the moment. He does look remarkably like the few sketches of Charles I got my hands on.”
“Could he be a relative?”
“No, I doubt it. Charles had no family whatsoever.” I pondered Lucy’s findings intently. She recognized the look on my face, so she exited the room and let herself out.
I made myself a strong cup of tea then sat in my chair and I sipped peacefully. I had my theories, but there was little proof backing any inquiries I had. I must have fallen asleep for the light of a smoggy London sunrise greeted me in my hazy state.
I remembered the task at hand. I had a murder to solve.
I set my brain to rights, grabbed my coat, emptied the pockets, and laid the cards on the table. I fetched a sketchpad and pen and got to work unscrambling the letters. With eleven cards and no hints as to the origin of this code, I went through three cups of tea and two trays of biscuits, eventually, I had a legible message.
‘Stop looking. What’s done is done. Dover is dead. Stop looking.’
Ominous and self-explanatory, I grunted in distaste. I resolved to make a call to my acquaintance, Asher Gravested. Quickly, I grabbed my coat and hurried across town, ending up at Mr. Gravested’s doorstep. He opened the door as I was reaching up to knock.
“Kingsley,” he grunted.
“Asher.” His cold stare blasted into my bones.
“What is it this time?” Asher’s evident indifference was laced through his words.
“This symbol,” I said, offering up the wooden box. “Whom does it belong to?”
“Come in,” he sighed while beckoning me through the door.
Asher led me to a small room with a skylight and two chairs with a small table in between.
“Your old chess room. I thought I’d never see it again.”
“The symbol is what you’re here for, not pleasantries. Hand it here.”
“What do you make of it?” I inquired, handing the mahogany box to him.
“‘C.D.’ with a cross made of vines.”
“Yes. What does it mean?”
“Well, if I’m right, and I usually am, the cross is part of an ancient coat of arms. I believe the Haversham clan of Ireland used it in the early sixteenth century.
“And this is why I came to you.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes, Asher. Thank you. I’ll be in touch.”
“Of course, you will.” He escorted me out.
As I maneuvered my way through the London streets, I pondered what the crest could entail. If Laurence Haversham was connected to Charles Dover, then Laurence must have something to do with the murder. He could have been the one to leave the box at my door. But if so, why did he change his mind about me digging into this case?
And the woman who had followed me, was she an accomplice of the murderer or the victim or was she the murderer herself? I also needed to get my hands on that dagger. It might have held some sort of clue to the case. It seemed the amount of questions that needed to be answered outweighed the answers I had.
Instead of heading back to my flat after my call on Mr. Gravested, I figured I would look into the Haversham family. I set my course for the London Archives, which just so happened to be the right choice because I ran into Lucy in the ‘H’ room.
“Fancy seeing you here,” I said, tapping her shoulder.
“Oh, Kingsley, hello.” She looked up a tad bit surprised at my presence.
“Find anything of importance?” I inquired, grabbing the stack of papers and flipping through them.
“Family records have yielded nothing interesting… yet. I haven’t seen any birth certificates, but those are probably hidden somewhere.”
We worked in silence for four hours. There was plenty on the Haversham family, from land claims to financial records from thirty years ago. There, however, wasn’t much on Lawrence Haversham. We knew he was born in March of 1876, and he was heir to the Haversham fortune, other than that he had a clean trail.
The only intriguing thing about him was an entry Lucy found in an old journal of his mother’s. The entry mentioned a ‘surprise of dire circumstances’ and that she quote, ‘didn’t know what to do. There was no logical way to keep going forward.’ This was the last entry in the journal. So, with no other context on the ‘dire circumstance,’ we were left to speculation. Our search yielded little else on Haversham, but it was possible Lucy found the proverbial needle in a haystack when she came to me with a record of adoption from the ’D’ Room.
“Kingsley, I think I found something that might interest you.” When I didn’t respond, she continued, “This paper states that Charles H. Dover was adopted by a Mr. and Mrs. Dover of Southampton.”
