Date: Thu, 01 Feb 2007 14:31:22 +0000
From: Jo Vincent <joad130@hotmail.com>
Subject: Re: Mystery and Mayhem at St Mark's:  26

		      Mystery and Mayhem At St Mark's

				    by

				   Joel

             Some of the Characters Appearing or Mentioned:
Mark Henry Foster  The story-teller:  Pennefather Organ Scholar
Tristan (Tris) Price-Williams  His well-proportioned boyfriend
Gabriel Pack   A most friendly Aussie
Joshua Gibbons  Another friendly Aussie, Gabriel's cousin
Toby Barker    A bright boatie and actor
Louis Mantegnant   Another bright boatie and actor
Charles Fane-Stuart  Research Student and Assistant to the Bursar
Brigadier Robert Taylor  The Bursar
Hon Jeremy (Tosspot) Foskett  A supercilious dilettante student
Boswell Johnson  BA(Cranwell)  The new Servant of the Chapel
Benjamin Mostyn  Organ Scholar [2002]
Jonathan Matthews [Jonty]  An habitue of the Club
Daniel Springer  Jonty's boyfriend
Sergeant Dudley Woolpit  A hunky policeman  [Dude]

          26.       Further Intrigue and the Finding

There was also a bit of information which flew around without resting.  We
were having our usual 'Nine o'clock' chat, this time over a bottle of port
which Oliver brought in.  He said his Grandfather had left it unopened when
he'd gone home after his stay.  We were talking about football mainly and
names cropped up and someone said he hadn't noted many Waynes, Lees, Kevins
or Rodneys around the College.  I said, I'd noted that at school as well.
We did have a Lee, at least.  Charles said there was an effort to get a
bigger 'social mix' now in the College and we might have a Dwayne or a Gary
if applications came in and selection procedures were engineered.  He had
the idea that 'you know who' had been a prime mover of this.  I said I knew
from what the Master had said last year that he was also advocating a
greater mix but wanted also to increase the College's appeal.

     I said as far as I was concerned my name was from my Grandma's
insistence, Mark after the College and Henry after my Grandfather.  Oliver
said his was a family name, it had been his mother's father's name and so
on, and went back well into the eighteen, and probably the seventeen,
hundreds.  Ben laughed and said after four daughters his parents had
decided on Benjamin as the Biblical most beloved youngest son.  Tris just
snorted and said 'Wagner'.  Of course, we were really all intrigued about
the conjunction Boswell Johnson.  He just laughed and said his father was
plain John Johnson and he'd decided his kids would be more famous.  His
sister was Amy, after the flier, and she'd just qualified as a doctor.  His
mother was annoyed as his father went straight to the office and registered
his name while she was still in hospital.  She wanted him to be called
Anthony.

     He laughed, "So Dad and Amy are also Doctor Johnson and all I'm doing
is a BPhil."

     "But don't medical doctors just have it as a courtesy title," said
Ben.
  "My aunt's called 'doctor' but she just has the bachelor degrees of MB
and BS, medicine and surgery."

     "That's right," said Boz, "Amy's the same, MB and BCh her's are, but
Dad got an MD a few years back from the University of London for his thesis
and publications on adolescent compulsive behaviour."

     "Is he a consultant?" asked Oliver.

     "Yes, he's a psychiatrist at the big hospital back home in Wales."

     "But you're not Welsh, dearest one," said Charles, "You share Mother's
birthplace of that delightful Bognor Regis."

     "That's right, I told you that.  Dad was a houseman there and Mum was
a nurse.  Usual conjunction!  He's from Norfolk himself."

     A fleeting thought connected Wales, Drew, Boz.  I supposed Boz might
have met him there.  I knew little about Wales other than Dad's joke about
the Heavenly Choir, thirty- thousand sopranos, thirty-thousand altos,
thirty-thousand basses and one Welsh tenor!

