Foreword

It is not widely known that the great Sherlock Holmes had a Leeds-based contemporary in the same business as himself. That man was Rupert Swann, and he was as highly regarded locally as was the famous Londoner in the wider arena. Like Holmes, he acted both as a private consulting detective and an unofficial helper to the police force. Also in common with the renowned occupant of 221B, Baker Street, he was held in great esteem by some members of the constabulary, while others regarded him as a troublesome meddler.

There are no photographs of Swann but we do have a description of him and some details about the way he lived and worked. There were striking similarities and marked differences between him and Holmes. Both were an inch or so above six feet in height, lean in build and possessed of aquiline features. They had the same attitude to the importance of keenly observing superficially inconsequential points and inferring that such apparent trifles might lead to the resolution of mysteries. Both were pipe smokers, and they shared a practical interest in music, Holmes playing the violin, Swann the piano.

With regard to general lifestyle, the two detectives were quite different. Whereas Holmes was socially withdrawn, Swann was something of a man about town, often seen escorting ladies, though he remained single. He was a member of an exclusive gentlemen’s club, frequented the best restaurants and attended as many concerts and opera performances as his time allowed.

Virtually everything we know of Rupert Swann was passed down the family line and all written records are now in the possession of his great-great niece, who has kindly agreed to allow some of them to be made public. She has not yet stated how much information she is willing to relinquish.

The explanation for the accounts of Swann’s adventures appearing in story style is that he narrated them to his younger sister Isabel, his only sibling, who used her typewriter to produce them. He wanted the presentation to be in third person form for two reasons, one being that he considered that method a good way of distancing himself from his work, the other that he was not happy about what he saw as overuse of the personal pronoun.

Swann’s parents were affluent, holding shares in a number of industrial companies. In addition to their substantial home, they owned several dwellings occupied by tenants. Rupert never showed any desire to be a man of property. During the years he was in practice as a private investigator, he rented the upper floor of a spacious two-storey residence in a row of adjoining ones on the eastern side of Park Square, a handsome Georgian development close to Leeds town hall. The house was owned by a medical doctor, a widower, who lived and worked on the ground floor. A woman, in attendance from early morning until mid-evening, looked after both men, cleaning, admitting visitors and cooking whatever meals were required, the last duty usually involving only breakfast, as the two men dined out far more frequently than at home.

It is hoped that the lady holding what might be termed the Swann File may be persuaded to release the whole of it. So far, she has made only one story available. It is given below:

Beyond the Grave

At about seven-thirty on a mid-November evening, Rupert Swann stood by the window of his living room, stuffing a crumbled flake of strong tobacco into one of his fine collection of briar pipes. He was staring out but seeing virtually nothing of Park Square, for the city of Leeds was cloaked in a fog dense enough to rival a London pea-souper. A fine night for the criminal classes, Swann mused. He had been entertaining that thought for barely two minutes when there was a knock at the door.

In response to Swann’s summons to enter, a stoutly built, black-haired, moustachioed man of medium height walked in. He was Inspector Crabtree of the Leeds police force. This was far from the first time he had visited the private detective, with whom he was on friendly terms. That put Crabtree at variance with some of his colleagues, who resented Swann’s alleged interference in general and his numerous successes in particular.

The official custodian of law and order accepted an invitation to doff his topcoat and take a glass of brandy. Within seconds the two men were seated in winged red leather chairs by a cheery fire. “Well, Crabtree,” said Swann, “I hardly expected to see you on such a night. You must have something on your mind to turn out in these conditions.”

“Indeed I have, Mr Swann, and I’d be relieved to share it with you.”

“By all means do so.”

“No doubt you have heard about the murder of Edward Marshall.”

“Yes. The newspapers are having quite a time with it. From your troubled look, I imagine that you have not solved the mystery.”

“No. As you probably know, the body was found last week by the side of North Street, on a patch of land not in use at present and overgrown with weeds. Marshall had been beaten to death with what the doctor thinks was a hammer and possibly some other instrument. The attack was obviously a furious one. No weapon was found and I have not made any progress at all. The man was thirty-two years of age and as far as we are aware had no known enemies. He had been in the army, stationed at York and doing special duties. He left the service some months ago and had not taken up employment, presumably because he was living off savings and a gratuity for as long as he could. Clearly robbery was not the motive, as we found nine pounds, four shillings and few coppers in his pockets.”

Swann nodded. “Nine pounds is quite a sum to be left on the body, so it would seem that you are right in thinking there was some other reason for the assault.”

“There must have been, but goodness knows what it was. Are you by any chance in a position to devote some time to the matter?”

“You know that I am always willing to give what assistance I can to the police, and evidently prompt action is required. I assume you have given me all you know, so I will turn my mind to the affair immediately.”

“That is comforting, Mr Swann. Now, I have other things to deal with, so if you will forgive me, I will take my leave and get on with them.”

“Very well. Perhaps I shall be able to think of some way to lighten the darkness. I will contact you in a day or two to report my progress, if I make any. Good night.”

Swann was not handling any other case at the time, so he immediately began to ponder on the killing of Edward Marshall. Unlike poor Crabtree, who was always harassed by a heavy load of work, Swann was able not only to pick and choose what he did for a living, but also to decide what methods to use. He would turn down any potential undertaking that did not appeal to him, but after accepting a commission, he was as willing as the great Sherlock Holmes to break the law if that course seemed appropriate, according to his ethical code. The idea that Swann might at times attain his ends by illegal means had crossed Inspector Crabtree’s mind more than once, but in view of what he had gained from the private agent’s activities, he kept the notion to himself.