“Hand me that… yes… It looks promising. Nice work, Lucy. It doesn’t tell us much, but knowing Dover was adopted could lead to more connections. Let’s call it a night!”
And with that, we took our findings from the journal and the adoption papers and took the Tube home.
After a grand night’s sleep, I brewed a cup of tea with my usual three sugar cubes and today added a tidbit of cream. I sat down to the morning paper, which sadly was uneventful and also held no further news on the Charles Dover murder. I suppose I was the only soul in the whole of the empire that was suspicious of Charles Dover’s sudden death.
I briefly reviewed the evidence in my mind. We had the mahogany box engraved with C.D. and the vine cross, which according to Mr. Gravested was part of the Haversham crest. I also had many incriminating messages from Lawrence Haversham or someone working for him. Our main dilemma was I didn’t have access to the dagger, which very well could be my murder weapon. If I had that in my hands, I could connect Haversham to the crime. In addition to all that, we had the papers from last night’s scavenger hunt in the archives. But to my immense fascination, none of these finds seemed to connect a dead body found in the Thames to anything in London. I have no suspects and no solid evidence. In the eyes of the law, I could hardly even scrape up a case file. I sighed. I sighed a second time. It was hopeless. There would be no solution to the Charles Dover murder.
With the morning post came a welcome surprise. It was, of course, Lucy with a brown paper parcel under one arm.
“I trust you’ve had your morning cup already?” Without waiting for an answer, she bumbled in the door and sat in my favorite smoking chair. I offered up no complaint, but inside I wished she had a different favorite thinking spot.
Lucy threw the package at me. When I didn’t catch it, she, annoyed, got up and retrieved it. She then handed it to me with a murmur that sounded suspiciously like ‘you’d think an old man could catch.’ I didn’t regard this comment as necessary, so pretending she didn’t say it, I tore the paper off the parcel, revealing a box. I opened the lid only to discover the mahogany dagger I’d heard so much about.
“How did you get this?” I was bewildered.
“You know better than to ask.”
“Fine, as long as it wasn’t illegal.”
“No comment.”
I scowled, and Lucy shrugged.
“Too easy of a picking.”
“I don’t want to know.”
“I wasn’t planning on telling.”
I scanned the weapon with speed, the mahogany handle and the silvery gleam of the blade suggested it had been cleaned recently. That also meant that there were no prints, not that prints would help much. All I needed to do now was compare the two wooden finds.
Lucy had read my mind. She fetched the engraved box from the drawer I was keeping it in, and as I expected, the woodcut matched. Both specimens were of the same mahogany gleam, both polished by a cloth within the last fortnight. Now comparing them I saw the crafter mark. An immensely tiny ‘H’ carved on the bottom of each piece.
“Any theories, Kingsley?” Lucy asked.
“There’s an identical crafter’s mark on each of these pieces, so they must have been made by the same person, or at least owned by the same person. I wish I had a better idea.”
“Kingsley, if you don’t mind, I had a thought this morning.”
“Sure, Lucy. Any thoughts help.”
“Well, I was thinking about the papers we found and the resemblance between Dover and Haversham, and I thought that they might just be brothers.”
“Lucy, that’s genius. Of course, they’re brothers. The journal entry might even go as far as to suggest that they’re twins! After all, twins aren’t a good fortune. My, my, Lucy, you’re rivaling Inspector Hampton for his job!” I shook my head. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.” I gave Lucy a bear hug. After all, she deserved it. This was our biggest breakthrough yet.
Just as Lucy came with the morning post, a perhaps unwelcome surprise came with the evening post. It was an envelope fashioned of the same material as all the mysterious cards I’d been receiving. The heavy paper weighed my spirit down. All this ink contained were threats and mystery. I was not looking forward to this next and hopefully final installment. My letter opener danced fervently under the seal, tapping the suspense to a tee. The paper slid out with my unsteady hand. Eyes grazed the contents, there for me to behold. A tulip flower glued upside down. No words, the flower spoke volumes. If Charles was truly alive, I had to find him, now.