     I got a bit worked up about my Wednesday evening recital.  Good job I
had Tris and the others to keep me calm.  I had that horrid dream again.
This time running through rooms, trying doors, trying to find the entrance
to the Chapel as it was time for me to play.  As usual I finished up in the
large, quiet room and there was the door.  Still, all went well and we had
a most convivial gathering in our set afterwards.  I think the Chaplain
wondered who the rather 'nice' young lads were, Danny, Jonty and a couple
of the others from the Club.  He looked rather closely at Danny who sported
some very artfully applied eye-liner but in his neat, not gaudy, clothes
could have passed for an undergraduate from one of the other, perhaps more
flamboyant, Colleges.  Or, perhaps he thought we were engaged in some sort
of social work especially as James Tanner and Paul Phillips his solicitor
companion, were there chatting to them at one stage!  Danny said he was
enjoying his placement at the rather up- market restaurant.  He was quite a
character and, after regaling us with a couple of tales about some of the
peculiar customers they'd had who had more money than food sense, wanted to
know why we had all the knobs round the walls.

     "One for each of his conquests," Tris told him, looking round first to
see that the Chaplain wasn't in listening range.  "He's good at pulling
knobs.  And he likes the big ones.  Look that one's four foot and that
one's eight.  You should have seen him tonight up in the organ loft.
Couldn't keep his fingers off the sixteen footer."

     "Balls!" said Danny, as he and the others giggled, "What are they
really for?"

     Tris was away.  "Well, you know those big Wurlitzers they used to have
in cinemas.  You just pull that one over there and one rises up from under
the floor.  We just have to put the carpet down when we have visitors
though."  He reached up and pulled one by the fireplace, Bazun 16ft.
Nothing happened.  "Wrong one.  But anyway, we had to switch the power off
before you came."

     Danny laughed.  "Go on, pull the other one.  You're having me on."
     Tris looked as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.  "Pull what one?"
He lowered his voice.  "Bet you're good at that!"

     Saved by the bell.  Or Charles, preceded by Liam with more glasses of
wine.  "Dears, do have another one.  Good wine and good music go so well
together."  He spotted Dude.  "Sergeant, I am sure you would not be over
the limit with a little more of the Merlot."  Dude grinned and had another
glass.

     A little later, when people were beginning to break up and say their
goodnights, Dude came over to where Oliver, Tris and I were standing.

     "Thanks, Mark, I enjoyed that very much," he said, "Sorry the Boss and
Batman couldn't come.  There's something on tonight and I'm on duty at
midnight interviewing."  He looked at Oliver.  "Sorry to raise it this
evening, but there's something we'd like you to look at.  Would tomorrow
about five be OK."  He looked at us.  "Perhaps you'd like to see as well.
It's not an interview, but if you want the Chaplain or anyone..." he
smiled, "...But I think the three of you can look after yourselves.  See
you on Saturday, anyway." He looked at Tris.  "Give my best wishes to his
cousin when you e-mail him.  But tell him not to send those anti- Bush
jokes on the gov.co.uk address, I might press the wrong button and they'll
go straight to Tony Blair!"

     Of course, we wondered what it was and at five o'clock next day were
ready with tea and some good fruit cake.  Sergeant Woolpit drew out a
portfolio from his bag after he was plied with tea and the cake.

     "Better tell you first we might have some evidence.  It's odd, it's
the coincidences we find in all sorts of cases that crop up.  That old chap
who find the first one, that Bryce McArdle, was in Ely with his wife a week
ago.  They went into one of the charity shops for a present for their
grandson.  He fourteen but quite tall for his age.  He wanted a particular
tracksuit of a particular size and they'd spotted one in the window.  They
bought it and when they got it home he remarked it looked very like the one
he's seen the runner wearing.  In fact, he'd noticed, but hadn't remembered
to tell us, that the lace to drew up the hood was red and with that
particular make the lace is always black.  How he knew that he didn't know,
but he thinks his grandson might have mentioned it as he'd been out with
him one morning walking the dog when the person was running past.  Anyway,
they rang us and I went and had a look.  First thing was, that the charity
shop people had had it dry-cleaned as they realised it was good quality.
This is it."

     He opened the portfolio which had lots of photos in protective plastic
covers.  There were two colour photos on pages following each other.  One
of a track-suit top, the other of the bottoms.

     Oliver was nodding.  "That looks very much the design of the one the
paper-boy, or whoever, was wearing near Mr Finch-Hampton's house.  But how
did the charity shop get it?"

