The long evening of Kandahar house seems like a distant memory after the several weeks that had passed for Marion and Reginald. Reginald spending much of his time trying to write his memoirs, yet struggling with how best to paint the picture of events that had befallen himself and his colleague as to not be seen as a raving lunatic to whomever read his works.
Marion continued his work at the Morgue, taking on less responsibility as his interest in appeasing Dr Spencer taking up less of his attention. It was a wet afternoon in November when Marion and Reginald met for their fortnightly trip to Mercy Hill, roughly three hours from London by train, Albrook Asylum, to see Colonel Hollingsworth who was recovering slowly within the premises. As the two of them sat with the Colonel, his face suffering from palsy, his body not responsive, sitting in his wheelchair. The only signs of life from him, the vague concern that crossed his facial expression whenever Reginald and Marion entered, as if triggering a memory.
After an hour with the Colonel, Marion and Reginald excused themselves, the hallway offering them a grand surprise. Ramona Hollingsworth was visiting her husband when she ran into the two men, asking them to wait for her as she had business to address with them. Curious, Marion and Reginald took a seat in the waiting area where they were met by Ramona shortly after, who asked them to accompany her in a carriage to an establishment where they could have lunch.
As Ramona, Marion and Reginald sat around a circular table within the restaurant Ramona had frequented since her husband’s treatment.
The amount was substantial, clearly a percentage of the sale of Kandahar house and what looked like much of the gains that could be traced through the illegal channels Hollingsworth had been using, Ramona not wanting anything to do with the funds. Taker her leave from the two after their business had been concluded, Reginald and Marion discussed how best to distribute the funds they were now in control of, Reginald thinking that Marion could best benefit from new lodgings and clothing to better suit his infiltration into higher society. Marion joked that with the cases they had been assisting with, they should go into business for themselves as ‘Enquiry Agents”, consultants for Scotland Yard.
Reginald was as excited as a child flying a kite for the first time at the thought of becoming an enquiry agent, what started in jest was turning into a serious reality.
*
Reginald heard a knock on his door as the damp December rain was setting in, the familiar face of his Real Estate consultant entered his sitting room with Singh. Reginald having set his agent to task in finding a modest office space for the Consulting Agency he had in mind for his new career as an Enquiry Agent.
Marion retained his role at the Morgue, however only spending a couple of hours each morning to help arrange records and perform the occasional autopsy when Dr Spencer was otherwise occupied.
Turning much of his attention to finding smaller and somewhat “normal” cases for himself and Reginald to assist with, any of which that did not attract the attention of Scotland Yard, Marion tasking himself with building a somewhat reputation before opening an office as solid investigators.
Reginald accompanied his realtor to the North East of London, he had found something that he believed suitable, a six storey building where the ground floor was available, already set up as a joint living and business premises with front and rear access, a rear courtyard and across the way from a medical hospital for deceases of the throat. Golden Square, Soho. Sending word to Marion, Reginald was smitten with the property, deciding that this was perfect for what they were wanting. Marion arrived at Golden Square to see an excited Reginald shaking hands with his realtor, Reginald sighting him and nearly yanking his shoulder from the socket as he rushed Marion inside to look around. The set up was perfect, a modest kitchen, large meeting room already complete with library and 4 bedrooms plus a sitting room. Reginald sat Marion in one of the arm chairs in the main room, deciding to contact his accountant who was keeping a close eye on their new account, he wanted to buy this property as a permanent place for Marion to live and a business for them to work from.
Another week of planning, renovation, decorating and settling in saw Reginald comfortably sitting in the newly converted living area under the warm red glow of his regimental flag. Marion making himself at home in the kitchen having converted one of the bedrooms into his private library, the master bedroom where he slept and two guest rooms in case of emergency.
Singh also found himself a place to be comfortable, the sitting room of the property was an ideal place for someone to refocus in the near silence. Marion encouraging Singh to make the room his own for whenever he needed it, Singh having saved Marion’s life on more than one occasion, allowing him the chance to have a break from the constant yammering of Reginald seemed the least he could do in appreciation.
