A Thief in the Night (15 page)

October nights were turning chilly and the darkness came early now. Not so many revellers were out at night to take the air. On the edge of Hyde Park a group of young guardsmen were out for a drink or two. They had gone out in numbers, after sobering words from a police sergeant about a killer in the area. But not all soldiers had been around when the police called, and one of these was a young cornet player, and he was alone.

He hoped that the night would not be a disappointing one, that Charles would come as he said he would. They had agreed to meet at the Achilles statue, and as the trooper reached the giant figure he waited, filling in time by looking up at the colossal figure of the Greek hero, with sword and shield.

Behind him someone said, ‘Cost ten thousand pounds that … way back in 1822. I understand that the ladies of the land paid for it, in honour of the great Duke of Wellington himself.’

The young trooper spun round. ‘You came, Charles! And by God, you’re a soldier too!’

His friend was wearing the red coat, striped trousers and white gauntlets of a private soldier.

‘You never said you were in the army! What regiment?’

‘I’m wearing the clobber of the Norfolk Regiment. Anyway, of course I came. You know, we live in a strange land, don’t we? I mean, there’s this statue, a fig leaf over his genitals, genitals that probably rather liked the notion of another male, his friend Patroclus, perhaps. Yet people such as you and I, well, we’re grotesque, aren’t we?’ He approached the trooper and put his hand out, touching the man’s cheek very gently.

‘If this is grotesque, then the world in general is ugly,’ whispered the cornet player.

‘Yes, I have always felt that. Too many people accept the ugliness don’t they? They never fight for what is our right … to see beauty, to perfect it, to spend time in its light. Sorry, I’m going on a bit. Look, I have a place nearby in Lowndes Square … I have plenty of drink, and I can cook as well. Interested, my military man?’

Eddie had arranged for constables, in pairs, to patrol the length of Hyde Park, along Kensington Road and through Knightsbridge in case Eddie missed his man at his flat when he arrived, but nothing was seen of any army types walking alone or with a gentleman in civilian dress. The trooper and his new friend eluded them, and by eight they turned into Lowndes Square.

A few hours before, Eddie had had the flat searched, and what he saw made him rethink. It couldn’t have been more ordinary. There was nothing in the sitting room or bedroom which would have been out of place in any other single man’s rooms. If the constable was a monster, then this was not a lair. There was an armchair and a bamboo easy chair; in one corner there was a glass-paned bookcase and across the floor was a rich red and gold Oriental rug. Eddie knew what he was looking for though: his first search was in the escritoire, where he expected to find paper, envelopes and any other writing materials that would match the notes from ‘Jack’. Then there was the murder weapon, the claw hammer – surely that would be here. His constables started their search.

‘One thing is absolutely clear – and highly suspicious,’ he told a constable. ‘No police constable I ever knew could afford to have this kind of furniture – that escritoire is by Holland & Sons!’

‘Sorry, don’t follow you Guv. Means nothing to me! Though I know that my pay don’t stretch to living in ruddy Knightsbridge. Whoever this peeler is, he ain’t one of us.’

‘Where does he get all his money?’ Eddie thought aloud. ‘Dockray was not robbed, or so it would seem.’

At that moment a constable in the next room shouted, ‘Guv!’ The officer was holding up a pair of spurs; ‘Strange thing to have for a man with no ’orse.’ Carney knew he had his man.

Eddie checked the time. ‘Go to ground lads. It won’t be long now if the patrols haven’t already grabbed him. I want this bastard!’

They were still at the flat and the four police officers disappeared out of sight, in various back rooms. Less than fifteen minutes later, the door opened downstairs and the sound of footsteps were heard on the stairs. First into the sitting room was the cornet player. ‘This is a wonderful room – you live here? A Tommy in the Norfolk Regiment?’

The other man entered and answered, ‘I have other income, friend.’ At this moment he was pounced on by two constables, who wrestled him to the ground and, as he yelled, Eddie sprang forward, fixing a pair of handcuffs onto the man’s wrists. ‘Constable Thomas Telfer, alias Jack the Jockey, you are under arrest!’