     The Sergeant smiled.  "A bit of luck there and the link with
Cambridge.
  Someone had seen a bag stuffed in the top of the dumpster by the
multi-story car park near the Round Church.  It had the track-suit top
hanging out.  They took it home thinking it would do for their son, but, it
was too small and a bit muddy as well, so they took it with a load of the
lad's cast-offs to the charity shop next time they were in Ely.  Pity we
didn't get it with the mud on.  But then there was this...."

     He turned the page and there were two photographs.  The second
obviously a blow-up of the first.  It took a moment or two to register what
the object was.

     "Ever seen anything like this?"

     Tris and Oliver shook their heads.  I thought I knew.  "My Gran's a
diabetic and she uses a syringe like that for her insulin.  But it's only
part.  There's no ...."  I made a stabbing movement.  "...I know, needle."

     "Yep.  It's one of the miniature types.  I was putting the suit in a
bag as the chap was certain it was the one he'd seen because of the red
lace when I felt a ridge.  It was this.  There was a slight hole in a
pocket and it was in the lining."  He smiled.  "We got the Yard to look at
it.  Luckily there was a cap on each end and there wasn't insulin in it..."

     ".....Strychnine?" asked Tris.

     "Too right," said a beaming Sergeant.  He turned to Oliver.  "Would
you be willing to make a statement about the tracksuit and whether it is
what you saw the person wearing?  We have the original at the station so
you can see it there.  OK?"

     Oliver was nodding.  What a breakthrough I thought.  Very observant of
the old boy.  The Sergeant put the portfolio on the coffee table in front
of me as he made some notes in his notebook.  I idly turned a couple of
pages.  There were three photos of a brick from various angles and on the
next two pages a rather crumpled and mangled tin can.  I turned the next
page and almost screeched.  I'd seen something which was only too familiar.
The Sergeant turned and closed the portfolio.

     "Sorry, you shouldn't be looking at that..." he started.

     "...But it's mine," I almost yelled.  "Look!"

     I stood up and to the amazed looks of the three, dropped my trousers
and displayed the inner thigh of my right leg.

     "That birthmark!  It's the same as mine!  My brother's got it!  It's a
family thing!"  The awful realisation struck me.  "Is that the birthmark
you found on Mr Finch-Hampton's leg?"

     The Sergeant looked absolutely shaken.  No more than me, I expect.
"Yes," he said quietly, "I'm afraid it is.  A relative of his said about it
and before we had the dental records that was what he was identified by."

     I sat down heavily, trousers round my ankles.  Tris came round and put
his arms round me.  "There must be lots of people with marks just like
that."

     I shook my head.  "I know it's distinctive.  I know inside me it's a
family thing."  I looked at the Sergeant.  "Do you know anything about his
family?"

     "A bit.  We know his father married three times and the deceased
changed his name when there was a family feud and he was left the house and
money if he did so."

     "Changed his name," I said, "We'd heard that.  Do you know what his
name was before that ?"

     The Sergeant picked up the portfolio and opened it at a photocopy of a
birth certificate.  He held it out.  Tris and I read it and said
simultaneously, "Simon Finch- Gratten."

     "Oh my God!" Tris said, "Frankie's e-mail!"

     He got up and rushed into my study as I read that Simon Finch-Gratten,
born fourteenth of May, nineteen seventy two, was the son of John
Finch-Gratten and Molly Finch-Gratten, nee Finch. Tris came back and handed
the e-mail to the Sergeant with Oliver looking over his shoulder.

     Tris pointed.  "Look I've drawn a little family tree.  There's Mark's
great- grandmother, she was French.  There's her twin who married someone
named James Gratten and they had a son named John."  He looked at me and
patted my leg and then grinned.  "Wait until Charles hears you were
Pinch-Bum's cousin or something."  He saw my look.  A mixture of horror and
amazement.

     "Poor man," I said, "To die like that."  I was in a whirl.  "Are his
parents still alive?"

     The Sergeant shook his head.  "No.  They were both killed in a car
crash in 1975.  He was brought up by a relation of the Gratten's named
Hampton and when they died he changed his name to inherit under the
provisions of the Will.  Look here's a copy here."

     He looked at me.  "It's upsetting you, isn't it Mark.  We'd better
leave it and perhaps you could get Mr Phillips to see about it.  I think
you'd better tell your father, though."

     "So that was why he didn't drive the car again.  He was frightened he
might kill someone.  He nearly killed Jacob."  I clutched at Tris.  "I
wonder why he was so nasty?"