Marion took the time to introduce himself to the medical facility at the rear of the building, advising that he was available to assist in case of a medical emergency, the facilitators there less than enthused that a potential competitor, and ‘new money’ professional was moving in next door.
*
Reginald was very pleased with himself at the acquisition of his new business cards, his name the predominant feature on the “Lockhart and Collins” print, Collins in much smaller writing. Marion, although disappointed at the cards, knew that it was always going to be so, the predictable nature of Reginald’s character always dominant. A ring at the office door saw Singh advise Reginald of a visitor, Fordyce, Colonel Hollingsworth’s former butler stood in the doorway. Advising that as Lady Hollingsworth was relocating, she had several items she thought should be passed to the two men. Accepting the package from Fordyce, Reginald was pleased to see a folded regimental flag,
looking immediately around the office for the perfect place to hang it, making a joke that it should hang over Marion’s bed in his private bedroom.
Reginald had been spending much of his time developing professional contacts when it came to running a business, securing the services of an accountant, solicitor and general advisors. Marion turned his attention to the more obscure, spending much of his time reading over the lore of the occult in London, making contact with several, self-advertised mediums, fortune tellers and general occult researchers. After spending weeks interviewing the potential “experts” in the field, one man stood out as a genuine individual, an older gentleman by the name of Godfrey Williamson, an occultist who had dedicated his life to studying the supernatural and strange nature of things. After several meetings with Godfrey, Marion began to share facts and information regarding the cases Reginald and he had investigated.
Being in constant contact, Godfrey extended an invitation to Marion and Reginald to join him at a party to be held in the evening the following night. The information regarding the Egyptian case they had most recently experienced, Godfrey stating that there may be guests at the party with more knowledge on the subject who would be good to speak to.
*
The invitation was hand delivered by messenger to Marion and Reginald, issued by John Bidwell, an infamous explorer and adventurer. His residence located in illustrious residential area of St John’s Woods, specifically Blenheim Terrace, where only the extremely wealth can afford.
John Bidwell was a man known of by both Reginald and Marion, building his wealth through shipping and as a successful entrepreneur. A rumour had been circulating regarding his sudden withdrawal from society, spending months out of the public eye, Marion had heard the name several times through half spoken sentences that he had overheard when visiting Colonel Hollingsworth. Bidwell had been residing in the asylum for the past several months, a fact not common knowledge as advertising such information was not the conduct of a gentleman.
Handing their invitations to the doorman, both Reginald and Marion were introduced upon entry, their names barely gaining any notice to the scattered crowd. Observing the scene, Marion was amazed at the wonderfully ornate marble designs, bannisters and railings of a large circular staircase leading to the second floor. Reginald heard the snap of polished wooden floors under his heel as he entered the main ballroom where much of the crowd had gathered. Taking a drink from one of the waiters, Reginal looked for a familiar face, anyone he may recognise as he was still unsure if he would know any of the other guests. Marion moved his way through the crowd towards where he could see chefs serving a beautiful array of food to the guests. Looking around the ballroom, several familiar faces of government officials and celebrities began to appear along with many of the men Marion had either enquired about or tried to get an appointment with from the general occult society.
Spotting Godfrey Williamson, Marion moved across to where he was standing, Williamson taking the time to begin showing his around and introducing him to many of the other guests who also took particular interest in the occult.
Williamson pointing out the home secretary who was in a corner speaking with the police chief, Bram Stoker and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle also stuffing their faces in separate area while deep in conversation. Reginald spotted the familiar coat of a military man, Retired Colonel Albert Hardwick, Reginald gravitating to the retired Colonel in an attempt to blend in.
The noticeable absence of the host John Bidwell seemed to be one of the main topics on conversation heard around the room. Marion taking Godfrey aside, he enquired as to why the invitation was extended to them. Godfrey explaining that was one of the best places to begin networking in the area of the occult within London’s higher circles. Taking the information at face value, Marion began circulating through the crowd, fresh calling cards in hand. Several of the high society members ignoring or pointing their noses up at Marion, on these occasions, Marion would take back his calling card and advise that they were select in the cases they took on, and not to trifle with petty cases of forgetful, pompous, rich idiots.
