The Statue of Three Lies Read online

  When he and Freddie had, eventually, arrived back at the spacious flat in South Kensington for a nightcap and a final chinwag The Prof had thanked his lucky stars for a friend he could trust implicitly and for their weekly get-together.

  Commuting daily from his Cotswold home to the major race meetings around the country Freddie still looked forward to his visit to London each week to meet The Prof for a tete-a-tete that often led to investment opportunity, exchange of ideas on a wide range of topics and the odd difference of opinion.

  But that was yesterday and the small hours of today - Friday, 28th October 1966.

  Professor Giles Dawson was now travelling back to Scotland to wrestle with, what would be, one of the most complex puzzles he had ever faced? Little did he know that Freddie’s statement of last night: “You look as if you’ve just seen a ghost!” might turn out to be closer to the truth than had been intended?

  The Prof, his eyelids beginning to close, had no great desire to fight against the soporific effect of neither the rhythmic noise of the train’s wheels nor the added fatigue of a night on the town with Freddie.

  He left his fellow travellers to their crosswords and paperback novels and drifted off into oblivion.

  Bliss was the next stop.

  ’...To waken the dead!’ The Prof surfaced from his deep slumber as a result of those outspoken thoughts of a benign, elderly clergyman who’d been struggling with The Times’ crossword until shaken into action.

  ‘Good heavens above!’ The clergyman adjusted the spectacles, askew on his florid face; his words almost drowned out by the disembodied voice of a would-be town crier.

  ‘Crewe! Crewe junction! Crewe!’

  The voice informed all within a radius of several miles.

  ‘Bless my soul! Will you listen to that? Loud enough - to waken the dead!’ The sermon continued from ‘florid face’. Doors banged, whistles shrilled and last minute goodbyes were proffered, to the ritual of a flag-waving guard. Seconds later the London-to-Glasgow express juddered a couple of times then gathered speed on the next stage of the journey north.

  During the hour or so that followed, as the train stopped at, or sped through, stations between Crewe and Carlisle and across the border into Scotland, The Prof allowed his thoughts to wander into the past and to gaze into the crystal ball of the future. Reminiscences included meeting Freddie at an RAF Station near Liverpool and going together to watch The Grand National at Aintree, in 1947, when 100/1 outsider Caughoo appeared out of the dense fog, to win the race, with the favourite, Prince Regent, in fourth place.

  It was, however, the outcome of this next venture into the fog and mist surrounding the death of Illusionist, Jack Ramsden, which was uppermost in his mind.

  The verdict “Death by Misadventure” was somehow a phrase he’d never have associated with the master of Maskelyne Hall - but why had it taken so long for Laura to come to the same conclusion? Why was she calling for his help? He was no detective: all his experience of what seemed to be another “locked-room” mystery had been gleaned from reading classic detective fiction. Come to think of it, that might not be detrimental. The historical know-how of hocus-pocus and the jiggery-pokery of Magic might prove to be the essential ingredients required to solve what really happened in this baffling mystery. The commonsense of Freddie might also be invaluable as partner and ally.

  As the express slowed, approaching the station at Lockerbie, the sleepy town in Dumfries-shire, Scotland, The Prof removed his bags from the rack, put on his warm Crombie overcoat and prepared to cross swords with his unknown archenemy. A murderer who, seemingly, could vanish into thin air!

  Chapter 2

  THE GENIE OF THE LAMP

  The Prof stepped down on to an almost deserted platform - almost, but not quite. About twenty yards away, with her back towards him, a young woman stood and scanned the train. She was dressed in black; pencil slim skirt, jacket, stockings and high-heeled shoes that accentuated legs of eye-catching shape.

  He could not help but admire what he saw; she had a figure an archbishop would kick a hole in a stained glass window to look at! She turned to face him with the easy deportment of a professional dancer or of someone well used to theatrical appearances.

  He barely had time to feast his eyes on the pristine whiteness of her blouse and her gorgeously symmetrical face framed with auburn hair in which titian highlights danced disturbingly before he capitulated to her magnetic chemistry.