     Sergeant Woolpit stood up.  "I'm sorry it's all turned out like this."
He came over to me and knelt and gave me a hug.  "Mark, it's OK.  We've
still got lots to sort out.  We'll get there in the end."

     I was in such a turmoil Tris phoned Dad who was at the Festival Hall
having tea before the evening concert and had a long talk.  He then phoned
Paul Phillips who said he'd be at the Police Station when Oliver made his
statement and would look at the documents.  And not to worry about the
family research he would get the search agent they used at the London
Record Office to do that.  One thing which was good news was that Jacob's
first operation had been successful but he'd need a second minor one to be
ready for the final one after Christmas.
     We were at the Police Station at the appointed time of four-thirty.
All was most formal and Paul went in while Oliver made his statement.  We
saw the track-suit, displayed in a transparent plastic covering.  A red
lace?  I said to Tris it was like the laces on his basket-ball boots.  He
said he thought so, too.  The laces were special ones which someone had
found in a sports-shop somewhere, not in Cambridge, and had kitted out all
the team with them.  But, all the team members were over five feet ten,
with Cato Mosewi at six foot seven, so the track-suit would not have
belonged to any of them.  Had anyone lost any laces?  He would enquire.  We
told Sergeant Woolpit this when he came out of the interview room.  He
shook his head.  "Could do with you two on my team."

     Tris found out next practice that one of the team had lost his best
boots.  He thought they'd dropped out of his bag when cycling between
colleges as he's had to borrow a spare pair from a team-mate at the time.
Meanwhile, Sarge had had the bright idea of searching the dumpster which
they found hadn't been emptied properly for weeks.  The lad got his boots
back - they were in there and one boot had its lace missing.  Unfortunately
the boots were in a grotty mess so were unwearable again.

     The next Saturday we went to the Club.  The three policemen hadn't
turned up but there was an air of excitement.  Danny was there as he had
the night off and was in a fizzing mood. As soon as we'd sat down and Tris
had signalled to Brian the Bulgy-Boy for drinks Jonty flourished two
print-out photos.

     "What's this," I said, holding the page I'd been given at an angle to
catch the light.  "Look's like someone's bum.  You been mooning at your
customers and got caught, Danny?"

     There was a hiss of laughter and Jonty gave me the second sheet.  This
was even more explicit.  It was taken from a lower angle.  The bare bum was
most evident.  A pair of balls dangled a bit and there was a hint of a
prick....  Going where?  A guess?

     "Oh God, Danny, where did you get this?  Been spying?"

     It all tumbled out.  What had happened was that Danny had cycled to
his mother's house that afternoon as he wanted to collect a spare set of
cook's whites, his digital camera and a few other things he had in his
bedroom to take back to Jonty's and he knew his brother would be out
watching the usual rugby match and his Mum would be at work.  He'd found a
couple of letters that hadn't been sent on to him from a friend and was
sitting in his bedroom reading them when he heard his brother Terry come in
the front door with his pal, Tony Wolstencroft the DCI's son.  They were
cursing because the match they'd gone to watch had been cancelled and
nothing was happening at the clubhouse until later.  Danny was hoping they
would go off again so he kept quiet and realised after a while that other
things were happening in the room next to his.  He crept along and looked
through the half-open door.  His brother was kneeling by the bed and there
was Tony shafting him.  From the things they were saying to urge each other
on it certainly wasn't the first time.  He'd got the bundle of things he
needed so he whipped out his camera, took a couple of shots and high-tailed
it down the stairs and was out of the front door before the pair could
disentangle themselves.

     He'd got to Jonty's and had immediately downloaded the two photos and
e-mailed them to his brother with a note that he was intending to move out
and live with his boyfriend and his brother had better not make any trouble
or the photos would be sent to all his mates at the Rugby Club.  Just to
confirm he could, he appended a list of a dozen e-mail addresses he'd
loaded down before from his brother's computer.  There was no doubt it was
Tony and Terry as there was a clear view of the rugby poster on the bedroom
wall.

     We said he'd better destroy the photos before Mr B, as Brad was known,
came in the Club.  The less said the better.  I said Mr B was a bit unsure
about his son but this might be a bit too much if he saw them.  Terry and
Tony would know not to take any reprisals as one click and their friends
would be in the picture, as it were.  Tris took the copies and went to the
lav, tore them up and flushed them away.  Not too soon as the three came in
with Davy then and no more was said as Danny and Jonty spent the rest of
the evening dancing.

