Give the Devil His Due (37 page)

“My brother has been found, Mr. Isaacs—he and Mr. Watson Jones. I came to inform you in person.”

“What? Where are they?” Milton demanded.

Wilfred walked to the window to look for Maguire's motorcar. “Leura—I sent Johnston to fetch them. It appears they were abducted from Leichhardt and abandoned in the wilderness some miles out of town.”

“Are they all right?”

“Rowly seems to think they'll live, which does beg the question as to why Mr. Stuart Jones would go so far as to attempt to murder Miss Higgins.”

Maguire's arrival forestalled further discussion. The gentlemen stood aside as the eminent surgeon examined Edna.

“She's suffering from an overdose of ethyl ether,” he concluded, reaching into his bag. “Fortunately Miss. Higgins has not gone into severe shock or stopped breathing, but she will nevertheless require some assistance to come out of the anaesthetic.” Maguire filled a hypodermic and injected the sculptress with what he informed them was adrenalin. The results were immediate.

Edna gasped, her eyelids fluttered. “Rowly?” she breathed.

Flynn rushed to her side. “How are you, sailor? It's me, Errol.”

Edna retched and Maguire informed them that nausea was a perfectly normal and expected reaction to the anaesthetic. He issued instructions to Mary Brown for Edna's care, prescribing sweet foods, hydration and bed rest.

As she was still disoriented when the police arrived, they spoke to Milton and Flynn first, taking over the study for that purpose. Ordinarily Milton would have been startled by the fact that not only Detectives Delaney and Hartley, but Bill Mackay, the Superintendent of the Metropolitan Police, had been despatched to investigate. But then, it had been Wilfred Sinclair who had called the police. Given that, it was probably more surprising that Commissioner Childs had not come himself.

Milton and Flynn recounted what had happened. Delaney and Hartley asked the questions. Mackay stood back, silently watching his detectives. “How did you know Miss Higgins would seek out Dr. Stuart Jones, Mr. Isaacs?” Hartley began.

“We had assumed Rowly and Clyde had fallen foul of bookmakers, Detective. Edna knew Reginald Stuart Jones had contacts in that world.” “She might simply have been shopping might she not?”

“Not with Rowly and Clyde missing. Anyway it turns out I was right, so what does it matter what she might have been doing?”

Hartley ignored the challenge. “Mr. Sinclair and Mr. Watson Jones have been located, I believe.”

“Yes.”

“So Dr. Stuart Jones had nothing to do with their disappearance.”

“We don't know that yet.” Milton glanced at Delaney. The detective looked troubled, but he did not interfere with Hartley's line of questioning.

“Why was Miss Higgins acquainted with Dr. Stuart Jones?”

“We knew him years ago…, when he was still a medical student.”

“You and Miss Higgins seem to have a number of unfortunate past acquaintances.”

“What do you mean by that, Detective?”

“Didn't you also describe the late Mr. Crispin White as an old acquaintance?”

“What has one thing got to do with the other?” Milton demanded, incensed that Hartley would use this to pursue him for White's murder.

Delaney cleared his throat and pulled Hartley aside. Though Milton could not hear what was said, it was clearly not an amicable conversation. Mackay joined the sidebar briefly and the whispered dispute was curtailed.

“Are you aware that Dr. Stuart Jones has a reputation for being willing to carry out certain illegal procedures on women?” Hartley barked when they returned.

“If that's the case, shouldn't you jolly well arrest him?”

“I don't suppose Miss Higgins visited Dr. Stuart Jones in his professional capacity.”

“I beg your bloody pardon!” Milton roared, outraged.

“Dr. Stuart Jones presented at CIB Headquarters just minutes before we received Mr. Sinclair's telephone call,” Hartley said steadily, almost smugly. “He states that he was assaulted, and a patient he was examining, abducted. He feared for the patient's wellbeing as she was forcibly removed from his care while under anaesthetic. His account is collaborated by the statement of his nurse, a Miss Macnamara.”

For a moment Milton was speechless. “I expect Miss Higgins will confirm why she called on that lowlife grub and it will have nothing to do with his professional capacity.”

“I have no doubt,” Delaney said glaring at John Hartley.

Hartley would not retreat. “Miss Higgins has every reason to deny Dr. Stuart Jones' account.”

“Because it's a pack of lies!” Milton appealed to Delaney. “You can't believe this!”

“What I believe is immaterial,” Delaney said with a wary glance at Mackay. “It's a matter of what will stand up in court, Mr. Isaacs. Stuart Jones is a doctor.”

“But Flynn was there too,” Milton persisted. “Surely that's enough?”

“Unfortunately, nothing Mr. Flynn has said actually contradicts Dr. Stuart Jones' version of events,” Hartley said, with no indication that he thought it unfortunate at all.

“This is insane! If we hadn't arrived he might have killed her!” Milton slammed his fist on the table.

“Mr. Isaacs, calm yourself, sir!” the superintendent intervened as the feelings rose dangerously.

Wilfred Sinclair entered the room. The policemen and the poet all fell silent as he glared from one to the other. “Miss Higgins' physician is willing to allow you to speak with her now,” he said.

“Very good,” Mackay replied. He motioned for Delaney and Hartley to proceed before him, and nodding curtly, followed his detectives into the ladies' drawing room.

Edna now sat upright on the chaise longue holding a cup of sweet honeyed tea. Still wearing only a cotton slip, her modesty was maintained by blankets. She smiled when she saw Delaney, though her voice was hoarse and strained. “Hello, Colin. Did you hear? Rowly and Clyde have been found!”