As 9pm chimed on the clock, the main doors swung open, a tall man sporting a dark suit and cane entered the hall, the doorman announcing him as the host, Mr John Bidwell. Bidwell was clearly not in good health, the mutterings of the crowd stating as much, yet no guest having the stomach to enquire to his face. As Bidwell circulated the room, Godfrey grabbed hold of Marion’s arm and introduced him to the host. Marion was shocked that he was now speaking to the host of the party, advising of the opening of the investigative agency and specialising into the strange and unusual. Bidwell enquired about what school of the occult Marion had knowledge in, enquiring as to the training and special instruction Marion had received.
Marion was unsure how to answer the question advising that in being new to the field, the investigations conducted did not require schooling, yet learning in the face of the investigation seemed to be their only way to educate themselves.
Reginald’s booming voice joined the conversation as he had seen Marion sweating while trying to answer questions Bidwell was asking. Reginald pushing his way through the crowd and taking Bidwell by the hand, distracting Bidwell from the subtle yet clearly intrusive interrogation of Marion.
As Marion and Reginald continued to scan the room, noting the famous faces around the room, they both noticed a strange trait of Bidwell, he seemed to refuse to talk to the women in attendance. More than a simple ignorance of the female gender, there seemed to be a deliberate distain for the gender, constantly turning his back on the women in the room, often giving stern or harsh looks.
Not long after 11pm, Bidwell addressed the room, bidding his guests goodnight as his day was long and tiring. The servants of the house began ushering many of the guests towards the front door, by 11.30pm many had left the premises, the few remaining making it clear that they were supposed to be present. A done people in total were summoned up the large staircase and pointed towards the only open set of double doors on the floor, opening into a large library, a large table taking up the centre of the room draped in purple cloth, 13 chairs placed around it.
The seating was random, anyone invited to the gathering was able to sit wherever they chose around the table, Godfrey, Marion and Reginald all sat along the side of the table closest to the exit. Among the guests, Annie Bessant of the National Theosophical society, Florence Farr and Dr Westcott of Golden Down, Robert James Lees the queens psychic, Dr Peter Begg, a cardiologist, Paul Donner, Sir Phillip Knight, Dr Stephen Manners a philosopher, Lauren Buckridge, a display of upper class social standing. Many of the others looked down their nose at Reginald and Marion, two men clearly not cut from the same cloth as them.
Shortly before midnight, the door opens again, Bidwell’s butler Mr Bartlett entered the room, closing all of the drapes and curtains before leaving and locking the door behind him. A second door located in the corner of the room opened, Bidwell entering the room in a black hooded robe caring a strange cube made of crystal, not bigger than a rubix cube. He asked all participants around the table to join hands and close their eyes. As Big Ben chimed midnight, Bidwell began to mutter, the only audible words seemed to be “Sending out my mind, contacting the others”. In amongst the muttering of Bidwell, a word repeats time and time again from Bidwell’s lips, “Yekub”. Many of the participants around the table began to sway and rock as Bidwell continued, Reginald opening his eyes and looking around the table as incognito as he could, Reginald could see how uncomfortable Marion was. After a short time, Bidwell’s voice became laboured, severing his hand contact with those around him, he leaned back in his chair, declaring that whatever he was trying to achieve did not produce any results, he then excused himself, ringing a bell to signal Bartlett to unlock the door and allow the guests to leave.
Moving down the stairs, Reginald muttered about the lunacy they had just participated in, Marion instead questioning Godfrey as to how many times Bidwell had tried this form of communication. Godfrey unable to give a clear response.
*
After taking a tour of the office, admiring the mounts on the wall Reginald had arranged and skins on the floor, Introducing his associate as Detective Constable Craig, Craddock continued to speak in a tone of mild sarcasm.
Craddock sat himself in one of the comfortable armchairs that littered the meeting room. Without giving away any emotion, the Inspector asked as to when the two of them left Bidwell’s residence the night before. Reginald and Marion both shook their heads as if to immediately guess they were now being investigated again.