     It was soon after that, a week or so before the Christmas concert and
the CPE Bach Magnificat, when I was sitting during one of our 'NOK's
listening while Tris was laughing with Boz over the origin of common
phrases.  Cato had said to Tris while they were changing after a game of
basketball, that he'd always been puzzled as a small boy by 'tickled pink'.
Cato was Nigerian and very black and no way if he was tickled did he go
pink, he said.  Boz said he had always wondered as a small child about 'put
your best foot forward' and 'pull the wool over your eyes' and was
convinced at the age of four or so that a 'pillar box' was a 'pillow box'
and why did you put letters in something which had pillows in it?
Something was ringing bells but I wasn't sure.

     Next morning after our run I was playing the piano and looked up at
the array of organ stops along the wall.  What had Danny said?  "Pull the
other one!"  One of the odd phrases everyone used.  "Pull the other leg!"
"Pull the..."  As I played I squinted at the names on the round fronts of
the stops.  From the door they went Principal 8ft, Unda Maris 8ft, Larigot
11/3ft, Leiblich Gedackt 8ft, Tromba 4ft, Hautbois 8ft, Erzaehler 8ft....

     I stopped playing.  I called out to Tris who was busy in the kitchen
washing up the breakfast things.  "Tris, come here please, I think I may
have found something."

     He came in brandishing a half-dried plate and the drying-up cloth.
"What is it this time?  The lost chord?"

     I stood up.  "No.  It's...  You know Professor Jensen said Augustus
liked puns and jokes.  I think there's something here."

     He looked sceptical, but saw I was serious.  "What?" he asked.

     I pointed to the array.  "Let's spell them out.  Look P for Principal,
U for Unda Maris, L for Larigot, L for Leiblich Gedackt, that's PULL, then
Tromba, Hautbois and Erzaehler is THE...."

     He looked at the others and read them out.  "Gambe, Aeoline, Montre,
Bazun, Echo Flute....  GAMBE.  Pull the Gambe!"

     "Oh my God!  I'd said to Frankie about the names and it's usually
Gamba.  Never thought."  I looked at him.  "Danny kept on about 'pull the
other one' when you pulled on that one there.  And it's another pun.  Gambe
is 'leg'.  Pull his leg!!  I just saw the first four letters now..."
     Tris went up and stood under the stop knob marked Gambe.  He reached
up and tugged.  Gently at first.  The stop came towards him and as he
pulled it we heard three distinct clicks.  He must have noticed something.
He tapped on the wooden panelling in front of him and there was a slight
movement.  He pressed the panelling and a section started to open.  I
rushed up to stand by him and look.  He put his fingers against the part
that had come away and a whole section about six foot tall by about two
foot six wide opened back into the room.  It was on a long, very thin
hinge.  What was revealed inside was a door.  No handle.  Tris pushed it
and it opened back into a space.  A slight rush of air entered the room.
All was dark behind.  A faint musty smell came in with the draught of air.

     "Where's that torch?" he asked.  One we kept for emergencies when the
power failed.

     "Do you think it's safe?" I asked.

     "That's what we're going to find out," he said.  He turned and went
into the kitchen and came back with something in each hand.  I had been
staring into the blackness.  The light from the main room penetrated a bit
and I could make out shelves and what looked like another side passage and
steps down.

     "I forgot we had two," he said, handing me one.  "Come on, let's have
a quick look."

     There was a small step into the void.  I went first and shone the
torch round.  There were lots of shelves and lots of books.  I shone the
torch to left and right.  On the right there was a space where Frankie had
thought the broom cupboard outside might have extended into.  More
cupboards and shelves.  On the left it looked more interesting.  This
stretched off, backing the fireplace, then the rest of my set.  I shone the
torch cautiously along the floor.  It looked solid.  It was stone and,
surprisingly, not very dusty.  I walked along a few paces and there was a
second door.  Open, and inside a sink and on shelves old photographic
equipment and some racks. Yes, this must have been Mr Pennefather's
darkroom and photographic area.  I looked further along the passage.  This
seemed a dead end.  There was a solid stone wall at the end.  I returned to
my contemplation of the darkroom.  Perhaps there was a light here.  I
seemed to remember you could develop photographs under red light.  I shone
the torch up.  Yes there was a lamp, a bare bulb, and the wiring had been
torn away.  On the floor I nearly stepped on something.  The beam of the
torch showed it was a red cover, now broken.  As I swung the beam round the
room I heard a breathless Tris behind me.