Like his illustrious London counterpart, Rupert Swann had a passion for amassing all the information he considered likely to be of use to him, and it was not long before he embarked on a train of thought that he felt warranted swift action. What he had in mind called for an early start the following day.

Crabtree’s visit had been on a Monday evening, and Swann was in action by shortly after seven on the Tuesday morning. His first calls were at the offices of the local newspapers. He quickly learned what he wanted to know in order to proceed, then took a train to York, where he gathered some information that promised to be vital. Next he caught another train, bound for Leeds, breaking his journey at Cross Gates, about five miles from the city centre. He did what he had to do there, then completed the rail trip, following that with a cab ride to the southern suburbs, where he spent some time covertly observing a man and a house.

By six in the evening, Rupert Swann had collected a good deal of material which gave him some confidence that he was on the right track. However, there was more to do, and it would be best done at night. He took another cab back to his rooms where he washed, changed his clothes and smoked a pipe for half an hour. Then, having eaten nothing since his early breakfast, he dined in style at Powolny’s restaurant.

After returning home, resting for a while, then enjoying another pipe of tobacco, Swann prepared himself for a nocturnal excursion. Equipped with a dark lantern and several tools of which Inspector Crabtree would not have approved, he set out at midnight, hiring a cab which he dismissed half a mile short of his true destination. Covering the remaining distance on foot, he arrived at a small two-storey row house in the Harehills district. He had expected the property to be to be unoccupied and that appeared to be the case. The curtains were open, revealing that the living room was fully furnished. A sign in the sole downstairs window bore the legend ‘To Let’, followed by the name and address of a nearby estate agent.

Two minutes’ work with one of Swann’s tools gave him entry to the house. His expedition was speculative, as he was merely hoping to find some informative personal effects. First he went upstairs to check that there was indeed nobody present, then he closed all the curtains and, using his lantern, searched the drawers and cupboards on both floors. Everything seemed to be as the former resident had left it. After twenty minutes, Swann reached a bedside cabinet, where he found several short letters, the scrutiny of which caused him to mutter in satisfaction. He discovered nothing else of interest, and after jotting down the salient points of what he had read, he left the house.

What Swann had gathered from the letters induced him to make a further surreptitious visit. He walked briskly for a quarter of an hour and halted at a door fronting directly onto a pavement and situated between a newsagent’s shop and a pawnbroker’s establishment. A plaque on the doorframe indicated that a solicitor had his office above one of the street-level businesses. There was nobody in sight, so Swann resorted to his tools again and was soon in the lawyer’s office. The place was extremely untidy, with a jumble of papers strewn across the battered desk, more in a wooden pigeon-hole array on the rear wall and several files on the floor. In one corner there was a small safe. Swann was sure that he could open it if that became necessary. In the event, it did not.

After half an hour of rummaging, Swann found the documents he had hoped to find. Having read them and made a few brief notes, he ensured that every item he had touched was exactly where he had found it, then left the premises, locking the two doors he had opened. He walked until he was able to hail a cab. On returning to his lodgings he relaxed with a stiff brandy and a pipe, and mulled over his activities of the preceding twenty hours or so. Content with what he had achieved, he went to bed at three in the morning.

Following his exertions, Swann slept late, and at shortly before eleven took his usual breakfast of two soft-boiled eggs, three slices of home-baked brown bread and butter, honey and a pint of tea strong enough to raise the dead. At midday he walked to the police station from which Inspector Crabtree usually operated. He was informed that the inspector had gone out and was expected back within an hour. Swann left a message in a sealed envelope, asking that it be handed to Crabtree immediately on his return, as it related to an urgent matter. Knowing that the desk sergeant with whom he spoke was not one of his admirers, he said as little to the man as was consistent with politeness, then went back to his lodgings.

At half-past one, Swann was enjoying a pipe when Crabtree arrived. Within seconds, the two men were seated facing one another by the fire. Crabtree had accepted a glass of sherry and a fill of Swann’s tobacco for his old, blackened briar. He confessed that he had made no headway in the investigation of Edward Marshall’s murder and expressed the hope that his host had been more successful.

Swann settled back in his chair and composed himself to give an edited version of what he had done. “Unless I am much mistaken,” he said, “I can point you in the right direction. As you probably suspect, I cannot give you all the details of my time throughout yesterday and part of the night. However, anything I omit will not impede you.”

Crabtree sighed with relief. “I shall be most grateful if you can throw light onto this matter, and you may rest assured that I shall not press you to divulge anything you see fit to keep from me. I must get my hands on the party or parties who killed Edward Marshall. The press and my superiors are hounding me.”

“You have my sympathy. Let me begin by saying that I have noticed many times that people conducting inquiries of whatever kind have a tendency to approach their tasks in a very direct manner, straight up and down, or vice versa. I cannot emphasise too strongly the value of reasoning horizontally as well as vertically. I call this lateral thinking and it would not surprise me if a book were to be written about it one day. In this case I was alerted by your comment that Edward Marshall had been an army man, stationed at York and carrying out special duties.

“Now here is what I mean by horizontal analysis. I make a habit of reading the death notices in our newspapers. Marshall’s details have not yet appeared, but I remembered that only a short time ago another fellow had died prematurely and that he also had been in the army until quite recently, serving at York and performing special duties. That two young men should have such similar backgrounds and that both should die within a short time of ending their army careers struck me as a little too much of a coincidence. A further search revealed that the man who expired last month was James Ellwood, who died three weeks before Marshall was killed. He was twenty-nine and had been in a precarious state of health since leaving the army. The item stated that he had survived his father by only four months.

Chapter 1 »