A Thief in the Night (21 page)

‘I understood, from my friend Maria de Bellezza, that you gentlemen could be relied on to help anyone with legal difficulties … and that you could be relied upon for discretion, and of course, for professional scruples …’

‘Stop!’ cried George. ‘You have already implicated us in this murderous plan?’

‘Well, that’s the dilemma. I did not conceive of the folly of this until I realised that I was dealing with a man who is himself capable of taking life. I have only learned since talking with him at the Frying Pan and …’

‘Stop again!’ said George firmly. ‘Did you say you met him at the Frying Pan public house … in Brick Lane?’

‘Yes.’

George and Harry looked at each other in sheer stupefaction.

‘The man was an old soldier, I believe. My servant knew someone at the place and set up a meeting, knowing that I needed what I believe is called a mugger and a rampsman.’

‘Those terms are not applied to killers, Mr Tardow. It appears you met a robber.’ George frowned.

‘Look, I went along to that tavern and asked for him. Captain Clinker he was called, a military man. He was there, and he was somewhat light-headed with drink. I asked him to help me and he named a price … I never mentioned murder. I asked for the man in question to be
frightened
. That was the word I used … but when I told my servant that I’d met Captain Clinker he told me that the man was not the one he had in mind, and he had no notion whatsoever with whom I had been speaking. He said he’d arranged for me to meet someone called Langer, but when Langer wasn’t there, the landlord brought Clinker to me. I thought he was the same kind of cove!’

‘Then why do you think this Clinker will try to kill Sachs?’ George asked.

‘Well, the soldier left, and then I went to leave as well but the landlord took me to one side and said,
“You’ll be fine there … he’ll blow the man out of this world, Guv.”
Then he winked at me.’

‘Mr Tardow, Clinker is a false name, of course,’ George said. ‘But you must not be anxious … you will never hear from this man again.’

‘Oh, that’s a pity … I gave him money!’

‘
What
? This gets worse,’ Harry said, ‘Let us establish the facts now. You went to this public house, hired some robber to instill fear into a man … but you do not know the robber’s real name nor his address. Then you come along here to ask … what exactly?’

Tardow looked sheepish. ‘Well, I paid him twenty pounds and promised another twenty if Sachs was … well, subdued.’

George and Harry moved across to the long bookcase that ran behind their favourite sofa and whispering was heard. On their return they requested John Tardow to listen carefully. Harry adopted the stance he used when about to give a lecture on Petrarchan sonnets, put his hands under his coat-tails, then smoothed his moustache.

‘Now, Mr Tardow, as our friend Maria will have told you, the Septimus Club helps various people in matters impinging on criminal behaviour. We tend to concentrate, for the most part, on cases for which the police force have little time or for which they need our particular expertise. Now, what we generally do
not
do is aid and abet people who have themselves transgressed … however, in this instance, it seems that you are asking us simply to trace a former soldier – one of a possibly violent disposition – and attempt to stop him taking the life of a solicitor. Does that all meet with your approval?’

‘Yes, for God’s sake, stop him. I am suing Sachs for libel. I have set that in motion. In my stupidity I suppose that I thought that if I could scare him off, there would be no need for the libel prosecution to progress … my wife would have to give evidence, of course, and I only came to see after setting matters in motion that perhaps she would find it all intolerable!’

‘Very well then. The Septimus Club will begin the search for Captain Clinker before anything tragic happens. In the meantime, you are on course for the law courts, and surely that will be the only proper way to beat this guttersnipe?’ Tardow nodded. ‘I’ve been very irrational … not at all like me. Thank you gentlemen. Please, keep me informed.’

‘One moment, Mr Tardow,’ said Harry, taking out his notebook and pen. ‘We’ll need a description of this Clinker.’

‘Well, it was quite dark … but he had a round, bloated face, with long dark hair and … no beard, but not well shaven either. I thought him a fighting man, as he had that broken nose that pugilists tend to have. I would say with some conviction that he was not yet forty years of age – perhaps mid-thirties. He was singing something … something like,
All he did was kiss me but my heart began to fly
.’

‘That’s very useful,’ Harry said and proceeded to sing a line from the song. ‘
My heart began to fly, and I’m
so happy I could cry
… Molly McCardle sings it … she’s down at the supper club as a rule.’

‘Ah, one more thing,’ said Tardow. ‘He was a Yorkshireman. I’ve dealt with a number of men from that shire in my business. He had that very distinctive speech …
tha knaws
.’ The last two words were so incongruous that they all managed a smile. ‘He also had a medal of some kind, pinned on his coat.’

‘A medal? What shape was it? What design?’ Harry pressed.

‘It was dark! I would say it had leaves … maybe a flower of some kind? It had four leaves, I think. And there was a badge sewn on his coat. That was a flower also, and there were two words over the flower.’

George seized on this detail. ‘This is vitally important. What was the motto?’

‘It was in Latin. I never studied the language, My Lord. Unlike you varsity men, I attended a modern school. The curriculum was commercial. French was the other language.’

‘Well, think … think about the words,’ Harry urged.

‘Oh … something vegetable. I thought of a vegetable … can’t think what it was.’

‘Mr Tardow, if you think of anything else, let us know, and if you remember the motto, tell us immediately,’ said Harry.

