‘Why did he do this?’ asked Lady Hereford.
‘I think it was the same man who took the letters from my flat,’ said Augusta. ‘Someone must have asked him to do it. I saw him again outside my flat and I wanted to speak to him.’
‘You should have called the police,’ said Lady Hereford. ‘You can’t take matters into your own hands.’
‘I just wanted to find out who he was and who he was working for.’
‘You’re not going to try that again, are you?’ said Lady Hereford. ‘You’ve got these two fine young men to call upon next time.’
‘I thought it would be straightforward.’
She felt a wave of nausea wash over her. A pain throbbed in the left side of her chest, and she realised perhaps she should rest after all.
‘Don’t you worry about anything, Augusta,’ said Fred, as if reading her mind. ‘We can look after everything for you until you’ve recovered. Including Sparky. He’s been quite happy at my home, and he enjoyed meeting my mother.’
‘Thank you, Fred. That’s very kind of you. There’s something I want to look into. If you get a chance, please can you look up the trial of Dr Jackson? It was about ten years ago.’
‘Of course.’
‘Augusta…’ warned Lady Hereford. ‘You’re not to discuss your detective work while lying unwell in a hospital bed.’
‘Alright then. I’ll get some rest now.’
‘Please do. The sooner you rest, the sooner you’ll be out of here again.’
Chapter 48
Robert Stanton folded his arms and jutted his jaw at Detective Sergeant Joyce and Inspector Whitman.
‘I’ve just been widowed,’ he said. ‘And you’re treating me like a criminal.’
‘We have a few more questions to ask,’ said the inspector. ‘We’ve spoken with your friend Walter Ferguson and the conversation raised something which we need to clarify with you. This won’t take long.’
Robert sighed. ‘Jane’s death was an accident. There’s nothing more to tell you.’
‘Walter Ferguson has confirmed the pair of you met for a drink in the Westmoreland Arms public house on the evening of your wife’s death,’ said Detective Sergeant Joyce.
‘Good.’
‘You told us you met at eight o’clock.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Mr Ferguson told us you met at nine o’clock.’
Robert’s heart sank but he tried to show no reaction. What was Walter doing? He had agreed to be his alibi!
‘So, can you tell me which time is correct, Mr Stanton?’
‘Eight o’clock.’
‘So it’s your word against his, then. You say eight and he says nine. Some people would suggest I’m being petty and could let this pass. However, it’s impossible to do so because your wife fell from your apartment at half-past eight. So if you met Mr Ferguson at eight o’clock, then you’re in the clear. If you met him at nine o’clock, then your time is unaccounted for at the time of your wife’s death.’
Robert smiled, attempting to ease the tension in the room. ‘I can see what this looks like, Detective. But this is just a misunderstanding between Mr Ferguson and me. I’m adamant that we arranged to meet at eight o’clock. I got there for eight, and I think he was a little late.’
‘An entire hour late?’
‘No, not that long. But enough that I suppose he has it in his mind that we met at nine. That’s the only thing I can think of. I can’t think how else to explain why he says one time and I say the other.’
He didn’t like the way the detective held his gaze. But he smiled again, hoping it would show what an amiable chap he was.
‘Let’s assume for a moment that it was closer to nine o’clock when you met Mr Ferguson,’ said Detective Sergeant Joyce. ‘Is there anyone else who can provide you with an alibi before nine o’clock that evening?’
‘No.’
‘So you have no alibi for the time of your wife’s death. Don’t you agree that looks rather suspicious, Mr Stanton?’
‘It may look suspicious, but it isn’t. Just because my friend refuses to provide me with an alibi from eight o’clock onwards that evening doesn’t mean that it’s suspicious. I was in the pub with Walter Ferguson. I got there before him, and he came along a little later. But I had nothing to do with my wife’s death. It was an accident. How many times do I need to say that?’
The detective stroked his hairless chin. ‘I’m sure you can appreciate that our discussion with Walter Ferguson has given us a new understanding of your whereabouts that evening, Mr Stanton. I’m afraid if you can’t prove where you were at half-past eight that evening, then you will remain our main suspect.’
‘I was in the Westmoreland Arms!’ Robert shook his head and tried to remain calm. ‘This is ridiculous.’
He had trusted Walter, but the man had let him down. It wouldn’t have been difficult to tell the police eight instead of nine. The man was clearly scared of lying to them.
‘Were you in the vicinity of King’s Cross station yesterday, Mr Stanton?’
‘No. Why?’