Marion began to rattle off the names of the celebrities present at the party that he could remember along with those who sate around the table after the main event. Detective Sergeant Craig raised him eyebrows at many of the names Marion was calling out, Craddock’s expression was unchanged. Enquiring deeper in the event after the party, Marion and Reginald did their best to explain the events that took place. Craddock finally came to the reason that he had graced the two with his presence, Bidwell had been murdered, violently with a fireplace poker, stabbed through the chest from behind.
Shock gripped Marion and Reginald, the man who they had been in the company of the previous night, a member of high society of such a visible profile, murdered not two hours after they had left his premises.
Reginald poured drinks from the recently stocked cart in the corner of the room, two stiff whiskeys were handed to Craig and Craddock who sipped them politely, Craig more enthusiastic than Craddock at the beverage.
Explaining the events, one of the housekeepers found the body of Bidwell by the fireplace in the library where they had conducted the event the previous night. Hanson Bartlett, Mr Bidwell’s butler now missing and considered the prime suspect. Marion and Reginald dove head first into the conversation, explaining what they had witnessed, how none showed any signs of malice towards Bidwell. Craddock asking if they had witnessed any form of suspicious behaviour, Marion and Reginald unaware of any such behaviour.
Advising that the two were not part of the investigation Craddock gave the slightest of instruction veiled in simple small talk. Advising there was supervision at the front door, a police constable posted there, and only the front door.
Taking his leave of the two, Reginald turned to Marion chuckling, Reginald expressing that Craddock advised them on purpose of where the police officer was stationed, more importantly, where there was no officer stationed.
Marion slung his medical bag over his shoulder, tying his shoes and taking his hat from the stand as he and Reginald called a Hansom Cab as they made their way back to Bidwell’s residence.
Exiting the cab a street away, Marion and Reginald made their way down the alley located to the rear of Bidwell’s residence, checking for any opening in the windows or kitchen doors. Locating a window next to the kitchen that was ajar, Reginald gently pushed it open, ushering Marion to climb inside and unlock the kitchen door. Marion, less enthused by the idea began to climb, semi falling through the window, however landing lightly enough on his side that the noise if his landing being muffled by his coat. Unlocking the kitchen door, Reginald and Marion could see the lack of cleaning that had taken place, the kitchen was still full of half eaten platters of food, champagne with no bubbles and the smell of day old caviar and cigarette ash filling the space.
Moving as quietly as possible, Reginald gently turned the door knob to the library, pushing the door open slowly as to make as little noise as possible. Marion and Reginald slipping inside, leaving the door slightly ajar to save having to turn the knob when they chose to exit. Sighting the pool of semi dried blood by the fireplace, Marion and Reginald circled the large table at the centre of the room. Scanning the bookshelves, the massive library was impressively stocked with books on topics familiar and not with both Reginald and Marion. Sighting some small leather journals on a shelf close to the fireplace, Marion pulled two of them from their shelf, seeing that they were written in the handwriting of Bidwell, stuffing them in his coat pocket for examination later, Marion continued to look at the library. Moving to the small door where the two of them had seen Bidwell make his entrance from the previous night, Marion was first to push the single door open.
The small room was lit by a single desk lamp, standing in the far corner of the small space on a desk covered in loose paper, weighed down by heavy books laying open on the bench. The room itself was only small compared to the library if branched from, a single desk and chair, a small bookcase littered with well worn leather bound books. The walls of the room were covered in photographs of Bidwell from all over the world, pictures from Africa, Australia and the Americas.
Examining the photographs, Marion found himself drawn to a single picture of Bidwell standing next to a child, thin and pasty, the cube from the gathering the night before clutched in Bidwell’s hand, while his other arm draped around the child. Marion pulled the photograph from the wall and placed it in his pocket, not scanning for any sign of the clear cube in the room, an empty space on the bookcase close to the desk a possible place where it resided.
Reginald scanned the photographs, seeing more of Bidwell and the child, turning over several photographs to see the words written “With Mortimer and a possible location ”Cuncudgerie”.