He had scared Kingsley, all right. He watched the panic on Kingsley’s old face when he saw the present. The mystery man hoped he wouldn’t have to take an unnecessary life. It would be so tragic if London lost its former prodigy. Simply tragic, no one would ever recover.
The man hopped on the back of a black carriage, got off at Regents Park, and made his way towards the Zoological Gardens. He parked himself next to the lion’s den. The great king of beasts caged like this; proof even kings and rulers could be caught.
“Mi, lav nikad u kavezu.”
Now the real purpose of his visit. The meeting. His partner approached cautiously, her stature high and lofty, but careful.
“Why the lion?” She inquired.
“Even rulers can be dethroned,” he explained.
“Did you dethrone the ruler? Is that why you rescheduled the meeting?”
“My wishes have changed. Did you do what I asked?” He loved being ominous.
“The old man was scared quickly when I brought up Dayton.”
“Good, good, that’s what I wanted.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, who exactly is Dayton?”
“That’s for me to know and for you to discover.”
“If you say so, mister. How may I be of service now?”
“If my plan works, he should come looking for me, and when he does, we’ll make sure he doesn’t get a fairy tale ending.”
“You plan to kill him?” The bland nature of her statement entailed that she perhaps despised his plan.
“Only if he gets in the way, which he is right now.”
“As you wish, mister. Tell me if I’m needed again.” She left without a response.
Meeting adjourned.
I was roused from my sleep, by the telephone on my wall ringing, “Lucy this better be good.”
“It is, so, I followed a hunch and tailed Haversham from Regent Park to a party. I snuck in and managed to have a conversation with Laurie.”
“Laurie?”
“Excuse me, I meant Lawrence. I had to play my angle, which was a prospective lady… It was legal, I swear.”
I rolled my eyes. “Go on.”
“So, after cozying up a little, I got him to invite me to his birthday ball in three days.”
My eyes widened. “You aren’t thinking about going, are you?” I knew she shouldn’t go. But how to tell her?
“You want to find Dover, don’t you?”
“Yes… but Lucy…”
“Kingsley, this could be our only chance. Laurie is our biggest lead. We have to talk to him sometime.”
“Lucy, it’s too dangerous for you to go.”
“But he invited me!”
Our voices became louder with each word.
“Lucy… the day your father first placed you in my arms, he made me promise nothing would ever hurt you. When they died…”
“I’m not a kid anymore, Kingsley. You’re not my father. Not mine or Dayton’s. You never will be. Just let me grow up.”
She was pleading with me…
“I… Lucy… Please don’t bring Dayton into this…”
“You may have raised us, but you can’t order me around!
I had to knock some sense into her, “Lucy, they know who Dayton is, so they must know who you are… All these threats; Lucy, you can’t go. I won’t let you.”
Neither of us spoke a word.
“You and Dayton will come with me,”—she had made up her mind—“I will introduce you and you’ll figure out the rest. You need to solve this murder, Kingsley; You need a motive and a suspect. You taught me everything and I’m willing to take a risk.” I pondered her words. She was right, “Father would have wanted you to do this. ‘Justice upon justice’.”
“Fine, we’ll go inform Dayton of our plans.”
“Will do, see you there.”
“One more thing, Lucy…”—I heard the beep signaling the end of the call—“Be careful.”
Three nights later, I had nothing. No more threats or evidence, nothing. My final hope was to learn of some evil scheme of Mr. Haversham or to perhaps meet Charles Dover at his ball.
My afternoon cup of tea was a stress brew, five sugar cubes, and an overly abnormal amount of cream. I ironed my crimson tie and matching vest till they looked like paper. I had one chance; one shot to uncover the possible final clues to the Dover murder. I lifted up a silent prayer and hopped a train out of London to the Haversham estate.