  The Prof stared at her as she smiled back at him. Then he turned away as he felt the red flush invade his cheeks. He was looking for someone much older ...and male! Surely old George would be there to meet him. George...lodge keeper, groom, gardener and handyman extraordinaire, had always been “old” George since those heady wartime days when Giles and the others were young and carefree. George, despite his prematurely white hair, was in his forties’s then and would now be a spry sixty something. Yes - he’d be there all right - Laura had said so on the phone. “George will pick you up with the station wagon,” she’d said. Her exact words! Now where the hell was he?

  He was startled out of his reverie by the sound of high heels.

  ‘Giles? Can that really be you?’

  He turned and looked into the most attractive face he’d gazed at in years. Her hazel eyes twinkled mischievously as she repeated ‘Giles? Of course it’s you! I’d have known that blush anywhere and you were staring at me. Didn’t you recognise me? Little me?’

  ‘I...well...!’

  He dropped both bags and fought hard for his composure.

  ‘Your voice hasn’t changed much, Laura. But you were only twelve when I last saw you, and you weren’t packaged in quite the same way then as you so obviously...! What did you say? I was staring at you! Yes, I was, wasn’t I?’

  ‘Yes, my dear Giles! But please don’t let that cramp your style. I’m going to enjoy having the attention of a man for a few days. I seem to scare most of them off!’

  ‘I doubt that!’

  ‘Grab your luggage; compliments can wait! Let me drive you home to meet the others. You look exhausted after your journey!’

  Laura kissed Giles on the cheek, turned on her heels and led the way out to the car.

  Then, and only then, as he picked up his bags, did he become aware that he was standing in an empty station.

  The ghost train had somehow, silently and unnoticed left for Glasgow.

  The Prof almost ran the short distance out of the station.

  The autumn light was already beginning to fade although it was only mid afternoon; the station wagon was nowhere to be seen. In its place was a Jaguar XK150 sports car in bright yellow with red upholstery. The delicious Laura, clad in black, matching the Jaguar’s hood, stood at the open boot.

  ‘Pop your luggage in here Giles, and I’ll show you how this little number performs! And do me a favour.’ Laura giggled infectiously. ‘When you’ve picked up your jaw, before it trips you, there’s something you should know! You have a red mark on your cheek and it’s fairly obvious you didn’t cut it shaving! So let me remove the evidence before you have some explaining to do.’

  Giles gazed into the little compact she held in front of his nose.

  ’How did that get there?’ he said as Laura, with the deft movement of a manicured thumb made the mark, shaped like a woman’s lips, disappear.

  ‘Strange,’ he muttered and put a hand to his cheek. ‘Ready when you are, Miss Ramsden!’

  Once they were both comfortably settled into the sports car Laura manipulated the Jaguar into exhilarating life and, with a minimum of slick movement, started Giles on a tour of childhood memories.

  The car made a sharp left turn at the newsagent where Giles, as a boy, had prepared his paper-round - the town hall, on the right, venue of The Hunt Ball - the library where, during the war, he’d poured over The Illustrated London News and the cinema where he’d spent many times watching the projectionist check, and repair, reels of film with an eager anticipation for small frag
ments of celluloid.

  Up over the railway bridge and climbing above the sleepy town, Laura was soon heading right on the B7068.

  ‘You’ve been very quiet! What do you think of it, Mister Professor, Sir?’

  ‘I’m still trying to get my breath back, and I’m sure I left my stomach behind when we crossed the bridge!’

  ‘Tut, tut! What do you think of the car, Giles? Do you like it?’

  ‘It beats anything I’ve experienced. Good job the hood isn’t down though as we’d have difficulty holding a conversation over the rush of air.’

  ‘We must try that sometime. I mean drive with the hood down ; we won’t need to talk.’

  Giles felt the power as the car gathered speed. He glanced at the speedometer then at his companion; she was in total control and enjoying her moment of exhibitionism. Talking was the last thing on The Prof’s mind during the next minute or two.

  ‘What are you thinking now, Giles?’

  ‘I’m thinking!’ He swallowed hard. ‘I’m thinking.. .this was the stretch of road where I had problems with hill starts, when I was learning to drive, many moons ago!’

