PREFACE

Firstly, it has to be understood that I am no Charles Dickens. Secondly, Although I am old, I was not around in the Dickensian era, so attempting to write in the manner and style of Dickens, is doomed to failure from the outset, but I will give it a try. This said, the curiosity that ignited the thought, that I might wish to 'have-a-go' at writing an ending, or Conclusion, to Charles Dickens last, and unfortunately, unfinished book, The Mystery of Edwin Drood, was too great to resist. So bear with me while I try.

Dickens had a lifelong friend called John Forster. Forster was Dickens 'sounding board', he would tell Forster about his thoughts and ideas in advance of putting pen to paper. Forster wrote a biography of Dickens after Dickens died. In it he tells of all the discussions he and Dickens had, including his thoughts on an idea he had for a story, where a nephew is murdered by his uncle. These were his first thoughts on The Mystery of Edwin Drood.

Ideally any reader of this conclusion should read Dickens work first. But for those don't wish to, here is a brief synopsis.

Two children, orphans, are pledged to be married to each other by their dead parents. The boy, now a young man is Edwin Drood. The girl, Rosa Bud, is about to reach womanhood in a few months at the start of the story.

They both have guardians. Rosa's is the lawyer Mr Grewgious, whose practice is located in Staple Inn Holborn London. Edwin's guardian is his slightly older uncle John Jasper, Choirmaster at Cloisterham Cathedral in rural England, not far from London. Unknown to anyone is the fact that Jasper, who is also Rosa's music teacher, has designs on Rosa himself, and is addicted to opium.

Enter on to the scene, two more orphans in the shape of Neville and Helena Landless, lately arrived from Ceylon to be educated in Cloisterham by, in Neville's case The Reverend Crisparkle, Minor Canon of Cloisterham Cathedral, and in Helena's, Miss Twinkleton who runs The Nun's house school for young ladies.

On first meeting, Neville takes an automatic dislike to Edwin, and an instant eye for Rosa. At an evening get together at Jasper's, Neville and Edwin almost come to blows. Jasper let's it be known that Neville is a dangerous person, with a hatred for Edwin Drood. The situation is calmed by The Reverend Crisparkle, but later after a second meeting, Edwin Drood goes missing, his watch and tie pin are found at Cloisterham weir, and although the river is searched, his body is not found.

Six months pass, Jasper has done all he can to have Neville Landless indicted for Drood's murder, but lacking proof, the Mayor Mr Sapsea allows Mr Grewgious to take Neville away, and return with him if further proof of his guilt, or innocence is forthcoming. Jasper shows his hand with Rosa, causing her to run away to her guardian Grewgious, who has had a suspicion about Jasper for some time.

Two new characters emerge in Mr Tartar, a handsome young ex-naval Lieutenant who lives next door to Neville and Grewgious at Staples Inn. And Dick Datchery, who by his own description is “ merely a single old buffer getting through life upon his means as idly as he can”.

Rosa and her 'now' best friend Helena are put into lodgings in the house of a Mrs Billikin where Miss Twinkleton is brought in to chaperone. Tartar takes a shine to Rosa, Helena and Chrisparkle have an unyet realised interest in each other. Grewgious, Tartar, Crisparkle and now Datchery have their doubts regarding Jasper and his involvement in Drood's disappearance.

Throw into the mix the alcoholic stonemason Durdles, who previously took Jasper on a midnight tour of the Cathedral. Deputy, a ragged cheeky young boy that Jasper has threatened to kill. Princess Puffer a London Drug Dealer, and all is set for a real 'Whodunit'.

Dickens died after completing only half the intended manuscript.

The last chapter has Datchery spying Princess Puffer the old crone who sells opium to Jasper, early one morning at Cloisterham Cathedral in the congregation shaking her fist at Jasper who is leading the choir, and saying to Datchery when asked if she knows Jasper, “know him! Better than all the Reverend Parsons put together know him”.

The very last words Dickens added (or ever wrote) were regarding Datchery:

“Mrs Tope's care has spread to a very neat, clean breakfast ready for her lodger. Before sitting down to it, He (Datchery) opens his corner cupboard door; takes his bit of chalk from it's shelf; adds one thick line to the score, extending from the top of the cupboard door to the bottom; then falls to it with an appetite”.

As I said, these are the last words Charles Dickens wrote, he put the manuscript down, laid down his pen, and died that evening.

Hope you enjoy my effort at giving an ending to The Mystery of Edwin Drood.

Peter Watkins-Groves
Market Deeping Lincolnshire
2024

* * *

CHAPTER 24

DAWN AGAIN (Chapter completed)

Dick Datchery has finished his breakfast and takes one last look at the chalk marks in his corner cupboard, and with a decisive sharp nod of his head, that sends his flowing white locks all a flutter, giving him the impression that the hat (he is not wearing) were about to fall off, shakes his head in annoyance at himself, takes the hat from it's peg and leaves through the archway with his hat firmly tucked under his arm.

As he passes the Cathedral close, he espies Mr Jasper coming toward him adjusting his music case as he walks, and paying little attention to his whereabouts. “Halloa!“, cries Mr Datchery. “I say!, you were in fine voice this morning Mr Jasper, the sweetness of your tone must surely have been music even to the ears of the dead, and if I may be so irreverent to say, enough to have taken the grimace off the ugliest of gargoyles residing in the loftiest corners of the Cathedral roof and replaced them with an angelic smile of happiness”. “Why I thank you sir, you are very good to say so”. replies Jasper with a slight start of confusion. “You enjoyed the service then Mr…er! Datchery,— do excuse me sir, My head was so full of music for the next service”. “No, No”, responds Mr Datchery, “No, No, my fault entirely, We old buffers have a tendency to accost anybody and everybody going about their business, merely to stop and converse on any topic what so ever, — Er! — I trust you are well sir?“. “Yes Mr Datchery, I am well, I hope I find you in a likewise situation?“, returns Jasper with an ill-concealed (Hurry up!) to his reply. “Er!—Mr Jasper sir, — if I may be so bold as to ask if there are any further developments with regard to your missing nephew, I know as a stranger and a newcomer to Cloisterham, that you may conceive that I am impertinent to ask such a personal question, but so many of your friends in town have enlightened me to the facts and to how so badly effected you have been, being so close to young Mr Drood, that — as we two are neighbours now, I felt justified in asking”, said Datchery. “Ahh! Mr Datchery, (said with a shake of his head) people do talk, do they not “, replies Jasper. “Indeed sir, indeed, but with concern for your feelings I am most sure of that, as his worship the mayor said only the other day, if only proof were to bear in this matter, a suspect may be charged “, stated Mr Datchery. John Jasper is becoming exasperated with this (as he sees it) unwarranted intrusion into his private affairs by someone he barely knows, and with a gesture of frustration says,

“Mr Datchery, Mr Sapsea is well aware of my firmly held belief that a man, namely Neville Landless murdered my nephew Edwin Drood this six months hence, I require no more proof than that which I saw with my own two eyes “. Jasper makes to turn away when Datchery says, “Oh!, I wasn't aware you saw Mr Drood killed Sir?“. Jasper stops and turns slowly to face Dick Datchery, his countenance showing the rage that is building within him. “Mr Datchery, I did not see Landless kill my nephew, but my proof is as solid as every ancient stone and timber that make up that Cathedral that Landless is guilty, and one day, not so far away I will give Edwin his justice”. With that Jasper turns on his heels and walks away back to his gatehouse. “But proof sir, surely proof is required in law I believe”, Datchery calls after him.

There is a sharp high pitched whistle from behind Dick Datchery followed by a flint flying after Jasper's retreating form. “Wooha! Dick, you ag'ivated 'im there, you'd b'ter wotch yer back if yer owt on a murky night“, calls master Deputy from the other side of the Cathedral wall. “Ha! he might find it a little harder to hoist ME and bust my bracers young Deputy, and for a man so close to Christianity, our Mr Jasper has an extremely aggressive turn on occasion don't you think”, says Datchery (more to himself than to Deputy). “E's an evil one 'e is that Jarsper, —'ed slit yer froat as soon as 'e wod a chickins gizza'd 'e wod, an that's no lie “, Deputy states as if it were a known fact.

“I seen 'er in the Kin-feed-ral this morning”, he added. “Do you mean Puffer, yes I saw her there also, I spoke with her as she left the service, and she has knowledge of our friend Jasper that I would like to add to my notebook, did you find out where she resides as I asked you my friend”, says Dick. “Wots re-sides mean Dick?“, Deputy asks. “ I am sorry Deputy, I mean where she lives”, Datchery corrects himself. “Er magesty The Princess Puffer 'as h'atic rooms in Masons Court near St George's cherch, where them tars and chaynermen 'angs owt, I he'rd 'er says to some cove, as I was in me bed behind the settle in the parlar at tuppnee's, as if this gent want'd a thimble full of 'er speshul mix, 'e shud wisit 'er at 'er rooms in Masons Court, up stairs an to bring three an sixpence wiv 'im as the price was wery 'igh at the moment”. “My friend Deputy, you have done well, splendidly in fact, that snipit of information is worth another sixpence, now point me in the direction of Mr Durdles house if you please”.

Having received the general location of 'Stoney' Durdles dwelling place, Mr Datchery starts off across the Cathedral Common, only to spot The Reverend Crisparkle heading toward Minor Canon Corner. “Ah! Reverend Sir”, calls Datchery. “A moment of your precious time if I may”. Mr Crisparkle stops, and although he has seen this strange Gentleman around the Cathedral grounds of late, they have not had a formal introduction to each other. “Indeed you may Sir”. answers Mr Crisparkle. “How may I be of assistance to you,—Mister?“. “Datchery, Reverend Sir, Dick Datchery, I beg your pardon Sir for being so bold as to accost you in the street as it were, but I wonder if I might have a word or two with you regarding Mr Jasper, er! and in private “. He states in a conspiratorial tone. “Am I correct, you wish to speak to me about another Gentleman, in secret, and behind his back Sir, not a very Gentlemanly thing to propose if I might say so”, Crisparkle suggests. “Agreed Indeed Agreed”, replies Datchery. “But all will have clarity if you would honour me with a few minutes of your time”. They step into Mr Crisparkle's home and he introduces Mr Datchery. “Mother this is a newcomer to our city”. Mrs Crisparkle, always eager to welcome any new face,and perceiving Mr Datchery to be an older Gentleman by his dress and manner, as Datchery makes a sweeping bow that would do justice to Garrick. “Welcome Mr Datchery, I am sure I have noticed you amongst the congregation, I believe you are lodged with Mr and Mrs Tope if I am not mistaken”, the Reverend Crisparkle's mother asks. “No ma'am, to be sure your intelligence is correct, I have the rooms adjacent to the archway, and opposite to Mr Jasper's gatehouse”, replies Mr Datchery. The Reverend Crisparkle, wishing to separate Mr Datchery from the inquisitive interrogation of his mother, suggest's that Datchery should follow him into his office. But Datchery won't here of it. “No, No Reverend Sir, I assure you what I have to say is in no way meant in a derogatory fashion or with any maligning intent”. He carries on before Reverand Crisparkle can insist further. “As you are aware, I am new to Cloisterham, on my first afternoon here I was introduced to Mr Jasper by Mrs Tope, and through Mr Jasper to his worship The Mayor Mr Sapsea. I accompanied his worship as I walked back to the Crozier that evening where I had rooms for the night. And during that walk, his worship explained the dire circumstances of young Mr Drood's disappearance, and corrected some of the story already imparted to me by Mr and Mrs Tope. He explained that a young man by the name of Landless, (the shepherdess sniff's and lifts her head with a sign of distain). Datchery notices the sniff and slight head toss, but carries on. “Er! Landless, yes I believe that was the name, that a Mr Landless had been impeached for Mr Drood's murder, and would, but for the want of proof, have been brought to trial, Now I only mention this”, he carries on,

“I only mention this, because I had compassion for Mr Jasper and to the position he was in. So this morning, after your service, I bumped into Mr Jasper, I congratulated him on his fine voice and that of the choir, and mentioned my talk with his worship the mayor, I asked if he had any news of his nephew, and if any proof was yet forthcoming to convict Mr Drood's assailant if such a person existed, at that, I am very afraid, Mr Jasper flew into a rage, stating that he had all the proof he needed and would mete out justice very soon, I assure you Sir, Madam, I had no intention to cause Mr Jasper unease or unhappiness, to the contrary, my thought was to show sympathy for his predicament in a neighbourly and Christian fashion, now I seem to be the cause of more harm than good, and I wish to avoid any rift between Mr Jasper and myself, I saw you just now Sir, and had the notion that as Mr Jasper and yourself are occupied in delivering God's message, that you might intercede on my behalf with Mr Jasper, and cool any strained relations between he and I, I am a deuced fool, I know it, we old buffers tend to orate our thoughts before weighing up the situation correctly”. Mrs Crisparkle is the first to speak.

“Mr Datchery, I am conscious of your deep feelings of contrition at having been hasty in judgement of Mr Jasper's emotional state with regard his nephew, you mentioned a name to him that many in Cloisterham agree (she bobs her head as much as to say, “and I am one”) with him that Neville Landless is the murderer of poor young Mr Drood”. The Reverend Crisparkle sighs at this last remark, and says to Mr Datchery, “I will indeed speak to Mr Jasper on your behalf, but I should mention now that he and I are at odds regarding Neville Landless's guilt or otherwise”. The china shepherdess sniff's once more and leaves the room to make refreshments. Mr Crisparkle turns to Datchery and says, “I do wish you had allowed me to conduct you to my office Mr Datchery, Mr Jasper is a Gentleman my mother thinks very highly of, and she has convinced herself, as has Jasper, of Neville Landless being a monster with a very dark side, but I know them to be entirely incorrect in their assumption, I know Neville well enough to stake all in my belief of his innocence”. “What has become of Mr Landless and his sister these last six months”, asks Datchery. The Reverend Crisparkle explains that a certain Mr Grewgious a lawyer in London has taken over their care and wellbeing. No more is mentioned on the previous subject, and over tea and plum cake, Mr Datchery entertains the shepherdess with wild stories of native tribes, opulent and strange buildings and lands, and even attempts the languages he has heard spoken in far flung corners of the Empire, which on hearing, Mrs Crisparkle's eyes pop wide open with astonishment.

Making his goodbyes, Mr Datchery bows again to Mrs Crisparkle and shakes The Reverend Crisparkle by the hand. Heads of towards Durdles residence with the direction given him by Deputy. Up the High Street he spies The Mayor Mr Sapsea stepping out of his house opposite the Nun's house. “ Ah! Good morning your worship, Mr Sapsea sir, I hope his worshipfullness is well “, he enquires. “I am as fine as fivepence and as neat as ninepence Sir, and how do you find yourself this fine morning?, and it is a Very fine morning, do you not agree?, Cloisterham at this time of year, and on such a fine morning, could not be bettered by any other city within her Glorious Magesty's realm, and as I, its Mayor, could be no more proud, than if— than if I were The Lord Mayor of London itself”. “ It is a very fine morning as you suggest your worship”, starts Mr Datchery. “But I am afraid that I am guilty it would seem of making a faux pas in judgement with Mr Jasper”. “Mr Jasper! How so, how so Sir?“. asks Mr Sapsea. “ I know Mr Jasper to be a fine man Sir, with a sensitivity of feeling's how has this come about Sir?“. Mr Datchery tells Mr Sapsea the same story he told only minutes before to Reverand and Mrs Crisparkle. “Ahh! I see, the subject you asked about, and the name you mentioned are a grave source of mental disquiet for Mr Jasper, he has set himself to be the avenger of his nephew, and sees no other possibility as to the culprit other than Landless; it did not help Mr Landless's cause that he decided to leave the area the very morning that young Mr Drood was found to be missing, and had to be brought back by the Watchmen; but you say Mr Jasper turned his aggression toward you for stating the need for proof, I have stated to Mr Jasper myself that the law requires proof. She is a just law, a far reaching law, but of all her remarkable attributes, She is an impartial law, an honourable law, generous, objective, and above all, an un-biased law”. Mr Sapsea seems to rise on the tips of his toes, his corpulent chest appears to inflate as he postulates, his face upward, as if gazing up at the Cathedral, or even, up to Heaven itself. “I shall indeed talk to my friend Mr Jasper have no fear, you say you asked The Reverend Crisparkle to intervene on your behalf with Jasper?“, the Mayor asks with a muted sniff and sneer. “ You would have done better to come to me directly, Jasper holds me in very high esteem, and will listen to me more than any other”. “His Worship is very good, I thank him and am honoured that he should see fit to intercede for me with Mr Jasper in this matter”, says Datchery and responds with the same low bow he gave to Mr Crisparkle's mother. “Oh! Come, come Sir!, Come, come! No need, No need”, responds Mr Sapsea, all the time reveling in what he sees as the just adoration, that he, in his lofty position in Cloisterham society so rightly deserves.

Dick Datchery carries on, on his way to Durdles home. Mr Durdles is busy with a new headstone, marking out the script he intends to carve on its face. “ My, My!, you are very busy Mr Durdles”, says Datchery. “ Durdles is always busy Mr Datchery, as people will die, so Durdles is always in work”. “I take your point sir, the one thing that is certain in life, is death”, replies Datchery. “Precisely put Mr Datchery, and where people do die, so Durdles will be busy, as long as it's not his own marker he's a carving”, Durdles replies dryly. “Very good and very true”, laughs Dick Datchery. “But shall you be busy tonight sir, say around eight, if I were to call on you, with of course a degree of refreshment”. Mr Durdles looks up at meet Mr Datchery's eyes. “Durdles makes a habit of measuring all he does precisely Mr Datchery, take them two journeymen o' mine, I knows that it'll take them until precisely twelve fifteen, afore the dust and grit they're producing, will start 'em a coughing and a spluttering and a wheezing, with such a h'earnestness, that I shall be obliged for mercy's sake, to let 'em partake of a ten minute break to wet their whistles, no more, no less, an' likewise I allows myself, at the end of the day, to slake my thirst like any man should be able so to do, (and then, with a second thought) better make it seven o'clock, I prefers Brandy and warm water”. With that Mr Durdles resumes his measurements.

The summer heat has given way to a light cooling drizzle that evening, as Mr Datchery arrives at Mr Durdles dwelling, carefully picking his way through the detritus of Durdles work. He taps on Durdles door with a knocker fashioned from a carved stone Putto holding a skull, and suspended from a nail by a hemp rope. “Doors open”, comes the gruff reply from within. “Tis only me Mr Durdles”, cries Datchery as he let's himself in. “Thought it was, seeing as I wasn't expecting anyone else”.

Mr Durdles home resembles himself in appearance, it is as though put together by a committee of officers from her Brittanic Majesty's Circumlocution Office. Mr Durdles is a very fine stonemason, but his work is overwhelming his comfort by taking up every area of his living space with drawings and papers of all description. Where as Mr Durdles carries the debris of dust and grit from articles which the aforementioned drawings and papers were designed to produce.

Mr Datchery shakes his hat, (which due to the rain has been on his head for once) to rid it of rain drops. “Wipe yer boots on the mat if you please”, orders Durdles. “The yard is a mire when it rains”. Datchery does as he has been bade and wipes his boots on the most threadbare doormat he has ever seen, and looking at the flagstone floor, which is a veritable garden for mud, wonders at the need. “There is a mound of something fizzing as I entered the yard just now “, states Datchery.

“Quicklime”, is the monosyllabic answer Durdles utters. “Quicklime?“, repeats Datchery.

“Quicklime an water's like a bad marriage, don't get on together, should have bin covered, don't fall in it on yer way out, won't be nothing left to bury”, Mr Durdles warns. “You said something this morning about refreshments”, said Durdles. “Oh! yes, Indeed I did Mr Durdles, indeed I did”, replies Datchery taking not one, but two small Brandy flagons from the inside pockets of his damp Greatcoat. The two sit in silence. Datchery slowly steaming himself dry by the heat of Durdles meagre fire, quietly taking sips from their respective tankards.

“ S'pose we gets down to the real purpose of your visit Mr Datchery, 'cause if I am not much mistaken, you ain't here just to while away your time along with me, and I'm a thinking here you've got somethin' on your chest you wish to share with Durdles”, enquires that man pointedly. Datchery tells him of this mornings encounter with Jasper and his fear of causing a rift between himself and his new neighbour. Durdles nods as he listens to Datchery's story, takes a sip of his Brandy and warm water, then carefully looking over the rim of his tankard says, “And that's it, is it?, only my nose tells me you're here for more than just gossip Mr Datchery, my nose tells me you're not only here in Durdles house a telling me this story, but you have come to Cloisterham for much more than just a place of retirement I think, an my nose is also telling me that you're here in my house hoping to find an answer to a question that may be tearing at your insides waiting for that answer”. Datchery chuckles and looks up at Durdles. “I see you have the better of me Mr Durdles”. “Well then, let's not waste anymore time a shillying and a shallying, but first, pr'aps you tell me who you really are, and what you're about, 'cause from where I'm a sitting things ain't a tallying, not measuring up, not quite as precise as they ough'tbe”, said Durdles with the Brandy an warm water taking a grip on his tongue.

Before Mr Datchery can commence to relate as much of his story as he is prepared to divulge, there is a sharp whistle and a high pitched “Widdy-Widdy-Wen”, then heavy bang at the door as a stone clatters off it. “I've got a visitor”, shouts Durdles. “No y'aint! Ya lie, yer ain't got no one”, comes the sharp reply from Deputy. “I'm in here with Mr Durdles, Deputy”, calls Datchery, and then in a low voice he says, “I think we should let the young man in Mr Durdles, he may catch his death out there, and he has proved a good friend since I arrived in Cloisterham”. Deputy is already rattling the door with such ferocious intent, that Durdles relents and summons him in out of the rain which has picked up since Datchery arrived.

Deputy sits on a three legged stool, drying himself by the fire. Durdles opens his bundle for Deputy to help himself.

Datchery explains that he had heard somewhat of the circumstances of young Edwin Drood's disappearance before his arrival in Cloisterham and had unintentionally been thrust into the heart of the mystery by opting to lodge with Mr and Mrs Tope, realising of course that John Jasper was Mr Drood's Uncle, and now his neighbour. He asks Durdles about the night he spent with Jasper in the Cathedral crypt, to which Durdles relates all he remembers of that night. But Deputy does, and explains with a great deal of jumping up and vociferous language, and how as, “ 'is eyes will be stoned owt, if he tries to 'oist me ag'in!, o'il flint 'im I will, o'il 'urt 'im bad I will”. Durdles, being a man who keeps his own council on matters he doesn't believe are relevant directly to him, merely listens and nods, listens and nods. And after a few minutes says, “ If I was you Mr D—'atchery, I shud stay outaside of that which is of no concern 'o your'n, Mr Jarsper, as Deputy 'as testi—'fied, is a man—that—when riled, is likely to h'act in a h'erashinal, an' h'ungentlemanry fashion”. Datchery listens, nods, and then states, “And what if it were my concern Mr Durdles?, what then?“. Durdles slowly taps the side of his nose and answers, “ In that case Mr D—'atchery, I woud h'adwise caution”. Durdles speech has started to become slurred, as the addition of water to the Brandy has lessened over the evening, likewise the Brandy in both flagons appear to be on Durdles side of the room, and almost empty of liquid, being mainly left with just fumes. “Tell me Mr Durdles, if quicklime is as dangerous to handle as you state, how then do you transport it when needed for your work, asks Datchery. “B—barra”, answers Durdles. I keeps a s—sack a two in the Ca—federal cr—pt jusincase I needs it there”.

“Hmm!, interesting”, replies Datchery. “Wotso intresing abowt that then, s'all in a days work to Durdles”, that Gentleman replies. “And what of young Mr Drood's disappearance Mr Durdles, what opinion do you hold on that subject?“. asks Datchery. “S—none of Durdles affair Mr D—atchery, swot I sed afore”.

“Jarsper dun it”, Deputy pipes up between bites of Durdles bread and cheese lunch and sips of his Brandy and water. “He dun it f'sure, I no's it”. “ Now you 'old yer tonge D—eputy, you do'nt no nuffin, ony them roomers wot some is puttin a—roun”, was Mr Durdles retort. After Mr Durdles had said his piece, the all sat very quietly, and soon Mr Datchery realised it was time to leave, as Durdles had fallen into a deep Brandy induced sleep. Datchery suggested that Deputy walk with him as far as The Travellers Twopenny where they parted going their separate ways.

Much later, much—much later!, if anyone were abroad in Cloisterham, which there were none, on such a gloomy, dark, and drizzle sodden night, as late as it was, or as early as it may have been, for it was well into the wee early hours, when most sensible people are tucked up in their beds, then they may have spotted a figure in dark clothing leaving Mr Datchery's room's carrying some heavy object, and tossing something into the Cathedral grounds as it passes through them.

Chapter 25

A Visitor to Minor Canon Corner, and a watery find

There is great excitement at Minor Canon Corner, a guest is expected for, Mr Crisparkle has invited Mr Tartar for a brief sojourn.

All is bustle and hustle as the China shepherdess dashes from room to room at a maddening pace, busily dusting here, straightening there, and arranging and rearranging all the bottled and jarred viands and delicacies in her corner closet. “Ma why do you fuss so much over Mr Tartar before he even sets foot here!, he is after all's said and done a sailor, much accustomed to privation, and has said he can sling his hammock in any spare corner”, said Septimus Crisparkle to his mother in a vain attempt to curb her fussing around like a mother hen attending to her offspring. “He saved your life Sept,— a long time ago to be sure, but I blessed him for it then, and will show him the deep thankfulness that I still bear in my heart for that, and you should be grateful to”, she answered. “I am to be sure mother”, he sighs, “ But I must go and meet him as he arrives or he will need all his navigational skill to locate our safe harbour”. And with that Mr Crisparkle heads for the omnibus stop.