‘In the meantime, my libel suit goes on … I dread seeing Flora in that witness box, tortured by Sachs … for he will defend himself of course! Now I must leave you, and I hope there is something which may be done gentlemen!’ Tardow said his goodbyes and left.

When their visitor had gone, George turned to Harry, who was nibbling an iced bun. ‘That was strange in the extreme. We were discussing a possible murder and yet we found some humour … he is a remarkable man … and what the deuce was the medal?’

‘Yes … and a vegetable! What regiment has a vegetable on its escutcheon?’ asked Harry.

‘Let us summarize the situation, Harry.’ George paced the room, annoying the titled old men trying to snooze. ‘Here is a wealthy man with a high reputation in the world of business, and a wife with a less than respectable past. Then along comes a snake in the grass who blackmails first the lady and then our John Tardow. The good husband does what we all would do: he confronts the man, but realises that the law, not the fist, would better accomplish a settlement. But then …’

‘Then he sees that an action for libel has to be done, but that an ordeal in court would ruin them anyway!’ interrupted Harry.

‘Yes, old man … hence the desperate employment of a killer.’ Lord George looked pensive and then asked, ‘What facts to we have, Harry?’

‘Our assassin is not young – probably thirty-something years old. He has a broken nose. He has a regimental medal … with a motto suggesting a vegetable. There is also another flower-like badge sewn on his coat.’

‘We have to find this man before he finds Sachs,’ said Lord George.

‘Indeed,’ answered Harry, ‘but we have to find Sachs first.’

Jack Garvey was sitting in an alley by an old fruit box, re-reading the article in the
Daily Telegraph
:

Mrs Tardow’s Alleged Immoral Past

There was considerable moral outrage expressed yesterday at our offices when it was revealed to us by Mr Theo Sachs, a London solicitor, that Mrs John Tardow, thought to be of French birth and education, was in fact, so he alleges, a woman engaging in street prostitution while living in Spitalfields in the early 1860s. Mr Sachs has informed us that he is to be prosecuted for libel by her husband, the man of business recently engaged in politics, and thought to be a strong candidate for representing Forley Water at the forthcoming elections.

He read no further. Concentrating on the print tired his eyes. ‘Well, Mr Sachs, I got your address, I got your name in here …’ he grunted and tapped a finger to his temple. He struggled to his feet, stood to attention, arms by his side. The world he knew dissolved into a blur and he was in barracks again.

‘Then there’s the money, Jack. You need to ‘ave the money, old soldier. Without that it’s ruin, old matey, ruin.’ He rifled his pockets for the notes, and out came a wad of dirty old notes, and, from another pocket, a handful of silver coins, all spread out on his little box. ‘Ha … safety. That’s what you got if you ‘ave these, Jack … safety. A bed for a night is four pence … you got a lot of beds here.’

Sergeant, Sir, ready for inspection, Sir. Yes there is the trunk o’ mine with everything laid out proper like. I got the soles of my boots up-turned, and see the gloves, white as snow, Sergeant. There’s my hat, my cuffs, my straps … all ready Sir!
He gave a wobbly salute. Then he staggered forward, lurching towards the filthy pavement. Laughing to himself, he sat back down on the pavement and took out a bottle of rum from the pocket in his greatcoat. ‘Yes, Mr Sachs, I got your name and I’m coming to pay you a visit. The scum has to go. Yes, the little louse has to go. The enemy Sir, the heathens … they have to go!’

That’s my kit Sir. Everything in its place as required. Yes, I brushed everything, I scrubbed everything. I been on me knees for the regiment, Sir. Die for the regiment, I would, Sir. Attention! Go forward soldier. May I stay with this officer, Sir? He’s been hit. He’s down and he needs attention, Sir. I’m used to dealing with blood Captain. He’s bleeding badly and I could stay with him Sir, until he dies Sir, for his country. Permission granted. Thank you Sir, from the bottom of me ’eart.

Sachs was almost buried under a heap of papers when the door opened and a smart, well-built man walked in. ‘Mr Sachs? I’m Detective Sergeant Davis, of the Yard.’

‘Oh right. What can I do for you?’

‘Well I’m here to help you Sir … in relation to a Mr Tardow.’

Sachs’s face screwed up. ‘Ah, so you know about the libel case? But I see no reason why I should be interviewed. I’ve done nothing.’

Davis sat down without permission. ‘Personally, I think what you’ve done is despicable, but I’m a peeler and supposed to have no opinion, Sir.’

‘What
I’ve
done? Have you seen what he did to me?’ Sachs pointed to the angry red wheal across his cheek.

‘Indeed Sir. Are you familiar with the word blackmail?’

There was a pause. ‘You are here to charge me then?’ asked Sachs.

‘Not at all Sir. I’m here to protect you. Seems that somebody … can’t say who … might want to do you harm.’

‘You mean Tardow of course?’

‘Let’s just say
someone
.’

‘I see, and so someone at the Yard thought that I might be a target? I wonder who could bear such emotions towards me? I have no enemies in the world detective.’

‘Well, in case you have, I got my little friend here,’ Davis tapped his chest, ‘a Mauser pistol. Got any tea?’