     "I've been down the steps.  I think we've found that Aubrey whatever
his name was.  At least there's a body of some sorts down there."  He
sounded very calm.  "It's OK he's dead.  I'll phone Dude and you go and get
the Chaplain.  I won't touch anything and I'll wait in the room."

     We clambered out of the door.  I rushed off to the Chaplain's House
and I heard Tris talking to Dude on his mobile as I left.  The Chaplain was
having his breakfast after the early morning service.  Mrs Henson let me in
and both listened very attentively as I told them of our discovery.  They
both came back with me with the Chaplain armed with a large torch.

     Tris was at the door of the set.  "Sergeant Woolpit says not to go in
until he and a couple of officers come.  I have to admit I did pick this
up."  He held up a sheet of old paper.  "There was a whole lot on the table
down there and quite a few empty bottles.  Looks as if he wrote this and
waited to die."

     The Chaplain took the piece of paper and put it on the dining table.
In large letters we could read it easily.  "Weak and it is dark.  Sorry Gus
did not mean it."
  The letters were straggly at the end ending with an almost indistinct A.

     We went through the story with the Chaplain.  The finding of the rhyme
in the tower room.  Adam's exploration of the records in Peterborough.  The
newspaper report noting the disappearance of Aubrey Devereux.  The 'Pull
the..' thoughts.  It wasn't long though before a rather breathless Sergeant
Woolpit knocked on the door.  He was accompanied by Jason looking rather
flustered and then Charles appeared.  I went through the story again and
Sarge looked and nodded and read the piece of paper.

     "I've sent a message to our Scene of Crime team and the forensic
pathologist.  If you don't mind we'll wait until they arrive.  They'll have
lights and we can then see what's down below.  If it's the body, and you
say this happened in the 1930's, it shouldn't be too problematical.  I've
asked an ambulance to attend as it'll have to go to the mortuary and the
pathologist will have to look at it."  He looked at Tris.  "What state was
it in?

     "It looked, I suppose, mummified.  It's face down on a sort of bed.  I
took one look and came back up."

     A rather subdued group sat while Sergeant Woolpit took notes of what
we had said.  Mrs Henson and Charles went to the kitchen to make tea.
Jason stood guard on the front door as a few curious souls seeing activity
came to enquire.  More assembled and stared when the SOC team and the
doctor arrived and donned white suits and then an ambulance trolley was
wheeled to the door.  As rumours spread the onlookers were assured it
wasn't another death like the three recent ones affecting the College.

     After a while the doctor came up.  He said briefly that there was a
body.  It was male and had been there many years.  It was in a state of
mummification and had been very emaciated before death.  As long as we
didn't touch anything we could have a look below once the body was removed.
That was done quite speedily and with the bright lights now set up the
group went down the stairs.  We all stared.  The room was as big as the
main room above.  Just a table, four chairs and a few blankets on the
floor.  There were a number of empty bottles on the table and four glasses.
All the bottles had had the necks broken off.  There were also a few stubs
of candles and a large pool of candle wax..  Sarge picked up the sheaf of
paper on the table and the broken pencil beside it.

     The SOC team gathered up their equipment and left.  I looked at my
watch.  I had missed my two morning lectures.  I hoped Fiona and Dina had
taken good notes.

     Sergeant Woolpit was examining the door.  "I would like this looked
at.
  It's very ingenious.  I should think as you pull that knob so it triggers
a series of locks.  There must be something the other side as well.  Don't
go in and close the door in case you can't get back out."

