Terror by Gaslight (13 page)

‘You’re known to him, are you?’

‘Yeah. And his mate. They wrecked a nice little jig of mine a few years back. Earning me good money, that was, till those two got on to it. The rozzers would never have sussed. Those two bastards got my pal sent down for two years.’

‘Perhaps he was careless.’

‘Well, I’m not. I got to think what to do about that pair.’

‘Now the Maniac’s been caught, they shouldn’t be coming this way any more.’

‘Don’t you believe it! I could see that bastard’s mind working when he saw me, wondering what I was doing here.
You shouldn’t have made me show up.’

‘I cannot talk business with underlings. And, speaking of business, we have financial matters to discuss. I take it you want our arrangement to continue?’

‘Of course I do. And so do you. We’re both doing well out of it. But not if those two vultures are going to be on my back.’ Slaughter thought for a moment. ‘Where’s his business, that Steele? I might have a few friends call on him. Where’s he live?’

‘I have no idea. They are of no interest to me.’

‘Well, they should be. If they make trouble for me, they’ll make trouble for you.’

Then Frankel remembered. ‘Ah. The man gave me his card.’ The big man picked up the card and gave it to Slaughter. ‘This should tell you what you want to know. And now perhaps we can talk business.’

They did, and ten minutes later reached an agreement that was beneficial to each of them, though not to various unsuspecting citizens.

When the business was concluded and Frankel was slightly more amenable, Slaughter asked him for more details about Steele and the Heath Association.

Harriet Austin stood by the window, contemplating a fine early-winter night. She was in a melancholy mood, thoughts of Robert Kemp constantly intruding on her reverie: he had loved the prospect that now spread out before her. Yet it was here that he had met a brutal death. And then there was Ella. Was she lost somewhere out there, facing cold and starvation?

Behind her, Clare was busy at the bookshelves, peering at titles, trying to find what she needed. Some of the volumes were in poor condition, their covers torn or missing, and she had to remove these and study them closely.

Harriet pulled herself together, determined to be positive. ‘It’s a beautiful night, Clare,’ she said. ‘One can see the lights of Holborn twinkling in the distance.’

Clare continued her search. ‘I would expect that, Harriet. It’s what lights are supposed to do.’

‘And the moonlight stretches right across the Heath. It’s almost as bright as day.’

‘Not good for wildlife. There’ll be no hiding from predators.’

Harriet sighed, her effort at cheerfulness deflated. ‘How sad it is that beauty is so often mixed with cruelty.’

‘I fear that is part of life, dear sister. Have you seen Hawthorne’s
Nature Walks of London
anywhere?’

‘No. I’m afraid I didn’t know we had such a book.’

‘Of course we have. Unless someone’s taken it. Hawthorne gives a good account of Hampstead Heath in the last century.’

‘Oh. I should like to read that.’

‘I shall pass it on to you when I’ve finished with it. If I find it.’

‘Thank you.’ Harriet was admiring the evening star, which Robert had taught her to identify.

‘I can’t think where it’s got to. I need some facts for a piece I’m writing. The Heath was a wilder place a hundred years ago.’

‘I suppose it would be. Wilder, no doubt, but at least there was no murdering maniac at large. What a shame the police were wrong about that man yesterday. I really thought the danger was over.’

‘Did you? I can’t say I did. And I could see Major Steele was not convinced. It’s pathetic that the police should make such a mistake! A drunken braggart telling lies in an alehouse!’

‘I suppose they had to arrest him to find out the truth.’

‘Perhaps. But why release the news to the press? They should have known the papers would blazon the story as if it were fact.’

‘Is it certain the man was lying?’

‘Apparently. When questioned, he got the details wrong. And it was proved he was in Birmingham when the man Tate was killed. So they let him go.’

‘And left us all as frightened as ever.’

‘There’s no sense in being frightened, Harriet. We have to get on with our lives. “The coward dies a thousand deaths, the brave man dies but one.”’