Tobias Tartar has had a hot and dusty journey, and is keen to reach his destination. He is looking forward to meeting his old master and friend, and also Mr Crisparkle's mother whom he has never met, but has heard so much about, and also to get a closer look at Cloisterham in general, as he has heard so much of the tragic circumstances of Edwin Drood's disappearance at Christmas time that year from all those who have been so horrifically affected by Edwin's loss. There is also an ulterior motive to Mr Tartar's visit, he wishes a closer scrutiny of John Jasper after all he has heard regarding Miss Bud's appalling dilemma at his hands.

The Reverend Crisparkle has only a short period to wait till Joe brings the omnibus to a stop. “Mr Crisparkle”, calls Mr Tartar from the top of the coach with a wave of his hat. “Tobias, you're here saf”, replies Mr Crisparkle exuberantly, “You're here,you're here, how splendid to see you again, and welcome to Cloisterham, you took the top I see, much better on a warm day like this”. “Just so but I chose the knifeboard, as it seemed more airy, but in truth, it was more akin to a jolly boat on rough waters,and not at all respectful of one's anatomy”, Tartar answered. Mr Crisparkle laughs as he takes Tartar's bag from Joe.

The minor Canon is proud of Cloisterham Cathedral, and enthusiastically points out the older ruins of the bygone monastery.

They walk past Mr Sapsea's residence, with it's newly painted signboard, on one side, still Old Mr Sapsea, on the other, Mr Sapsea the younger, complete with mayoral chain of office, looking both smug and aloof at one.

On past the Nun's house, where Mr Crisparkle points out Rosa Bud has recently left, and are just entering the Cathedral grounds, when Mr Tartar is roughly brought to a stop by a hand grasping his shoulder and spinning him around. It is John Jasper, his visage contorted by an animal like snarl, his eyes seem to have a red, almost demonic glow. All this gone in a second as he realises he has accosted the wrong person. “The Devil sir!“, cries Tartar,

“What is the meaning of this, unhand me immediately”. “Jasper! Release your grip on my friend this instant, have you lost your senses man?“, Crisparkle shouts angrily. Jasper raises his hands to his head with shock, and stammeringly says, “Sir, I cannot apologise enough, I thought you a different person entirely, forgive me”. “Forgive you sir!, you must hold the greatest of hatred for the man you took me for”, Mr Tartar growls back at Jasper. “You mistakenly thought my friend Mr Tartar was Neville Landless did you not Mr Jasper, you still hold your original dogma then, that Neville made away with your Nephew Edwin Drood, has there been no lessening in your desire for vengeance against him with only your baseless accusations for proof”, Crisparkle says with a disappointed shake of his head. Jasper has now recovered some of his faculties, and turns to Mr Tartar. “From behind Sir, and with your sun darkened complexion, I did unfortunately believe you were the person your friend Mr Crisparkle mentioned, and yes!, I do hate him”. He then turns to face Reverend Crisparkle. “And also, Yes!, I do still hold him responsible for the death of my precious young man Edwin, and will continue to do so till he faces justice for what he has done”. Jasper's hand suddenly rises to his forehead where beads of perspiration have appeared, his eyes seem to film over, and with a curt, “Apologies”, he rushes off toward the gatehouse loosening his cravat in a hurried manner. “I would not wish to be Neville Landless if he ever gets too close to Mr Jasper”, states Mr Tartar to Mr Crisparkle. “He is like a man with a Devil riding on his back, and yet, at this mornings service, he was both in fine voice and spirits with the choir, and appeared to be in excellent humour”, answers Crisparkle. “Are you aware that he is an opium eater, and addicted to the filthy stuff”, returned Tartar catching Mr Crisparkle by the forearm. “I have seen the same look upon many faces in the ports around the world sailors become addicted to the stuff peddled wherever ships dock”. “I am conscious that he has some ague that depilatates him occasionally, and that my mother has a bottle of Laudanum in her closet that she gives to him when he is stricken by it”, Crisparkle replies with a shake of his head. “This is more than a simple remedy for the relief of pain, this is a highly potent drug that takes away the very soul of the user, leaving him with a constant yearning for more as soon as the last pipe wears off, it is no surprise to me that he was capable of behaving as he did to Miss Bud, if he had taken the stuff before he accosted her, I have seen rational men reduced to blubbering wrecks while under the influence of this abominable filth.

They reach the door at Minor Canon Corner, Mr Crisparkle turns to Tartar and says, in a low and conspiratorial tone. “Please, I think it wiser not to mention to my mother what has just occurred with Mr Jasper, she holds him in high regard and has little belief in Neville's innocence, or that she is doing harm to Jasper rather than good by giving him the medication that she believes is helping him. “Let us say no more of it now, but it shows Mr Jasper has a dark and violent side, not often displayed”, replies Tartar.

The china shepherdess fusses around Mr Tartar as only she can do. An elaborate repast has been furnished, the best of all the corner closet could provide is spread out, nothing has been left wanting from cold meats, fowls, pickles by the jar load, and the best sweet wines, all causing the old dining table legs to creak and groan under the weight. After such a feast, and with his waistcoat unbuttoned, Mr Tartar turns to Mrs Crisparkle and states with hearty conviction, “Ma'am, I have travelled the world and eaten the most exotic of oriental foods such as you have never seen the like, but I can state that none could have surpassed the meal we have just enjoyed”. The shepherdess is overjoyed with his sentiment. And after a very eventful day, and also with very full stomachs, it was not long before Mr Tartar is settled in what had been 'til late, Neville Landless's bed.

The Minor Canon is up early for his usual watery refresher, and is much surprised to find Mr Tartar up and eager to join him. They decide on the Cloisterham weir for their swim, partly because Tartar wishes to see where Mr Crisparkle had found Edwin Drood's jewellery, and mainly because the Minor Canon has a preference to take the plunge, so to speak, at this spot. They swim for a while on the down stream weir side, until Mr Tartar suggests diving off the bridge that crosses the weir, and into the deeper water before the weir head up stream. “Have great care Tobias, the water is deep and the torrent across the weir face is remarkably strong”, cautions Crisparkle. With a grin and looking every bit the schoolboy Crisparkle knew from their youth, Tartar dives head first into the dark and swirling waters. Mr Crisparkle watches from the bridge as his friend disappears beneath the surface. It seems an eternity before Tartar's head appears again. “How do you find it Tobias?“, asks Crisparkle. “Exceedingly cold thank you Sir!, but I have found something of interest for you to look at, he says, hoisting a weed covered object up to Crisparkle. The item he hands up is a hessian sack with the name 'Calix Viva' stencilled on it in black, quite badly holed, but inside, something was wrapped in a old ragged and torn choristers surplice. The garment had faint staining as if sacramental wine had spilt across it. With the package unwrapped, it contained a large heavy key, not old by any means, and still bearing the marks made by the craftsman who had created it. And a small silver snuffbox, which when opened was found to contain a soft clay like substance, impressed into which was the moulded duplicate of the key. Both men looked at each other, realising the significance of their find. “I suggest this is a very telling find Sir”, Tartar says. “It points a compass like arrow in one direction I fear”. “Do not be so hasty as to make a judgement without more facts Tobias “, replies Mr Crisparkle. “I think I know you well enough to see that you are already showing feelings for Miss Bud anda her plight, but an open mind is what is required at presernt to make sense of what has happened to Edwin Drood, and where this find fits into the puzzle”.

It is agreed that Mr Tartar will take their findings back with him to Staple Inn, where Mr Grewgious can inspect them and give his opinion of it all.

Mr Grewgious surveyed the article's carefully laid out on his office desk. The surplice with it's staining he holds to the light for inspection,turning it this way and that, until finally laying it down with a snort of dissatisfaction, and picked up the key and snuffbox. “Without a doubt this cast in the box is a direct copy of an original key, and has been used to manufacture this duplicate”, he stated. “The question is, by whom and to what purpose”, said Tartar. “As to that, I have have my suspicion, but as yet nothing more”, Grewgious answers. “The lock that this key fits will give us one answer, where the surplice came from I have no doubt, and as the English translation of 'Calix Viva' equates to Quicklime, we should not have too much trouble in finding the source of that. The purveyor of the silver box, and to whom it was sold may yield proof of another kind”. Mr Grewgious's astonishment on hearing of Jasper's action over his mistaken attack on Mr Tartar left him shaking his head, but said he knew of Jasper's excitable temperament. “Mr Bazzard is due to return from Norfolk tomorrow where he has had to be during his mother's indisposition. said Grewgious, “If he is willing, for you know I am conscious of his feeling's, I will ask him to accompany me to Cloisterham to visit our friend Mr Crisparkle, and ask him to make a few discreet enquiries in the locality regarding these items”, he said, placing the key and snuffbox into his secret bureau draw.

“By your leave Mr Grewgious I should like to call on your ward to see how she fairs, and if they are agreeable, ask Helena and Mr Landless to accompany me, for I am sure Miss Bud would be delighted to see her friend, and Mr Landless is in need of fresh air and sunshine”, asked Mr Tartar.

Neville Landless is in no humour to go visiting, after hearing from Mr Tartar of the latest developments and findings at Cloisterham weir, he fears that these items do nothing directly to clear his name or alter his situation.

He turned his wan visage, (which due to his darker complexion, make him appear even more sallow), away from Mr Tartar, “I have no energy for it Mr Tartar, my studies exhaust me, and in any case I feel I would dampen even the liveliest of occasions”. “ But Mr Landless, the body requires fresh air and the rays of the sun, as much as it does food and drink for sustenance, a walk in a park or a row down the river would do you the world of good for if I may say so, you are not looking at all well in these surroundings”. “I am fine I assure you Mr Tartar, and I thank you for your concern, but really it is not necessary”. Mr Tartar turns to Miss Landless. “Miss Landless, is there no way in which you could induce your brother to join us, for I am sure you would dearly like to see Miss Bud and Miss Twinkleton again”. “Neville, you know Mr Tartar is correct in what he has said, a short stroll would be so beneficial to your health, for you have not left these rooms in daylight for weeks”, she said, resting her hand on her brothers shoulder, “Helena my dear, you know I have the dearest of love for your, and respect Mr Tartar's suggestion, under differing circumstances I would be only too happy to accompany you, but no, not today, you go, I will be fine, I have my books and my work to content me “. And with a pat of her hand, he returned to his studies.

“I do wish your brother Neville would have joined us”, said Rosa to Helena Landless as they walked through New Square on a bright and sunny morning. A light breeze moved the boughs of the trees there with a gentle sway, and a musical rustle through the leaves. The perfume of a thousand blossoms permeated the air as they stopped to look at the water cascading in the fountain, shimmering and sparkling in the sunlight. “I had hoped so to”, replied Helena. “But he insisted his work took priority, even when Mr Tartar, (at the mention of Tartar's name, Rosa turns her head slightly to glance his way with a faint blush to her cheeks), “Even!,—(Helena gives a light tug to Rosa's arm, and adds emphasis to her tone in mild admonition, but with a smile), when Mr Tartar suggested the benefit to Neville's health, he declined”.

Mr Tartar has Miss Twinkleton on his arm a few paces behind, but cannot take his eyes from Rosa, and sees the slight movement of her head and the gentle tug on her arm from Helena, and smiles to himself. Miss Twinkleton has been gazing at the flowers, but notices the upturn of Tartar's lips. “What amuses you Sir”, she asks. “Oh, nothing Ma'am, I was just perceiving how pleasant it is to walk in a park in England, on a beautiful morning, with such enchanting company “, he replies. Miss Twinkleton unfurls her fan and cools herself with a vigorous action, while a trace of a coy smile creeps onto her lips.

The Billikin has tea ready for their return, and ushers Rosa to the most comfortable seat with Helena beside her. She holds a chair for Miss Twinkleton, and insists on inserting her legs as far under the table as anatomy will allow. “I was always advised Miss (said she, directing her comment to Rosa) that ladies of a certain age, as may become unsteady through their advanced years, should be tucked in snug like, so as to 'ave no fear of them falling from their seat due to becoming unbalanced in body and in soul “. Miss Twinkleton asks Rosa to, “Inform the person of the house, that through the teaching of both etiquette and decorum at a level that even Aristocracy and local Gentry have been seen to copy, it has never been my understanding, that ones chin should reside on ones plate, let alone dipping into ones tea cup”. “If it's an implement that's required for stirring Miss, then I doubt whether a more suit'ble dewise could be found i'ver 'ere, or in the 'ol Empire itself”. Rosa and Helena suppress a giggle at the last remark, as Miss Twinkleton carefully extricates herself from beneath the tabletop, and says, “Rosa dear, be so kind as to suggest—”. “No suggestions of any kind, or of any topic, is required or desired Miss,— Billikins has pro'wided a service to gentle folk of the greatest cap'ital city in All the known world, the Empire, and beyond, for more years than you Miss (meaning Rosa) and you Miss (meaning Helena) have been born, but, not some such other persons, as school mistresses, who seem to come into this world already old “, returns the Billikin.

At this, and in an attempt to alleviate the situation from deteriorating any further, Mr Tartar asks Rosa if it is true that she has been reading books relating to seafaring adventures. She replies that she and Miss Twinkleton have been discovering, in the safety of print, the perils faced by sailors on the high seas, and asks Mr Tartar, “Have you ever had to risk the dangers of passing from the Atlantic ocean through to the Pacific ocean by negotiating Cape Horn “. “I am glad to say never Miss Bud”, he replies. “I was stationed mainly in and around India and The Andaman and Nicobar islands”. “Such exotic names”, commented Rosa. “Did you ever visit Ceylon Mr Tartar?“, enquires Helena. “A few times Miss Landless, for stores, supplies and water at Colombo on our way while out patrolling and lastly on our journey home”. “I remember Colombo well”, Helena states. “We, Neville and I, lived a short distance out of town, but still a beautiful situation, the picturesque nature of the country, was our constant relief from what otherwise was a hard existence”. “Andnow”, (asked Miss Twinkleton, caught up as she was in the narrative of his story), “What do you do now, after all the excitement of your naval career, what does your future hold”. Tartar laughs, “That is a very good question, and one I am at present deciding upon myself Miss Twinkleton, you see my Great Uncle Reynard was an Admiral in Nelsons navy, and served under his command in many of his campaigns, but after the French wars were over, he, along with many other senior officers were surplus to requirement and put on the beach”. “Put on the beach Sir!, do you mean stranded on some desert island?“, Miss Twinkleton asked, with not a little consternation. “No Miss Twinkleton” (Tartar chuckles) It is purely a naval term for being put on half pay, and without a ship to command or a job with the Navy board”, he replied. “No, He retired after five and twenty years service and joined The East India Company as commander of a fleet protecting our merchant vessels from Malay pirates”. The ladies eyes were wide with visions of cut throats with knives clasped between their teeth, scaling rigging, and such like. “He built a plantation near Shimla”, Tartar explained. “Where he and his family lived, and where some of his family still do, but on his death, he left all his British properties to me, provided that I left the service that he had loved, but was disenchanted with, after all the years of service he had given, and the ill-treatment he felt he had suffered at the boards hands, and so here I am, I have inherited a large estate near Dartmouth, and income enough to be idle”. “And how did yourself and Mr Crisparkle come to know each other”, asked Miss Landless. “We both attended the same school he was a senior and I his fag”, replied Tartar.

“In fact seeing these delicious crumpets, Mrs Billikin has provided for us, (The Billikin makes a gesture halfway between a curtsey and a bow, with a nod of thanks thrown in for his remark) reminds me a great deal of those days, and the numerous times I ran to the bakery on the corner, so that Mr Crisparkle could have toasted crumpets and strawberry jam for his tea”. “And you saved his life once I believe”, Helena asked, with more than a hint of curiosity. “I am sure Mr Crisparkle, if he were here, would not relish the retelling of that story Miss Helena, for the truth be told, I merely caught his hair and pulled him to the surface, he is an excellent now, I should add”, he emphasised. Having spent a most enjoyable morning, and with Helena concerned about Neville. Helena and Mr Tartar say their goodbyes to all at Billikins, and Tartar escorts Helena back to Staple Inn.

Neville Landless puts aside his books as Helena and Tartar arrive home. He looks extremely fatigued with black circles around his eyes.

“This is no good Neville”, upbraids his sister, “No good at all will come of this, it is time to stop, or Jasper will beaten you, before you can prove yourself innocent”. Neville sits head in hands, the very picture of gloom and despondency. “Right!, I have the answer”, declares Tartar. “Correct me if I am mistaken Mr Landless, but your main objection to venturing out, is your, if I may say so, unwarranted fear that all and sundry are aware of your situation, and are casting their gaze, as if to point a finger of guilt in your direction, this assumption is, in my belief, wholly untrue”.

Neville turns as if to refute Tartar's logic, but Tartar stops him. “No, do not speak yet Sir, it is time to allow your Sister and your friends to help you through your dilemma, now it so happens, that I have a yacht moored at Greenhithe, I will send to Lobley to make ready to sail, and we shall go down the river on the next tide, and no arguments, once onboard you will be safe from all eyes, save for those of my crew who don't know you from Adam, and wouldn't care if they did”. Neville seemed glad to be beaten into submission, and there is even a glimmer of excitement at the prospect of the adventure. “That's settled then, I will make all necessary arrangements, I should like to suggest that the sea air will benefit your health Neville, but the Thames at this reach being an estuary where the air has yet to taste the salty tang of the Ocean, and still holds on to the effluvium of London. And for the first time in a very long time, Neville laughs uncontrollably.

Chapter 26

THE MYSTERY DEEPENS

“Bazzard!“, called Mr Grewgious. “I am with you Sir”, responds Mr Bazzard to his masters summons. Appearing at the door instantaneously, as if some supernatural force had transported him from his desk in the outer office.

“Ah! Bazzard there you are, how are you this morning?, after your no doubt arduous journey yesterday, not too fatigued I hope, you are looking a trifle bilious if you don't mind me saying so”. “I have had better days Sir, but will not complain”, Mr Bazzard replies. “Quite so, Quite so”, Mr Grewgious nods a little disconcertedly. “And your mother Bazzard, she is better I hope?“. “Not expected to live more than a month the Doctor has said sir”, Bazzard answers matter of factly. “OH! Good gracious me!, exclaims Datchery all a fluster. “Why then did you return so soon Bazzard, surely you would have been better placed there in that event?“. “Not needed, told so by Father, only in the way, go and come back later, doesn't know me anyway, delirium”, explains Bazzard.

“Well I never, I really Don't know what to say Bazzard, I had intended to ask if you would accompany me on a trip to Cloisterham on business but…“. “Oh!, certainly Sir, Yes Sir, Indeed Sir, when Sir?, No need to pack Sir, never unpacked Sir”. “Good heavens Bazzard”, said Mr Grewgious in an attempt to stem Bazzard's flow of enthusiasm over his suggestion. “What if your mother should worsen while we are away, would you not sooner be here, so any message would find you easier”. “Easily rectified Sir, a letter giving the name of the hotel in Cloisterham should suffice, if you will give me the details Sir, I will make the arrangements straight away”.

And so it was that the following Weekend saw Mr Grewgious and Mr Bazzard arrive in Cloisterham, and duly shown to their rooms at The Crozier.

Over lunch Mr Grewgious explained to Bazzard what he required him to do, namely find out where the snuffbox was purchased from, and by whom, With as little “fuss and nonsense” as possible, as Mr Grewgious put it, without of course, disclosing it's contents. Meanwhile Mr Grewgious himself would visit The Mayor Mr Sapsea, and then Reverend Crisparkle.

Bazzard set out on his quest before Mr Grewgious had even finished his repast. And was back just as Mr Grewgious was about to set foot from The Crozier on his short walk to Mr Sapsea's residence. There being only one establishment that sold such items as silver snuffboxes in the locality, it hadn't taken Mr Bazzard more than a few minutes of discreet conversation with the shop owner to gain all he knew of the box. None of which was of direct help, but did provide the name of the silversmith who produced the item, the assay office, where it was “touched” (that being a Lion passant for London), but did give one useful titbit, in that it gave the retailers mark as a shop in Aldersgate Street London.

Unperturbed, Mr Grewgious with Mr Bazzard at his side, set forth along Cloisterham High street. Mr Sapsea emerges from his house just as the two Gentlemen are about to knock.

“Ah! Mr Grewgious Sir, you are here quickly, how so?“, asks Mr Sapsea. “I beg your pardon Mr Sapsea, here quickly!, for what reason pray? I and my clerk Mr Bazzard are here to see you over the Drood issue, no other reason that I am aware of “, says Mr Grewgious in a questioning tone to his voice. “Ah!—Then you are not here over the disappearance of our newest citizen Mr Datchery”, said the Mayor.

“Do we know a Mr Datchery Bazzard?“, asks Grewgious. “I have no recollection of anyone with that name appearing on any files that may have passed across your desk Sir”. “I thought not Bazzard, who is the Gentleman you mentioned Mr Sapsea, and how have you misplaced him “. “It's all very odd Mr Grewgious, he was here one minute, but now is nowhere to be found”, exclaimed Mr Sapsea.

The Mayor looks dumbfounded, Mr Grewgious gives Bazzard a look of incredulity and suggests to Mr Sapsea that, “Cloisterham seems to be making a habit of mislaying it's inhabitants”.

Mr Sapsea ushers the Lawyer and his clerk into his office, and relates to Mr Grewgious (while Bazzard takes notes in his notebook) the circumstances of Mr Datchery's arrival in Cloisterham, his lodging with Mr and Mrs Tope, his interest in the mystery of young Drood's disappearance, and of his lack of judgement in raising the subject with John Jasper, and the subsequent animosity shown to him by Jasper.

“And this morning when Mrs Tope took Mr Datchery his breakfast, he was gone, leaving all his belongings behind, later The Reverend Crisparkle found Mr Datchery's hat in the Cathedral close, and on hearing from Mr Tope that Datchery's bed had not been slept in, brought the hat to me, Mr Datchery had mentioned the incident with Mr Jasper both to me and Reverend Crisparkle, in fact asking both of us to intervene on his behalf with Jasper. “How do you think Mr Datchery perceived that you could act as intermediary on his behalf with Jasper?“, asked Mr Grewgious. “I cannot speak for his involving Mr Crisparkle, but for my own part, Jasper holds me in high regard as a friend, and because of my position in society here, Mr Datchery assumed that my word with Jasper would hold weight”, is the Mayor's reply. “It seems unfathomable does it not Mr Mayor, that two incidents where Mr Jasper has some involvement, have also led to two disappearances”, states Mr Grewgious with a telling inclination of his head toward Mr Sapsea. “Has any search been organised”, said Grewgious. “Not as yet Sir!, it is too early to suggest a fouler motive surely, is it not”, the Mayor suggests. “I think not!, strange indeed that when Mr Drood went missing, a full search was initiated almost immediately, in any case as your time is obviously taken up with this latest occurrence Mr Bazzard and myself will call at a more convenient time Good day to you Sir”. With that Mr Grewgious with Bazzard closely following leave His Worship The Mayor to resume his search for the missing Mr Datchery.

Mr Grewgious has decided that now is not the time to reveal the evidence that has been found at the weir, before speaking with Mr Crisparkle. A short walk from The Mayoral mansion, finds Mr Grewgious closely followed by Mr Bazzard at the door at Minor Canon Corner. They are quickly issued inside by the Reverend Crisparkle, and just as quickly, issued into Mr Crisparkle's office, before the china shepherdess has a chance to spot the visitors.

Mr Grewgious lays out the information he wishes to obtain from the article's found at the weir, with particular attention to the key that by its style suggests a fit in an older lock. “Mr Durdles will know what lock that key should open if anyone does”, suggest's Mr Crisparkle.

“I would have said Mr Tope, as verger he has key's that open many of the main doors, but he is a man to whom his responsibilities within the Cathedral are paramount, and he also follows procedures to the limit of his ability, and would want to involve The Dean, and The Dean would require the Bishop to be included, when I presume you would prefer to keep these investigations between as few people as is necessary”. “Quite so, Quite so”, nods Mr Grewgious (Mr Bazzard nodding along with his master) it appear that the surplice is of a child's fitment, I think we can rightly assume the stains to be communion wine, and nothing more suspicious, the snuffbox, Mr Bazzard here has determined that it was purchased in London, we will follow that lead when we return”. “But what of this new circumstance regarding a Mr Datchery?, Mr Sapsea has informed us that you found his hat, and on checking his lodgings, you have established he is now also missing after a confrontation with Jasper”. “I agree it is both alarming and worrying”, answers Mr Crisparkle. “You are aware of what occurred between Mr Datchery and Mr Jasper? (Grewgious assents with a nod, with Bazzard nodding in unison), this morning as I went to morning service, I found a hat I recognised, and clearly marked with Mr Datchery's name; I consulted Mr and Mrs Tope if they had seen anything of him this morning, as he was not in the congregation, and after the service Mrs Tope checked his rooms, only to find them empty, the bed not slept in and no sign of Mr Datchery to be found”. “What of Jasper?, has he been approached?“, enquires Mr Grewgious. “Not as yet”, states the Reverend Gentleman. “Then I suggest we go together, he is, when all is said and done, Mr Datchery's neighbour”.

