Shrouded In Thought (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 2) (26 page)

Chapter 24—Downfall

The bell for quitting time on Friday night had long since rung at the Hyperion Electroplate Factory. Martin Allworthy knelt on the catwalk above the shop floor.

It had to end, Martin thought grimly. The man was like a cancer that had to be cut away before it destroyed him completely! Ever since he first set eyes on Desmond Bayne, his life had been blighted, his prospects sent into a downward spiral by that depraved wretch. Everything the leering devil touched had become contaminated with iniquity. He had tainted the Allworthy factory, the Allworthy home, the Allworthy name itself. And now, even the Allworthy fortune!

It was bad enough that Bayne had managed to bleed the company nearly dry. Now, with Euphemia gone, the rascal was bound to bleed away Martin’s personal inheritance as well. That was ironic. For the first time in his life, Martin actually had control of millions in his own right. He could do with the money as he liked. No need to ask his wife. No need to answer to anyone—except that filthy blackguard who kept whispering threats in his ear. Kept vowing to go to the police with what he knew.

Bayne did it for pure sport. Martin realized that. Just to get a rise out of him, to send his heart racing out of control and leave him gasping for breath at the fear of exposure. And then Bayne would laugh and pat him on the back and tell him not to worry. That old Desmond was the best friend he had in the world. But Bayne had no idea that Martin was about to terminate the friendship. It had become too much of a burden to bear. His nerves were ready to snap. He was determined to make an end of it. By God, he would make an end of it, at last!

Martin stood up decisively, a wrench still in his hand. He tested the results of his labor. The catwalk railing shuddered slightly at his touch. Very good, he thought to himself with satisfaction. Just as it should be.

He looked down at the collection of metal nuts he had removed from the underside of the catwalk. The ones that held the railing bolts fastened to the platform. He had completely removed the first four and loosened a fifth just enough to allow it to fall away should any weight be pressed against the railing. Say, for instance, the weight of a man’s body.

He put the hex nuts in his coat pocket and examined his handiwork with a critical eye. The catwalk ran a length of twenty feet. It was suspended approximately fifteen feet about the factory floor. His foremen used it every day to observe the business of the factory. But Martin’s business would be completed before any one of them set foot on the catwalk tomorrow morning.

He scowled in dissatisfaction. Not enough. Not enough. He’d only loosened the bolts a third of the way across the length of the catwalk. The railing might still hold. He couldn’t afford to have that happen. He got down on all fours and scanned the platform, trying to locate the next bolt. Hard to see in this light. Lying flat on his stomach, he reached over the edge and began to loosen the next nut with the wrench. He had to work quickly. The night watchman was down in the guard shack and might come by to make his rounds at any moment. Martin had told the man that Bayne was expected at nine o’clock. Yes, he and Bayne were to go over some important company business. He hadn’t told the guard that the business would be Bayne’s demise. That would be for Martin to know and the rest of the world to figure out. A regrettable industrial accident. It happened all the time in factories when people weren’t careful.

Martin cursed silently at the nut and bolt. They were fused together by rust. He could hardly get the nut to budge, and he was working from an awkward angle.

What was that? He scrambled to his feet. He thought he’d heard a noise.

He peered anxiously down at the shop floor below but nothing was stirring there. The doors were all closed. Everything was silent. The factory was dark except for the single kerosene lantern he’d brought to work by. It wouldn’t do to light up the whole place like a Christmas tree while he was arranging things. Too easy for someone to see what he was about.

He reached in a pocket for a handkerchief to mop his face. His skin felt clammy. This was ridiculous. Simply his imagination. Casting one more look over his shoulder into the shadows, he bent to his work again. The nut began to move grudgingly. It was agonizingly slow going but he almost had it. And then—

“Halooo! Marty? Marty are ye in here, lad?”

Martin instantly sprang to his feet, kicking the wrench across the catwalk until it bumped into the far wall with a loud clang. “I... I’m up here on the catwalk. Y... you can take the stairs over on the side if you can find them in this light.” His heart was racing. He hoped Bayne wouldn’t notice anything amiss. Not enough time! Not enough time!

“What’re ye doing away up there, lad? And what was that noise?”