S
INCE HIS WIFE’S
death, Steele had lived in a serviced flat in St John’s Wood. This suited his lifestyle. He wasn’t troubled by domestic tasks – cleaning and maintenance were all taken care of – and meals were always available in the restaurant. In fact, in good military fashion, the major brewed tea and coffee for himself in his tiny kitchen. He even grilled his own breakfast toast. (Though he was sometimes grateful for one of life’s more benign coincidences: that, when the milk boils over, it often extinguishes the burning toast.) Apart from that, Steele usually dined, and occasionally lunched, at his club.

The main assets of the apartment were a pleasant bedroom overlooking Regent’s Park, and a neat but spacious sitting room, which he used as his office. Not officially, for this was a residential building, with no business or trading allowed, so there was no plate outside his door. But it was here that Mason joined him each morning and it was here that their files and records were housed, and where they sat down to plan their work. The manager of the block, an old army friend, turned a blind eye.

Steele’s arrangements would seem satisfactory to most people, but one individual disapproved. John Mason’s wife, a motherly soul, felt that no man should be allowed to live on
his own, since the male sex were incapable of looking after themselves.

Steele kept himself fit with an active life and regular exercise, notably a weekly session of real tennis at Lord’s. He carried no surplus flesh but his lean face and slim body were interpreted by Emily Mason as signs of under-nourishment.

So, apart from urging her husband to persuade his colleague to find a second wife, she loaded him with wholesome supplements to augment the major’s diet. These would vary from scones to rice puddings to rock cakes with, as a special treat, an occasional steak and kidney pie.

Most of these were well received, since the two men shared the spoils and both were hearty eaters. Some were less welcome: indeed, the rice puddings tended to finish up with the cat from the next apartment.

Today’s offering was a big success. Mason arrived bearing a cardboard box containing a cream sponge cake that both men fancied. But they agreed to resist temptation until the mid-morning coffee break. There was work to be done.

They began by noting a piece in
The Times
, which confirmed that the Heath Maniac was still at large and stated that the arrest report in an evening paper had been an irresponsible error. (The evening paper was owned by a rival proprietor.) Mason again congratulated Steele on his perspicacity and Steele graciously refrained from saying ‘I told you so’.

Then they turned to studying a letter from their contact at Scotland Yard, which had arrived in the seven o’clock post. George Willoughby said that Surrey police had found Dan Croucher and were questioning him at length about what he’d seen on the Thames all those years ago. He’d been told he wouldn’t be charged with poaching and he was talking freely, obviously keen to ingratiate himself with the law. He’d said that he’d seen a man push a woman off a boat
and then punt away from her.

This seemed damning enough, but Willoughby cautioned that a court would be unlikely to accept Croucher as a reliable witness. However, the police were taking the matter very seriously, and would interview Austin once they’d assessed the evidence.

Steele smiled. ‘I think Meredith Austin’s villainies will soon be brought to an end. Even if he’s not charged over his wife’s death, the illegal activities we’ve learned of from Jamieson should be enough to get him locked up. We’ll send the file to Willoughby once we have Randall’s report.’

‘Let’s pray he’s put away before he succeeds in driving his poor daughter out of her mind.’ Mason spoke with unusual fervour. ‘And before the evil Dr Frankel can poison her for him.’

‘Indeed. And that’s another evil man who’ll soon be brought to book. I’m not sure if irresponsibly prescribing excessive drugs is a criminal offence, but I plan to have a word with Archie Lennox at the club tonight.’

‘Archie Lennox?’

‘He’s on the General Medical Council. He’ll know how to proceed. And we must also mention Frankel’s activities to George Willoughby.’

‘Poor George. He was hoping we’d help solve the Heath Murders. Instead, we just keep dumping fresh problems on his desk.’

‘Well, I don’t think he’s best pleased but he’s a good copper, he’ll always do his duty. Besides, we’re not idle on the main job. We talk to more Heath residents tomorrow, I think.’

‘Yes. The Aspinalls in Highgate Close.’

There was a little click from the hall, as the eleven o’clock post came through the letter box and landed on the mat. Mason fetched it and brought it to the sitting-room table.

There was a bill, which Steele moved to the bottom of the
pile. There was a thick foolscap envelope, which he hoped would be a report from their accountant, Giles Randall. And, intriguingly, there was a small, cheap brown envelope addressed to Major Steele in clumsy capital letters, written in pencil by a childish hand. Both men peered at it. Mason was the first to speak.