When the train made its stop at my destination, the butterflies were recreating Lexington and Concord in my stomach. Just as our plan detailed, Dayton and Lucy awaited me on the platform. Lucy stared coldly at the ground, while Dayton, too, said nothing. He was not a man of many words, so that didn’t surprise me. Crickets hummed in the air until Lucy hailed a cab.
“Are you going to walk, Kingsley?” Dayton said when I didn’t get in the car.
“Mr. Chesterton doesn’t like automobiles,” Lucy offered.
“Well, then are you going to walk?”
My eyes met Lucy’s, “No, today I face a mountain of fears and anxieties. I can settle for a car just this once,” Lucy scoffed, the driver laughed, and Dayton offered his hand.
“Then in you come, old man!”
The ride was short, just a bumpy jaunt up a gravel drive. The Haversham mansion was exquisite. We were escorted up marble steps that were host to a red velvet carpet. Dayton and Lucy stood in awe; they’d never seen such a building in their lives.
The interior of the Manor was just as magnificent as the exterior, if not more elegant. The tall ceilings and Renaissance-era paintings depicted the already evident wealth of our host. We passed a portrait hall, which we bypassed, but was undoubtedly filled with paintings of the Haversham family. I resolved to get an invitation down there before we left tonight.
Our host was fairly easy to find once we entered the ballroom. Dressed head to toe in an emerald green ensemble, from his tie to his dress shoes, he looked like the Dales of Yorkshire right before dawn.
“Miss Delaney, glad you could make it.”
“Laurie, you promised to call me Lucy.”
“Oh, you’re right, I did. Well, who’d you bring with you?” Lawrence extended his hand to me, “I’m Lawrence Haversham. Some feel free to call me Laurie.”
I shook his hand. He had a steady grip, “Kingsley Chesterton, retired man.”
“Pleasure, Mr. Chesterton. I feel like I’ve heard of you before.”
“I’m not the kind of man you read of in the papers.”
“And this is my older brother, Dayton,” Lucy interjected. She gestured toward Dayton, who shook Lawrence’s hand.
Laurence drifted off, dragging Dayton along for the ride, “What do you do to make your money, pal?”
“He seems a little chipper for a possible criminal, don’t you think, Lucy?”
“Believe me, Dayton will be wishing he’d never come if he follows Laurie around all night.”
“Oh, I believe you. Lawrence seems intolerable.”
Lucy nodded slowly, “Do you have a plan?”
“Something along the lines of ‘I have no idea’.”
“Kingsley, if he’s really who you think he is, you’re going to need to plan.”
“I know, Lucy. I know.”
The night wore on.
I hadn’t got any information on Haversham or Dover. I talked to as many humans as would listen, to talk of murder at a celebration of life, but no one here knew Charles Dover or knew of him. By the time the estate clock sounded nine chimes, I started to feel like this excursion was useless. That was until the birthday boy himself sauntered over with a half-full drink in one hand and a full one in his other.
“Kingsley, I thought you might like a tour of my portrait gallery. Lucy said you’re quite the budding art enthusiast.” I was shocked. Lucy knew I wasn’t into art.
“I suppose I am,” I tried smiling through gritted teeth.
It didn’t work.
“Well, come with me then. Oh, and this is for you. I thought you could use a pick-me-up.” He passed over the drink and we set off.
I didn’t hear most of what he said on the way to the gallery. He blundered on and on about the paintings in his collection and how he had such a refined taste. I simply nodded and followed close behind. We finally arrived somewhere between his trips to Italy and his perfect betting streak.
“Well, perfect timing, here’s my collection.” He made a grand gesture down the lengthy hall.
Paintings lined every wall from top to bottom. Frames contained everything from dogs to dead pet raccoons. Lawrence made it his goal to share every backstory and every brushstroke with my ears.
“And that’s my grand… No great, great, great, grandfather… He was close friends with Edward the 4th… And this was my grandmother’s favorite riding saddle. It got impaled... Oh, and finally my father and mother. This painting was done right before she died...” I was so zoned out I barely even heard the last part of the sentence “... giving birth...the child…he didn’t live either....”