“Oh, it was nothing. When you called out, you startled me and I... uh... just tripped over a pipe lying up here. One of the foremen will hear about it tomorrow. Careless fool!”

“Gave me a turn, that it did.” Bayne heaved himself up the catwalk stairs. “Sounded for all the world like a gun going off.”

He was completely out of breath by the time he reached the top. When he got within a few feet of Martin, the owner of the company could detect that his vice president had been drinking again. Bayne was unsteady on his feet. So much the better.

“What’s this... all about now... Marty? Why are we... meetin’ at such an odd... hour?” Bayne gasped for air, still winded from the exertion of the climb. The kerosene lantern, resting on the floor of the catwalk, sent his shadow shooting several feet up the back wall.

Martin was grateful he had chosen to use only one lantern. Perhaps in the dim light Bayne wouldn’t see the railing listing ever so slightly over the shop floor or the hex nut that had fallen out of Martin’s pocket as he jumped to his feet. Perhaps he wouldn’t see that his benefactor was drenched in sweat. Martin silently commanded his heart to stop thumping so hard. He didn’t want to appear nervous. Easier said than done.

“Well, you see, we have to settle the subject of payment for that last little service you performed for me.”

Even in the flickering light, Martin could see Bayne’s eyes glint and a broad smile distort his features at the mention of cash.

“Now, that’s a meetin’ I’d walk many a mile to attend. That I would!”

Martin tried to circle behind Bayne to maneuver him closer to the edge of the catwalk, but the man wouldn’t budge. Rather than risk suspicion, Martin retreated to his previous position. “You’re sure no one saw you that night?”

Bayne sighed. “As I’ve been tellin’ ye for the past week every time you’ve asked the question, Marty, the answer is no! I just let meself into the factory that night after we had our little talk about hypotheticals and such. I went into the supply room like you told me to do, and I got a little packet of that powder like you described it. I put it into a plain white wrapper so there’d be no Hyperion stamp on the packet, and I put it in me coat pocket.” Bayne rolled his eyes heavenward. “Just like you told me to do. I swear it on me poor old mother’s grave. Then I took the train back up to Shore Cliff where you’d already gone and slipped the wee packet under the mattress in that spare room you told me about. Nobody saw me come and go, sure enough. Faith, it was just before dawn when I got the job finished. Who’d be stirrin’ then?”

“I know nobody saw you at the villa, but what about here?” Martin asked urgently. “Are you sure? Not even the night watchman?”

“Oh, him.” Bayne sounded abashed.

Martin felt a sting of alarm. “What do you mean ‘oh, him’?”

“Well, I’d forgot about old Mr. Sparrow and that’s a fact. I did see him when I was comin’ in the gate, but I just told him I’d forgot something in me office.”

“Did he follow you in?”

“No, no, that he didn’t. Kept on makin’ his rounds and wished me a good evening was all.”

Martin was slightly mollified at the reassurance. “Well, I suppose that will have to do.”

“Aye, ‘t will. There’s nothing to be done about it now, boyo. But, on my honor, old Sparrow didn’t see anything he shouldn’t. I was just as light and easy with him as if I’d met him at a party.” Bayne slapped Martin reassuringly on the back. “Now, don’t you go fretting, lad. Didn’t I say I have a natural gift for puttin’ things to rights? And I’ve made a proper job of it, too.”

After a brief pause, Bayne broached the subject always uppermost in his mind. “Now, what’s this you wanted to tell me about me reward, as it were?”

“Ah, yes. Your reward,” Martin echoed. “Well, you see, the sum you insisted on was rather steep.”

Bayne’s expression was angelically mild but his voice carried a veiled threat all the same. “How can ye put a price on a human life, Marty? On your life, as it happens. I’d be thinkin’, if I was you, that anything you have to pay to escape the hangman’s noose would be a good bargain.”

“You misunderstand me.” Martin tried to keep a tremor out of his voice. “I’m not disputing the price you quoted. I merely wished to point out that I would never keep a sum that large in the house.”

“Oh... oh, I see.” Bayne relaxed his guard.