  Laura eased her foot off the accelerator.

  ‘But the speed, my dear professor! Did you enjoy that?’

  ‘Let me just say this, young woman. I well remember, as a boy, camping with the Scouts, near the river; a lot of us went down with the trots after eating tinned rhubarb and, a few moments ago, when you had the foot down, I realised you don’t need tinned rhubarb to get the same symptoms.’She burst into another fit of the giggles as she slowed and turned off to the left, careful to avoid the sheer drop on the right plunging down to some menacing trees.

  ‘We’re nearly home!’ Laura looked across at Giles and smiled.

  Another left turn through an entrance flanked by stone pillars. The iron gates that had hung from the pillars had been removed to help the war effort and never replaced.

  They drove slowly past the lodge - home to George and Doreen Gardner. Smoke was spiralling from a chimney but there was no sign of anyone. The Prof imagined “old” George Gardner, Gee-Gee as he was sometimes known, would be somewhere in the grounds clearing leaves or some such task and his wife, Doreen, housekeeper and cook at the big house, would probably be up there preparing afternoon tea. Giles couldn’t wait to see buxom Doreen again and sample some of her goodies.

  Round the next bend Laura stopped the car. That was where he had his first sight of Maskelyne Hall in over twenty years.

  ‘A sight for sore eyes! That’s twice in the last half hour!’ he said, turning to Laura.

  He looked at the house again. ‘It looks smaller than it did; but then everything looked big when we were kids!’

  ‘It’s great to have you back, Giles! You don’t know how much I need you! I can’t understand why we’ve waited so long!’

  Her voice was softer than before.

  ‘Can I ask you something, Laura?’ He took her hand and squeezed hard.

  ‘You know you can!’

  ‘I didn’t mention it when I phoned you...when was it...last night? God knows, it seems ages ago!’

  ‘Start asking then, my dear Professor.’

  ‘What was the real purpose of the riddle in your letter to me?’

  ‘I had a pretty good idea that, if you were too busy to answer my other distress calls, the riddle might just be the catalyst that would bring you here. You solved the riddle I assume?’

  ’If you mean The Womb and The Tomb, the answer would be...yes! But there’s more to it than that. Am I right?’

  ‘You know you are! And that’s why you’re here! We can talk about that later!’

  She put the car into gear and drove towards the house. When they stopped on the gravel outside the main entrance Giles leaned across and whispered in her ear.

  ‘Do you really think you asked the right person to come and help you?’

  ‘No, I don’t just think I asked the right person..! know I did! Now, let me look at you! Yes, you’ll do! You’re quite presentable! Let’s go and meet the others!’

  The smell of freshly-made scones that pervaded the nostrils as Giles followed Laura into the house made him mindful he’d hardly eaten anything since leaving his South Kensington flat, in a rush, that morning.

  Laura took his coat, hung it on the hallstand and, opening the door on the right, said ‘Pop in here for a moment, Giles. Make yourself at home and I’ll check if Mother is having her afternoon nap! Better still, why don’t you visit the kitchen and give cook a surprise! Mrs. Gardner will be delighted to see you again. I’ll be with you shortly.’

  Laura turned and headed for the lounge on her left. As she crossed the hall, she called back ‘If you play your cards right cook might offer you something to whet your appetite and, I promise you, it won’t be tinned rhubarb!’

  She went into the lounge and closed the door silently behind her.

  The Prof walked down the corridor towards the rear of the house passing the library on the way. He put his head round the open doorway of the kitchen.

  ‘Cooee! Anyone at home?’

  Mrs. Gardner put a hand up to her ample bosom and turned with a startled expression on her face.

  ‘Bless my soul!’ she said. ‘You gave me such a fright! Hallowe’en isn’t until Monday! Can I help you, young man?’

  ‘I’m just a poor beggar man who is down on his luck!’ Giles mimicked with a mock quaver in his voice. ‘Do you think I could sample one of your goodies! I haven’t eaten one of those for twenty years!’

  By this time Giles was on his knees and Mrs. Gardner, with arms akimbo and her whole body shaking with laughter, entered into the spirit of the charade.