I collapsed.
Lucy was alone on the dance floor. Kingsley had disappeared, and Dayton was probably in a corner reading. Kingsley’s absence was what most concerned her. It wasn’t like him to disappear. And with all that he’d said during their phone call. She was scared, the last thing she wanted was her godfather found dead in the Thames. She had to do something.
Lucy exited the ballroom and wandered the halls of the Haversham estate. She stumbled upon a hallway with a bulky man standing outside a door towards the end. Lucy marched forward, planning to eliminate the guard. But he stopped her,
“You can’t go in there miss.”
Agh, a roadblock… “Laurie wanted me to see the captive.”
“He told me that no one was to go in.” the guard was not bugging.
She would have to use force, but taking down a massive man was something even Lucy doubted she could do. She would fight her war with words.
“Ah, Lucy, darling.”
Haversham.
“Why let the lady in? I gave her express permission.”
“Oh, sorry.” The guard moved out of the way and Laurie advanced and opened the door.
“After you,” Lucy passed through the door and the sight that greeted her was a very asleep Kingsley.
“What did you do to him?!?!” she exclaimed.
“He came, Lucy. I did nothing.”
“You liar! Set him free.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. And you won’t help him.”
“Why not…”
“Because I’m not going to let you out of this room until you accept my deal.”
“What do you want,” Lucy asked.
“I’ll let you take a message to Inspector Hampton, you’ll tell him, ’Dover has Kingsley, if you want your friend back, you’ll let a man by the name of Lawrence Haversham out of the country or lose Kingsley.’”
Lucy realized she was in no position to decline his offer, “And if I don’t?”
“Then Kingsley G. Chesterton will be engraved on a headstone outside your window.”
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
“Good girl, you have 3 hours to return or come back with a shovel,” Laurie let a sly, cocky smile graze his lips.
After taking one last look at Kingsley, Lucy sprinted out of the estate and toward the train station. She didn’t even bother buying a ticket, she had to save her friend.
“Wake up, old man.”
My eyes flickered open as a booted foot made contact with my leg again.
“OUCH!—”
It hit me. I was tied to a chair.
The rope itched my wrists and ankles, “Let me go!”
“Not a chance. The head man wants you here.”
“Tied to a chair?”
“You talk too much,” This voice was different from the burly guard’s deep tones, “Kingsley Chesterton, London’s protégé tied to a chair.”
“Haversham?”
“No, no. I thought you figured it out by now. Charles Dover.” He stuck his hand out for me to shake but then laughed, “Ha. You can’t shake my hand. Silly me.”
I instantly disliked this man, “You’re alive.”
“Yes, I know. Funny business life.”
“So, if you’re alive and you’re not Haversham—"
That’s when I made the connection. Dover hadn’t drowned in the Thames; the body was Laurence Haversham’s. Dover had killed Haversham and taken his place. But with me in this state, there was no way for me to alert a bobby or Scotland Yard of this discovery. I would have to escape.
Anyone walking down Whitehall Place at two am would have seen Lucy flying toward Scotland Yard. She banged the door, til its hinges shook with horror. Luckily, Janise was still there, and the metal door opened by her hand.
“Lucy!”
“Janise, I need to talk to Robert right now!”
“Why do you need him?”
“Janise, it’s Kingsley. I don’t have much time.”
“Robert left four minutes ago, I’m sorry. He headed toward Big Ben. Do you want me to call his place?”
“No, he couldn’t have gotten very far in four minutes.”
Then Lucy sprinted off in the direction of Big Ben.
I sat there.
I had been sitting in the same chair for a while now. I had no idea where I was. Charles hadn’t done anything to me since Lucy left, and that had been at least two hours ago. I wished Lucy would hurry up. I didn’t want to die, and this chair was cold.
The wooden door holding me here creaked open and Charles sauntered in,
“You enjoying these arrangements?”
I glowered at his dark figure, “You aren’t the worst host I’ve ever met.”