Professional though he was, Delaney could not help smiling in return. “I'm so glad you weren't hurt, Miss Higgins.”

Hartley cleared his throat primly and Edna noticed his presence for the first time. The tea cup clattered into its saucer and her hands shook perceptibly. Delaney moved quickly to take the cup and saucer from her. “Are you unwell, Miss Higgins? Can I get you anything?”

“Of course she's unwell,” Maguire growled from his stance by the fire. “Ether is a particularly dangerous chemical in the wrong hands, and Miss Higgins was clearly in the wrong hands.”

Mackay exhaled impatiently. “Dr. Maguire—”

“Mr. Maguire,” the surgeon corrected.

“Mr. Maguire, then. Would you mind leaving the room while the detectives and I interview Miss Higgins?”

“Actually yes, I would mind. Miss Higgins has only just been brought out of anaesthetic.” Maguire met Mackay's cold gaze with one that was equally icy. “I have always been taught to be cautious,” he said slowly, “and leaving Miss Higgins now would undoubtedly be an abrogation of my duty of care as her physician.”

In the silence that followed Edna struggled to remember why the presence of John Hartley distressed her particularly.

“Very well,” Mackay said, irritably. “You may stay.” He motioned for Hartley to carry on.

Hartley positioned himself so he was facing Edna, his arms crossed. “Miss Higgins, can you tell us why you called upon Dr. Stuart Jones at his place of work?”

“I thought Reggie's idiot friends had taken Rowly and Clyde to fix this stupid car race,” Edna said. “I thought I could get him to tell me where they were.”

“Were you not afraid for your own safety, Miss Higgins, if you were as you say convinced Dr. Stuart Jones was involved in the abduction of Mr. Sinclair and Mr. Watson Jones?”

“I've known Reggie Jones since I was fifteen.”

“You trusted him?”

“Trust is too strong a word… I didn't think he'd…” She stopped.

“Was there no other reason?”

“What other reason could there be?”

“Dr. Stuart Jones has made a claim that you are his patient and that you came to the premises at Beach Court for an examination.”

Shocked, Edna addressed the detective sharply, “I am not his patient, and even if I were, I promise you I would not seek treatment of any sort in a sordid nightclub!”

Hartley's barrel chest seemed to deflate a little. “Yes, well…”

Edna was not finished. “And what's more, I have no need of Reggie's particular specialty!”

Delaney intervened. “Do you have any thoughts as to why he would claim that you were his patient, why he would do what he did?”

“He panicked,” Edna said tentatively. So much was still hazy, confused.

“Why do you say that?”

“I'm not sure… I remember we were shouting and then he grabbed me… and then…” she shook her head.

“I believe that's quite enough for today.” Maguire intervened, moving to the chaise longue and checking Edna's eyes. “Miss Higgins needs to rest. Perhaps you might conclude this interview tomorrow when her recollections are clearer.”

“Of course,” Delaney said quickly.

But Hartley was reluctant. “It's important to establish—”

“Superintendent Mackay,” Maguire cut Hartley off by addressing his superior. “I'm sure you would not wish to place Miss Higgins' wellbeing at unnecessary risk.”

Mackay's nostrils flared and his jaw tensed truculently. “Very well. Tomorrow then.”

Johnston delivered Rowland and Clyde to
Woodlands House
just as it was getting dark. Meeting them on the sandstone steps, Wilfred looked hard at both men, grimacing slightly at the sight of Clyde's battered face even in the waning light. “Clearly we have a great deal to discuss,” he said, “but perhaps I ought to have Maguire look at you while he's here.”

“Why is he here?” Rowland asked. Wilfred had always seemed able to produce the surgeon as if Maguire resided in his back pocket, but surely he would not have summoned the poor man to sit and wait for their return.

Wilfred hesitated. “He was called to treat Miss Higgins.”

“Ed?” Both Rowland and Clyde reacted. “Why?”

Wilfred told them what had happened, as he understood it. He was quite honest. “It seems Mr. Isaacs and Mr. Flynn arrived in the nick of time.”

“Where is she?” Rowland demanded.

“Maguire has had her confined to bed. Mr. Isaacs is sitting with her, I believe.”

Rowland and Clyde were already charging into the entrance hall, taking the grand staircase two and three steps at a time to Edna's bedroom on the second floor. The suite had once been the guest quarters reserved for the Sinclairs' most illustrious and discerning guests. Rowland had given it to the sculptress. Built into one of the corner towers of the gothic-styled mansion, the room boasted a ceiling some thirty feet above its mosaicked floor. The windows were commensurately immense in scale and looked out over the grounds and beyond. It was furnished eclectically with finely crafted pieces, chosen by past generations of Sinclairs, and the battered trunks and gramophone, which Edna herself had added. Behind a folding oriental screen a marble bust in progress sat on a working plinth. There was artwork, of course, paintings by Rowland and Clyde, etchings by Norman Lindsay and the occasional two dimensional work by Edna herself.

Rowland and Clyde paused at the doorway, not wanting to startle Edna. Milton, ensconced in an armchair, looked up from his vigil. Edna was asleep, child-like in too-big pyjamas she'd stolen from Rowland at some point in the past. Lenin had settled on the end of the bed with his long nose burrowed into the covers by Edna's feet. Edna's rescued cat nursed her kittens in a basket near the hearth. The poet smiled, relieved to see his friends, though he was shocked by the state of them. “Flaming oath, aren't you blokes a sight for sore eyes!”

CHARGES OF POLICE CORRUPTION