‘What d’you make of this, guv’nor? A child or a crank? Or an idiot?’

Steele considered for a moment longer before giving his opinion. ‘None of those, I think. This is a person bright enough to find this address, which is not widely known. Cranks usually write to us care of Scotland Yard, don’t they?’ He picked up his thin ivory paper-knife. ‘Well, let’s see, shall we?’

He slit the envelope open, and drew out a sheet of inferior paper, lined, as if torn from a school exercise book. He held this flat on the table so that both men could read the words, which were written in the same scrawl as the envelope.

‘That makes sense,’ Mason observed. ‘Twenty pounds in coppers would be far too bulky.’ He enjoyed his little joke.

‘Interesting,’ said Steele. ‘He can’t spell “paid” or “wear”, but he can spell “wait” and “coat”. Full stops in the right places. This is a person with a little education pretending to be illiterate.’

‘D’you think it’s a hoax?’

‘Well, it’s not what it purports to be, I’m sure. But I believe someone knows something and wants to tell us, without
giving himself away. It’s the sort of ruse Austin or Greenwell, or even Frankel, might use if they wanted us to know something, but couldn’t speak openly for some reason.’

‘But we’d recognize them when they came to the rendezvous.’

‘If it is someone we know, he probably won’t come in person. He’ll send a hired hand, or a deputy, with a message.’

‘I suppose you’re right. That’s why you have to wear the flower.’

‘Anyway, we can’t ignore this, it’s our only positive lead at present.’ Steele pondered. ‘Thursday, that’s tomorrow, isn’t it? What time are we due at the Aspinalls?’

‘Three o’clock.’

‘That fits. We can walk to the Vale of Health when we leave Highgate Close. There’s nothing to lose.’

‘Except our lives, of course. It could be a trap.’

Steele snorted. ‘Jack, you and I have coped with more traps than a plumber’s mate. Still, I’ll ask George Willoughby to have some plain-clothed officers close by the Royal Oak just in case.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Eleven-fifteen. I’ll make the coffee. You put the cake on a plate and fetch a knife.’

‘Right, guv’nor.’ Mason rose with alacrity. Then a thought struck him. ‘Perhaps you should take a slice to Mr Willoughby when you go to the Yard this afternoon. Cheer him up a bit.’

Clare came briskly into the room and made straight for the bookshelves as usual. She seemed less on edge this evening, immediately finding the volume she wanted and taking it out.

Harriet put down her embroidery and looked up at her sister. ‘Ah, Clare. Did you ever find that book you were looking for?’

‘The Hawthorne?’ said Clare. ‘Yes, I found it last night.’

‘Where was it?’

‘In the bottom drawer of Father’s desk.’

Harriet gasped. ‘You looked in Father’s desk? You know we’re forbidden to do that!’

‘I had to. I’d searched everywhere else. Then it occurred to me that he might have taken the book to spite me. He knows I need it for my research. And it seems I was right.’

‘Surely not. If he’d wanted to spite you, he could have destroyed it. Or thrown it out.’

‘Oh well,’ Clare conceded, ‘perhaps he actually needed it himself, for some strange reason. Come to think of it, he had made some pencil marks on the map of Hampstead Heath.’ She had taken tonight’s book to a table, and was making a brief note on her pocket notepad.

‘For heaven’s sake, Clare! If you think Father’s using that book, you must put it back at once before he misses it!’

‘I shall put it back when I have extracted all the information I need. And not before.’ Clare completed her note, put away the notepad, and turned to face her sister. ‘And if I need more information later, I shall take it out again.’

‘Clare! Please don’t make him angry again! He’s been calmer this week. And I’m trying to pluck up the confidence to ask him something.’

‘It shouldn’t be difficult for a girl to seek her father’s advice. He might even feel flattered.’

‘But this is such an odd question. Something Major Steele wants me to put to him.’

‘I’m glad to hear you’re co-operating with Major Steele. Only don’t mention his name to Father.’

‘Of course not. But I need to find Father in a good mood.’

‘That’s like hoping for a heatwave at Christmas,’ Clare observed.

