Free The Advocate's Wife by Norman Russell

knotted beforehand, I should think, and thrown over her head before being tightened.’
    ‘The handkerchief was present on the body?’
    ‘No. But there were traces of silk in the ligature, which is why I suggest a silk handkerchief.’
    ‘How long had she been dead, Dr Oake? When she was found, I mean.’
    ‘Two hours. Certainly no more than that. She was found just before midnight, so she got herself murdered in the middle of nowhere at ten o’clock at night.’
    ‘Who found her, sir?’
    ‘A simple fellow called John Doake. He likes to wander in the moonlight, you know. He’s of weak intellect, but quite harmless. He was up there on the aqueduct at Bardley, and saw her floating serenely down our old canal like – like Ophelia, in Hamlet. ’
    ‘Daft, is he? You don’t think—’
    ‘No, Inspector, I don’t. John Doake’s daft, but he’s harmless, as I said. He just found her, that’s all. Incidentally, there was nothing in her clothing to identify her. We thought somebody would miss her very soon. She was wearing a very costly dress, you see, and good quality shoes, though they pinched a bit. Vanity, most probably. And then, of course, there was the necklace . What does that signify? The poor woman was murdered right enough, but robbery couldn’t have been the motive.’
    The doctor’s inquisitive glance had rested on the photograph of Box’s father. He closed his note book, as though dismissing the subject.
    ‘That picture of a police sergeant, Mr Box – a relative of yours, perhaps?’
    ‘Yes, Dr Oake. That’s my father. Pa was a uniformed sergeant,many years ago. That likeness of him was taken in 1864. He was shot by a man called Joseph Edward Spargo in 1875. Shot in the leg. Nothing could be proved at the time, but then this Spargo went on to murder a solicitor in Crutched Friars, and was knocked senseless by the butler, an ex-prize-fighter. Very unfortunate for Spargo, that. He was hanged at Newgate in 1880.’
    ‘And your father, Mr Box. What happened to him? Did he recover?’
    ‘Well, he was invalided out, sir, as you might expect. He was given a little pension, and they had a benefit for him. He’s still going strong, so to speak, at seventy-three years old.’
    Dr Oake hauled himself to his feet. He put his note book back into his valise, and retrieved his slouched hat from the top of the bookcase, where he had tossed it.
    ‘I’d best be gone, Inspector Box. I’m keeping you from your dinner. I don’t expect we’ll meet again, so I’ll just say how very nice it’s been to talk to you today. I wish you every success with this case. It’s a mystery, Inspector. A dark mystery.’

4
More Silk
    Inspector Box hurried down the steps of 2 King James’s Rents, crossed the deserted cobbled square, and turned into Whitehall, which, by contrast, was thronging with people. A number of carriages, each guarded by a liveried groom, stood in the dusty street outside the entrance to the great Italianate building of the Home Office. A gloomy pall was beginning to spread itself over the London sky. He could taste the sour, sulphurous tang of chimney-smoke, the precursor of fog.
    The Strand seethed with traffic, and echoed with the low thunder of hooves and the ringing of iron tyres. Should he whistle for a cab? No. He enjoyed walking, and this foray across the City would banish the fumes of the office. He wove his way through the press of vehicles and, crossing the wide thoroughfare , continued along Fleet Street.
    By the time Box had reached Ludgate Hill, the fog had defined itself as something more than a mere mist. He could just make out the dull glow of the signals on the railway viaduct spanning Ludgate Hill. Should he fortify himself with a glass of stout in the King Lud? No. It would be better to press on.
    It was as he hurried along the ever-busy Cannon Street that Box realized he was being followed. He felt a rather illogical surge of excitement. To be tailed like this would add a certain