“I have a safe here at the factory where I keep more substantial sums and I thought the... er... exchange could best be accomplished without too many prying eyes around.”

“A good idea, Marty! A smashin’ good idea, that one is!” Bayne thumped him approvingly on the back again. “Always a wise thought to keep a wee bit aside to tide you over for a rainy day. Something that the little woman doesn’t know about.”

Bayne’s face took on a cunning look as a new idea occurred to him. “But now the little woman’s gone, Marty, and you’ve no need to fear. Since I’m the nearest friend you’ve got in the world, boyo, we shouldn’t be keepin’ secrets from each other. That safe, Marty. That nice fat safe you’ve got here that I didn’t know about. I’m longin’ for you to teach me the combination to it.”

Martin, outraged at the suggestion, answered without thinking. “You go too far, Irishman!”

Bayne took exception to the note of challenge in his benefactor’s voice. “Do I now? I’m the one who goes too far, is it?” He advanced a step toward Martin. His shadow looming higher up the wall. “Well, I’m not the one who goes about pushin’ wee little girls to a watery death, am I? And I’m not the one who gives poison to his wife to drink, am I? And I’m not the one who cooks up a scheme to plant the poison on another poor innocent, am I?” He poked Martin in the chest for emphasis. “If I was you, Mr. High and Mighty Martin Allworthy, I’d be thinkin’ about who it is that’s gone too far!”

Martin, his nerves stretched to the breaking point, backed away.

Bayne continued to advance. “And another thing, Mr. Allworthy, sir! I’ve had a bellyful of yer prideful ways. Indeed I have! Sure an’ it is, I’m doin’ you a good turn by keepin’ yer scrawny, worthless neck out of the hangman’s noose, and ye still treat me like somethin’ to wipe yer boots on!”

Martin retreated another step. Without warning, Bayne took a swing at him. Dodging away from the meaty fist, Martin lost his footing. He stumbled backward against the catwalk railing.

For one awful second he was aware of the barrier bending backward, the scraping sound of metal against metal as the bolts popped loose from the floor. As he felt himself going over the edge, he clawed for something, anything to break his fall. He found it. Part of the railing remained bolted firmly to the platform. The rest was bent above the factory floor, twisted back by the weight of his body as he clung for dear life to the slippery metal railing.

Hand over hand he struggled to climb back up to the platform from the twisted perch where he swung twelve feet in the air. Martin could barely breathe from the shock. He tried to call for help but no sound escaped his lips.

Bayne, his reaction time no doubt slowed by drink, at last began to register what had happened. “Marty?” he called tentatively as he stepped forward to peer over the edge of the platform. “Marty, are ye still alive?”

He advanced closer and leaned over the edge. Martin, clinging to the railing, saw Bayne’s face a few feet above him.

“Ah, the saints be praised! Ye look to be in no immediate danger of breakin’ yer neck.”

Bayne appeared to be genuinely relieved, not wishing to see his cash cow slaughtered in so untimely a manner. He squatted down on the platform to get a closer look at Martin’s dilemma, the tips of his boots extending just over the edge.

“Well, well. This is a familiar sight, now isn’t it, Marty? Where do ye think I’ve seen this before?” Bayne chuckled. He swayed slightly and readjusted his stance. He seemed not quite as drunk as when he arrived, but not entirely sober either.

 
Martin opened his mouth to scream for assistance, but the words refused to form, the sound of his terror refused to echo.

Desmond regarded him with a twinkle of wry amusement in his eyes. “There now, laddie, don’t look so stricken. Wasn’t I just tellin’ you not five minutes ago that I’ve got a natural gift for settin’ things to rights? I’ll come to yer aid presently like I always do, but I can’t help pointin’ out the humor of the situation to ye.”

Martin could barely hear him. The words shrieking in his brain sounded like waves crashing against rock. Waves of panic crashing in his ears.

Bayne cocked his head to one side. “There’s only one set o’ words fittin’ for such an occasion as this. You and me, we both know what they are. We’ve both heard ‘em before. Sure an’ it is, you can guess. Don’t you want to be tellin’ me something, Marty? Something along the lines of ‘Help me! Oh, why won’t you help me? You know I can’t swim.’”