The Mayor Mr Sapsea is seated in an armchair with Jasper leaning on the mantlepiece discussing Datchery's evanescence when The Reverend Crisparkle and Mr Grewgious (Bazzard at his heels) climbed the postern steps and rapped on the Gatehouse door.

There is a fleeting look of contemptuousness that flashes across Jasper's face as he opens the door and recognises Mr Grewgious.

That Gentleman, ever conscious to the facial contortions that unconsciously show the emotions of those whose visage they cross, inwardly chuckles to himself, knowing that the expression Jasper has shown, is a reflection of his concern and realisation, that not all believe his version of Edwin Drood's disappearance.

“Ah!, Gentlemen, you wish to speak to me, come in do and join Mr Sapsea and myself, we were just discussing what may have happened to Mr Datchery”, said Jasper. “Yes!, all very unfortunate” says the Mayor standing up and placing his thumbs into his waistcoat sleeves. “As I told you earlier Mr Grewgious, nobody has seen hide nor hair of the man since yesterday morning”, said Sapsea with little feeling to his comment. “Unfortunate is not a expression that I would choose for the Gentleman's situation Mr Sapsea, no more than I would apply that sentiment to young Mr Drood vanishing from the face of the earth”, replies Mr Grewgious. He turns to Jasper, “I take it you neither saw nor heard anything of Mr Datchery after your earlier encounter yesterday Mr Jasper. “Should I have done?, after all, it is not as though I knew the man at all”, said Jasper uncaringly. “Not a very Christian fashion Mr Jasper; My question relates to your close proximity to Mr Datchery's room's, rather than any other, and that his hat was found very close to both your lodgings”, Grewgious remarks. Sensing agitation in both Mr Grewgious and Mr Jasper's tone Mayor Sapsea cuts in. “Er!, Mr Jasper has already spoken to me and confirmed that he had retired to his bed early with a headache, for which he had taken a draught to help him sleep”, Sapsea adjoins before Jasper can reply.

Mr Grewgious responds with his characteristic “Hmm!“. Before replying with, “Yes I have heard that Mr Jasper has an ailment that requires a regular curative composition, I hope Mr Jasper that whatever your malady is, it is soon remedied”. A momentary smile dissolves into a sneer on Jasper's face as he answers with a nodding inclination of his head. Grewgious carries on, “I see you still hang my ward's portrait over your fireplace Mr Jasper, Young master Edwin caught a fair likeness there don't you think?“. There is a look between the two, an unspoken (I know you goad me Sir) from Jasper. But he replies with, “My lost boy Ned was never satisfied with it, he imagined he had not done his best work in capturing her”.

“Yes, Yes, the poor, poor, lost boy. Just as he and Miss Bud had reached their happiest time together, a mutual understanding, both in total agreement as to their futures, not as Man and Wife, as their deceased parents had agreed, but as they both wished, as brother and sister, only to have that cruelly snatched away”, Mr Grewgious said, with a sad shake of his head.

A raking sob!, escapes from Jasper. All look at him, some with surprise, some with a truer understanding. Jasper quickly turns his head away from their gaze, toward the fireplace where he is confronted by Rosa's portrait, another sharp intake of breath, followed by a deeply suppressed sob, and a fist sweeps aside all that has been placed there.

He turns on Mr Grewgious, no longer the normal placid features on his face, all control is fast slipping from him. “Get out!“, he growls, “Get out before I cannot answer for my actions”. Both fists raised in front of Mr Grewgious, the veins in his head distended, his face crimson with rage. All in the room are aghast at this transformation. The Reverend Crisparkle makes a move toward Jasper as if to pacifiy him. His Worship The Mayor shrinks back, with a look of abject terror on his face.

Mr Bazzard has the merest hint of a grin playing across his mouth, as he continues to scribble in his notebook. Mr Grewgious smiles and says, “My, My Jasper, you really are a very irascible man when roused, aren't you!“.

Notebook of Arthur Bazzard.

Mr John Jasper unwell yesterday evening, took medication, went to bed early. Heard nothing, saw nothing. Mr Grewgious mentioned the portrait of Miss Rosa Bud and the circumstances of young Mr Drood's disappearance, at which, Mr Jasper firstly had a fit of melancholy, that then turned to rage. Acted as if demented rounding on Mr Grewgious with fists raised and demanded all to leave his rooms.

Reverend Crisparkle ushers everyone from Jasper's room, including Mr Sapsea, who is shaken beyond his wits and only too glad to leave. “I never, never would have thought that of Mr Jasper”, states he as they gather outside the lodgings previously occupied by Datchery.

Mr Grewgious looks from one to another and says, “Well Gentlemen, you have just witnessed the real John Jasper, the one that this Gentleman, (nodding towards Datchery's door) experienced yesterday morning, and is now missing”.

“No 'e ain't”; comes the shrill voice of Deputy from the otherside of the Cathedral wall, his head just appearing as he speaks.

“Go away! You ragamuffin”, shouts The Mayor “Go away, before I have you arrested”.

“No,No! That won't do”, interjects Mr Grewgious, as the group follow him the short distance to where Deputy is crouching behind the wall. “Who, Who ain't missing young man”.

“Why Dick, Dick ain't a corse, 'e wos wiv us lasnight”, snaps back Deputy. “By Dick, I assume you mean Mr Datchery, but who is the US you say he was with last night”, questions Mr Grewgious. “Why!, me an Durdles is 'ho, we was at Durdles 'ouse, 'aving a jolly time we was”, Deputy states. “And how do you know Mr Datchery young man?“. “I works for 'im don't I,

I do jobs fer 'im, an 'e gives me a tanner, an I ain't telling you no more less you does the same”. With that statement, Deputy folds both his arms across the rag he wears as a coat.

Mr Grewgious fumbles in his pocket, but finding no coin of sufficient denomination turns to Bazzard. Forever ahead of Mr Grewgious, Bazzard says, “I'm with you Sir!“, as he fishes, not one, but two sixpence's from his pin-striped waistcoat pocket and offering one to Deputy's extremely grimey palm. Deputy accepts the single coin, but keeps his palm out stretched for the other, while saying to Mr Grewgious. “You asks alot 'o fings mista”, the fingers of his hand making gesture at Bazzard to release the second coin into his grasp. A nod is all it takes to enrich young Deputy to the tune of a shilling, courtesy of Mr Arthur Bazzard. “Open your hand wider if you please”, said Bazzard as he drops the money into Deputy's dirty palm. “Now, what kind of work does Dick require you to perform”, enquires Mr Grewgious. “Jobs!, finding fings owt, asking around, showing 'im where peeple lives and the like”. At that moment Durdles himself comes upon the scene. “Ah! Durdles”, beckons Mr Sapsea. “Who wants to know”, answers Durdles. “Come, come Mr Durdles, you really are out of sorts this morning, we would like to ask you a few questions that's all”, “Would yer now”; says Durdles. “Well I may, or I may not, depending on what the questions are and whose asking 'em”. “Mr Mayor, would you be so kind as to allow me speak to Mr Durdles”. Sapsea grudgingly complies.

“Mr Durdles, my name is Grewgious”.

“I knows yer, Lawyer and Guardian of a certain young lady as resides at Miss Twinkleton's establishment if I am not mistaken”, Durdles replies. “My, My, you are well informed Mr Durdles”, said Mr Grewgious. “Durdles may not move in genteel society Sir, but he always keeps an ear to the ground”. “Ah!, Then you may have heard that a certain Mr Datchery appears to be missing this morning, and if young master Deputy here is correct, Datchery was with you last evening; What time did he leave your premises?“. “ Young Deputy can be a rascal Sir, But Durdles has never known him to lie, Mr Datchery was partaking of refreshment with myself and Deputy until about eleven o'clock, when the rain stopped, he left along with Deputy to go to his lodgings”. “Dick was wiv me till tuppnee's an 'e gives me a shillin for nuffing an said as I woud make a exsillent Bobby if I was to keep me nose clean”, adds Deputy. “Well then, If you Gentlemen have finished with Deputy and me, We'll be on our way”. “ Yes, you may go”, replies The Mayor in his magisterial tone and a flick of his fingers. “Mr Durdles one more thing before we let you go, if I might have a personal word in private”, asked Mr Grewgious, moving closer to Durdles and Deputy with his back turned to Mr Sapsea. Taking Durdles to one side he asks, “You come across to me Mr Durdles as one who has the measure of a man fairly readily, if I were to ask you for your opinion of Mr Datchery, what would be your answer”. “Durdles is not one to make assumptions about a body after just a short period Mr Grewgious, but I should say he was not all he appears to be, and that would be as much as I should care to venture”. “Thank you Mr Durdles, ”. “Sir!“, says Durdles with a tug at his forelock. “But just one more point if I may” Grewgious asks while fumbling through his pockets; and eventually finding what he has been looking for. “Do you recognise this key Mr Durdles, I am aware of it being a copy of the original, but you may have seen the likeness before”. Durdles turns the key over and over again, withdraws a key from the collection within his coat pockets, compares the two,then states. “That Mr Grewgious, is the key to the Great tower gate, might I ask 'ow it came into your possession”. Not willing to allow too much information he possesses into more hands than necessary he replies, “Let us just say Mr Durdles, that it surfaced into my possession”. Deputy turns to Mr Grewgious and asks, “Is Dick really missin mister, coz if he is, it'll be 'im as dun it”. He says pointing to the gatehouse window where Jasper can be seen peering furtively from behind a curtain. “I seen 'im argewin wiv Dick yestday mornin an I seen that look a'for when 'e says how 'e was goin ta kill me”. “Now you 'old on Deputy”, remonstrates Durdles. “I know as you 's a good reason to 'old a grievance agin Mr Jarsper, but you can't go accusin Gentlemen of making off with everyone, jus cos you don't like 'em”.

“Mr Durdles is quite correct in what he has said young Master Deputy”, responds Mr Grewgious. “Jus Deputy, I ain't no one's Master, an ain't likly to be”. “Never the less!, As a Lawyer it is my job to find where that proof lies, Now have you two Gentlemen eaten this morning for I and Mr Bazzard are in need of food and drink”. Both parties shake their heads to confirm neither has eaten. “Well then, I suggest we take tea at The Crozier, where myself and Mr Bazzard are staying. Reverend Crisparkle Sir, if your duties permit would you care to join us for tea at The Crozier?, Mr Mayor Sir, do you find yourself in need of refreshment?“. Mr Sapsea looks at Mr Grewgious and with a look as much as to say, “I—should be seen at the same table as a stonemason and a ragged filthy Street urchin, I think not”, but his reply is less arrogant than his thought. “No,No I thank you sir, but a Mayor is a very busy person you know, I have an endless amount of work to do”. “Aye and a Aukshineer and a Mayor is much alike, in that they both likes alot of Gammon and Spinach”, Declares Mr Durdles, meaning Mr Sapsea has an inclination towards verbosity.

The Crozier,—Although rather taken aback when Mr Grewgious ushered his afternoon tea guests in, nevertheless, and after escorting the party to a suitable and conveniently out of the way booth, provide a splendid table of sandwiches and cakes and pastries of all varieties, enough to satisfy an army of street urchins and stonemasons, not to mention Minor Canons, Lawyers and their clerks.

While Mr Grewgious Bazzard and The Reverend Crisparkle sip their tea politely, and nibble their fancily cut sandwiches delicately, Durdles and Deputy find enough capacity within their mouths to accommodate a considerable amount of the contents of the entire table. As they eat, Mr Grewgious asks the party to recount the happenings of the last weeks and months since first with the disappearance of Edwin Drood, and lately that of Mr Datchery, with Mr Crisparkle adding his knowledge of the events, short of relating the latest weir findings.

A picture is formed in Mr Grewgious's mind from Deputy of The Princess Puffer, and Datchery's requirement for Deputy to obtain her address, Bazzard scribbles down all in his notebook, while attempting to remove a segment of potted beef sandwich from one side of his mouth to the other.

Notebook of Arthur Bazzard.

The Reverend Crisparkle is much concerned at the revelation of Mr Jasper's dealings with “Princess Puffer”, a notorious opium dealer, having the understanding now that Jasper's use of opium may be far more serious than he had ever suspected.

Mr Grewgious is particularly interested in Durdles account of the mysterious midnight tour. Mr Grewgious asked what Mr Durdles thought the reason behind it was. Mr Durdles replies that he believed that The Dean and Mr Jasper had an idea to write a book about the Cathedral and thought that an evening view might add interest and atmosphere to his narrative.

Mr Grewgious asked Mr Durdles whether he could recall anything unusual happening that night. Mr Durdles said although there was a bottle present he didn't usually get that “groggified” so easily. Mr Jasper had said it was good stuff.

Mr Grewgious asked Mr Durdles if he thought he may have lost or dropped a key from the collection in his inner pockets at any time that night.

To which Mr Durdles replied that he thought he had dreamt that he heard a clink while asleep.

And when he was roused, found that the crypt door key had fallen from his coat.

Mr Grewgious asked if that was the only key that had escaped his possession.

Mr Durdles replied That he believed it was but could not be entirely sure.

Mr Durdles then asked Mr Grewgious if he thought that might have been how the Tower key had been copied. To which Mr Grewgious answered that he did not know as yet.

After they had devoured their afternoon tea, with plates licked clean in a most unhansome manner, and the table linen besmirched by grubby, grimey not to say gritty fingers and hands, Mr Grewgious asked Durdles if, on the following morning, he would open the crypt for him to see the location of the mysterious midnight tour.

The Reverend Crisparkle and Mr Grewgious walk side by side across the Cathedral grounds.

Their conversation centred on the dominating topics of the disappearances of both Drood and Datchery. By the riverside, they espy his worship the mayor conducting several men with sticks who appear to be searching the weeds and rushes along the river bank. Mr Sapsea's voice is carried on the wind and can be heard barking orders and pointing here, there and everywhere in imitation of a General on a battlefield ordering his troops to advance; glorifying in his superiority and displaying all the symptoms of one suffering delusions of grandeur.

No more is found of Mr Datchery, one moment here, the next gone. Yet another enigma, so indecipherable, as to seem beyond human ingenuity to solve…So why bother! Some in Cloisterham say.

Chapter 27

A CONVERGENCE OF SOULS—AND A ROAD TO A CONCLUSION

Cloisterham is all a flutter with excitement and merriment, even the Ravens, Rook, Crows, Pigeons, and all other avian species known within these isles (And many without), that have been disturbed from their resting places in the dark and gloomy garrets of the Cathedral tower, are joining the throng of humanity that has gathered at the moorings near the Cathedral close, to gaze at the spectacular sight of the yacht that is berthed there. Mr Tartar's men who are all former sailors in Her Brittanic Majesty's Royal Navy, and had served with Lt Tartar, scale ropes and rigging under Mr Lobley's instructions in a timely manner, till all is shipshape and Bristol fashion and the gangplank lowered.

The shore party assembled on deck consists of Mr Tartar, Miss Twinkleton with Rosa and Helena, and Bill Yorke, a sailor for more than five and twenty years, his skin tanned and weather beaten so as to appear to be manufactured from Morocco leather. His hair is tarred into a tight pigtail, his attire, as with all Tartar's men, is reminiscent of naval uniform.

“Boy, if you will lead the ladies down one at a time please”, Mr Tartar orders Mr Yorke, who touches his forelock and nimbly traverses the gangplank and waits arms stretched for the first lady to decend. “Mr Tartar, why do you call Mr Yorke, BOY”, asked Miss Twinkleton in a whisper as he helps her onto the plank.

Tartar laughs and calls to Mr Yorke, “BOY! Miss Twinkleton would like to know why you are named so”. Yorke replies, “With respect to Miss Twinkleton and yourself Sir, I prefer not to answer”. Mr Tartar laughs and whispers, “His initials spell B.O.Y but he hates anyone to mention his middle name, so he has been BOY in the service as long as I have known”. “What is his middle name?“, asks Miss Twinkleton.

“That, —Miss Twinkleton”; he replies with a smile, “is a question only he is obliged to answer, I have never heard him utter it, and have only observed it on official naval documents, and as his friend as well as his master on board, I am not at liberty to disclose it”.

The Ladies flanked by Mr Tartar and Bill Yorke, make their way towards the Nun's house where Mrs Tisher and all the young ladies are there to greet them with much laughter, merriment, chattering and hugging and kissing. Mr Tartar makes his excuses from the throng of young feminine exuberance, and with Mr Yorke heads to find The Reverend Crisparkle at Minor Canon Corner.

About this time, a black 'Growler' pulls up outside the Cloisterham Mayor's residence, and an extremely large turbaned Indian Gentleman alights and holds the door for another Gentleman to step down. After presenting his card and asking for the Mayor, both men enter.

Mr Sapsea looks at the card again and pulls himself up to his highest level, his chin jutting out, his breast puffed up, to the point his waistcoat buttons are in imminent danger of popping off; and with an air of importance, waits for the maid to show the two Gentlemen in to his office. “Major Sanstere and— another Gentleman”, she announces. “Er!—Major Sanstere, your card addresses you as an Inspector of Police, not military then?“, the Mayor suggests. The Major, is a man in his mid-to-late forties, greying slightly at the temples, with thick bushy black eyebrows, a complexion, that has seen tropical sun recently. He wears a frogged military black tunic, black hussars style riding breeches over black riding boots with short spurs, a staff officers forage cap adorns his head and he carries a black crested swagger stick. Mr Sapsea, not being a man to observe others when he would much sooner observe himself, rarely looks at either visitor; Although the presence of a six foot and five inch tall Sikh, wearing the uniform of the Bengal lancers bedecked with a blue sash onto which the Metropolitan Police crest has been added; He also carries a traditional 'Kirpan' tucked into his waistband, should deserve at least a curious, if only cursory glance, but not so from Mr Sapsea, too engrossed with his own image of importance.

“I hold both commissions, Mr Sapsea”, Major Sanstere answers. “ But at this precise moment and for the purpose of our business here in Cloisterham, I am here with my colleague, Duffadar Singh, who is also a serving soldier in Her Majesty's Indian army, and like myself holds a special warrant from Her Majesty's Government to facilitate the arrest of the culprit responsible for the disappearance of one Edwin Drood”. At this The Mayor looks up sharply, and as he looks into Sanstere's face, a hint of recognition shows. “Do I not know you Sir?“, he asks. “We have met, Mr Sapsea”, replies Sanstere. “I thought so Major, I am usually quite sharp at recalling persons who I have met before”, said Sapsea, leaning back in his chair, with a tone of pomposity in his retort.

“Major is my Military rank Mr Mayor, I am at present acting under Government Warrant while attached to the Metropolitan Police Detective Branch with the rank of Inspector, Duffadar Singh holds the acting rank of Sergeant with the same force, and with the full powers that warrant gives, and I should add, that the warrant we hold is not restricted to the area of operation that The Metropolitan force would normally operate within”. “As for my purpose here, it is to garner as much information as is possible to apprehend whomsoever has had a hand in Edwin Drood's demise or otherwise, and to this end, I have to ask you to examine my warrant as Mayor of Cloisterham, so that you are aware that it gives you the knowledge that I and my sergeant are to be given every assistance in doing our duty”.

Duffadar Singh takes the warrant from inside his tunic, and hands it for Mr Sapsea to examine. The Mayor, being an Auctioneer by calling, is not so familiar with legal paperwork as he is with selling livestock, but he recognises the signature as that of the Home Secretary. “You seem very well connected Ma..Inspector Sanstere”, he said.

“ I have made many friends in my Military career Mr Sapsea, some of them are now holding high office that is true; I will expect your full cooperation Mr Sapsea, and firstly the Duffadar and myself will require an office for our use, I believe there is a Police House with stabling near the Crozier where we will be staying, that is large enough for our purposes, I would like you to inform any Watchmen you have to meet me there in an hour”. “Are you giving ME an order Inspector?, Well I never Did whatever next”, said Sapsea. “You have had the chance to peruse my credentials Mr Sapsea, do you wish to question their validity?“. “No,No But I do find it all rather heavy handed Inspector”. “Six months have passed since Edwin Drood went missing, in all that time, only one name has been mentioned as a suspect, but no substantial evidence has ever been brought to bear to take this case further, that is why I have been given the task to find what happened to Edwin Drood, and in these circumstances Mr Mayor I must demand that you follow my instructions without question”, responded Sanstere. Mayor Sapsea is not at all happy in having his authority usurped, but he is mindful of the warrant and the powers it bestows on Major…Inspector Sanstere, in that it allows no discretion on his part, he must obey.

Constable 'Trooper' Lawson sits up in his seat as he sees Sanstere and Singh leave the Sapsea residence.

“Police house please Lawson, just down this road to the left”, Sanstere orders. The Police house stands at a crossroads near the city centre of Cloisterham. A small, but imposing building of local stone, it is surrounded by a wrought iron gated fence, and has a large oak metal strapped door, above which is an ornately carved lintel stating 'POLICE HOUSE', the carving of which bears all the hallmark of Mr Durdles work, complete with oak leaves acorns and even clusters of grapes. A bulletin board stands outside, the bills of which have faded with age and lack of renewal. With the Key Mayor Sapsea has reluctantly offered up, Sanstere opens the main door of the Police house to be greeted by the most odorus of moist laden, dank and mouldy pervasive smells he has ever smelt outside of a the hold of a prison hulk. He and Singh throw open as many windows and doors as can be found.

Constable Lawson comes in from the stable having found it in as bad condition as the house, if not worse. “The stables are unfit for pigs Major, let alone a horse, so I have stabled her at the Crozier till I can clean the place up”.

“Thankyou Trooper, I was aware of your service as a Hussar when I asked for your secondment to out little party, I appreciate men who do not require an order for every action they take, but I would sooner you stayed with the Duffadar and myself, than mucking out a stable, I will get Sapsea's men to do that work”, replied Sanstere with a nod of thanks to Lawson.

Within a short while, the room looked more like the office it was intended to be. Lawson had collected as many chairs as were present in the building and a table served as a desk.

Shortly, Mr Sapsea could be seen marching down the High Street, His 'Troops' in magnificent disarray behind him, sauntering as loungers do, only 'Omnibus' Joe assuming any resemblance of order to his stride.

Duffadar Singh was the dominating presence in the room as he held the door for the Watchmen to enter. As he does so, he notices a figure he recognises, walking in a group across the Cathedral Common. Attracting the Mayor's attention, he, speaking in Punjabi, says “Mējara sainasaṭērē, laiphaṭīnaiṇṭa ṭāraṭara ithē kalō'isaṭarahaima vica hana”. (”Major Sanstere, Lieutenant Tartar is here in Cloisterham”.) “kithhe?“,(”Where?“), replies Sanstere. Singh points out Tartar walking with Reverend Crisparkle and BOY Yorke. “Excuse me awhile Gentlemen, Trooper look after these Gentlemen for a moment”, he said as he indicates to the Duffadar to follow him.

Mr Sapsea looks aghast, full of moral indignation that he should be walked out on. 

“Inspector!, I am a busy man, with much work to do”, he angrily calls after Sanstere's retreating form. Sanstere pauses, “Then don't let us keep you Mr Sapsea, we will fine if you have more important things to do”, he says placating the Mayor's ruffled feathers.

“Mr Grewgious will be glad indeed that you have persuaded Neville to leave his garret Tobias, for the last time I saw Helena and him, he did not look at all in a healthy w…“. Mr Crisparkle stops in mid flow of conversation as Lieutenant Tartar suddenly grips his arm.

“What!, what is it!“, the minor canon says, looking from Tartar to where that Gentleman is looking. I huge Indian Gentleman in Uniform is not something you expect to see every day in Cloisterham. And that coupled with another Gentleman in black uniform, certainly is out of the ordinary walking towards them from the High Street smiling at Tartar, and Tartar announcing “Good God, oh! forgive me Septimus, but I know those two Gentlemen from my time in India”. “Of all the place's in the world I would expected to see you, Cloisterham would be the least likely, I should have thought of, Major Richard Sanstere, what a pleasure to see you Sir, and you have our old friend the Duffadar with, but what!, why!, this is beyond belief”, Tartar says shaking his head to clear it as though he has been staring at a mirage in the desert. “ I share your astonishment my friend, to think of all the places where our paths have crossed, from the Hindu Kush to the Nicobar islands, I could not have begun to imagine we would next meet here; but I am most gratified to see you looking so well, quitting the Naval service would appear to suit you Toby”, replied Sanstere as Tartar grimaced with pain as he shook hands with Duffadar Singh, who had the broadest of smiles on his face, only restricted by the tightness of his beard. “What uniform is this that you wear Major, no crown on your epaulettes, are you no longer in Her Majesty's service?“, queried Tartar. “It is a long story my friend, and one that requires a drink to relate, but I have no time at present as I am here on official business, which I will be most happy to confide in you (and for the first time he acknowledges Reverend Crisparkle's presence) and Reverend Crisparkle here later at The Crozier”, he says.

“What!, do you know my friend Mr Crisparkle”, asks Tartar with surprise. Sanstere laughs, “All in good time Tobias, I have few Gentlemen to talk to first”. “Then instead of The Crozier, join me on my yacht moored yonder, and I shall be glad to introduce you to my guests”, Tartar points out the sprigs of the masts above the tree tops along the towpath.

Tartar and The Reverend Crisparkle head off to The Crozier, where Mr Crisparkle has informed Mr Tartar that Mr Grewgious and Mr Bazzard are staying, while Sanstere return to the Police house to marshal the Watchmen.