‘No, Clare, it can happen. As long as nothing occurs to provoke him.’

‘And that’s like hoping for rain in the Sahara. What is it the major needs to know?’

‘Believe it or not, he wants me to ask Father if he can swim! I can’t imagine why.’

‘Ah, I can,’ said Clare, in a knowing way. ‘I shan’t tell you, though. It might make it harder for you to sound natural. But rest assured, there is a good reason.’ Clare returned her book to the shelf and began running her fingers along the neighbouring titles.

‘I fear there’s little chance of my sounding natural,’ Harriet lamented.

‘Nonsense! You must! Just lead into it casually. Talk about bathing in the ponds. Many people do that. You could even suggest that Father might take you.’

‘I hope I can find the courage.’

‘Courage is always there, if you take the trouble to look for it.’

‘I try, Clare. I do try. But whenever I think I’ve found a little, something happens to drive it away.’ Harriet sighed. ‘I saw that awful tramp again yesterday, staring over the wall into our garden.’

‘Ah yes. Your tramp.’

‘I’m sure he’s up to no good.’

‘It’s strange, Harriet, that no one but you has ever seen this man.’

‘I suppose I’m the only one with time to look out of the window. You’re always working in your room, Father’s out, and Mrs Butters is busy in the kitchen.’

Clare glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘Not so busy this evening, I see. Dinner is already five minutes late.’

‘It’s hardly surprising. Mrs Butters has so much work to do.’

‘That’s true. The more so since Father saw fit to sack the maid. And is too mean to hire a replacement.’

Harriet paused in her work. ‘Poor Daisy. I wonder what’s become of her.’

‘I think she went off with that young man who was always hanging around.’

‘Do you? I don’t think he’ll be very good for her. Very surly, wasn’t he?’

‘Extremely. On one occasion I thought he was going to come in and set about Father. But, alas, luck was against us.’

‘Oh, Clare, how can you talk like that?’

Clare felt this was a rhetorical question that needed no answer. She took a new volume from the shelf and leafed through the first few pages.

‘Anyway, she’s gone,’ Harriet resumed. ‘And now Mrs Butters has to do everything. So we shouldn’t complain if meals are five minutes late.’

‘It’s a wonder she stays,’ said Clare. ‘There must be kinder employers to be found.’ She decided to take the book she was holding. She closed it and began walking towards the door.

‘She looked so weary at teatime,’ Harriet continued. ‘And, of course, she has this problem on her mind.’

Clare stopped. ‘Mrs Butters has a problem?’

‘We were talking the other day, while you were upstairs. Now we know the Maniac’s still at large, she’s back to wondering if she should confide in Major Steele. About her find.’

‘What find is this?’

‘Didn’t I tell you at the time? Mrs Butters found a strange object in the garden shed. Behind the logs. She thinks it may be some sort of weapon. I persuaded her to tell the major, but she missed her chance. Will the detectives be coming here again?’

‘I’m sure they will.’

‘Also, Mrs Butters thinks Father has been prying in her room.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ said Clare.

As she turned to go, the door opened and Meredith Austin came in. He didn’t smile.

‘Dinner is already nine minutes late,’ he declared. ‘Does anyone know why?’

Clare’s reply was cool. ‘Harriet believes Mrs Butters is not feeling well.’

‘She’ll be feeling a lot worse if I have to wait much longer for my food,’ said Austin.

‘Excuse me,’ said Clare. ‘I have to take this to my room.’

She sidled neatly past her father, without making contact, and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Austin scowled. ‘If that young woman spent less time scribbling and deigned to help with the housework, we might get our dinner on time.’

‘Perhaps we should all do more to help,’ Harriet ventured.

‘Good heavens, child, I can’t have you doing physical work, you’re far too delicate. Your duty is to rest and improve your health. But as for that one and her foolish jottings …’ Austin exhaled contemptuously.

‘Writing is important to Clare, Father.’

‘And what does it earn her? Pennies! She should have sought a position as a governess, as I told her.’ Austin went to the mantelpiece. ‘She will come to regret defying me.’ He took up the little pot that stood there, looked inside, and reacted with alarm. ‘What the devil! My desk keys are missing!’