  ‘Good heavens! Arise Sir Giles - some beggar man, indeed - a professor of something or other I understand and, a starving professor at that, if I’m not mistaken!’ She helped him to his feet. ‘Come now, give me a great big hug and you can have one of my buttered scones and some home-made jam.’

  ‘I’ll go along with that!’ The Prof put his arms around the cuddly cook.

  ‘And so you should!’ Laura appeared at the kitchen door. ‘Mother’s having forty winks at the moment. Grab yourself a quick nibble then I’ll take you up to your room.’

  He crammed one of cook’s warm delights into his eager mouth and followed Laura out of the kitchen.

  ‘Afternoon tea will be ready in half-an-hour!’

  Cook’s parting words made him smile; it was just like it used to be in the good old days.

  Giles collected his bags from Laura’s car and found her waiting at the top of the stairs, when he came back in.

  ‘Up here Giles.’

  He took the stairs two-at-a-time but Laura was already outside his bedroom, on the right, and had his door open when he caught up with her.

  ‘You’ll find everything you need in here. There’s a bathrobe in the wardrobe, and plenty of hot water, if you want a bath to freshen up. The bathroom, if you remember, is just along to your right. See you downstairs in half-an-hour.’

  The Prof unpacked, undressed, donned the blue bathrobe and padded along, in his bare feet, for the bath that was so inviting.

  He started to run the bath and had a good look round the bathroom that was totally unfamiliar to him. It had obviously undergone alterations since he had last used the place.

  The bath was luxurious. Longer and wider than before, and somehow appeared to be more sunken than he remembered. A style he had always thought was for him. There was a shower unit in one corner and a large bathroom cabinet had been fixed to the outside wall. The cabinet seemed to contain everything you could want as far as toilet luxury was concerned.

  All The Prof wanted, at this moment, was a good soak to ease the tiredness, and that’s exactly what he got.

  A good soak. A few minutes of tranquility, and time to reflect.

  Murder seemed so far away. But that’s why he was here!

  The Prof knocked on the lounge door and entered. He was dressed in
black polo neck and charcoal slacks.

  Laura rose and said, ‘Come in Giles. You remember Mother?’

  ‘Hello, Mrs. Ramsden. Please don’t get up! You know...you haven’t changed. It’s wonderful to be back!’

  ‘And the boys, of course?’

  ‘Ah, yes - Victor and Conrad - now which is which?’

  ‘Hardly boys, Mother!’ Victor held out his hand. ‘Victor, at your service.’

  ‘Victor thinks he’s a man of the world; now he’s single again.’ Conrad clasped Giles round the shoulders. ‘Allow me to introduce my wife. Mabel, meet Giles, or should I say, Professor Dawson?’Giles gave Conrad’s wife a peck on the cheek. ‘My pleasure!’ he said.

  ‘Which reminds me,’ Victor sneered. ‘Congrats Professor.. .but Professor of what? I’m sure we’d all like to hear how that came about.’

  ‘You’d be bored to tears, I wager!’ Giles studied the smirk on Victor’s face.

  ‘Blow your trumpet for a change, Giles.’ Laura said. ‘Even Victor might be impressed.’

  ‘Well I did warn you! So don’t blame me!’ The Prof took a deep breath.... ‘After wangling my demob I went to Oxford and read History. My first love was stage magic; your father had a lot to do with that, and I’d done a bit of entertaining in the services. By then I was a member of The Magic Circle and, at varsity, I delved into the History of the Great Illusionists. Everything seemed to work in parallel. I finished up with my PhD, and was offered the chair. Then, in 1952, I went on a lecture tour of Australia. That made my mind up. I returned home and decided to continue lecturing. The rest is history.’ Victor started a slow handclap.

  Giles looked him straight in the eyes. ‘I have one regret. I was unable to attend your father’s funeral. I’m so sorry!’ He turned his gaze to Mrs. Ramsden. ‘The only consolation I have...! It was your husband that started me on an adventure of mystery. I’ll be forever grateful for that!’

  ‘So father was good for something.. .or someone!’ Victor’s words were chilling.