At the Crozier, Mr Grewgious passes on the information regarding the snuffbox, and his thoughts relating to Jasper's reaction to their last meeting. He gladly accepts Tartar's invitation to his yacht, as does The Reverend Crisparkle, who, however seems preoccupied in thought. “Septimus, you appear to have something on your mind”, asked Tartar. “It's just that I have the strangest feeling of having had the acquaintance your friend Mr Sanstere before”, Reverend Crisparkle said. “Very unlikely I think Mr Crisparkle, he has spent a not inconsiderable time in Indian army service;

I first met him when our ship ferried him and his party to one of the Nicobar islands, where some Burmese pirates had raided and caused much unrest, Sanstere and his men aided by a shore party led by myself routed the pirates and imprisoned their leader on Andaman”, said Tartar, then with a chuckle, “However, he carried the nickname of 'Giragita' Chameleon with some of the Indian troops who had served with him, for his ability to blend in with men, one moment the most British of Raj officers, the next, a turbaned Sikh, a 'Bhikhari', a beggar in rags”.

Back at the Police house Major, now Inspector Sanstere addressed the Watchmen. “Gentlemen!, Please find a seat and make yourselves comfortable, what I have to say will take but a short time, but I fear you may require answers to questions that may prove difficult to answer, firstly my name is Sanstere I and my colleagues, (indicating Singh and Lawson, are here in Cloisterham on official Police business, the nature of which is to find whoever it so be that caused the disappearance of Edwin Drood, Mr John Jasper's nephew; I will require your full assistance in completing our task, as you all will be aware of, is that only one suspect has been questioned regarding this matter, and that no evidence was forthcoming to call for that person to be tried for any crime against Mr Drood, what I need from you right now, is a statement from the Watchmen that were called on by Mayor Sapsea to find and detain Neville Landless, are any of those amongst you”. It seems they were all in the party half a year ago that caught up with Landless on his walk. Sanstere said as he takes a seat behind the desk. “Do you have a leader Gentlemen, or a spokesman you are happy to talk for you?”, he asks. Now that Mr Sapsea had left with a extremely deflated ego (for the moment), they looked from one to the other, then the general consensus was that Joe would speak for them.

“What can you tell me Joe of the day you apprehended Mr Landless”. Joe gave as concise an answer as he could. From the moment the Mayor had ordered the 'Manhunt' to the fight with Neville Landless where blood was spilt. Mr Jasper's insistance that the blood on Landless was that of his nephew Edwin Drood and Joe's correction that the blood was both his and Landless's after the scuffle; and to Neville Landless's forthright denial of any wrong doing or connection with Mr Drood's disappearance, and of his complete cooperation and compliance on the journey back to Cloisterham whilst continuing to protest his innocence.

“Thankyou Gentlemen, now I am sure you have questionsyou may wish to have answered”.

Joe stands up. “Sir, can I ask by what authority you come here to Cloisterham”. Sanstere takes the warrant from his pocket. “This”, he states waving the warrant in the air. “This is a warrant signed by the Home Secretary, giving myself and my Sergeant, (giving the British military equivalent to Duffadar) power of investigation and arrest of the culprit we are seeking”. He shows Joe the opened warrant to see Government seal and signature. Joe nods at all the Watchmen to signify the warrants validity, as far as he understands it. Sanstere informs them that for the moment, work needs to be done to find what evidence is able to be found and asks them to give thought to that night six months previous to see if they may remember even the smallest detail that they have heard or been told, and to report back to Constable Lawson here at the Police house.

That evening, 'Sirocco', Lieutenant Tartar's yacht, was resplendent with lanterns brightly illuminating a large plank trestle table covered by all manner of viands prepared by Tartar's ever faithful crew, and where the preparation of exotic foods was concerned, none could better the crews cook Rana, from the simplest ingredients, Rana could create tastes rarely savoured by Europeans, unless they had travelled far and wide. Coloured rice's flavoured with spices, and rich sauces, dishes steamed with all manner of aromas to set the taste buds of those 'Lollygagging' on the towpath watering. Rana stood no higher than five foot and two inches in height, but could climb a mast quicker than any other crew member. The Crozier's flying waiters were hard pressed bringing covered dishes with more traditional meats, fowls and vegetables of all varieties from their kitchen and up the gangplank, wines chilled with ice to please even the most educated of English palates, were carried across the Cathedral Common and now adorned the table. An awning was affixed between the spars to protect the guests from the possibility of inclement weather that evening.

Tartar and his crew were resplendent in their best uniforms, Boy Yorke escorting the ladies up the gangway to be greeted at the top by Lieutenant Tobias Tartar, and piped aboard by Mr Lobley. Reverend Crisparkle and his Mother were there, as were Miss Twinkleton and all her young Ladies, supervised by Miss Tisher. The Dean and Mr Sapsea arrived together. The last to make their way up the plank were Sanstere, Singh and Lawson, who drew much attention from both the guests on board, and the few Cloisterham citizens, who are gathered on the towpath for a look at the spectacle.

Having piped the last guests on deck, Mr Lobley exchanged his pipe for a penny whistle and played a hornpipe for 'Sandy' Shorr, the second mate, to dance to.

A convivial evening was had by most, if not, all.

The foods was devoured at a pace, washed down with quantities of wine, spirits and ale. The sound of music and laughter carried high into the darkest nooks and crannies of the spire, where bright black eyes looked down on the merriment below, and on occasion, out of the dark night sky a raven would silently swoop to grab a fallen crumb or crust and with a sudden flurry of feathers dissappear just as silently back up to it's perch in the shadows. Just as silently as that raven; and watching from the darkest shadow of the Cathedral tower, a spot well chosen for another purpose, stands John Jasper, his eyes fixed on the gathering onboard and flitting from Rosa Bud to Neville Landless then to Tartar.

Neville Landless was aware being observed, and had the strong impression that he caught Mrs Crisparkle gazing in his direction now and then, and of the attention that Lt Tartar gave to Miss Bud. If he felt any jealousy for Tartar he didn't display it, if he felt any animosity toward Mrs Crisparkle for her continuing distrust of him, he likewise appeared to accept it as mistaken.

As it was, he had been seated between Helena and Miss Ferdinand, both of whom had held his attention in conversation all through dinner. If Rosa had any of her old intuition of unwarranted observation from Jasper, she never showed it, too absorbed in conversation with Mr Tartar was she. As the evening drew on, the first to leave was Mrs Crisparkle, who insisted that Septimus should stay and enjoy his friends company while they were in Cloisterham and Mr Dean offered his arm to escort her home to Minor Canon Corner. Next was Mayor Sapsea, seemingly only too glad to be away from the presence of Major Inspector Sanstere and the towering figure of Duffadar Singh, who, during the evening had proved to any who doubted it, that he could in fact converse quite readily in English, on a range of topics. Miss Twinkleton and Mrs Tisher ushered the young ladies to the Nun's house, with Mr Sapsea as their protector.

With all the ladies either returned home or retired for the evening, Major Sanstere spoke to Lt Tartar in a quiet corner of the deck, if such could be found. “Tobias, I wonder if you could 'discreetly' gather Reverend Crisparkle, Mr Grewgious and his clerk and Neville Landless into your cabin for me, I have something to reveal to you all that I prefer at present to be shared with as few people as is necessary”. “Why, yes surely, but what of my crew?“, “I will leave that to your discretion as and when you confer the information to them, if you deem it to be relevant to their duties” replied Sanstere.

When all were either seated or standing in Tartar's cabin; which by the very nature of a yacht, ocean going or not, was not of the greatest proportions, Major Sanstere handed Mr Grewgious his warrant. “Mr Grewgious, I am told you are a Lawyer, I am also led to believe that you have taken an interest in Justice being served in the matter concerning the disappearance of Edwin Drood”. At this Neville Landless starts as if to rise out of his seat, he has taken on the look of a cornered rabbit.

“You have no cause to concern yourself Mr Landless, I am fully aware of all the circumstances in this case that have been revealed so far, and I am confident of your innocence”. Neville slumps back into his chair, but retains a less than relaxed expression on his face. Sanstere returns his attention to Mr Grewgious. “Mr Grewgious, you have had time sufficient to peruse that document, I would be grateful if you would be so good as to explain to these Gentlemen what you are holding and of its import”. Mr Grewgious removes his reading glasses to the very tip of his nose and peers over the top of them to take in all present. “Well, it appears that this officer..Major Sanstere and his companion (indicating Singh) have been granted a special warrant by Her Imperial Majesty's Commissioner of Police, and signed by Her Majesty's Home Secretary, to investigate and apprehend the person they believe to be responsible for the doing away with Mr Edwin Drood, also Major Sanstere has been given the Police rank of Inspector and his companion (again indicating Singh with his glasses that he has taken off for the purpose) is his Sergeant”.

Sanstere takes the warrant back from Mr Grewgious, and turning to face Mr Bazzard says, “ Excuse me!, the Gentleman making a record, some of what I have to say is not to be minuted, so I ask you to stop writing please and commit to memory what you hear”. Mr Grewgious touches Bazzard on the arm with a nod to say, 'It's okay'. Sanstere carries on.

“As some here already know my name is Sanstere, I am a Major in Her Majesty's Military intelligence based in India, my colleague here is Duffadar Singh, I hold the acting rank of Detective Inspector of Police for the duration of this investigation, the Duffadar is my sergeant. I have been here in Cloisterham for a short while, shall we say 'incognito', and have obtained enough evidence through information I have received to lead to an arrest; If any of you Gentlemen have further information I would be grateful if you would present it to me at the Policehouse ; As yet I do not intend to make any movement towards any suspect until further enquiries are completed”.

The Reverend Crisparkle is first to utter a sound after Sanstere's announcement. “You say you were here 'incognito', if I am correct in my assumption, people have been searching Cloisterham for a person thought to be missing, who was in fact, not missing at all”.

“I have found through my experience, that to gain information that otherwise may not be forthcoming, sometimes, other more devious measures are required, to present one's self in uniform can serve the opposite effect of what is desired with some, where as an 'Old Buffer' may get a better response”, replied Sanstere.

Mr Grewgious looked from one to the other in a querying manner. “I am a very angular man it is to be assured, and not at all associated with the intriguing world that some move in, but Reverend Crisparkle, am I to take it that you suspect Major Sanstere to be none other than the missing Mr Datchery I have been informed of”. “The Major has not as yet signified that my assumption is fact, but I saw a likeness in the Major's features, and that coupled with a remark made by Lieutenant Tartar suggesting that he had heard the Major called by the sobriquet 'Chameleon', and his reference to 'Old Buffers', a term used be 'Mr Datchery' to describe himself, leads me to the conclusion that Major Sanstere and Mr Datchery are in fact the same person”, said the Reverend Gentleman. “Well!, I never Did!, is this true Major, I am not at all sure I agree with subterfuge, even if the end justify the means”, said Mr Grewgious. “I suggest Mr Grewgious that the importance from Mr Landless's prospective to ensure the true culprit is brought to book. We know that his jewellery was recovered from Cloisterham weir by Mr Crisparkle sometime ago”, Sanstere is stopped at this juncture by Mr Grewgious. “Major, There has since been yet another find recently at the weir by Reverend Crisparkle and Mr Tartar, I have those articles with me at the Crozier and will bring them to your office tomorrow”.

The following morning saw a very bleak sky over Cloisterham, compared to the previous days balmy conditions, today the clouds had set in and a light drizzle now and then kept the citizens of Cloisterham dodging between shop awnings, and minding puddles, that were not short of tiny lakes in places.

Mr Grewgious and Mr Bazzard had indeed visited the Police house to hand over to Sanstere their finds, and discuss their merits in the case. “I will be travelling back to London tomorrow if you no longer require my presence here”, said Mr Grewgious. “I my self am required back in the capital Sir, and would be grateful if you could postpone leaving Cloisterham till I return, I should not be long and would like to think you could keep a watchful eye on Mr Jasper while I am gone”, replied Sanstere. “Assuredly!, but I have no power's to restrain him should he wish to leave”. “A watchful eye is all that is required Sir, and a telegraph message to Scotland Yard to alert me if he moves, if he hasn't already left town”.

Chapter 28

The Jigsaw puzzle pieces interlock.

Mr Grewgious, with Bazzard take the short stroll from The Crozier across the Cathedral grounds, where the morning dew clings like millions of diamonds to the tips of the grass, through the graveyard with it's sombre reminder of the shortness of human existence.

As they approach the crypt door, the sound of the morning service with the choirs angelic voices ringing out in triumphant praise of the Lord and all his works.

Mr Tartar with Boy Yorke and Sandy Shorr are waiting there for Mr Durdles to arrive. The Reverend Crisparkle comes hurriedly around from the Cathedral entrance, his ecclesiastical vestments flying like the wings of an angel with the speed of his travel. “Mr Grewgious Sir, The Bishop and The Dean are here and aware of your arrangements for this morning”, the Reverend Gentleman said, panting out the words in his haste. “It appears Mr Tope noticed a gathering here at the crypt door and informed the Dean who informed the Bishop who happened to be making a visit”, all of this said as Mr Crisparkle removes his clerical garb, and is now in his shirt sleeves. “Well,well, never mind, never mind, Mr Crisparkle, 'the more the merrier' as the saying goes”, said Mr Grewgious as around the corner march the Bishop, the Dean and Mr Tope, like two Rooks and a crow after the same morsel of bread.

“Mr Grewgious I believe, what interests you, a Lawyer, in our Cathedral crypt ”, says the Bishop after a whispered word from Mr Tope. “I am indeed Mr Grewgious my Lord, and a Lawyer there's no denying ”, said that Gentleman holding out his hand for the Bishop to shake.

“I do not believe we have had the pleasure of being formally introduced to each other my Lord, though I seem to remember seeing you with Bishop Wellworthy at Fulham Palace last year at a party given for members of the Law society, a very splendid affair, and a fair sum was raised for the needy as I recall”. The Bishop is taken aback by Mr Grewgious's conversational approach.

“Ah! yes, I believe we may have exchanged a few 'er' words 'hum' on the political responsibility of both Law and Clergy 'ha', where both should remain in harmonious agreement as to our respective roles in keeping our 'er' elected 'hum' counterparts in the Commons on the correct 'ah' path so as to speak”. Mr Grewgious has no recollection of this, but nods in the expected places, as if in confirmation. The Dean steps in at this juncture. “His Lordship wished to enquire what the purpose of this gathering that Mr Tope has informed us of?“. “Ah!, the ever vigilant Mr Tope will be aware more than anyone of the sudden disappearance of his lodger Mr Datchery, His Worship The Mayor Mr Sapsea has had a search of the riverbanks as far as the weir, and the city carried out with luck in locating the missing Gentleman; and I am sure also that as Mr Datchery's hat was found in the Cathedral close, that as verger, Mr Tope will have conducted a search of the Cathedral itself, the one place that seems to have been overlooked may be the crypt, if by some means Mr Datchery entered into the Crypt, and fell ill, or has in some way, been unable to extricate himself or accidentally got locked in, then it has been suggested that a search would rule out that unlikely possibility”, Mr Grewgious is quick to add a plausible reason for their meeting. “Mayhaps you would like to join us My Lord?“. “Oh no, I don't think it necessary Mr Grewgious, you look men enough to carry out that duty, besides, (His Lordship adds looking at Mr Dean) I believe Mrs Dean has created a breakfast for us, so No,No! You carry on by all means”. And the Rooks and Crow flutter off in search of food elsewhere.

With His Lordship's seal of approval given, Mr Grewgious gives a cunning wink to the assemblage, and states, “Well!, I wonder where Mr Durdles has got to?“, he says glancing at his watch. “ 'es in ther”. Comes a voice from behind a gravestone, and a dirty face emerges from it's hiding place. “ 'es bin in ther all night 'e 'as, never come owt at all uverwise I'd 'ave Widdy-Widdy-Wen wake cock warn'd 'im 'ome I wod”, says Deputy as he comes out through a clump of overgrown Ivy.

“Ah! Good morning Master Deputy, you say Mr Durdles has been in the crypt all night?“, said Mr Grewgious to cheeky young urchin as he slouches against the gravestone, picking the dirt from under his finger nails with a twig. “That's wot I sed dit,unti”. And with no further ado, Deputy rattles a flint off the crypt door that causes some around to be fearful of a ricochet. A mummering can be heard from within, then the ring handle is grasped from the inside and mechanical clunking sound is heard as a key turns in the lock. The door is slowly opened, allowing the openers eyes to acclimatise to the brightness from without, as it penetrates the gloomy interior of the crypt.

Mr Durdles slowly emerges, as does the sour odour of stale brandy. “ Whos there?, wat ya mean by disturbing a body like that, can't a body rest awhile with out….oh! it's you is'it Mr Grewgious Sir”, Durdles brandy befuddled brain starts it's slow transition into clarity of thought, his eyes, as yet unfocused on his surroundings. As his sight returns, he notices Mr Crisparkle, Mr Tartar and all the others. “What's all this then, I thought it was just me, as was to be showing you on yer own Mr Grewgious, I weren't expecting no party tour“. Mr Durdles, is Deputy right in suggesting that you have been—in the crypt all night—alone?“, queried Mr Grewgious. “Can't a body have forty winks in peace an solitude in this, 'er Magesty's realm”, replies Durdles in a gruff manner, “Durdles is known for it Mr Grewgious,( he adds) when Durdles 'as some thinking to do”. “And what was that particular topic that so wracked your brain last night, and entailed an all night vigil with the dead of Cloisterham?”, said Mr Grewgious. “I was thinking where, in the 'hole of Cloisterham city, would I hide a body if I was to be in need of a sich a place,

I was thinking just that, when realised I was in it”, Durdles answered. “Well Mr Durdles, just as Her Majesty has her realm, so you have yours here in this crypt, ( Grewgious states, with a sweep of his arm, as they enter the crypt) and if a body were concealed in some space here, where should you judge that to be”,asked Mr Grewgious. “I should say there's many a nook as could take a corpse Mr Grewgious, but only I knows where they may be; now you take that pillar there (and Durdles shuffles over to where his inclined head nods, and withdraws his hammer from his coat interior) see if I taps here, 'tap,tap' an I taps there, 'tap,tap' do you's gentlemen notice any difference, No! I thought not, an why should you, cos you don't have Durdles ear, I knows that there's an old'un in there with rubble, if I was to remove the rubble, there would be space enough for more than one body to fit”, and he unfolds his ruler to emphasise his point, which is in fact, a pointless exercise for most were lost at the 'tapping' stage. “I 'nowed that! “, comes a shrill voice from behind the assemblage. They turn round to find Young Master Deputy tucking into Mr Durdles dinner bundle without so much as a by-your-leave. “You knows too much fer your own good you do Deputy, leave my dinner alone”, Durdles shakes a fist at Deputy, who takes not one ounce of notice and carries on munching bread and cheese from Durdles pack, and just adding, “It's yistadays”. “So it is, so it is”, said Mr Durdles with a wave of consent for Deputy to carry on with his breakfast.

“I suggest we divide our forces and make a thorough search of both crypt and the tower, if you are happy Mr Durdles to allow the use of your key”, said Mr Grewgious. “What of the Gentlemen from the Police?”, asks Mr Tartar.

Mr Durdles is unaware of the presence of the Police in Cloisterham, and is more than a little surprised and perturbed to think that they are not involved, in what he now understands to a search, more than the tour he had arranged with Mr Grewgious. It is down to Mr Grewgious to explain to Mr Durdles, and in the process, to Deputy, all the latest developments since Mr Datchery went missing. “And evidence is what we are hoping to find here, we, as a team, are going to search the area's of the Cathedral that we know our suspect John Jasper has given us cause to believe he may have wished to dispose of Mr Drood's body in, namely the crypt and the tower, the two places he visited on the night he spent with you Mr Durdles.

In the meantime, the Police are taking their investigations to London, to follow up on Deputy's information about Princess Puffer and items since found by Mr Crisparkle and Mr Tartar. One piece of that evidence is a sack that had contained Quicklime at one time Mr Durdles”. Durdles trundles off into one of the darkest crevices of the crypt. “This is where I keeps it, can't say as I noticed a shortage of sacks, but my men are careless in it's use”, Durdles said, rubbing his forehead in an attempt to clear his thoughts. He hands over grudgingly the Tower key to Mr Crisparkle, as he, Tartar and Shorr are tasked to check the tower, as Mr Grewgious openly admits he “Has not the lungs for it”. “I recommend caution Mr Crisparkle as you reach the top, the stairs are damaged from the storm we had six month ago, and haven't been repaired as yet, Durdles suggests you don't go beyond, as I couldn't say what condition may lie up there, I've been busy elsewhere to take more than a gander meself”, Mr Durdles is always busy somewhere in Cloisterham, with burials, roofs, chimneys and all manner of stonemasonry jobs.

With Reverend Crisparkle and Mr Tartar went Mr Yorke and Mr Shorr, leaving Mr Grewgious, Mr Bazzard and the redoubtable Mr Durdles with Deputy, still amusing himself with Durdles dinner bundle, to cover the crypt. “Well Mr Durdles”, said Mr Grewgious, when the two teams of searchers had dispersed in their differing directions, “What do you recommend as the most beneficial way to proceed with our task”. “Firstly Mr Grewgious, I should say we would be best to start with the sarcophagus's as they're the easiest to get into, but we needn't do no lifting of lids as I can tell by tapping if what's in there is what's supposed to be in there, or if sumatt 'as been added”. And he starts his tapping. “Old Mr Fotherby and 'is missus, just as they should be, Mr Withers, the man as owned Johnsons Stableyard before the crab got 'im”, and so it went on till they reach the Sapsea mausoleum with it's iron railings. Durdles sounds like Jacob Marley's Ghost from Mr Dickens 'A Christmas Carol', as he sorts through the ironmongery in his pockets, eventually selecting the right key they enter. Durdles circles the sarcophagus checking the lid and the area around for signs that all was as he expected it to be. Then out with his hammer, tap, tap, a pause, then tap, tap.

“Mrs Sapsea and the rubbish left by those lazy good-for-nothing journeymen 'o mine, just as it was the night I showed Mr Jarsper the same thing”. “Is there no way that a substitution could have been made”, asks Mr Grewgious.

Mr Durdles raises himself up from the crouched position he had taken during his testing of the tomb. “Even if that were the case Mr Grewgious, there would be another body as would need getting rid of, if you takes my meaning ”, Durdles replies.

He looks around and finds the remainder gathered around the mausoleum gate. “If I might be so bold as to suggest Gentlemen, that it only takes one to tap while others could be a looking round fer loose slabs and sichlike as would be easier for a person on their own to shift”. Durdles point is well taken by the other Gentlemen who begin, with the aid of hand lamps, to search the far flung corners of the crypt for any sign of disturbance, but none is found.

Meanwhile, Mr Tartar's group has reached the upper levels of the tower. On their way up, they have scoured every level as they reach it, but as yet have found nothing of significance to further their efforts. As they passed out and round the second to last open area of the spire, where the air was thick with feathers and obsolete nesting materials and where countless generations of the bird population of Cloisterham had deposited their mark and every beat of their frightened wings caused a whirlwind of dust and debris to rise, enough to warrant the use of a face covering to allow the inhalation of filtered air, they found the spiral staircase to be just as Mr Durdles had informed them, several heavy stone steps dislodged and set askew, leaving gaping voids down to the levels below. It was clear to all that to go beyond this point would be both dangerous and possibly an unwise move. But to be certain that every area that could be checked, had been done so, a plan was needed to overcome the hurdle they now faced. How to bridge an unsafe gap between the two areas of undamaged staircase as it spiralled up, was by no means going to be easy.

Tartar asked all behind him to move back into the 'bird sanctuary'. He crossed to the arrowslit openings, and squeezed his head and shoulders out to allow himself to look up at the spire. There was some consternation in the room as he did this, as at this height, he was almost three times as high as the Sirocco's main mast. As Tartar looked up, he could see a set of corresponding windows at the level above. But he was quite aware that whilst he had managed to get into the position he was now in, he was quite unable to go any further.

Hauling his body back into the room, he took stock of his party and estimated that a smaller bodied person would be needed to reach the level above from this floor. “Mr Shorr, give Mr Lobley my compliments and would he send Rana with ropes and a grappling iron up to immediately, thankyou”. “Aye,Aye Sir”, was Shorr's reply, and away he went, glad, no doubt, to be out of the stink, dust and feathers and into the fresh air once more. As Shorr passed through the crypt on his way to the Sirocco, he enlightened Mr Grewgious's party as to Mr Tartar's order's. “What! He intends to have someone scale the spire to ascertain whether the floor above empty?“, is Mr Grewgious's incredulous reply. “That's about the score of it Sir”, said Shorr with of all things, a laugh. Now Romesh Rana, although small of statue and lithe of build plus agile to boot, he is still a man close on five and forty years of age. “What do you think Rana”, asked Tartar.

“Do you believe you could make it up there, if we can get the hook to hold”. “I can try Sahib”, is all Rana cares to answer, after assessing the feat he would need accomplish. Although Yorke is the best hand with a rope or grappling iron, he is of too large a build to fit through the arrowslit, so Mr Shorr is delegated, and after several attempts, manages to get the hook through the window of the upper floor and to make it hold. Slowly Rana attempts to get his lower body through the window, but try as he might, his hips are too wide. They stand scratching their heads, trying to think of what other means would enable them to gain entry to their goal. When out of the darkest corner of the room a voice interrupts their thoughts.