     "That's what happened to the man you found," said the Chaplain.  He
had spread the loose pages out over the dining table.  "Look.  It's a
confession.  He and Augustus Pennefather had an argument over his demand
for money and he pushed Augustus off the bridge as they were crossing it.
They must have walked up the Chesterton Road and they were crossing the
bridge so he could go back to his lodgings.  You said off Burleigh Road."
The Chaplain smiled.  "I've been told that was a very rough area and was
only improved when it was all pulled down and the new shopping centre
built."  He sighed.  "Poor man.  He says he didn't mean to do it.  He was
starving and he needed money and Gus, as he called him, had given him some
but he wanted more as he wanted to leave the country.  He thought a cousin
in Canada might take him in.  He says he came back to the set to find money
which he thought might be in the cellar.  He closed the doors but couldn't
remember where the mechanism was to reopen them.  He writes, 'I cannot find
the accursed lever'.  The bulb went out and he found a few candles and a
case of wine.  He couldn't have lasted long.  Once he'd drunk the wine he
was down to his last candle and he must have scrawled that last page in the
dark."  He shook his head.  "He crawled to that bed, laid down and waited
to die."

     "Is it Aubrey Devereux?" Tris asked.

     "I would think so," said the Chaplain.  He held up a ticket.  "This is
a pawn ticket in the name of Mr A Devereux."

     Things moved fast after that.  That weekend the cellar was cleared and
the bulb was replaced in the darkroom light.  Two Engineering dons came and
examined the mechanism and said it was very cleverly done and was
definitely put in about 1900 because of the screws used.  They showed us
the small compartment where the lever was inside the passage way.  If you
didn't know where it was they said you would be trapped.  A solid door and
the wooden panelling would have to be broken down and there was nothing in
the cellar or dark room strong enough to do that.  They took numerous
photographs and said they would be asking permission to publish their
description.  They were intrigued about who might have designed it and
built it.  Another couple of dons who were photographic buffs came and took
away all the equipment to be catalogued and placed in the College
collections of various pieces of historic apparatus which included surgical
sets from the 1700's and early surveying equipment when several dons
measured the curvature of the earth from boats on long straight stretches
of ditches in the Fens.

     Of course we had a succession of other visitors to see it all
including the Master, and Professor Tanner, as I missed his tutorial as
well.  He was highly amused and said we should come to lunch on Sunday and
tell the tale and I would be busy for at least four hours on Monday with
him catching up.  All I got from Fiona when I told her was 'Lucky bugger!'
and a 'Shush' from Dina at the expletive.  Tuesday afternoon and Wednesday
afternoon we spent six hours going over all the stuff James had done with
me.

     There was a formal inquest.  It was very straightforward.  It was
reported that the body had been found and he had died in unfortunate
circumstances but Aubrey Devereux had confessed he was instrumental in the
death of Augustus Pennefather in July 1938.  Nothing was said about the
treasure trove of photographs, music and the missing Servants of the Chapel
records which were found neatly stacked on the shelves.  Charles was in his
element.  I was, too.  The College Music Library benefited as the
collection of scores was quite immense.  Works dating back from the early
years of the 1800's into the 1900's, with many of the later ones signed by
the composers.

     Tris and I were left with the boxes and albums of photographs.  Many
of College and University worthies.  All neatly labelled on the back with
name and date.  Many of the countryside around Cambridge, of the Backs, of
people enjoying themselves in punts, or picnicking by the Cam.  There were
pictures from further out.  Mainly a photographic record of Cambridgeshire
churches and of visits he had made to the Continent.  Swiss mountains,
German architecture, French vineyards and chateaux, Florence, Rome and
Venice.

     Then there were the albums each year of his beloved choir.  We found
my grandfather and Oliver's grandfather in the pictures we had seen.  And
there was Grandfather's own album.  Almost a mirror of the one Professor
Jensen had of himself.  Yes.  Grandfather Foster looking even more like
Bacchus with the tell-tale dribble of grape-juice on his chin and a really
lascivious look in his eye.  There were twenty-seven others of these
albums.  Each had the name of the boy involved.  None of the photos were at
all pornographic.  The only word to use was artistic, though each was
charged with a certain sexual passion.  He must have chosen the boys who
had that spark of, I suppose, wantonness.  They looked out at the camera
knowing they would be admired.

     Over the next two months Mrs Henson tracked down twelve of the boys,
now about eighty or so.  She found six had died in the last War serving
their country, out of those, two had died in POW camps in Burma and two at
Arnhem.  In the final analysis she located the families of all the rest
except two.  All the men and families were glad to have the albums and
copies were made for the College archives.  At least another part of the
Pennefather heritage was complete.