Both men paused and looked at each other as a loud creak from a door opening snuck through the air. Both Marion and Reginald moved as quietly as possible to the singe door they had entered the small den from. Looking out into the library a shadow appeared in the large double doorway. A stout man wearing a bowler had neat suit entering the library, turning the gas light on, he began looking through the room. Pulling several books from the shelves and shaking them to see if anything was to fall out of them before putting the books back. Looking around and under the table, scanning the fireplace as he walked calmly around the room.
Reginald and Marion did their best to keep watch of the man as he circled the table and headed towards the large double door leading back into the corridor. The man in the bowler had made his way from the library, leaving the doors wide open, walking across the hall into the master bedroom, swinging the large double doors open and leaving them wide. Marion and Reginald took the opportunity to leave the confines of the small room and move cross the library, concealing themselves in case the man in the hat looked back towards them.
Keeping their eyes on the man in the master bedroom, the man’s attention focussed on the night stand next to the bed. Reginald suddenly stumbled, bracing himself by placing his cane against the floor harshly. The man turning and spotting the two men in the library, marching directly to them, demanding to know who they were and why they were trespassing on the premises. Reginald standing tall and making the same demands of identification. The man drew his jacket back as he pulled his identification form his pocket, revealing a revolver holstered on his belt. Detective Sergeant Mulverhill, attached to Scotland Yard. Handing the man their business card, Mulverhill demanded the two leave immediately, escorting them towards the main staircase, pushing them out, Marion walking well in front of Reginald who was intentionally hesitating to see how far he could push the Detective Sergeant.
Reginald engaged the officer at the front door, causing a scene, enough time for Marion to get enough distance to turn the corner and slip back towards the kitchen door. Reginald demanded to know who the Detective Sergeant was, the police officer shocked that anyone was inside the home. As the Police Officer reacted at the sudden news of occupation, Reginald demanded the police officer investigate, running back inside towards the stairs behind the officer.
Marion slipped back inside the kitchen, making his way back up the servants stairs. Reginald and the police officer halted at the top of the main stairs by Mulverhill, demanding the police officer return to his post and escort Reginald from the premises. Hearing the commotion from the main foyer, Reginald now being escorted by both the police constable and Detective Sergeant Mulverhill. Marion seized the opportunity to slip up the stairs and inside the open double doors of the master bedroom. Heading directly towards the bedside table where Mulverhill was looking. A jewellery box filled with some of the finest Jewellery Marion had ever seen, his view distracted by the unusual sight of an overly plain golf ring at the box’s centre. Picking up the ring, the noise from the hallway began to subside, Marion knew he was running out of time, placing the plain ring in his pocket and heading back down the stairs to the rear exit of the building. Turning back towards the main entry of the house, Marion was just in time to see Reginald being manhandled by the police officer. Standing on the curb, Reginald straightened himself up, a slight shock as Marion suddenly appeared beside him. Marion hailed a Hansom Cab, once inside, Marion explained the contents of the Jewellery box and the ring that seemed out of place. Pulling it from his pocket, Reginald and Marion both observed the rings surface move and rotate, revealing an image that both had seen before, a compass and a set square, the symbol of the Free Masons.
Arriving back at their office, Marion continued to examine the ring, placing a phone call to Godfrey, summoning him to visit and join in his examination, an appointment set for the same evening. Reginald, distressed at how little Mulverhill spoke down to him, Reginald placed a call to Scotland Yard, wishing to speak to Inspector Craddock. Unable to get in contact with Craddock, Reginald demanded the desk clerk make sure Inspector Craddock returned his telephone call.
Marion pulled the journals from his coat pocket, the last two volumes written by Bidwell. Marion examined the journals closely, discovering several key points regarding Bidwell’s adventure to Australia, the location where the pictures hanging in his den were originated. Reading through the journal, Marion could see the workings of a man who had placed everything on the line for whatever the cube represented to him. Following it’s path down the trails of murder, incarceration and shame, Bidwell continued to show such devotion to the cube until his death. Placing the journals down, looking at the clock, two hours had a disappeared, Godfrey would be present shortly.