“I kin do it mista”. Tartar looks around to see Deputy crouching down on the floor there.

“I ain't as fat as 'im”, Says Deputy nodding his head at Rana, which causes a chortle or two from Rana's crew mates and a insulted scowl from Rana. “I can't let you do it Deputy, your only a lad and if you fell there would hell to pay”, said Mr Tartar. But before he or anyone else could stop him, Deputy was up, skipping past them all, grabbed the end of the rope, and was out the window in a flash.

On the ground, far below all the activity above, Mr Grewgious and Mr Bazzard stood with Mr Durdles and the other member of the lower search team with their heads craned up as they see a small body shin up a rope that ran up the side of the Cathedral spire very near to the very top. There is a joint, spontaneous Gasp! from all below at the slight body almost running up to the next floor and climbing in through the arrowslit.

On the Sirocco, after Mr Shorr had ran panting on deck calling to Mr Lobley that “Capt'n be wanting ropes, hook and Rana”, Tartar's deck became a viewing platform to watch the action up the spire, and a feminine stifled scream, was heard as a figure swiftly swung out and up the rope hanging there. “T'aint Rana!“, exclaimed one of the crew. “No it t'aint fer sure, tis too small even fer Rana”, replied Lobley.

“Who can it be Mr Lobley?“, asked Rosa, for she and Helena, stood alongside Neville peering up at the scene. “Don't rightly know Miss, but t'aint Rana”. Neville turns his head toward the ladies. “There is a young boy here, perhaps you know of him Miss Bud, his name I believe is Deputy, from this distance, I cannot be certain, but that figure has a strong resemblance to him”.

“Oh no, surely not a child”, said Rosa with her handkerchief to her face. But as quickly as the figure appeared on the rope, it just as quickly disappeared through back through the upper windows.

Outside the crypt door, neither Mr Grewgious or Bazzard can comprehend who the climber could have been that scaled the rope like a monkey on a stick, but they looked in astonishment as Mr Durdles allows a frightened groan to escape his lips, more akin to a parent witnessing their child in danger.

“Good gracious me, is that young Deputy Mr Durdles?“, “I fear it maybe Mr Grewgious”, Durdles replies, then, more to himself than anyone else, “ like a son”, he adds, gripping his bundle tightly to his chest.

Tartar is the first to move as Deputy nimbly out manoeuvres him and Rana, and has only the briefest of a chance to see Deputy negotiate the rope with the speed of a seasoned sea dog, and disappear in through the upper window. They hear a shout from above as they move to doorway and the damaged stairway. Deputy shouts again in answer to their calls with the words they hoped not to hear. “There's a dead'un up 'ere!”. “Stay where you are Deputy, don't try to come back down the rope, we will rig something up to allow us to get to you”, calls Tartar. He sends Shorr down to inform Mr Grewgious of that which Deputy has discovered. With much huffing and puffing Mr Grewgious and his companions arrive.

“Mr Shorr we need to rig a bosons chair in some form to allows to reach across the void where the steps have gone”, Tartar orders.

The rope that Deputy climbed, is arranged so Rana can pass over the broken stairs, and then a series of ropes are lashed together, and Tartar followed by Mr Grewgious who, not being a Gentleman versed in transition by ropes, keeps his eyes closed, and his hands firmly gripping the ropes as he passes over the gap.

In the tiniest of cupola rooms, in the filth of ages, half laying, half propped, lies what was once a human being. A long black double knotted cravat tightly twisted around the neck serving as a ligature and apparent cause of death. The upper clothing has been roughly torn open to the waist, and quicklime has been poured over the exposed flesh of the face and chest, causing all the features to be erased.

Very carefully, Mr Grewgious examined the body, ever cautious of the quicklime and with a handkerchief held over his face, a guard against the pungent smell of putrefaction.

Grewgious calls down to Bazzard to go immediately to the Police house, and if he finds it empty, to telegraph Inspector Sanstere at Scotland Yard as arranged.

“Is it Edwin Drood?“, asked Tartar. “I am not sure this poor man's mother could recognise him if she was asked to, but I have sat across a table and eaten food with Edwin, and have spent much time in conversation with Edwin, the build appears the same, what is left of hair has the same colour and the clothing looks similar, more than that I cannot say, as for the amount of effort it would have taken to drag or carry a person, either dead or alive up these steps, I am at a lose to comprehend ”, added Mr Grewgious. “The strength of a madman, I have heard said that the use of opium can give a man that”, replied Tartar.

Mr Grewgious stood back from the body, allowing Reverend Crisparkle to kneel and say a pray for the dead, and for first time since entering the room noticed Deputy crouching in the furthest corner the room, a streak of clean skin was apparent through the dirt on the child's face where a tear had washed it.

Mr Grewgious, never had children of his own, his heart lay with a young woman who had died a tragic death after choosing another for her husband. By his own admission, he was an angular man, uneducated in the qualities required of a father; but a compassionate man, who on seeing a child weeping, (even this child, capable, even at such a young age, of surviving the world on his own), brought out the humanity in the the hardened Lawyers soul.

He knelt, putting both hands on Deputy's ragged shoulders. “This is not a sight you should have witnessed young man”, he said in sympathy for the child's distress. “I ain't a bubblin, yor a liar if yer say I woz”, was Deputy's reply, rubbing his eyes and making a cleaner face as he does. “I know you weren't Deputy, you are far too brave for that, but nevertheless you have done what no other man could do, and now it's time to go below to help Mr Durdles down the steps, he is not as sure footed as he used to be and will require your assistance”, Mr Grewgious said leading Deputy to where Rana was controlling the ropes.

Just before Deputy left Mr Grewgious's side, he turned,caught that gentleman's coat sleeve and fumbling in his own pocket brought out a ring of Diamonds and Rubies untouched by the quicklime that had destroyed the body. “I found this on 'im, I weren't goin ta pinch it”, he said his doleful eyes looking up into Hiram Grewgious's face. Then Deputy said, “I for't IT wer Dick mista”, Mr Grewgious smiled down at the child and said, “I think you will meet your Dick again soon young man”. Then, turned to look at the heap of rags and putrescence that once was Edwin Drood.

With the use of an old sail, the body of Edwin Drood, for Mr Grewgious was certain now it was he, the ring, the very same ring he himself had placed in Edwin's hand with the words “Mr. Edwin, this rose of diamonds and Rubies delicately set in gold, was a ring belonging to Miss Rosa's mother. It was removed from her dead hand, in my presence, with such distracted grief as I hope it may never be my lot to contemplate again. Hard man that I am, I am not hard enough for that. See how bright these stones shine!, And yet the eyes that were so much brighter, and that so often looked upon them with a light and a proud heart, have been ashes among ashes, and dust among dust, some years! If I had any imagination (which it is needless to say I have not) I might imagine that the lasting beauty of these stones was almost cruel.“ The words he had spoken at that time, now sounding prophetic to his ears as he looked again at the jewel he had looked at so many times in the past.

The sail acted both as a stretcher and a covering for the body as it was removed to the crypt to await the arrival of Inspector Sanstere.

Chapter 29

An Audience with a Princess
And evidence abounds.

Issac Funkl and Son of Aldersgate Street London, specialises in Jewellery and fancy goods of all kinds. And while the sign above the shop door announces 'FUNKL for all that shines' , the exterior of the shop in contrast, is as drab and dirty as the rest of the buildings in this part of Aldersgate Street. The interior of the shop was not much better. A film of dust lay on most surfaces. It's display cases are crammed with shiny objects enough to dazzle a thousand Magpies eyes, if only they could be viewed without the aid and necessity of a cloth to clear the grime aside. Issac Funkl himself was a small man, no taller than five foot and two inches. To give himself height, he wore shoes with hidden built up heels (made by his cousin Jacob a 'Shoemaker for the Aristocracy', or at least that is what his signboard would have you believe), Issac would sit on a tall stool, that required for to use a smaller stool to get onto his tall stool, and to get off his tall stool. Isaacs coat reached to the floor when he stood, at one time black, now had the brown hue of age, his hair and beard held the frazzled look of age also, even to the Kippah on his head he appeared to be as dusty as his shop.

So when two Gentlemen entered his shop, one of whom was a six foot and five inches tall Indian Sikh with a curved dagger at his waist and with jet black eyes that seemed to probe the thoughts of men, making most uneasy and the guilty tremble, it made Issac Funkl look up, and up. It was the shorter, but only by a few inches, Gentleman that approached Issac Funkl.

“Good Afternoon, are you the proprietor of this premises”, the Gentleman, who appeared to be arrayed in a uniform of some sort asked.

“I am Sir, this is my shop”, Issac answered with a concerned look on his face. “My name is Inspector Sanstere of the Police, I have an object here”, he said removing a cloth covered item from his pocket, that I believe was purchased in this shop some six months ago; do your sales records go back that far, or can you tell me what you may know of the item”.

Sanstere spread the cloth in front of Issac.

Carefully opening the cloth to reveal a small silver snuffbox. Mr Funkl brought the box close to his eyes, “Humm!”, he said. He turned the box over and over, then flicked the lid open, “Oh!“, he said, seeing what filled the snuffbox.

He screwed an eyeglass into his right eye socket and peered closely at something on the inside of the lid. “Yes”, he said, dropping the eyeglass into his palm and putting a pince-nez onto his nose, “Yes a wery unusual use for a snuffbox, if I might say so, wery unusual”. “I agree”, said Sanstere, “What more can you tell us of it, perhaps you might recall selling the box, possibly even remember who purchased it”. “Oh! I see, yes, vell, I sold this myself, Ooh! sometime ago, clerical Gentleman, not from around here, said it was a gift for his nephew I seem to recall, can't imagine why anyone would want to put that stuff in a fine box like this”, he said turning the box over and over with his fingers. “Do you have a name for this clerical Gentleman who bought the box Mr Funkl”, requested Sanstere. “Oh, let's see”, Issac said reaching beneath the counter, and pulling out a dusty ledger. “Let's see”, he repeated as he flicked through the pages of the ledger, causing a duststorm in the process.

“Ahh! hear we are, one solid silver snuffbox, cartouche not requiring engraving, two guineas. The name was Mr J. Jasper esq”,

“Thank you Mr Funkl, I require that page from your ledger if you please, it is evidence in a crime”, Sanstere said. Grudgingly, Issac Funkl tore out the page. “Is there anything I can show you, gold collar studs, watch chain anything”, Issac Funkl, ever looking out for a sale, but not getting one on this occasion.

As Sanstere and Singh left Isaacs Funkl's shop, they noticed an establishment across the road that dealt in Locks, keys and door furniture. It was more a factory than a shop, and was filthy, both outside and in. A bell rang as Sanstere opened the door, inside was tiny, barely space for a flap counter. The walls ornamented with the products for sale. With insufficient room to himself and Singh in the area provided for customers, the Duffadar stays without.

On the summons of the bell, that Sanstere had to operate twice before a gruff voice responds,

A heavily bearded man, filthy and wearing a huge leather apron of the same hue, threw a curtain to a backroom aside,

“Yes!“, the man said, while continuing to apply a file to a piece of metal. Sanstere introduced himself, but the man hardly raised his eyes from his work. “I see you deal in Locks and Keys”, said Sanstere. “So the sign says”, was the man's response. “Can you make keys from a moulding”. The eyes flickered up at Sanstere quickly, then back down. “For what purpose”, was the man's short reply. “For the usual purpose a key is used”, replies Sanstere. The man appears to only interested in his work, and only answers, “It's possible I suppose”.

“We are getting nowhere here, perhaps my friend can loosen your tongue”, Sanstere threatens as he raps on the shop window for Singh to join him. Duffadar Singh fills the doorway, creating dark where light had been.

The leather clad man looked up at the looming figure of Singh, who, although not being party to the previous conversation, is grasping the hilt of his Kirpan and has a grim expression fixed on his visage. “My apologies, I don't believe I introduced myself, I am Inspector Sanstere of the Metropolitan Police and this is Sergeant Singh, now as I asked before, can a key be crafted from a mould like this”, he said laying the open snuffbox on the counter in front of Leather apron. A hint of recognition spread across leather aprons face, and then gone, but the sharp eyes of both Sanstere and Singh saw it, and in a flash Singh caught Leather apron by his left ear and said, “The officer asked you a question and he expects a truthful answer when you open your mouth next”. And his hand gripping his Kirpan slowly started to unsheath it. “I warn now”,said Sanstere, “when a Sikh draws his dagger it has to draw blood, that is a rule a Sikh never breaks, so now, I know you have seen this box before, and I know you made a key from that mould; all I want from you is the name of the person who paid you to make it”.

Leather apron was not a man who frightened easily, but his eyes were fixed on Singh's Kirpan as he said. “Don't know no name, tall cove in black, mor' an six month ago, said as he needed a copy made”. “You say a tall man in black, and six months ago, anything else you can tell us about him, asks Sanstere. Leather apron scratches his with his file and thinks for a while. “Was before Christmas you un'erstand, my memory ain't too clever for detail, it was cold an he 'ad a long wrapper round 'is neck, black an bushy black whiskers, tall 'at, sort'a Clergy like, that's all as I remember”.

Thanking Leather apron for his help and assistance and collecting his details, they return to Scotland Yard, where the message Bazzard sent is waiting. The message read:

'Body found . Believed ED . Awaiting your instructions . Grewgious.'.

Sanstere finished reading the message and handed it to Singh. “Send back, 'Will return . Next train . This evening latest' . Sanstere told the telegraph operator. “Duffdar, I need you in Mufti, we need to see the opium dealer Deputy calls Princess Puffer. I think she is in mortal danger if Jasper saw her in Cloisterham as I did; I want you in that ragged look you wore when we infiltrated Modi Swami's camp, you will protect her if Jasper comes, act as though you an opium addict, listen to what he has to say, and arrest him if he tries to harm her in anyway. I have to return to Cloisterham, but I will return if anything happens”. “Oh Sahib, it has been said it is my best my acting role, far better than the Sapera”. “As I recall Singh, the snake never moved in it's basket”, replied Sanstere as they both laughed at the mention of a certain memory that took them back to a hot and dusty encampment in the Punjab.

They arrived together at Masons Court, the driver stopped short and they walked the last few yards. Sanstere was now attired as Dick Datchery and Singh, as a bhikhari or beggar.

Singh climbed the stairs up to Puffers Palace first. The old crone was sat where she always sat, pipe to her lips, a thin wisp of smoke rose up with every exhalation of her breath. Before Singh had passed through the doorway into the room she spoke, “Hallo deary, come in, come in, you wanting my special mixture, it's a little dearer than Johnny chaynerman over the way, but 'e don't know 'ow to mix it like I does.

No, no one mix's it like I does”. She lifts her head to look at Singh, she has witnessed the world come through her doorway, but Singh is larger than most. “My, My deary, you are a tall'un an no mistake”, she states as she rocks to and fro in her chair slowly filling a pipe ready for her customer. Then a voice she recognises comes from behind the mountainous Sikh. “Good day dear lady, I imagine you must be quite surprised to see me here”, Sanstere/Datchery enquires as he steps from behind Singh. She eyes the pair with suspicion. “My, My if it's not the Gen'leman I met in Cloisterham, surprised!, no, wery little surprises me nowadays deary, I've lived too long to be surprised by life”. “But possibly not the Gentleman from Cloisterham you see here regularly I suggest”, Sanstere returns. Puffer doesn't answer, but a nod signifying her agreement is answer enough. Sanstere sits opposite her and says, “ Do you read Madam?, if so see my card here”. “I reads as much as is necessary for my needs”, she answered. If she reads his card is hard to tell as she passes it back with the quick response, “Police”. “Correct Madam, and from that you will see that I am an Inspector of Police. I need you to answer truthfully some questions I have to put to you”, “Have you had your other visitor from Cloisterham today?“. Puffer is guarded in her answers. “Who might that be then deary”. “You know as well as I do Madam, a certain Choirmaster that you saw in his Cathedral just the other day, I saw you there, and I spoke to you after the service”, he said. “I think I should remember talking to you if I had done”, she said. “You may not remember talking to me now, but speak to me you did, and beforehand outside my residence where you asked if I had seen a man come through the archway, to which I told you he lived up the stairs and you could knock on his door, and you replied,

'No-No!, Now do you recall our meeting?“.

Puffer nods her head again in agreement.

“Then you may also remember, what you said to me when I asked if you knew John Jasper”.

Puffer shook her head, not wanting to recall their past conversation. “You may well shake your head Madam, But you said, and I quote, 

'Know him!, better far than all the Reverend Parsons put together know him'. What did you mean by that?, And I should tell you that your very life may be in danger because of that knowledge”. “How! may that be”, exclaimed Princess Puffer. “It is my belief Madam, that you have had intentions of using the knowledge you gained from Jasper while here in an opium stupor, to extort money from him by means of blackmail, (here Puffer shakes her head vigorously at this suggestion, but Sanstere carries on before she can protest her innocence too strenuously) Now! I am not interested in that as much as I am in the information you may hold. You are aware that Jasper's nephew Edwin Drood went missing, I know that from information I have received. The very same youngman that you told me had given you three shillings and sixpence for your medicine! may very well have been Murdered!“.

Sanstere waits for the gravity of this announcement to settle on her before he commences. Princess Puffer looks at Sanstere with a sad expression on her face. “I knows it deary, I knowed it then, an' I tries to warn 'im, I asked him if he knows a Ned, thereabouts in Cloisterham, he says as only 'is Uncle Jack calls him by that name, I weren't in posse'tion of all as knewed later, 'is uncle Jack wasn't all'as as talkable in his slumbering, 'e would keep on repeatin' 'isself saying how as 'ed done it a thousand times while he lay there, rambling an sich abowt journeys, bits here an there abowt things 'e had to do, but Ned was always in his ramblings. Later his ramblings got more to the point as to the deadly deed 'e 'ad to do, 'e said as 'e had to take Ned on a journey, but only one of 'em woud come back. I give 'im just enough mixture to keep him talking, but he was getting used to it, an woke up in a fury, thinking 'e mighta talked too much fer 'is own good in 'is sleep, an I 'ad to pretend as I was asleep too, as 'e could cut up awful rough, an attack the other customers while they was asleep, then one day, 'e says 'es done it, an I whispers to 'im, 'Wot you took yer journey with Ned have yer', and 'is 'ands are clenched like, twisting sommat an pulling at it. Then 'es awake in a second, an I makes owt I heerd nuffin”. Puffer finished her story and Sanstere nodded and said. “I spoke to Jasper soon after I talked to you on leaving the service at the Cathedral, he was deep in thought about something, and became angry after talking with me for a short while, it is my belief that he may have noticed you amongst the congregation as I did, even the young lad Deputy saw you there, so if Jasper did! See you he may well have put two and two together and realised what your intentions might have been, and I also believe he would want to silence you permanently”. states Sanstere.

“I intend that my Sergeant will stay here to protect you, should Jasper come to do that, Singh will pretend to be a customer of yours in an opium stupor. If Jasper comes, you will act your normal self around him, can you do that?“. he asks, Puffer nods.

It was agreed then, that Singh would reprise his 'Beggar role' with a whiff of opium for spice. And to apprehend Jasper if he attempted to silence Puffer once and for all.

In the mean time, Sanstere headed back to Cloisterham, having firstly ditched his Datchery garb. Late afternoon the same day saw him arriving at the Police house, where a scribbled note from Lawson told him that he had the Cathedral Crypt cordoned off, and had enlisted the aid of the Watchmen to guard the scene.

As Sanstere crossed the Cathedral Common, he sensed the eyes of the not inconsiderable crowd gathered there fixed on him. Word had spread of the discovery, and all the gossips of the city had flocked to the scene to snatch at any morsel of intrigue to flavour their unending diet of juicy titbit. Other eyes also follow Sanstere from behind the darkened Gatehouse window. John Jasper is in turmoil as to his next move. Should he stride across to the crypt and demand to see, what he has heard Mrs Tope say, is the remains of his beloved Ned. Or should he bolt before the finger of suspicion points in his direction, more than it has thus far. He can see Mr Grewgious talking to his Worship The Mayor, in accompaniment with Mr Dean. All eyes have turned towards the figure of Sanstere in uniform as he strides from the Police house.

Jasper's supply of Laudanum has run out, he has consumed more than he has ever taken in the last few nights. He has missed more than once his duties with the choir. Mrs Tope has mentioned to Mr Tope that Mr Jasper is not eating as a soul should. Mr Tope has shared his wife's worries with Mr Dean, (and in short, with anyone he happens to meet). The division of opinion in Cloisterham has grown to a tangible amount, with more now believing that Jasper's increasing invisibility, is proof of some involvement on his part in his nephew's and possibly that of Mr Datchery, that pleasant old buffer that lived next door, but is now also disappeared.

Jasper takes the bold move to face the growing throng. He straightens his attire, adjusts his stock and smooths his dishevelled hair, he can do nought about his visage, his are deep in their sockets and black as coal, made worse by the sallow nature of his skin. He heads down the postern steps, on past Datchery's door and through the archway, as he approaches the Cathedral grounds and the gate within the wall, his confidence wanes and his stride falters. But he has been noticed, and all heads are turned in his direction. Jasper is in confusion whom to address first. Should it be Mr Sapsea, he is after all is said and done, The Mayor, or, should it be Mr Grewgious, who appears to be head of the party that reportedly found the remains, or this unknown Police Officer, who seems vaguely familiar for no apparent reason, but has now taken arrived to take responsibility for any further action.

Jasper summonses up all courage to face head on this new personality, and walks directly up to Inspector Sanstere. “I demand to see this—Ahem!—body—, ( a lump has forced itself into Jasper's throat, causing him to cough in an effort to remove it), have heard been informed has been found—somewhere”. Sanstere turns face on to Jasper. “Are! Choirmaster Jasper, on what grounds do you demand to see the body?, do you believe it may be related to the disappearance of this Mr Datchery…or, someone else?“, Sanstere asks. John Jasper becomes flustered. He does not take well to Sanstere's authoritarian response. “What plagues me about this man?, Why does his voice have the echo of familiarity about it?, Why will my memory not tell me what I most desperate wish to know?. Because I fear danger around this man, as much as I do the Lawyer Grewgious, they know!, they know!.

Jasper cannot think, the opium has numbed his senses to a degree that he knows he is loosing control. He struggles for the words that are required to respond to the Police Inspector.

“ My 'ah' apologies for, for my abrupt manner Sir, I 'er', well you see”. But before he can formulate the sentence, Sanstere takes him by the arm and leads him towards the crypt door.

“I understand Mr Jasper, your Nephew of course, Lawson, the door please”.

Trooper Lawson swings the crypt door open for Jasper with Sanstere, still gripping his elbow, to enter the crypt. The odour of death, far fresher now than the dank and mouldy ancient smell that usually permeates this space, hits them as soon as they pass through the heavy oak door.

Sanstere feels Jasper shiver as they approach the body, lying as it does on the very sarcophagus that Mr Durdles had his bout of hypersomnia on his and Jasper's midnight tour.

Lawson holds the sail edge and prepares to expose the remains beneath, as behind them the doorway is crowded by onlookers.

John Jasper's attempt to shrug off Sanstere's grip, fails as they close on the ghastly shroud. “Are you sure this is what you want Mr Jasper?”, he asks, and before Jasper responds, he has Lawson pulls the sail aside. The stench of decomposition is palpable. A guttural wail escapes John Jasper's mouth, his hand goes to his lips to stifle his own reaction to the sight. “Was this is what you expected to see Mr Jasper?“. “Cover it, please cover it”, cries Jasper.

“I have to ask you Mr Jasper if you recognise who the remains of that person might be?, if only be the clothing”. “I don't know, I don't know, I don't even wish to think what, it may have been”, Jasper stammeringly replies.

“IT, Mr Jasper. It was a human being, with a life to live, and judging from the remains that have been found, a long life left to run, for this is a young man, and I know for certain it is not the missing Mr Datchery. So, it is my duty to ask, could this, (he said pointing to the covered corpse)

Could this be the body of your Nephew Edwin Drood?“.

John Jasper summons up all that is left of the dregs of his self control, “It may be, ask the person who did this to him”. “Who do you suggest that may be Mr Jasper?“, responds Sanstere. “Landless of course you fool, if the Police had cared to become involved before, that murderer may yet have been behind bars, if not hung the sooner”, is Jasper's retort.

“How do you suggest Mr Landless gained entry in the Cathedral Mr Jasper, he had no access to keys, and he would have needed several to move the body to where it was found”. “That's your job isn't it, to find the evidence to prove guilt is for the Police, is it not”. “Quite right Mr Jasper, and I intend to do just that, please do not leave Cloisterham without notifying me Sir”. “You dare to suggest I am a suspect in the murder of my own Nephew Inspector”, growls Jasper angrily. “Yes Sir I do, as one of the last people to see Edwin Drood alive and as evidence I have already collected does not satisfy me if your innocence, then Yes, you are a suspect”.

Jasper storms out of the crypt, barging aside all who are in his way. “Let him go”, calls Sanstere “We know where to find him”.

Asking Joe and his men to continue their guarding of the crypt, and leaving Reverend Crisparkle to arrange the the removal to morgue of the body, Sanstere noticed Mr Durdles and Deputy standing to one side.

“Mr Durdles and Deputy, I have heard of the help you have given here, particularly you Deputy, and I commend both of you for it”, “Now”, he said taking them slightly to one side.