“Good, good. Lucy better hurry up,” he tossed his pistol back and forth, “Or I might have to use this…”
Lucy ran down the gas-lit streets toward a tallish figure, she only hoped could be Inspector Hampton.
“Inspector!”
The man turned toward Lucy, “Miss Delaney?!”
“Robert, it’s Kingsley. Dover has him!”
“You’re just as crazy as the old man! Charles Dover is dead!”
After that statement, he turned back to his path and trotted off.
“Inspector, you have to let a man by the name of Lawrence Haversham out of the country.”
“Miss Delaney, whatever game you’re playing you must stop. Pretending dead people are alive and have kidnapped old men is no sport.”
“I’m not playing any games! The man who showed up in the Thames two weeks ago was NOT Charles Dover! Rather it was his twin, Lawrence Haversham! Dover murdered Larie for the Haversham estate. Because Dover is the younger twin, he was exiled from the fortune. Inspector, how can you not believe this?! It’s clearly a murder,” Lucy was screaming at this point, “We need to save Kingsley!”
Inspector Hampton stopped. He took a deep breath,
“If Kingsley is really kidnapped…”
“Which he is…”
“Then take me to him.”
The pair hailed a cab to Kings Cross Station. Neither of them was prepared for the events of the next five hours. Neither of them got on that train with a plan. And neither of them—
The tension hung thick in the musty air. Lucy and Dover stared holes through each other. I was flattered that they cared this much about an old man like me. But beyond flattery, this standoff was for my life and the immediate justice of a murderer. Inspector Hampton was here too; standing in the dark corner, surveying the battle, hopefully thinking of ways to get me out of here.
“You know, staring at each other is not going to free me.”
“You are in no position to speak, Kingsley,” Dover stated.
“I suppose not, but I’m rather tired of this chair.”
“I’m working on it, old man. What do you really want, Dover?” the Inspector asked. “I doubt you just want to leave the country.”
“Finally, some productivity in this room. Well, now that I have my money back I can do whatever I want. The only problem—”
The door burst down at that moment, with who but Dayton behind it. Various versions of ‘Dayton!’, ’Who is that?’, and ’What is going on?’ filled the room.
“The problem is me. Hello, Kingsley, Lucy, Inspector.” Dayton tipped an imaginary hat to us.
“Dayton, I thought you headed back home, what are you doing?” Lucy perking up, mused
“Finishing a task I started a while ago.” Our confused faces prompted an explanation from Dayton. “I never told you who I worked for. And there’s a good reason for that. Last year a buddy of mine got a call from a mystery person, inviting us to join a secret club of sorts. Well, that club turned out to be a government-run organization known as the Secret Intelligence Bureau. Our first mission was to investigate a suspicious purchase made by this very estate. That led me to follow a trail of fraud and stolen artifacts. All led to a man known as Lawrence Haversham. Which I presume are you,” he pointed at Dover, “Mr. Charles Dover, also known as Lawrence Haversham, you are under arrest for the charges of murder, theft, and fraud. Along with a slew of other things I don’t wish to mention.”
At that instant, my chair was thrown toward the Inspector, who, anticipating Dover’s will to escape, had drawn his knife. Just as the inspector let the blade fly from his grip, he realized his mistake. The blade made contact with my scalp. I felt the blood drip from my head to my hands to the ground.
Lucy rushed to my aid, but it was too late. I felt myself slipping away.
I guessed this is what death felt like.
Secret Intelligence Bureau report
16/8/1910
Agent 157: Delaney, D.
Case: 7
– The Haversham fraud case
Agent 157: “The case is still ongoing. Dover is a wanted man. All of England is looking for him. He will not get far.”
C: “How could you have let him escape?”
Agent 157: “Other things were happening.”
C: “Dayton you’re a good man. What happened to Kingsley is not your fault.”
Agent 157: “Yes, sir.”
C: “And, Dayton…”
Agent 157: “Yes, sir?”
C: “Take a break. Come back to the case later.”
Agent 157: “Yes, sir.”
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