‘Be quick, then,’ said the sergeant reluctantly.
I then studied the three witnesses. You see, Mina I do think of you! Mr Stephen Westbury was a rather young man who would have been better advised to wait another year or two before making another attempt to grow whiskers. His pale speckled chin was cupped in one hand, and he craned his neck forward and stared at the prisoner intently. Mr Livermore, his eyes bulging with intense concentration, was also leaning forward as much as possible to get a good view. Mr Cobbe, however, his jaw slackening, his eyes opened wide, looked like a man who had seen a ghost, and it was not the ghost of someone he wished to see. ‘Oh!’ gasped Cobbe, and he rocked back on his heels. The constable was obliged to take him by the elbow to steady him.
The other witnesses turned to stare at Mr Cobbe.
The prisoner raised his head and looked around, and something that might have been mistaken for a smile spread slowly across his face, parting the grey thatch around his mouth and revealing the tips of yellowed teeth. ‘Cobbe,’ he said, and the voice was weak as if rarely used. ‘Have they got you, too? I suppose it was about time.’
Cobbe made a noise deep in his throat like a man who had swallowed too big a piece of steak and was about to choke on it.
‘Well, he certainly knows you!’ said Mr Westbury.
‘What do you say, gentleman?’ asked the sergeant. ‘Is this Holt?’
Mr Westbury, who had seemed so determined earlier was now less certain. ‘I’m afraid I only saw Mr Holt in passing when he came to the office to see my father,’ he said, awkwardly. ‘Unfortunately, my father is not in the best of health and I doubt that he would be able to identify him now. And of course, this man has clearly endured much and cannot be the same as he once was. But,’ he took a deep breath, ‘I see no reason why he cannot be Holt, especially as he seems to know Mr Cobbe.’
Mr Livermore nodded. ‘He’s older and greyer than I remember, but that’s to be expected. The same in height and general proportions, allowing for the passage of time, of course. I would say he is Holt. What about you, Cobbe?’
Mr Cobbe was red in the face but gulped and nodded emphatically. ‘Yes, that man is undoubtedly Mr Jasper Holt. I recognise him perfectly!’
’Well, well,’ said the Chief Constable, ‘So Mr Holt is alive after all.’
Unexpectedly, the man in the chair leaned back and gave a cackle. ‘Oh indeed. Yes. Mr Jasper Holt is very much alive, and he sits before you now.’
‘What about the wife, then?’ said Westbury to Livermore. ‘And the brother in law? Did they lie?’
‘I wouldn’t say they lied,’ said Livermore, generously. ’They simply saw what they wanted to see. He’s changed, of course, and that was enough of a reason for their mistake.’
‘Just turn your head a little and look directly at the camera, sir,’ said Beckler to the prisoner. ‘Hold still please. Just until I say you can move.’ The man, after his short bout of hilarity allowed his features to sink into the same impassive expression as when he had entered the room. He turned towards the camera but showed no further inclination to move.
Beckler took the lens cap off and replaced it but shook his head. ‘There is really far too little light.’ He removed the glass plate from the camera and slid it carefully into the carrying case, then replaced it with a new one. ‘Just one more, sir. There will be a longer exposure this time. Scarletti, tilt the tray a little to your left.’
The sergeant looked at the proceedings with keen interest and not a little curiosity. ‘Is that done?’ he asked at last.
‘It is. But I would like some more pictures if you please, to record this important event. Gentlemen, if you could come forward just a little more. Just to where the sunlight comes through the window.’
The three witnesses looked somewhat surprised, but obeyed, and with some repositioning of the tea tray they were immortalised on glass.
‘And sir, if you would so kind?’ he asked the Chief Constable, who happily adopted a dignified pose for his portrait.
The sergeant coughed. ‘I’d like a picture to show the missus, sir, if that’s alright,’ he said.
‘If you please sir, might I have one to show mother?’ asked the constable.
The Chief Constable cheerfully gave his assent, and both the sergeant and the constable made the most of the remaining light.
‘Thank you for your assistance,’ said Mr Beckler, to the policemen. ‘Mr Scarletti, we are done here.’
‘In that case,’ said the Chief Constable, turning to the prisoner, ‘Mr Jasper Holt it is my duty to place you under arrest on a charge of attempting to defraud an insurance company. I advise you not to make any statement that might tend to criminate you. Now please accompany the constable back to the cells.’
The man’s eyes glazed over, but after a pause, he made an effort and rose from the chair. ‘It’s no more than I deserve,’ he said.
‘And you gentlemen,’ added the sergeant to the witnesses ‘will oblige us by leaving the station now.’
‘Shouldn’t his wife be told?’ demanded Livermore.
‘You leave that to us, sir.’
So we packed away the equipment for transport back to the shop. As we left, Beckler turned to me and said, ‘that was good work, alerting me to the circumstances. If the pictures come out well, they will be as good as an advertisement. Now let us see what we have!’
It was all done not a moment too soon, as dark clouds had drifted to cover the sun, and there was even a threat of rain.
‘So Mr Livermore was the hero of the hour, and he came out with a big smile on his face and stood at the top of the steps and made a speech,’ said Richard.
‘What did he say?’ asked Mina.
‘Oh, you’ll read all about in the Gazette.’
Mina gritted her teeth. ‘The Gazette is a weekly publication,’ she reminded him.
‘I know. Oh, I see what you mean. Well as far as I could make out, he said that they had all recognised the man as Mr Holt who was now under arrest for fraud, and he would see his solicitor at once about claiming compensation and advised everyone else to do the same. And everyone cheered him, and people clapped him on the back. Then it started to rain, and they went away, and we ran back to the shop.’
‘And the pictures,’ said Mina. ‘Were they good?’
‘Oh yes, say what you will about Beckler, and I still don’t understand why you won’t entertain him, he knows his business. The likenesses are very good indeed and once they are properly mounted they will take pride of place in the shop window. The Chief Constable and his men look very smart in their uniforms. I wouldn’t be surprised if all the police in town came to have their pictures taken, now.’
‘I hope I will get to see this picture of the prisoner,’ said Mina.
‘Oh, I am sure you will one day, my dear!’
‘What I meant was, I would like you to bring me a copy.’
‘Oh, I see. Well, why not?’
Mina had a sudden thought. ‘You told me you have been cataloguing a collection of old pictures?’
Richard grimaced. ‘Oh, yes that is a beast of job, but it is almost done.’
‘And the names of the people in the pictures are written on the back?’