“Now, Mr Durdles do you have any realisation of having met me before, and you Deputy, what of you, do you recognise me?“. Durdles rubs a grimey hand through his hair and scratches his head, Deputy looks from Durdles to Sanstere and from Sanstere to Durdles, they both look nonplussed. “Why I see's a likeness to somebody as I've met but..I can't put a finger on it”, said Durdles still wracking his brain and scratching his head all the more”.

“Suppose I said we shared a tankard or two of Brandy and warm water, just the other day, and you Deputy, you to”. Still there appears to be no comprehension of his identity at the time between them. “Well then”, Sanstere says with his hands firmly on his hips, “Well then, I am a better actor than I ever considered myself to be, it's me Dick..Dick Datchery!, or at least, it was me then, while in disguise”. “Well blow me down and twist me round”, exclaimed Mr Durdles, “I know'd sum'mat as was familar 'bout you”. “And you, young Winks, are you glad I'm not drowned as you supposed I was?“.

“If you wos Dick, you'd know as me name is Deputy an not Winks, Winks ain't a real name any'ow, s'only made up by them at tuppnee's who sez I only takes forty winks a night”.

“I know it Deputy, but do you now believe it is me Dick Datchery, because you and I had this conversation once before, did we not?“. Deputy nods in agreement. “Sometimes, when I am investigating a crime Deputy, I disguise my real identity to get the information that this uniform would prevent, would you have made a friend of me like this, in Police uniform, or rather Old Dick, asking you to run jobs for him, and giving you a 'tanner' for doing it”. “I liked Ol' Dick mist'a, he was good to me”, Deputy said. “I am glad Deputy, and I am still Old Dick, uniform or not”, Sanstere said fishing around in his pocket and producing a sixpence to prove it. “Now, here is payment in advance for your next job, I need you to keep an eye on Mr Jasper, don't let him see you, but watch where he goes and report back if he moves, can you do that?“. Deputy winks at Sanstere, takes his reward and sets off to his duty.

Chapter 30

A French Connection
And an empty nest.

Mr Tartar's cabin on the yacht 'Sirocco' was not huge by any means, in point of fact, it was quite small. Furniture, (such as there was) was of the utilitarian nature. Space required that it should either fold away or stack out of the way.

But into this confining room we're gathered, Miss Landless, Miss Bud, Mr Landless, MrTartar Mr Grewgious and Mr Bazzard, and lastly Inspector Sanstere. The Ladies sat, while the Gentlemen stood.

Sanstere addressed them: “I have gathered you all here to explain, and hopefully shed some light on the myriad of questions that you may be requiring answers to, please allow me to speak, and hopefully I can attempt to do just that. Firstly, may I say how sorry I am for all of you who knew, and loved Edwin Drood”, (Rosa cast her eyes down at this, and Helena placed her arm around Rosa's waist for comfort) “Mr Drood's disappearance will have been shock enough, of that I have no doubt, but with his body now recovered, and with the medical examination underway, I will soon be able to allow his body to be released for burial. I am afraid however, that at this point, John Jasper, as Edwin's Guardian, is still his next of kin, and it will be up to him to make all necessary arrangements.

If, as I suspect, he either declines, or is not present, to give these instructions, then Mayor Sapsea has the power to designate who shall be granted where Mr Drood is buried.

(Mr Bazzard, Sir, your pencil and notebook are not required during this meeting) (Bazzard hastily put both away with a nod).

The next point I wish to make, concerns you Mr Landless. I told you before that I level no suspicion against you for Mr Drood's disappearance, and now that is also the case with his death, I declare you innocent of all blame, I hope you may now be able to return to life again, instead of your self imposed confinement. The next move in this case lie with Jasper, what he does in the next hours will determine how this case will conclude. I cannot divulge the measures I have taken, both here and in London, enough to say that I have several officers on watch for any movement of my suspect.

My next point involves both of you Neville and Helena Landless. I have told you, and Mr Tartar has elaborated on the work I have been doing in the northern area's of India, I have spent so many years there, that my connection with my wider family has suffered, you may wonder where my story is leading, and how it involves you, but if you will give me the time, all will become clear.

The Sanstere family is very old, it dates back many centuries. As protestantism spread through France, the Sanstere family embraced it, they were Huguenots, persecuted for their faith. They fled France and made their way to London where they were accepted and flourished. But during the early Napoleonic wars, having a French sounding name was unpopular with many English people, so part of the family anglicised their name and became known as Landless, sans terre literally means 'without land' or Landless in French. Over the years, my family became involved with the French East India Company, and I grew up in Northern India. As the British became the more prominent in that area, my family, who also had British connections, became British, some moved south and into Ceylon, this is where you Neville and Helena come into my story. Your side of the family had adopted the English Landless name, but still the two sides were related by blood.

Some months ago I heard from an Army colleague of mine who was an acquaintance of Mr Luke Honeythunder. He told me of your plight at the hands of your stepfather, and that you were in England under Honeythunders guardianship. When I arrived in England, I sought your Guardian out, to say that I found him not the philanthropic man I thought him to be, would be an understatement, but it led to my knowledge of Neville's predicament and where you both supposedly were.

I used my connections with her Majesty's Government to get the credentials necessary to find out what was going on here. I have found, as I have mentioned before, that people do not respond with information where a uniform is concerned, hence my disguise.

Reverend Crisparkle gave me your whereabouts with Mr Grewgious and it was a happy coincidence that you were here with my friend Lt Tartar when I game back from my demise as Mr Datchery.

As to your futures, I have property both here in England and India, and you are free to decide where you wish it live if that is what you would like. I will support you from now on as if I were your Guardian, although in reality I am only a distant uncle. Neville moves to speak, but abruptly stops himself. “What is it Mr Landless, Neville, if I may be permitted to be so familiar”, asked Sanstere. “It's. .It's nothing Sir, I..I”, (and then, in a forceful, but controlled voice, “I don't wish to appear ungrateful Sir, but I would like for my Sister and I to have control of our own affairs for once. It seems to me that we have been ill used by those who were placed in a position of power over us, benevolence and philanthropy to me, are words with little meaning other than a guise for exploitation. I thank you Sir for your offer, but I mean to work to support my sister for as long as she requires me to do so”. Mr Grewgious appears somewhat flustered by Neville's remark. “Please, Mr Neville, do not be so hasty as to disregard the offer Inspector Sanstere, your distant relative, has made and judge it in the same light as to that which you have hitherto experienced”.

Reverend Crisparkle also fearful of Neville casting aside the help and assistance on offer says, “You are such an eager soul Neville to push away any attempt at kindness, please think on it, before allowing your immediate thoughts to flow as words”. “Sir!, My experience, and that of my sister thus far, have not led me to accept lightly or with any great excitement the hand that has been proffered in so called love and friendship, only for that hand to be raised and strike at the slightest misdemeanour”. The relived anger that lies just below the surface of Neville Landless's consciousness, shows in his face.

It is Sanstere's turn to speak and cool the atmosphere in the cabin. “Gentlemen, please, I understand Mr Landless's prospective fully, I even see some of the rebel in him, that was in me at his age and drove me to take the course I have in my life. But Neville, if you will allow a kinsman, of a kind, to suggest that Miss Helena has a mind of her own, and surely we live now in a world where our womenfolk are entitled to an opinion of their own. Miss Landless, what are your views on your future and my offer”.

“You ask an easy question for me to answer Mr Sanstere, my brother and I are inexplicably linked, his thoughts, are my thoughts, in general. But we are both aware that until such a time as we can be independent of help, we are bound to require support, even if only temporarily, (she glances at Neville here), before we can assume that position, and Sir, we thank you and will happily accept your help after we have discussed our situation further”.

There is a rap at the cabin door, and Lobley calls from without, “Lt Tartar Sir, a Police officer is here for Inspector Sanstere, shall I show him on board?“. Tartar looks to Sanstere for the answer. “I will see him on deck if you please Tobias”. It is Lawson; Sanstere takes him to one side, “Sorry to disturb Sir, but Doctor Leach has sent word for you to come to the mortuary”, Lawson informs him. “We have our cause of death 'Trooper' I would imagine”, Sanstere states. “Beats me how anyone could make or tail of that mess Sir!“, Lawson said emphatically. “True, but that is why he is a doctor and we are bobbies Constable, I will be with you directly, wait here”. Sanstere makes his 'goodbyes', and promises to keep all informed of developments as they arise, and rejoins Lawson as they head to the Mortuary.

Evening is drawing in as they cross the common. They stop to tell Joe to stand the Watchmen down, but to keep a weather eye open for any movement from Jasper.

Doctor Leach has finished his examination of the corpse, and hands his written report to Inspector Sanstere. “You will understand that dealing with a decomposed body is difficult under normal circumstances, but one that has been subject to Quicklime degradation, and has had interference from wildlife, makes my job far worse”, the Doctor says. “However, with the scarf around the neck, you would have been forgiven to assume strangulation as the cause of death, but after I removed the scarf, I noticed the lacerations across the neck, and you may even be able to see here look, on the chest where the clothing was torn back, an attempt at evisceration; the person that did that had no love for his victim”. “Or had an exceptional degree of jealousy for something or someone that our victim here had possession of in some way”, replied Sanstere.

“What of our victims clothing, such as remains of it, have you examined that for identification, anything overlooked in the pockets?“. “The mortuary attendant is carrying out that process as we speak”, said Dr Leach, leading the way to an anti-room where the figure of the attendant was washing his hands clean of filth. “Well Mr Shrowd, have you found anything?“. Mr Shrowd shook his head before speaking, “No items as such, a tailors mark in his coat, 'Fenton and Son' Highgate, London. But now't as far as evidence of identity Doctor”.

Sanstere takes a closer look at the coat, every movement of the rags causes a fresh onslaught of stench to the nostrils. “Have you some clean water Mr Shrowd”, he asks. He is given a jar, and pours a little on the Tailors mark, “Look there Doctor, do you see there?“.

As he pours the water, a faint image of letters appear in one corner, tiny but discernable as the Initials 'ED'.

“SO, We have our victim, coupled with that which has already been found and established, this body is that of Edwin Drood.

Cause of Death, Strangulation and multiple lacerations to the throat and torso.

Date of Death. Christmas eve last: Twenty forth of December 1869. Some time in the late evening of Christmas Eve or early hours of Christmas morning.

“Are the rumours correct, do you think?”, Dr Leach asked. “Ah, Doctor, rumours are like opinions are they not, everyone has heard one or has one, it depends on which you refer to”, Sanstere replies. “Well the most common rumour now revolves around Edwin Drood's Guardian and Uncle John Jasper”. “And what are the rumours saying about John Jasper”.

“Well, since the body was found, and Mr Landless has been seen moving around freely, it has been assumed that he is no longer a suspect”, said the Doctor. “My investigation has ruled Neville Landless out as a suspect due to a lack of evidence to the contrary, as for John Jasper, evidence continues to be gathered in an attempt to either prove his innocence or guilt”.

“Trooper, would give Mr and Mrs Tope my complements and collect Mr Datchery's trunk, if they should ask after his welfare, just say its all in hand, but don't mention me in that connection”, Sanstere is quite conscious of keeping separate his previous identity in Cloisterham, with that of his present role.

Sanstere noticed Durdles and Deputy sitting on a part of the old Monastery ruins and strolls to join them there. Evening is becoming more established now, and Sanstere sees a faint light in Jasper's rooms. “ Good evening Gentlemen, I see you are on watch Deputy, has our quarry showed any sign of movement recently?“.

“Wots a quarry Pa?“, asks Deputy of Mr Durdles. “It's two fings, it's a big 'ole in the grownd where I gits me stone from, or it's 'im as wer'a keepin a eye on”, Durdles says emphasising the latter meaning with a pointing pipe stem at the gatehouse. “Oh 'e ain't budged, Tope's bin Knockin at 'is door, but 'e ain't ans'ering fer no one 'e ain't ”, replied Deputy.

“Thankyou both for your invaluable service today Gentlemen, without your assistance I do not believe Mr Grewgious and his friends could have attained what they did. It has been fully explained to me what you did, and I am certain a monetary reward should be made to you for it, But! did I hear you call Mr Durdles 'Pa' Deputy, what has brought about this welcome change?“. “I tell you wot it was Inspector, it was when I sees Deputy 'ere come owt that winder an scale that rope as 'e did, I felt proud, that's wot it was pride, I was scared a' course fer 'im to, but I decided then as I would offer 'im a 'ome wiv me, an a job as a prentice stonemason if 'e wanted it”. “An I sez yes, an he says then it's a bargin an I might as well move me pack into 'is 'ouse an start calling 'im Pa like he wos me farver”, adds Deputy. “Well I am pleased for both of you, and what's more, Old Dick Datchery is pleased as well”, Sanstere said with a wink to them both.

“Inspector Sanstere Sir”. calls Lawson from a short distance away. “What is it Constable?”.

“I have just been speaking to Mr and Mrs Tope, they asked about Mr Datchery and I put their minds at rest about that, but they were concerned that Mr Jasper had not taken the food in that Mrs Tope had provided, and they had heard nothing of him since he came back from the Cathedral this afternoon”. “Hmm, there is a light showing still from his rooms, it may well be that after viewing the body of his nephew, he has no appetite for food and just requires solitude, so perhaps we should allow him space to contemplate his next move”.

Durdles and 'Son', are still on watch at thirty minutes past eleven sharing the last morsel of bread and cheese from Durdles pack, when a light drizzle starts and picks up on a cold breeze.

“Don't know 'bout you Dep, (Mr Durdles has suggested that his continued use of the name Deputy, is ill becoming to their new status as father and son, and they agree that Dep is a suitable solution), “Don't know 'bout you Dep, but I ain't much of a man as likes water in anythin other than Brandy, an then only wen its warm; an seeing as Jarsper's light 'as just gorn owt, (he adds nodding at the gatehouse window where no light, even a very dim kind, shines) I think as we shud 'ead home for a warm up, both inside an owt, wot d'ya say?”.

“Dick sed as I shud keep an eye on Jarsper Pa”. “ 'e did t'be sure Dep, but he wodn't want fer yer to catch yer def 'o cold now wod 'e, nor me nither”, said Mr Durdles. And as the drizzle turns into rain, they relinquished their guard post for the warmth of Durdles fire.

The following morning sees Cloisterham under a cloudy leaden sky, the overnight rain has stopped, but everywhere is dank.

Sanstere and Lawson walk across to the Tope's home. “Trooper, See if Mrs Tope has seen or heard from Jasper since last evening, I will try his door, if she hasn't had contact with him, get the key to his room's, we will need to see what he has been up to”.

The door is locked to Jasper's gatehouse, but it is only a short while before Lawson is back with the Key and Mrs Tope. Who is unhappy at the thought of Jasper's room being searched without him present. “Mr Jasper is a very private person and does not take kindly to his things being disturbed”, said Mrs Tope, who seems distracted and somewhat confused in Inspector Sanstere's presence. But his strong military tone appears to settle any mental conflict she may be under. “Needs must Mrs Tope, I require Mr Jasper to answer some questions I have to put to him regarding Mr Drood's murder”. At the suggestion of Edwin Drood, no longer merely missing, but now dead and murdered, Mrs Tope takes the corner of her apron and hides her face in it in anguish.

“Stand back now please Mrs Tope”, says Sanstere as Lawson fits the key in the lock.

Inside is dark and gloomy with a smell of burnt tallow, and on table by the window is an alter candle completely exhausted, wax forming a pool on the table surface. The curtains have been pulled shut just enough to leave a small aperture for a clink of light to shine through.

The curtains opened to allow light in a search of the rooms reveals no sign of Jasper.

“The coop is empty Lawson, our bird has flown.

Chapter 31

Tea with the Princess
and On with the Hunt

Masons Court is quiet for some time after Inspector Sanstere has left in response to Mr Grewgious's message. Singh however, never the most loquacious at any time, unless communicating in his native tongue, is finding that Princess Puffer has a larger and by far and away the louder form of babble and chatter than any Mynah bird in India. “Do ya drink tea deary?, ya know..tea eh?, tea..No!, some calls it char, never 'eard of it, well I'm thinkin' bout making a pot, wanna try a cup deary?“. Puffer brews a pot of tea. “I finds it relaxing deary, when I can't get somethin stronger like, but I were wery bad on drink at one time till I started on this”, she said, indicating her pipe that has never left either her lips or hand, and is almost constantly being stoked afresh.

“I drinks tea just as it comes deary, can't abide mixing it, never takes milk nor sugar as some folks do, but I 'spect it's all down to taste deary, all down to taste”, she chunters on as she hands him a cup with a broken handle. “ Sorry 'bout the china deary, nuffin fancy is it, never mind it all tastes the same whetha it comes outta china silver or gold, still, I dare say as you drinks outta whatever you can where you come from deary”. Singh sips his chai, it has an aromatic smell and taste, unlike the flavour of Indian phalap. He takes the cup from his lips with a facial gesture not missed by Puffer.

“What is it deary, not to your taste?“, she asks him. “What ch..tea is this ma'am?”, he asks in reply. “Why..it's tea is all, from China, you've heerd of China ain't yer, wot is it they say, 'I wouldn't have it fer all the tea in china', she laughs, that's it, 'wouldn't have it fer all the tea in china', and she chuckles till she makes her self choke. “Oh, me poor lungs deary, they're dreful, dreful”, and she takes a long pull on her pipe. She picks up a tin that the tea is in and opens the lid for him to look and smell, which he does. “Was given that by a chinaman, 'e sez as it was the same tea as their h'emporer drinks an cost's more than a year's wages, 'e paid fer 'is pipes with that 'e did”. “Not Indian?“, he queries after inhaling the aroma from the tin.

“Indian?, No not Indian, he was a chinaman I sez, not Indian deary”. Singh drinks down the brew, and almost immediately drops off into a heavy stupor, collapsing on the dishevelled and filthy wreck that passes for a bed. “No not Indian deary and there's more 'o stuff that comes from China than jus tea an opium”, she says with a wry smile and chuckle that ends in wheezing cough, “Oh, me lungs is real bad today deary, ha,ha, but you'll be sleeping the sleep 'o Princes on wot woz in that brew deary”. Puffer rolls Singh over to face the wall. “There deary!, you'll be right comfy there, an if you wakes afore time, Well..I'll just say as you musta bin wery tired, an I tucked you up jus like a babe”.

“Halloh! wots this?“, she's says in surprise as his upper ragged garment falls open revealing his Kirpan tucked under his sash. “Oh!, rule of the ,ouse deary, no knifes allowed while under the influence”. And she takes it, sheath and all and hides it behind the cushion of the derelict armchair next to her little mixing table. She has a little custom during the day, but as evening shadows creep into the court and darkness begins to fall, one or two stragglers, heavy in drink and in need of something stronger to alleviate what ever is the source of their pain or anguish. Every so often, if Singh appears to stir, she instills a drop or two from a tiny blue bottle she takes from her dress pocket placing it between his lips. Her other customers roll and twitch in spasm, then relent and collapse back into the arms of Hypnos.

It is late, very late, when a black figure appears seemingly gliding over the wet cobbles of the courtyard. Up the rickety staircase and up still to Puffers attic. The Princess is sat in the old armchai, where she has been for most of the day. “My, you're late deary!, I wos 'bout to shut up shop”, she exclaimed. She turns the oil lamp up a touch to add what little extra light it gives, 

“Why!, if its not my Gen'leman who was going on a journey”, she says. “A journey Madam?“, queried Jasper, for it is he in his normal black attire, but surmounted by a tall hat and cape against the elements. “What do you mean, journey?“, he asks removing his hat and cape and tossing a sovereign on her table in prior payment. “Oh thank'e deary you all'as wos a generous Gen'leman”,she says swiftly pocketing the coin. “I Don't rightly recall deary, you said many a time, as you wos a lying there pulling on a pipe, as you wos planning a journey fer two, and 'ow as you 'ad planned an planned this journey over 'an over a'gin, let's see now, yes you wos saying as you wos a going on this journey with Ned”,she states, not looking up but continues to fill a second pipe, “There you are deary, yer pipes all ready an a good one it is to, I got a new supply today, price 's wery high at the moment, but you being a regular so as to speak, you won't begrudge paying extra for the best mix'tre hereabouts will yer?“. At the mention of the name Ned, Jasper has stopped unbuttoning his coat to stare at Puffer. “Ned!, you say I mentioned the name Ned, what else did I say, I had not realised I had been so garrulous while I was here last”, Jasper says as he is down to his waistcoat and shirt sleeves now, and with Puffers eyes conscious of his eyes fixated on her. “You know! the journey you wos going on with Ned!, or did you say that journey was over, that's all as I meant”.

Jasper pushes aside roughly one of the drugged and stupefied forms on the bed to allow room for him to sit and contemplate Puffer at her level. “Oh, but don't you worry yerself on that account deary, wot's sed b'tween these four wall's, stays in these four wall's, —for those 'ho pays for that privilege, I means”, Puffer says handing him the pipe she has just prepared, and with a glance in his direction. Jasper laughs sarcastically at her remark. “So there we have it, do we not, and what is the price of this honourable silence”, asks he. “Well deary, now that d'pends on 'ow much you needs a secret kept, don't it”, she replies. “You answer a question with a question, are you playing tricks with me, 'Well deary!, (he says mimicking her form of speach) that depends on 'ow much YOU think you know?“, he snarls back. “Well deary, jus afore last Christmas, I met a young man in the city 'o Cloisterham, do you know Cloisterham deary?,

I wos in a bad way wiv me poor ol' lungs, Oh, they wos dretful wot wiv it being close to Christmas an cold an damp, Well! he give me three shillings and sixpence for my fare home and for me medicine for me lungs; I says to 'im I says 'Young man do you know anyone 'ere abouts as is know'd by the name Ned', coz I should warn 'em if you do as they may well be in mortal danger 'Well, he says, 'Edwin is my name', but my Uncle Jack calls me Ned, what do you mean by 'Mortal Danger ?', he says. “Oh, I shouldn't worry deary, I said, it must be some other Ned as was meant, an then we parted, corse, then when I 'eres that the same young man as I 'ad bin a talking to was missing, I puts two an two together…is that enough deary?“ she asks Jasper. He throws the pipe in her direction as he jumps to his feet.

“Stop talking Woman!, Stop talking before I put an end to your prattling”, he shouts. “Did you think that if you spied on me in Cloisterham, that I would not notice you there, of course I saw you, also when you spoke outside with that irritating and invidious old man Datchery,

I wonder what you had to say to him, and did he also pay for your information, as you have suggested I should pay for your silence, but I doubt that any sum could silence your mouth completely, but this will”, he says pulling a piano wire from his pocket and wrapping it quickly around Puffers neck, pulling his wire ligature taut, Jasper whispers in her ear, “This is your doing hag, if you had only refused me when I first came here seeking sanctuary from my thoughts, instead of plying me with ever larger doses of the filth you peddle, I may have had different reasoning and contemplation on my desires, and fought against them, but you drove me to do what I did, you forced my hand, ( John Jasper's loosely controlled mania is now harder for him to control, such is the effect of the opium on his brain) your beguiling smile when first we met, your elegant fingers as they sought the note's I taught you, your youthful joy when at last your fingers caressingly played the melody, I felt the ecstasy you felt in that achievement, and in that moment I knew you were never meant for Ned, you were mine, and your resistance was but a veiled attempt to hide your inner feelings, Edwin, (he gasps a sob back) Edwin, poor Ned, he didn't deserve your love, nor did any man but me, then too late I find you are free by your own will, and the course I had taken, need never have been made; But You,You, (His mind returns to the squalid room) You kept your hold on me, when I forced myself to stop, you poisoned me yet more till I could no longer stand it”. Puffer struggles, her legs kicking at him, her hand finds the hilt of Singh's Kirpan, she slashes Jasper across his cheek. He releases his grip, knocking the blade from her grip and finishes the job he first started. Jasper feels the damage to his face and sees the blood on his hand. He fetches Singh's Kirpan and returns to the slumped form. “So you would dare to mark me would you woman, well I will mark you, so that you resemble no living creature”. After his work is completed, he casts aside the blade picks up his pipe and draws a deep pull on it. He looks at bed with it's occupants, still unmoving, still in torpor, a faint sound passes the lips of one crumpled form, Jasper holds his face close, and drops of blood remind him of his wound, UNINTELLIGIBLE, is all he utters as he dresses and leaves the attic, down and out into the damp and cold morning streets, his handkerchief held against his cheek.

A short while later a figure uncoils itself from the space under the stairs at Masons Court.

There is a 'clack' every time the wooden stump that substitutes for his left leg touches the cobbles, and then a 'clunk' as it ascends the stairs to Puffers attic. “You up Sal? It's me Peg, I needs a pipe bad”, said as the figure hobbles into the room. He stops, staggering back at the sight before him, “Oh my Lord!“, he exclaims and shows a turn of speed unexpected in a one legged man. “Murder!, Murder!“, he screams at the top of his voice, the sound echoing through the empty streets.

The Growler makes good way against the tide of mud filled puddles left by the rain and deeply rutted road the heavily laden wagons trundling their loads to whichsoever town is it's destination, have created. 'Trooper' Lawson is to take charge in Cloisterham after dropping Sanstere off at the train station. A letter in Lawson pocket to Mayor Sapsea, tells him that should Jasper return to there, he is to be remanded by any means on suspicion of murder, to await interrogation by Sanstere on his return from London.

He arrives at Scotland Yard to be greeted with the information that he is required at Masons Court as a murder has been committed there.

The two lascars have been questioned and sent back to their ship. Singh sits with his head in his hands as Sanstere's gig arrives; Four Constables a Sergeant and an Inspector are already on scene. “So you are the Indian officer I have been informed of, and— that —is your… man, is it”, asks Inspector Cameron, in a tone edged with arrogance as he indicates Singh with his head. “That is Sergeant Singh, and yes he is with me”, Sanstere replies. “When the Constables first arrived, they took all to be customers of this woman, as they were all stupefied by opium and incoherent, the officers took it on themselves to douse the three with water to awaken them, it only occured after I took charge that your man identified himself”, says Cameron. Sanstere nods and approaches Singh. “Well Duffadar, what happened?“.

“I was foolish Sahib, she offered me chai and I drank it..it was drugged, I woke with water thrown over me and being roughly handled, there was blood everywhere, my Kirpan had been used on her in the most terrible way, the other two had no idea also what had happened one said he thought he heard voices, but they were both opium users, I am so sorry Sahib I have let you down”, Singh said remorsefully.

“You couldn't know she would do that to you, but Why would she do it, when you were there to protect her, it makes no sense”. “Sahib, if this was Jasper, she may have thought she knew him and could handle him, not knowing his temper and his state of mind”. “Yes, that would make sense if she did intend to use what she knew to twist money from him”, Sanstere said.

Inspector Cameron butt's into their conversation. “What is this all about Inspector?,

Is there more to this than murder and robbery”. “Robbery!, what has been stolen?“, asks Sanstere. “Very little that I can determine, just some coins and a bag of the filth she dealt in, so this creature says”, Cameron said indicating the one legged man who had raised the alarm. “Come here, tell this officer your name and what you saw when went in to the room”, ordered Cameron. “They calls me Peg Sir, I'd jus got me 'ed in the room and all 'as black as pitch in there, I see's them as wos on the bed fust, then I see's Sal a laying there, course I couldn't tell it wos Sal it were such a mess”. “How did you know what had been stolen?”, asked Sanstere. “I..I..“. “Don't worry, we are only interested in who killed your SAL is it?, So what did you take and where is it?“. “I only took the coin mister, an a couple o pipes, 'er bag wos gone”. “And you saw nothing more, no one leaving or crossing the court”.

“Bit earlier there wos a cove, a gentleman, in black, 'ad a cloak an' top hat carried a case o some sort, but he just come casual like, then he wos gone”, Peg said. “Show me the coin you released her of Peg”,demands Sanstere. Reluctantly Peg shuffles around in his pockets and comes out with a few coppers, which he holds up for inspection. “And the rest”, orders Sanstere. Peg gives him a dismal glance and fishes out a sovereign. “I can't imagine any of your Sal's normal clients paying her with a sovereign Peg do you”. Peg is despondent in agreement. But Sanstere flicks the sovereign for him to catch and he scurries off happily.

Inspector Cameron is not amused, “Do you consider your action rash and a reward for thievery, that sovereign was evidence surely”, he states, looking at Sanstere with a very Disapproving glare. “Not really Inspector, more payment for information and as for its evidential quality, could you tell one sovereign from another?, Inspector Cameron, this case appears to relate to a case I am working on in Cloisterham; A body was found yesterday that has similar mutilation to this victim, but is a male related to the person I suspect murdered your body here, I suggest we keep each other informed of any developments, your suspect I believe is one John Jasper, Choirmaster at Cloisterham Cathedral and Guardian and Uncle to Edwin Drood the body that we found yesterday; he and this Sal knew one another as he was a customer of hers, I will give you the full account of what I have deduced so far, if you accompany me to Scotland Yard.

Sanstere calls Singh to accompany him up to the attic. It is indeed a scene of brutality and carnage, but it is enough for Sanstere to draw a comparison between Edwin Drood's injuries and that inflicted on Puffer. “What savagery, what anger, could drive a man to this degree of inhumanity”, said Sanstere. “This is bad Sahib for here in England, but we have seen the like used on British soldiers by rebel tribesmen”, answered Duffadar Singh.

The Duffadar looks at his Kirpan, still left where it had last been laid after it had been finished with after the assault on Puffer. “I can no longer touch that after it has been touched by evil, it is now unclean”. “We must find Jasper, Duffadar and the sooner the better”, says Sanstere.

Back at Scotland Yard, Sanstere and Cameron sit in Superintendent Brownlow's office.

“As you know Superintendent, my warrant is limited to the one case, that of primarily to find what had happened to Mr Edwin Drood in Cloisterham, and if foul play was concerned, to bring the culprit to justice. We no now, that Edwin Drood was murdered, and I suspect at the hands of his uncle John Jasper. Jasper had connection to Inspector Cameron's case, by his using her premises to purchase and smoke opium. During my enquires, I spoke to this woman known as Sal, Princess Puffer to others, about her knowledge of Jasper, and she informed me of his habit of talking while under the influence of opium. He had mentioned to her something he had to do to someone called

Ned, Ned was the name Jasper called his nephew by. She followed Jasper to Cloisterham, and there she chanced upon this Ned, Edwin Drood, and she said she warned him he was in danger, but never knew the link between them.

Later she heard of Drood's disappearance and decided to learn more about her customer from Cloisterham, with the intention of fleecing money out of him by use of the knowledge she held on him. It is my contention that Jasper killed her to silence her”.

“Hmm!, I suggest Cameron, you continue with this Sal woman case, find out as much as is possible on her, with John Jasper as suspect for her murder; Sanstere, as you say your warrant is limited to Drood and his murder, so you pursue that to it's conclusion. I will issue a warrant for the arrest of John Jasper on a charge of murder of Edwin Drood and of the suspected murder of this Sal, thank you Gentlemen”, ordered the Superintendent.

A short while later see's Inspector Sanstere and Duffadar Singh on the short journey back to Cloisterham.

Chapter 32.
“Is this a dagger I see before me,
thehandle pointed toward my hand”

John Jasper does not hurry from Masons Court, just the opposite, he strolls as though he were returning home from the theatre late, or early, depending upon your veiw point. The streets of East London, like many a major city across the globe, are seldom totally absent of humanity.

As he passes on his way, some cling to the darkness of doorways and alleys, others, of a bolder spirit, or emboldened by spirit of a different kind, swagger along with an alarming habit of bouncing from wall to kerb edge, only to sprawl on the wet cobbles at the first sign of a missed footing. He reaches his destination off Aldersgate Street, a venue where at one time, Princess Puffer discreetly followed him to. There are no questions asked here, even fewer answered. There is no register to speak of, no night porter or bellboy, discretion is the hotels byword and what happens within it's walls, are generally kept within them. The reception is empty and dark, the hallway is empty and dark, the landing his room is situated on, is empty and dark, his room here is darker still, yet not as dark as John Jasper's thought's. He removes his blooded shirt, the collar has the blood from his wounded cheek, which appears, with the aid of his shaving mirror to be minor but will leave a permanent reminder, his sleeves and cuffs are soiled with the blood of his victim, but he carries no spare shirt. He ponders his next move. “The alarm will soon be raised and a hue and cry will follow, anyone with blood on them will attract attention”. He cleans the gash on his face as best he can, his black whiskers cover most of the injury. He attempts to wash away the blood by filling the basin from the jug of water supplid for washing in the room, his collar is turned to a pinkish hue but acceptable, his cuffs and lower sleeves however, more heavily saturated, refuse to respond to the soap and water to a satisfactory degree; so taking a penknife from his case, he cuts the offending items off. Jasper redressed, ties a black silk scarf around his neck, and leaves as quietly as he entered.

He takes a mail train to the stop before Cloisterham, a distance of no more than five miles away. And sets off on a cross country walk, getting to the outskirts of Cloisterham while it is still yet half-light. Slipping through the quiet back streets he makes his way to his gatehouse undetected. If he stays here, he knows sooner or later someone will come, and how would he explain the cut to his face.

But he has one last task to complete in Cloisterham before he can leave and start a new life elsewhere. Edwin's belongings are still in his room. Jasper has not opened the door for over six months now, and has to fight the nausea that is building in him, a mixture of self hate and loathing for what he knows he has done, coupled with the jealousy and longing for what was never his and now can never be his, but if not His!, then Why!, anyone else's.

He takes Edwin's bag, a sturdy leather item and fills it with as much of his own belongings as will fit. He has to be gone soon from here the place that has been his home and that of Edwin's on his visits, for some time now, but no longer can be, as he values his liberty.

But first, he has one last situation he has told himself he needs to rectify, before he can leave his old life in Cloisterham, and possibly even England, behind and look for pastures new.

He quietly closes the door and heads to the weir, where some time in the past, he had noticed an abandoned building in a copse, that he had originally selected to secrete his nephew's dead body. He had had to reconsider his choice, when he saw the weir was a favourite watering hole for Reverend Crisparkle to swim his daily dip in. He had realised he had made an error, when he tossed Edwin's watch and tie pin into the river, but misjudged his throw and they had landed where Mr Crisparkle found them.

The building was one of the first places searched after Edwin Drood went missing, and Jasper had been there when the search was conducted.

The building was as he remembered it, but the summer season had added to it's obscurity within the depth of foliage which was now in full leaf. Inside was as expected, in total derelict disarray. The glass in the window frames had all gone many years before, the roof was collapsed in places, but it was secluded enough for his needs. There was a brick oven built into one wall that was the very place for him to hide away his bag. A bare bedframe in what had obviously been the bedroom, was, to his sleep denied eyes and body, as rich as a Sultans suffiyah as he laid down upon it, no silk draped featherbed held more comfort to him at that moment than this worn and rusty relic and within no time, he was in the arms of Morpheus.

It was late afternoon before he stirred and clambering off of the ramshackle mess he had found so agreeable and snug when his exhaustion was at it's height. He wanders to the window that still retains a fragment of filthy net, and looks in a direction toward the Cathedral. He sees the tallest mast of Tobias Tartar's yacht Sirocco still moored next to the Cathedral grounds. This is his destination, but only after dusk has gathered it's cloak about the countryside. But Jasper is luckier still than he thought himself to be, for by the time he needs to leave his hideout, a mist has risen above and around the river helping to cloud his image as he crosses the weir and walks slowly, so as to not attract attention, just as he did as he left Puffers squalid attic. His top hat and cape are left behind with his bag. He wears a hat and coat of Edwins, knowing that Rosa will recognise them, he aims to surprise her, should she venture into the Cathedral close.

Rosa Bud is in fact at the Nun's house as a guest of Miss Twinkleton for tea with Helena and the other young Ladies. They have had a fine afternoon of feminine chatter, discussing topics ranging from the latest fashionable French apparel in headgear, to musical tastes in vogue in London and numerous other discussions of a similar vein. There has been musical interludes by various young ladies, but not Rosa Bud, who has refused to lift the lid on any piano for the rest of her life, as it reminds her of dear Edwin's despicable Uncle, whom she wishes the earth to swallow up, for what he did to her former betrothed and also for making his revolting declaration of his desired intention upon herself, and if one more person were to mention in her presence the name Jasper again, she would scream until she made herself ill. Helena had made arrangements with Mr Tartar and her brother Neville, to escort them back to the yacht at 8pm, but Rosa had pooh poohed the idea as being silly and unnecessary, as news had it that Jasper had fled Cloisterham after the discovery of poor Edwin's body. The men argued that it was ungentlemanly not to see the ladies home, and so it was agreed that they would meet halfway across the Cathedral grounds.

John Jasper was tucked into his dark corner against the Cathedral wall. This evening of all evenings was the most suitable to his needs, the thick river mist closed far beyond the towpath. But as Rosa and Helena left the Nun's house, they had a clear warm evening for their stroll.

The high Street has it's usual contingent of idlers, lollers and wanderers as they cross to the gate in the Cathedral wall.

Tartar and Neville Landless are just leaving down the gangplank as the ladies walk past the Monastery ruins.

Jasper is positioned perfectly to spot Rosa and Helena as they walk arm in arm through the gravestones. He slowly reaches into his inside pocket and withdraws a thin bladed dagger, ironically a present given to him by Edwin after one of his previous journeys to Egypt, he see's they will pass close to his vantage point.

The ladies are engrossed in their conversation as they walk ever nearer to Jasper's hiding place.

Tartar and Neville are adjacent to the Cathedral main door, as Jasper lunges forward and toward Rosa, she screams as only a woman in fear of her life can, as she sees Jasper, dagger in hand, leaps out from the shadows, but before he can strike, a flint hits him full in the face, followed by a second missile, cutting his forehead and sending gore flooding into his eyes blinding him.

“Widdy Widdy Wen!
if I— ket—ches— Im— in— Clo—str—um— ag—in,
Widdy widdy Wy!
He—d—git— one— in— is— eye,
Widdy-widdy Way,
He—d— be—st— jus—st—ay— aw—ay.

Hearing Rosa's screams, Tartar and Neville rush in that direction.

Jasper is bent to his knee's holding his head, the dagger lying on the ground, with Deputy waiting to deliver another stone should the necessity— (or Jasper)— arise.

But another delivery from Deputy is not required, as Mr Tartar and Mr Landless catch Jasper by the arms as he reaches for the dagger through eyes smarting from the salt in his own blood.

“Mr Jasper, we meet again, and this time it is I who have you by the shoulder, and I don't intend to release you before the Police arrive”, said Tartar. “ Agreed Mr Tartar! and the last time WE met Mr Jasper, you had every intention of having me take the blame for a crime, we now know You committed”, says Neville.

Sanstere and Singh had made good time back to Cloisterham, and on hearing Rosa Buds piercing screams, have run from the Police house with Lawson, across the Cathedral Common in time to see Jasper on his knee's, restrained by both arms. Giving his men the order, Sanstere says, ”Thankyou Gentlemen for your timely intervention, allow my officers to take charge of your prisoner; John Jasper I arrest you on a charge of the willful Murder of your Nephew Edwin Drood, you have the right to remain silent, but anything you do say, may be taken down as evidence and later used in court against you”. Jasper becomes sheep like and meek, almost cowardly. “It wasn't me, it never Was me, it was Jack!, it has always been Jack, He is stronger than I, I fight against him, but he is too much for me”. All the time he is saying this, he is staring at a cowering Rosa held tightly by Helena, his eyes baleful and his cheeks have the pinkish hue of bloodstained tears.

Word soon spreads throughout Cloisterham, and a crowd soon gathers near the Police house, whose one and only cell now has a resident.

At Minor Canon Corner the China shepherdess shakes her head in abject disbelief. “I simply cannot believe what you told me Mr Jasper had done to his own Nephew Sept, and now you inform me, that he has committed yet a further crime, and this one inflicted on a woman”. “Well— yes Ma, but also his attempt to harm Miss Bud and Miss Helena Landless should not be taken lightly, thank God Mr Landless and Tobias were close at hand to take charge of Jasper, after young Deputy had courageously incapacitated him, Jasper had every intention to do serious injury to either or both the young ladies”, said Reverend Crisparkle holding his mother's hand as it shook at the news he had brought her. “To think a man like he, so reverent in exultation of the Lord in song with the choir, could harbour such evil within himself”, said Mrs Crisparkle in disbelief. “True Ma, but those who have it that the eyes are the windows of the soul, cannot see inside beyond the curtains”, replies her son. “I am afraid I have to leave you a short while Ma, as I promised to look in on Miss Bud and Miss Landless after their shock, if you feel you are well enough?“, Septimus Crisparkle says.

“No, No, Go Son go, and give them both my best of wishes that nothing more serious has happened to them”.

Onboard the Sirocco, Rosa Bud is still all a flutter at the thought of what has happened.

“Take a little more wine Miss Bud, I assure you it is an excellent remedy for stopping the shakes after what you and Miss Landless have experienced”, suggest's Tobias Tartar. There is a knock at the cabin door. “Cap'n Sir, Reverend Crisparkle to see the ladies is all right”, calls Mr Lobley. “Show him in Mr Lobley”, Tartar replies.

“My Dear Miss Bud, Miss Landless, I am so grateful that no physical harm has become you, though the terror you must have experienced must have been profound”, his eyes have not left those of Helena Landless as he speaks.

“Indeed Sir, and we are deeply touched by your thoughts and concern”, Helena says holding out her hand for him to take. “Please, with Mr Tartar's agreement, sit here next to me”.

There is an exchange of looks (and smiles) between Neville Landless and Mr Tartar as Mr Crisparkle fits himself into the space offered.

“I am so very thankful that you have both escaped unharmed from Jasper's attack”, Septimus Crisparkle says, “ I had realised he was becoming unstable due to his use of opium for an ailment he said he carried, but had no inkling at all of his deeper inner dark thought's, that I can only attribute to the Devil taking hold of his senses”. “We are very grateful for your kind words Reverend Sir, we have indeed had the greatest of shocks this evening, but Mr Jasper is safely locked away now, and hopefully justice will prevail and he will pay for the heinous crimes he has perpetrated”, said Helena speaking for both ladies. “And how are you two Gentlemen after your exertions”, Crisparkle asks of Tartar and Neville Landless. “I had long wished to take Mr Jasper in hand for the remarks and accusations he made against my character”, Neville answers with a smile, the first of many he has been seen to make over the last few days since they arrived in Cloisterham.

At the Crozier Mr Grewgious and Mr Bazzard are eating a dinner of boiled beef, served with potatoes and vegetables, washed down with a tankard of fine ale. “Well Bazzard, it very much appears our work is done here do you agree?“.

“Erm!, Yes..and no Sir”. “Yes and No Bazzard, how so?, either we have finished what was needed or not!“. “Well YES Sir, in the sense that our work to help in the discovery of the culprit who caused Mr Drood's demise is over due to Jasper's arrest for that crime and NO in that I may not be returning to Staple Inn as your clerk…Sir”. “Not returning Bazzard!, and leaving my service to boot, Why!?“. “You see Sir, during my free time here, such as that has been, I have been visiting the theatre, and I have become friends with the cast, and they are interested in 'The Thorn of Anxiety' and want to produce it here and maybe take it to London if it proves worthy”. “Well I never Did Bazzard, of course it goes without saying how happy I am that your dream of getting your play on a stage is actually going to happen, but at the same time sad that our partnership will come to an end”. Mr Grewgious sad with a sigh.

“I to will be sorry in some respects, but I think you have been aware that I felt, shall I say, less than fulfilled in my duties; and my play has dominated my thoughts more than I suspect you would have preferred, and now I have the idea for another play, so I will be even more absorbed with that”. “And do you have a title for this 'New' play yet?“, enquired Mr Grewgious. “Indeed I do Sir, it is called, 'The Mystery of Edmund Drew', I can imagine you may guess where my inspiration may have sprang from”, Bazzard said with a wry grin, and a head tip in Mr Grewgious's direction.

Mr Sapsea the Mayor is taking an evening turn with Mr Dean. “To be sure Dean I had my doubts about Jasper's character, I believe it can be said of me, that I judge a man's personality and character shortly after meeting for the first time, and I saw through our Mr Jasper in short measure”. “I personally found Jasper a most agreeable fellow”, says the Dean “A fine Chorister and Choirmaster, I would even venture to say, the finest Cloisterham has had in many a long year. But to be sure, these latest revelations have taken the wind from my sails, so to speak”. Durdles and Son appear on the opposite side of the road to the Mayor and the Dean. “I say Durdles!“ calls Mr Sapsea. Mr Durdles looks both back and forwards as if to see who may be calling, but neither he nor Deputy looks in Sapsea's direction, and carry on walking. “Durdles, DURDLES!“, shouts The Mayor with some exasperation present.

Mr Durdles stops, and turns to face Sapsea,

“You addressing ME!, MISTER! Sapsea, if you is, then be cu'rtious enuff to apply my proper title an call me Mister Durdles, I ain't no dog as yer callin t' 'eel”, Mr Durdles replies gruffly.

“My apologies MR Durdles”. “pologys 'cepted Mr Sapsea, what would you be requiring from Durdles and Son?“. says Durdles with a nod and a “Evening Mr Dean Sir”, with a tug at his forelock says Durdles. “Ah! D,— Mr Durdles, I just wanted to say how grateful we all are, meaning the citizenship of Cloisterham, by this

Er! this young man's action in challenging Jasper in his attempt to harm those two poor innocent young ladies earlier”, said Mr Sapsea, with agreement from the Dean. “My son”, says Mr Durdles. “Your Son?“, questions Mr Sapsea.

“My Son— Durdles and Son—Stonemasons of Cloisterham, My Son Dep Durdles on account as 'im not having no farver nor no mother, an 'im being wots called a 'Waif an stray', but not no more 'e ain't as e's now my son”. ”an e's me farver”. Chirps in Deputy to emphasise that which Mr Durdles has explained. “Well done Dep”, says The Dean as he is rummaging about in his pocket. He takes a brand new gold sovereign. “ Now tell me Dep, do you know who this lady is”, he asks, showing Deputy the heads side of the coin. “I've seen 'er face on fings afore mister, but I don't know 'er name”.

“Well Dep, that is a picture of Her Royal Highness Queen Victoria, she is Queen over nearly two hundred and fifty thousand people in the whole of the British Empire, and she would want me to award you this for your courage and bravery”, said Mr Dean handing Deputy the coin. Not to be out done by The Dean, Mayor Sapsea has to dig extremely deep in his pocket, but can only find a half sovereign which he nevertheless hands over with thanks from himself, all the councillors and aldermen.

Meanwhile, at the Police house Inspector Sanstere is interviewing John Jasper.

“Jasper, you have stated that it was not you that committed these crimes, and that it was Jack, tell me, for the record, who is Jack?“.

“I never met the man, but he told me what he did and how he did it all, he is a very clever fellow, but has no sense of right or wrong, I have told him many, many times, that what he has done is evil, and he should be punished for them”.

“You said, you have never met this Jack, so how has he told you everything about what he did?”.

“He speaks inside my head sometimes, that's when he tells me”.

“But you have never seen him, not even in the mirror?“.

“In a mirror?, I don't understand, one only sees one's self in a mirror”.

“Your right, So tell me what Jack said about why he did what he did to your Nephew Edwin?“.

“He doesn't like to talk about that much, but he did say that Ned stood in his way with his betrothal to Rosa Bud, and he also had a habit of calling Rosa 'Pussy' which Jack disapproved of; as for how, he said once he had worked out how to have someone else take the blame, it was only a matter of using the keys he had acquired by copying those of Durdles, he could come and go about the Cathedral late at night when no one was there, although he said on more than one occasion, Durdles was in a drunken sleep in the crypt when he let himself in, but Durdles never woke”.

“How did this Jack manage to get Edwin on his own to do what he did to him?“.

“He said he followed Edwin and Landless after they left my Gatehouse, he had noticed an area that was covered by darkness, even on the brightest of moonlit nights, that place was shrouded in shadow, he hid there waiting for Edwin to return past him, then he said he silenced him with a scarf tightly wrapped around Edwin's neck until he stopped struggling, he went on to say that he had had an idea at first to hide the body in Mrs Sapsea's sarcophagus, but Durdles habit of testing various walls and tombs for hollow spaces, ruled that choice out, but with the damage done to the tower steps after the previous nights storm, gave Jack the thought that it would be a longtime if ever that the repairs would be carried out, so he said he decided that would be the best choice”.

“How did Jack say he got Edwin's dead body up to where it was found and why did he mutilate Edwin afterwards?“.

(Jasper started to show signs that he was becoming anxious with the questions, he was fighting back tears at the mention of Edwin being really dead).

“I—I, J—Jack would never tell me about those things, he said they were his, and not to be shared with anyone, not even me”.

“Let us change the subject then, what did Jack say regarding this 'Sal' the opium seller?“.

Immediately, Jasper's visage changes from the emotional and lachrymose state he has presented thus far, to one far different, he displays an exuberance that is almost jubilant and euphoric when he is thinking and eventually starts talking of Puffers death.

“Jack told me he had found it far more satisfying this time, saying her death was justified, in that she thought nought of the purgatory her filth subjected her customers to, he went on to say that it was her and her alone that drove him to—to do what was done to Edwin; still, I blame myself for not being able to control Jack—he is headstrong and unreasonable in many ways, he will not listen to my cautionary advise, and to think more on what he says he is intending, he calls me weak and a sop and I should stand up more what is rightfully mine”.

Jasper's eyes have the glazed appearance that Sanstere has noticed before, and realises that whatever amount of opium he has consumed, is about to wear off. To this point, Jasper's wounds have only received minor treatment, Sanstere calls for a Doctor to be brought to the Police house.

Doctor Leach takes the necessary medical action to stem any further bleeding, after removing the bandage Lawson had applied.

“Normally, I would suture these wounds, but I prefer not to waste catgut on one such as this”.

Jasper seems oblivious to all around as the effects of the opium weaken. “Doctor, I need Jasper to be aware of what I am asking him and I require him to be able to give a coherent reply, can you suggest anything that may bring him back to his previous state?“, Sanstere asks.

“I can give him morphine, it may work, though it is primarily to reduce pain, but I have read some papers that suggest it could cure opium addiction”. Dr Leach gives Jasper an injection of a small dose to see if has any effect, after a very short period, Jasper is back to his former self, which surprises Dr Leach somewhat as he had expected that Jasper would take longer to recover from his fugue. Jasper, his head now swathed in bandages, sits facing Sanstere, his demeanour seems somehow different, more self assured, with a strange confidence, not as beforehand, the weakening of his usual spirit replaced by one of almost arrogance.

“Are you ready to carry on Jasper, do you feel well enough now?“, asks Sanstere. “Carry on!, carry on with What! pray, I have nothing to say to you, Why! Do you hold me here and why have you set me in restraints damn you”, Jasper shouts. “You are arrested for the murder of your Nephew, have you forgotten that?, also now, I further arrest you for the murder of the opium dealer known as 'Sal', and for the attack on Miss Rosa Bud and Miss Helena Landless, or are you suggesting you know nothing of this”, Sanstere says, staring Jasper fully in the face from across the table between them. “I know nothing of what you are speaking about, and I were not shackled as I am, I would tear you apart for this insult and the injuries you have inflicted upon me”, Jasper, almost snarlingly spits back at Sanstere. “John Jasper, you have sat here and confessed in front of witnesses, your guilt in the crimes that are laid before you, and still you sit there, as though no more than ten minutes ago, you had never spoken nor heard anything of that which I have recorded here”, Sanstere says holding up his notebook for Jasper to see. Jasper laughs in Sanstere's face. “You fool!, you call me John Jasper, I am not that milksop, I am Jack, he is weak willed and afraid to pursue his thoughts, I am just the opposite, I act decisively when annoyed or treated with contempt, malice or indifference, as you will find to your cost if I were not chained to this chair”. “If I were to accept that you are who you say you are, Jack and not John Jasper, how is it that he, John, has earlier told us here that it was you Jack that committed these murders, and not he”. “For a Policeman you are very ignorant, John Jasper could no more kill a person than he could stamp on an ant, he would need to be more like myself to do that, and he is not”. “Are you saying it was you who murdered Edwin Drood and Sal the opium dealer?“, Sanstere enquires.

But Jasper utters not one more word, either as John or Jack, he sits mute, his head now low, his whole demeanour downcast.

Inspector Sanstere leaves the room, and approaches Doctor Leach who waits there still.

“What do you know of psychiatry Doctor?“, Sanstere asks. “Precious little I am sorry to say, I am a medically trained doctor not one who deals in the psyche of men”. “Jasper is claiming to be two separate individuals in one body, is this something you have heard of Doctor?“.

“I have heard of such things as dual personality, sometimes referred to as split personality, but have no knowledge worth speaking of; there is however, a Doctor in Edinburgh who I believe has written articles and papers on the subject, he would revel, I should imagine, to examine Jasper to establish the validity of his supposed condition”.

Jasper is removed to a prison cell to await interrogation by Doctor Fraser Tweedie, the Scottish Psychiatrist Doctor Leach had recommended.

Cloisterham goal is a sombre place, built in the early part of the century, it's grey walls, grey roof, grey paintwork all add to the sense of obscurity for the prisoners within. Jasper has been here nearly a month since his arrest. He has been interviewed many times, by many people. Inspector Cameron has taken his turn along with others who believed they could get him to talk, but he has spoken not one word to anyone.

Doctor Tweedie is a short, but stocky, ginger haired (turning grey at the extremities) man in his fifties. He wears wire framed glasses, pitched on the very tip of his nose, his ginger side whiskers meet his ginger moustache, to curl up from one side of his face to the other.

He has an unfortunate habit of adding the words 'So on forth' to the end of any sentence or explanation as one word to create the single word 'Soonforth' which when spoken with his native tongue becomes 'Swanforth', leading some listeners with the impression, that if anyone were in requirement of Doctor Tweedie's psychiatric help it was Doctor Tweedie himself.

Tweedie sits opposite Jasper, who sits as he has whenever he is being interviewed, head down and unspeaking. Tweedie takes from his pocket a large meerschaum pipe carved as a stags head, antlers and all, he fills it and lights it.

The tiny room is filled in minutes with the sweet smell of the tobacco. Still Jasper makes no sound, this scene continues for the time it takes the Doctor to smoke his pipe, just before the last few puffs there is a slight splutter of a stifled cough from Jasper. “Och! I'm sorry, I had the impression that ye were perhaps asleep, I didnae want to wake ye and Swanforth”. Nothing from Jasper, he sits hunched, his face expressionless. “Dinna ye nae wan tae talk, Mr John Jasper?, that's fine, yae ha every right nae ta talk, if'n yae nae wan tae”. All goes silent again for near an hour. “Jack!“, is the first word Jasper speaks in all that period. “Oh! Jack is it, the Po-lice Inspector said yae name was John, yae'd think they would'a got that right wouldn't yae, Well Jack, cannae call yae Jack?“ (no sign of assent or dissent is forthcoming from Jasper) Well Jack, mae name is Tweedie, I'm a Doctor, not a Po-liceman; I'd like fer yae ta answer a question or two, if'n yae willing ta that is”.

Without looking up at all, Jasper says, “Why do you think I am in need of a doctors services?“.

“At the moment I dinnae know that yae do Jack, but if yae willing tae talk to me, maybe we'll see”. “Everyone wants to ask me questions with differing intentions, what would be yours?“. “From your Po-lice interrogation, yae have spoken as two individuals, both Jack and John Jasper, the Po-lice wan tae know how that can be”. “The answer is simple for even a police officer or for that matter a doctor to understand, it isn't possible there is only Jack, John Jasper is insignificant, and if you have anything else to ask me, I will only talk away from this decaying hell hole”.

“I think I can get Jasper to open his conscience to me about these murders, but only if we can get agreement to take him to a special hospital that a psychiatric colleague of mine runs in London”, Dr Tweedie tells Sanstere and Cameron back in the Police house.

“What would be the point in that Doctor, we already know he is guilty of both murders and attacking the two young ladies, and he has made a confession—of sorts”, said Inspector Cameron. “ Aye, but that's just the point isn't it?, it is only a confession of sorts, should he plead insanity at his trial, he may well get a lighter sentence”, Tweedie says. “We as Police officers cannot make the decision to allow Jasper out of custody without reffing to our superiors”, added Sanstere.

The case evidence and recommendation was forwarded to Superintendent Brownlow, who sort the opinion of his superior, who in his turn sort the agreement of his superior, and the decision was that Inspector Cameron, as a long serving officer with the Metropolitan Police force, would attend to Doctor Tweedie's suggested course of action by escorting Jasper to Doctor Jakob Richter's institution in London, where it had been agreed Jasper should undergo testing to determine if there really was some reasonable evidence that he did have a 'split personality' as Richter termed it, or he was merely play acting.

It takes over a week to make the arrangements for Jasper's transfer to the institution.

“How has your prisoner been since last I saw him?“, asked Cameron of the prison Governor.

Governor Wallace turned to the Warder in charge of the high security wing. “You see him more than I Jackson, how would you say he's been?“. “Good as gold Sir, never talks to any of us warders though, never gives us any trouble likewise, model prisoner in that respect, sits with his back to the door, day and night, on occasion he'll burst into a hymn or two, he has a very fair voice Sir, very melodious as the saying goes”. “Good, good, I have a prison van with two guards at you disposal Inspector, whenever you are ready”.

Jasper's trial date is approaching, he has been at Richter's institution, questioned by both Doctors for nearly a month, and still no they have had no response from Jasper.

“Well Dr Tweedie, it is belief that Jasper is as sane as you or I, after this length of time, and after so many interviews, still not a word”, said Richter. “I agree, yet I cannot forget his change of manner when first I spoke with him at Cloisterham, he was willing enough to talk then and said he would talk more if moved from prison, it is quite frustrating”. “Well, there's no more to be done here, my report will state that he is sane and fit for trial”. said Richter. “I have to agree, I am so disappointed that we could not learn more from him, the future of medicine, would greatly be advanced by a better understanding of the human mind, so few genuine cases have been detected and so much is left to learn.

The following Thursday, Jasper is in the dock at the Old Bailey. He will not speak or show any sign he cognisant of his surroundings or the proceedings. He sits throughout the trial head down, not answering even in his own defence.

When all the evidence has been put before the jury and the summing up complete, the judge recommends a guilty verdict, which is duly delivered.

“John Jasper, you been found guilty of the murders of two innocent people, one your own Ward and Nephew and yet you have shown no sign of remorse or for that matter, uttered not a single word throughout the whole period of your trial, if you have anything to say in your defence, now is the time to say it before I pass sentence". But Jasper says nothing still.

The Judge donned his Black Cap and read Jasper (John or Jack as maybe) the verdict and sentence of death by hanging. The court was silent, the street outside the Old Bailey was silent. The warders took Jasper by the shoulders and as he stood he raised his head to look at the Judge and laughed. “Ha Ha ha! You simpering fool, you will die far sooner than I”, he shouts. “Take him down”, the judge bellows.

Soon, Jasper is on his way back to Cloisterham for his sentence to be carried out. As his van leaves the confines of London and heads into the countryside, Jasper collapses onto the floor frothing from the mouth and convulsing and his guard orders the prison van to stop…..!

It starts to raining heavily, the warm summer skies have given way to dark overcast thunder clouds and the temperature has dropped by several degrees, as a figure stumbles through the heavy water logged soil, faraway from the nearest roads, towns and villages. The figure heads for the Cathedral city of Cloisterham by the most circuitous of routes. It reaches a tiny copse, within which is hidden a small derelict building; inside the figure heads for an old brick oven, built into a wall. A bag has been placed inside the oven, with dry clothes and money. A wet, mud and mire bespattered uniform is stuffed into the oven, followed by a suit of prison garb. Now dressed in dry clothes of workman like style, the figure leaves the building and heads in a northern direction towards the coast.

Some miles back on the London road, Henry Hornet the driver of the coach travelling east, spots a dark blue van on its side in a ditch, the horses have broken free and a happily grazing nearby.

Henry sees it is a prison van, when he looks in the back, he makes a gruesome discovery, the bodies of the two guards, one, only attired in his underwear, are lying dead their throats cut, a jagged piece of metal, torn from a bedframe, lies near the bodies.

It takes Mr Hornet an hour to reach Farethorpe and notify the Police of the outrage.

Chapter 33

STAPLES INN, HOLBORN,LONDON, 1872

“A letter Mr Grewgious delivered by a Gentleman in a brown suit of extremely fashionable cut, excellent mohair hat and very expensive spatted boots”, said William Moffat Mr Grewgious's clerk. “My word William, you have an excellent eye for detail, it is a wonder to me that you do not train for a Detective”, said Mr Grewgious opening the envelope he has been handed. “It seems I am invited to not one, but three weddings all at the same time and on the same day in Cloisterham Cathedral, well I never”, he says smiling. “Will you go Sir?“,

asks Moffat. “I rather think I must go, one wedding invitation is a rarity for an angular man such as I, three on the same day, at the same time and at the same venue however, is almost beyond even my limited comprehension Moffat, did the Gentleman who brought this delightful news give a name Moffat?“.

“My apologies Sir, indeed he did, and he left his card Sir, 'Arthur Bazzard esq, Playwright' “, Moffat says handing over the card. “My, My, Well I never!, Did Bazzard say nothing else Moffat?“. “Only that he was sorry he could not stop, as he had an appointment at the Adelphi, but would see you on the day”.

That Day came, and Cloisterham Cathedral was dedecked with flowers, garlands and swags.

The Rooks, Ravens, Crows, Pigeons and above all, Doves (essential and fitting on a day like this) had all evacuated their nesting places in the Cathedral tower, to escape the joyful ringing of the bells, and the Doves particularly, were now roosting on the adjacent roof top.

The Bishop and chapter were there. The Mayor Mr Sapsea and the council were there, and many more of Cloisterhams society were there.

And of course the 'invited' guests took pride of place at the front. Mr Grewgious sat alongside a resplendent Mr Bazzard. Major Sanstere sat alongside Duffadar Singh both resplendent in uniform with Sergeant Lawson in his best uniform. Mr Lobley sat alongside Boy Yorke and the rest of the Sirocco's crew, very resplendent in mock naval uniform. Miss Twinkleton sat alongside Mrs Tisher with her old brood of ladies and her new brood of young ladies, all extremely resplendent in whatever fashionable feminine attire was in vogue in Paris this season, the only 'Old' brood member missing, was Miss Ferdinand (for reasons to be explained in our narrative later).

The organ invited all to stand, as the three couples all walked down the aisle in pairs.

First came Tobias Tartar with Rosa Bud on his arm, next came Reverend Crisparkle with Helena Landless on his arm and finally,

Neville Landless with Isabella Ferdinand on his arm.

The Dean is to perform the marriage ceremony and a wonderful ceremony it was to with much singing of hymns and playing of the organ and the choir, (with its new master) are in excellent voice.

The wedding march is played as the happy couples walk down the aisle to an alfresco reception on the riverbank, where tables have been set by the Sirocco, again moored near the Cathedral grounds. The Crozier yet again has surpassed itself with the wedding breakfast it has provided.

The guests all seated and enjoying the day.

Mr and Mrs Tartar, flanked one the one-side by Mr and Mrs Crisparkle, and on the other by Mr and Mrs Landless are as happy as happy con be. Mr and Mrs Tope are there, the older Mrs Crisparkle (still looking for all the world, like a China Shepherdess from a mantlepiece) fusses around as only she can. Mr Sapsea holds audience for anyone willing to listen, (and also for those in earshot who may not wish to listen, but have no choice due to the proximity of their seating arrangements).

Mr Grewgious turns to Mr Bazzard, “Arthur?, Er I hope you do not resent the informality of me addressing you by your Christian name?“, he asks. “By all means do..Hiram..and I hope that you accept the informality of I using your first name”, replies Mr Bazzard. “You are very good Arthur, I wondered how it was that you did me the courtesy of delivering my invitation to this most perfect of events, personally and by hand”. “Ah! Reverend Crisparkle handed me yours along with my own, as you know I have been owner of the Cloisterham Globe theatre for some time, and lodge now with Mr and Mrs Tope in Jas…the Gatehouse best to say; I was on my way to London to see a producer at the Adelphi, and was passing that was all really, it seemed expedient shall we say”, “The Adelphi!, what have you to do there Arthur?“, Grewgious asks with some surprise at the name of such a famous theatrical venue. “I am pleased to say, they are to put on my new play later this year”.

“I had heard that 'The Thorn of Anxiety' had done well at the box office, what is your new work called?“. “I have named it 'The Mystery of Edmund Drew”, as you may guess it is a murder mystery where an uncle murders his nephew, they are very keen as that sort of thing is fashionable in both literary and artistic form at present”, says Mr Bazzard. “Good gracious!, well I do hope no one else has written in a similar vein, I wouldn't wish to defend you in an action for plagiarism”, Mr Grewgious says laughingly.

Mr Tartar sauntering over to the wall where a certain stonemason and son are sitting, sharing bread and cheese from a bundle between them, and an ale bottle to wash it down with. “Will you not join us Mr Durdles?, you were after all is said and done invited guests”, he asks.

“No thank 'e Sir, Dep an me is 'appy where we is, ain't we Dep—a nod is sufficient answer from Deputy—No Sir, thank 'e wery much, but Dep an me is 'appy where we is amongst the h'evidence of our work, ain't we Dep—widdy—is Deputy's reply.

Seeing this exchange, Sanstere takes a bottle of Brandy from the table and he sauntering over to Durdles resting place. “If Mohammet won't come to the mountain, then the mountain must come to Mohammet”, he says flourishing his bottle. “EH!“, replies Durdles. “Pay no attention Mr Durdles, but let us share a Brandy or two for old times sake, when Durdles, Deputy and Dick sat warmed by your fire, and discussed issues that are, as yet, not fully resolved”. He tops their tankards.

“A toast”, he says raising his bottle. “And to 'ho are we a toasting Sir?“, inquires Durdles.

“Why to Dick of course, good Old bumbling Dick Datchery, what a pleasant Old buffer he was”, he says with a laugh. “To Dick…, may you live in the hearts of your fellow men for many generations henceforth”. They drink the toast.

“Where did this Dick Datchery character come from, I mean the name not some much the person”, asks Durdles. “Ah! Good question, and very soon answered, You know my name is Major Richard Sanstere, the diminutive form of Richard is Dick is it not. And in India, where I have worked fighting her Majesty's enemies, I have disguised myself as a native using the name 'Dachrri' DACHRRI is simply RICHARD spelled by another manner, simple, the first principle of deception is to keep things simple DATCHERY pronounced in a different manner is DACHRRI. You see Simple”.

“May be simple to you Mr Datchery, but it's all wery confusin' to us as 'as little edumacation”,

said Mr Durdles. “An wot of Jarsper Dick?, wot of 'im, 'e ain't caught yet is 'e”, Deputy quite rightly points out.

BROADWAY, NEW YORK, 1872.

If you were to take a turn down Broadway as far as forty first street, you see smaller road leading off to your right. If you took the time to journey down this road, you notice a rather Old, but ornately built theatre, the sign reads,

'MONTGOMERY'S PALACE. At one time a very popular theatre, now a little seedy.

If you were to walk through the arched doorway and into the bar area, you would hear a piano playing a wonderful rendition of 'Kalinka' accompanied by a balalaika player. If you stayed there just a little longer, you would hear both pianist and balalaika player, burst forth into song 'Калинка, калинка, калинка моя!'. You may be even more surprised to learn that neither singer, singing in Russian, is in fact Russian, one is English the other Swedish. They congratulate each other on their musical prowess, “You are in very good voice today Jacob ”, says the Swede. “Where did you learn to sing in Russian?”. “Haha! I only know that one song, and the phrase, 'Я тебя люблю' “, says Jacob.

“I love you!, Haha, have you ever had the chance to use that with a Russian girl Jacob ”.

“Never! Erik, in fact I have never even met a Russian girl, only the Russian seamen on the boat that I worked on to get here, they taught me that and the song and a few words that are best forgotten”. They practice for that nights entertainment for a while longer, then take a rest.

Later that evening, there is an unusually busy crowd in. Their turn on stage comes and they get a rapturous applause after their set.

With their nights wage in their pockets, they go their separate ways. Erik to his wife, and Jacob to a room above Saltzer's Pharmacy, where Mr Saltzer had a sideline in dispensing drugs of a different variety. The room was once a Barbers shop, but the enterprising Mr Aaron Saltzer had found a more lucrative use for the chairs, than cutting hair or pulling teeth. “What is it tonight Mr Jacob, pipe as usual?“. “No I need something quicker tonight”.

“Okay, well roll up your sleeve then, I have a new tincture I've been working on, it is a mescaline and opium compound, works real fast and they say it gives them the ride of their lives”. Saltzer looks at Jacob's arm, “I see your no novice with needles Jacob”, he said, patting up a vein. Jacob sits in the chair tipped back, he can't bear to look at the mirrors that still line the wall in front of him, so he looks up at a running border above, that shows a scene of an Italian town and countryside of yesterday— year. Castles and tall pines, red tiled houses and bougainvillea, cobbled streets and donkeys pulling carts and people wearing their local costume. As the narcotic takes affect, these scenes merge with a different view of spires and towers, rivers and weirs, flocks of huge black birds circle above, their piercing jet black eyes search him out, they call to each other in their croaking way as if to say, “Look!,

it is John Jasper the murderer, he hides here, but we found him. A windmill of the common Mediterranean variety, blends into the English landscape incongruously and a Venetian gondola, glides down an English river scattering swans and ducks in it's wake.

Then a figure, cloaked in black, steps out of a darkened shadow near the castle, which now can be seen to be in ruins, the figure stares hard into Jacob's face, smiles, with a finger to his lips, as much as to say, “Hush! You talk too much”, then fades back into his hiding place.

Slowly the haze lifts, to be replaced by a heavy throbbing headache. “Did I ramble on much?“, asks the man calling himself Jacob. “It's all Greek to me”, said Saltzer, “Where are you from Mr Jacob?, if you don't mind me asking, I know your English from your accent”. “Do we not all come here Mr Saltzer, (meaning America, with a sweeping gesture of his arm), to get away from what we were and who we were?, you yourself, or at least your forebears, left somewhere else to settle here, why then look over our shoulders at what was before, far better to live life in a new country, without clouding our thoughts with the baggage of the past, as so many of my countrymen do”.

“You've got something there Mr Jacob, my father would only have German spoke in the house, never let up about 'The Old Country', like the guy that owned this place, Italian could hardly speak English, surrounded himself with memories of Italy”, Saltzer said indicating the wall border.

Jacob's head is better, a nearby clock strikes two in the morning. The drugs he has consumed have dispensed with his tiredness.

He walks the streets that are still busier than any town in England at this time. There is a bar open at the corner of the street and he goes in.

Theatre goers making a long night of it, crowd the tables, so he takes a stool at the bar and orders whiskey and gets whisky and regrets not ordering scotch. Looking in the mirror behind the bar he starts, as if seeing something or someone from his past. A girl, very young in appearance, the epitome of Rosa Bud, His Rosa!. She is in a party with others, but she meets his gaze with hers in the mirror and smiles. He raises his glass to her in the reflection and she smiles again. She makes her apologies to her friends and moves to Jacob's side. “I know you”, she says smiling at him.

“I saw your performance tonight, you were great, the show was lousy but you were great, my name Lullah what's yours?“. Jacob is taken aback by her forwardness, still not fully accustomed to the American lack of formality.

“I am Jacob, it's nice to meet you”. “Wow your English, I would'a lost money on that for sure, what's your other name?”, she asks in reply the alcohol has loosened any reserve she may usually have. “No other names, just Jacob”, he says. “Why did you look at me as you did in the mirror Jacob?“, she asks. He asks if she wants a drink before he answers, and orders her a bourbon on ice, he himself ordering scotch this time. “You remind me of someone from the past”, he says. “An old girlfriend I guess”, she replies. “I had hoped so, but it wasn't to be”. “Her loss you seem like a nice guy”. They sit in silence for a while just sipping their drinks. Her friends get up to leave, but she waves them off. “You'll walk me home won't you?“, she asks.

“Of course, if that's what you want”, he says.

Her apartment building is in a more fashionable section of Broadway, which is only a short distance away from the bar. They talk as they stroll along. He asks her what she does, and she replies 'Nothing', her father owns a theatre here and keeps an apartment for when he is in town, which as she puts it, 'ain't often'.

She asks about him, but he tells her she knows all there is to know of any relevance for now.

Jacob is surprised to say the least, when Lullah invites him in to her apartment. They have a few more drinks and it is near to sunrise when Jacob feels the effect of the drugs he has had suddenly fade and he fears what the result may be. Lullah sees his eyes glazing and the beads of sweat forming on his brow. She asks if he is ill, and he tells her he has had malaria that comes and goes. He has in his pocket a bottle of Laudanum and drinks half the contents. “Now don't take this the wrong way, but I think you should stay the night, on the couch I mean, you ain't well enough to go home now”, she advises.

They make him up a bed for the night in the lounge and he is soon off into a restless sleep. Jacob dreams of Cloisterham again, with it's Rooks that miraculously turn into clergymen walking solemnly down through the transept and down again into the Crypt, where the lids of the tombs are thrown to oneside and corpses of long dead Cloisterham inhabitants are strewn asunder. First to approach him is Ned as last he had seen him, a rotted corpse saying 'Uncle Why?'. He brushes away the sight from his eyes. Next comes Puffer laughing, with her head barely held on her shoulders, but he brushes her away likewise. Lastly Rosa, Dear Rosa, but she is accusing him, scoldingly and viciously pointing an accusing finger at him shouting MURDERER!, MURDERER!…Murderer!. He must shut the vision out, and stop her screaming voice. He makes to wrap his arms around her, but she recoils in horror, turning her head away as she did that day at the sundial, cowering at the sight of him, he catches sight of his scarred face in a mirror and dashes it to the floor, scattering glass around his feet…..Then nothing! the vision is gone.

It is near to midday when he awakens, but he is not where he was in the lounge, he is sprawled on the floor of her bedroom. He is still clothed, but there is blood on his shirt.

He rises slowly to his feet and something crunches under his shoe..glass. His hand to his head and steadying himself on a chest, he takes in the bedroom through fingers spread across his eyes. The bed is a gory mess, dark with dried blood. Lullah is there, mutilated beyond all comprehension, mirror glass protruding grotesquely from her body, his fingers he see's are sliced, where he has held something sharp. He must flee…. Quickly!

WHITECHAPEL, LONDON, 1888.

At 2.30am in the morningof the 31st of August, Mary Ann Nichols (known as Polly) bumped into her friend Emily Holland out side a shop at the junction of Osborn Street and Whitechapel Road.

“Where yer off ta Polly?, bit late ain't it”. “It's awight Em, I got'a bit'a bisness to do afore I kin pay fer a night's doss, ha,ha I spent wot I had three times over on gin, but I'm off ta see me new fella Jack, 'im as bought me this fancy bonnet, he'll see me awight for me doss an I don't even 'ave to do nuffin fer it”. She says with a wink, and off she staggers to meet her new beau, swinging her bag and singing 'Daisy daisy'.

A little further on as she passes Bucks Row, a gentleman's voice calls her name. “Polly Polly”.

“'ho's there?“, she says. “Polly it's me Jack”. “Where are yer Jack me lad”, she answers laughing in the darkness. “In the doorway here Pussy, can't you see me?“, the disembodied voice calls. “No! Jack an why'd yer call me pussy, zat yer ol lady friend?”, she said with annoyance creeping into her voice. “Good!“, he says, sounding closer now, and as a razor slices through her throat and killing her instantly.

“I told you Rosa, that day by the sundial, what I was prepared to do to make you mine.

* * *

THE END OF THIS CONCLUSION—BUT THE START OF A NEW CHAPTER FOR JACK.