That night Telfer was in a cell. Standing at the door, Eddie said, ‘You are not going to cheat the gallows. You have a date with Mr Marwood. Know who he is? He’s the public hangman, that’s who.’

‘Oh I can ride, Carney, I can ride, and I’ll ride to hell with no more than a stretch o’ linen!’ But that night, as the Yard men watched him, Jack the Jockey wept like a child.

‘He had been dressed as a soldier when he killed Mr Dockray, then gone out, put on his police uniform, then, of course, he was the nearest bobby when the landlady came out shouting “Murder!”’ Eddie explained as the Septimus Society met for their dinner at the Oriental Hotel. ‘Telfer had hidden his army gear in a garden at the corner of the street, so he was your everyday bobby after a quick change in the forsythia bush.’

‘Right, let me get this right in my poor novelist’s head – could be excellent material – the policeman, Telfer, went to work on another patch – A Division – then dressed as a soldier to lure his victims … and then … oh mercy me…’ Leo Antoine always wanted clarification when a case was discussed. ‘Then what about all that degeneration … and, come to that, your other suspects – Russell and the soldier at the barracks?’

‘False trails, Leo, false trails. I seem to specialise in following those!’ Eddie said. ‘You may use this if you like in your next sensational tale, but please change all the names, and perhaps set it in Malaysia or somewhere!’ Everyone laugh. ‘I freely admit I got it all wrong, what with Godfrey Russell and then the suspicions about that army orderly … might get chucked out of the Septimus I was so cack-handed with this little job, right?’

Maria lifted a glass. ‘No, not at all Eddie. You were fine in the end. So, everyone, here’s to the Septimus and to more successful little adventures. Shame you missed it all, George, tucked away in flat Lincolnshire.’

Glasses were raised and the toast given. ‘I’m not entirely out of the picture,’ said Lord George. ‘My old home is in Horncastle and do you know who my neighbour is?’

There was silence. Even Professor Lacey did not know.

‘Why, William Marwood, of course. He has his business there. The children all sing a little rhyme: “If Pa killed Ma, who would kill Pa? Why, Marwood!”’

In the most untidy room at Scotland Yard, Detective Inspector Eddie Carney and his superior, Chief Constable Adolphus Williamson, were awaiting the arrival of the man who was to be selected for a very special task. Eddie, speaking energetically as usual, was gesticulating and laughing in between stories of his friend Leo.

‘He's not what he seems, Dolly, and that has to be to our advantage. He puts on an act all the time. I think he's talked himself into believing that he actually is the fraud he presents to the world … and that's why we at the Septimus love him so!'

Williamson was listening intently, his arms folded and a hangdog look on his face. He was a solid, square man, with thinning hair and a full moustache and beard, the latter being shaggy and hanging over his collar and tie. He enjoyed being unkempt and, in a way, his men liked him for it: he wasn't part of the new breed of peelers with smart outfits, peremptory orders and lists of daily objectives.

‘Well the thing is, Eddie, as you are fully aware, I'm on my way out. I've been in this office for too long. But before I go, I want to have this political business ironed out. I remember back in the sixties with them garrotters. My they were nasty beggars. But we learned how to match ‘em. You knew where you were with muggers and garrotters … no real brainwork there. But this political business. Wanting to blow us up, shoot Her Majesty and God knows what else. They think they can destroy us! Imagine that!'

‘Dolly, it's a grand affair now,' agreed Eddie. ‘We know from reports of the ambassador and the travellers that there are people of the Devil's spawn around the streets. You're right about the old times, and the new times come on apace, right Guv? I'm as foxed as you Sir. I'm dizzy with it.'

The Chief Constable stroked his beard and looked up at the ceiling before speaking. ‘Look, Eddie, back in the Crimea, when I was a new constable and full of dreams, the Tsar was reading about our strategies in
The Times
. Now, over thirty years on and I'm a greybeard loon, and nothing has changed! Why, just the other day I read a piece in some periodical all about our Easter manoeuvres, and this damned artist had followed the columns and written all about scouts watching gunboats and rattling all over East Kent with Maxim guns. I mean for God's sake, what if the conflict comes, Eddie? Well, before I hang up my hat here, I'm going to strike a blow against the enemies inside our very institution and in the bowels of the land!'