‘They tried. But what could they do? It was just a typewritten letter with no address on it. Anyone could have sent it.’
‘Do you still have the letter?’ Augusta asked.
Mrs Stanton nodded.
‘Where did the postmark say it had been posted from?’
‘Birmingham.’ She sighed. ‘And that’s where the trail goes cold. So I don’t know what can be done about it. Nothing I suppose.’ A pause followed before she spoke again. ‘You’re a private detective, you say?’
‘Yes. And your brother’s disappearance has intrigued me since I read about it. I don’t understand how a young man can vanish like that. I visited you today hoping that you’d since discovered what had happened to him. But for him to have been missing for ten years…’
‘I no longer hold out any hope he’s still alive. If he was, then I would have heard from him. A few years ago we applied to a court to have him declared dead. It’s possible to do that once seven years have passed since someone went missing. It was a very difficult thing to do, but it was the only way the probate could be settled.’
‘And this flat was once his flat?’
‘Yes. It legally belongs to me and my husband now, but we moved in here a few months after Alexander went missing. I couldn’t bear to see it sitting empty.’
Having visited the Stanton’s previous address in Camden, Augusta knew this flat was superior in both size and location.
‘Apparently, John Gibson reported Alexander’s disappearance to the police, too,’ said Augusta.
‘Yes, he called on me when he was looking for Alexander. He persuaded the police to break in the door of this flat to check if Alexander was here. He wasn’t, of course.’
‘Did you know John Gibson died five months later in an accident at Baker Street station?’
‘Did he? How awful. I didn’t know that. Life can be cruel sometimes.’
‘And so can people, Mrs Stanton. I want to find the person who sent you that letter pretending to be your brother.’
Jane Stanton gave her a thin smile. ‘Well, that’s very admirable, Mrs Peel. But it was ten years ago. I’m afraid you don’t have any hope of succeeding.’
Chapter 9
‘I had some success in the library yesterday evening,’ said Fred when Augusta arrived back at her shop. ‘I had to work quickly, though, because it was almost closing time. My notes are quite scribbled.’
‘But you managed to find a report of John Gibson’s inquest?’
‘Yes. A few, actually.’
‘Excellent!’
A customer entered the shop. He was a tall man with thick-lensed spectacles. He peered myopically at the shelves and Augusta went to his assistance. After he had left with a book about Britain’s cathedrals, she went back to Fred and his notebook.
‘It happened in November 1911,’ he said. ‘There was quite a lot of detail in the reports. Interestingly, the witnesses differed in their opinions about what had happened. Everyone agreed the platform was crowded at the time because it was morning rush hour. John Gibson was going to his job at the Great Western Railway headquarters at Paddington station. He travelled there every day on the Metropolitan Railway from Baker Street station. One witness said he’d seen Mr Gibson on the track as the train was pulling into the station.’
‘Oh no.’ Augusta shuddered.
‘Another witness said he’d purposefully jumped in front of the train as it had arrived.’
‘Really?’
‘And another witness said they hadn’t seen him fall in front of the train, but he’d heard people on the platform screaming when it happened. A station master gave evidence and described how busy the platform could get at that time in the morning. He said if someone was trying to walk along the platform, they were forced to do so on the platform edge. It was therefore easy for them to be accidentally nudged onto the tracks. The train driver said he saw Mr Gibson jump.’
‘Goodness. So it’s difficult to determine exactly what happened.’
‘The coroner questioned Mr Gibson’s father and a friend who both testified that he’d been happy and had no thoughts of suicide.’
‘So he couldn’t have jumped as the train driver and one of the witnesses suggested.’
‘The coroner gave the verdict of death by misadventure.’
‘An accident, as John Gibson’s sister told me,’ said Augusta. ‘But the word “misadventure” suggests there was some fault on Mr Gibson’s part.’
‘Perhaps it describes the fact he went too close to the platform edge?’
‘Yes, I suppose that’s right. But it sounds like he had little choice if the platform was crowded.’
Augusta fed some seed to Sparky as she thought.
‘Did the coroner discuss the possibility Mr Gibson had been pushed?’ she asked Fred.
‘It wasn’t mentioned in the reports I read.’
‘But it’s still possible, don’t you think? A deliberate push may not be obvious when there are a lot of people on the platform. It could have been a slight nudge, couldn’t it? If he was standing close to the platform edge, it may not have taken much to make him overbalance.’
‘I agree. But if the platform was very busy, then it could have been an accident, couldn’t it? Someone could have knocked into him.’
‘But no one admitted they did,’ said Augusta.