     Then there was the file which was given to Jason and his father.  The
evidence was complete.  They were direct descendants of Augustus although
the original birth had never been legitimised.  Augustus had given Adeline
enough money each year to live comfortably.  She never asked for more,
although he offered.  There was a copy of a letter from him to her saying
he would marry her.  The letter back was there.  No, he had a useful life
to lead, she was content and the boy was her life and reminded her of him
every day.  Tris and I went to see Jason's family and handed over the
documents.  We asked if Adam might write up the history.  They agreed and
we were shown the original logs of all the Knotts who had been in the
employ of the College.  The earliest they had was dated 1717 and Mr Knott
was certain there were earlier Knotts but they probably couldn't write.  I
said Jason should do his own history.  He smiled and said he would.

     Jason's father then showed us the log kept at the time of Mr
Pennefather's death with the Porters not daring to go near his set as they
were certain it was haunted as strange knockings had been heard.  This must
have been Aubrey Devereux trying to gain attention.  In fact the set was
used to store things in during the War and was only used again for the
first Pennefather Scholar in 1947 who was not told the stories.

     Of course, Charles was almost jumping for joy.  Here were missing
records.  He burbled on about how much Augustus must have spent setting up
his 'laboratory', as he mistakenly called it, and here there was the
Servant of the Chapel in 1898 complaining that his set was not as opulent
as Augustus's, forgetting that Augustus was a Fellow of the College and he,
the Servant of the Chapel, was only an undergraduate, even though the
youngest son of an Earl.

     All was too much for him.  No Christmas appearance of Clarissa.  His
historical research and his assistance with the Bursarial affairs were much
too important and time- consuming.  Of course, references were made by all
about his sniffing round the Bursar and it wasn't only his boots he was
licking.  He took this all in good part and kept us supplied with anecdotes
of his work, of his encounters with Mrs Chalfont-Meade and her stupidities,
and, more important, of Mother and her gifts of goodies which were shared
with us.

     I was so busy, too.  The choir for the Magnificat was enhanced.  We
had good players for the instrumental parts and everyone seemed well
satisfied with the performance.  Tris and Fiona were soloists as well as
Philip Orford who was a very secure male alto and Oliver as the important
bass.  The only sour note was a letter to the Chaplain from Drew, who
seemed to have almost disappeared from College life, asking why his Group
had not been asked to take part in the performance.  I am afraid the
Chaplain sniggered when I said that CPE Bach hadn't scored for bass guitar,
Yamaha multi-voice keyboard, or Mr Banks on his set of electronic
percussion.

     Really all I'd seen of Drew for the past few weeks, other than when
his group played for services, or he was giving his sporadic lessons to
Tosspot, was a couple of times I was on the Market Place and he was
haranguing the passers-by.  I couldn't help hearing his rants as I was
buying fruit at the stall each time near the corner where he was standing.
The burden of his ragings now seemed to be directed jointly towards those
who abused the Temples of the Lord, whether it was the bodily Temples with
abominations of the flesh and seductions of the young, or the built Temples
with threats and calumnies, and both required confession or the torments of
Hell would fall upon them with the fires raging being the main punishment
or the waters which submerged the ungodly in Noah's time.  Boz who had
heard him on another occasion wondered if he was quite right in the head.
He'd been raving on again about the great flood which overwhelmed the earth
in Noah's time and the earthquakes which buried sinners before the still
small voice.  He said it was a most peculiar mish-mash of half- digested
Biblical knowledge.  Ben seemed more sympathetic and said there was usually
some trauma in earlier life which triggered off such behaviour and it was
probably a way of getting rid of his own torments.  He wouldn't be drawn
any further saying we'd better ask one of the psychologists hanging around.

     Tris was very busy.  He disappeared to stay at the bungalow with Jacob
as soon as term ended.  Jacob was recovering from a second minor operation
as the surgeon had found more damage when he'd performed the first one and
was able to work from home.  Staying there meant Tris could deal with the
Matteoli documentation more easily.  He would also get time to discuss his
Law work as his Finals would soon be upon him.

     We heard that Frankie had taken his ARCM exams in piano playing a
fortnight after his seventeenth birthday.  He would just have to wait and
see.  Anyway he was determined to try for the ARCO next Christmas.  Mr
Prentice said he was very hopeful for this lot.


To be Continued: