Terror by Gaslight (17 page)

‘Several. Last week he decided the Maniac may have had a deprived childhood. He wanted our friends at the Yard to
trace all men who grew up in British orphanages and children’s homes in the last forty years.’

‘Good God! How did they react to that?’

‘With very little enthusiasm. Willoughby’s worked out that a hundred policemen working seven days a week would take a year to do the job. He feels they could be better employed elsewhere.’

‘Like escorting Professor Kane on to a boat back to America.’

‘There is a growing body of opinion in favour of that idea. In the meantime, the professor’s announced that he’s been working too hard, and his brain needs rest and refreshment. He’s going to be walking the Yorkshire moors for a week.’

‘Oh well, that’ll keep him out of the way for a while. Is he up there yet?’

‘He went yesterday. He should have been there the day before, but he got on the wrong train.’

Mason let out a guffaw, which quickly changed to a cry of agony. He clutched his ribs.

‘Don’t make me laugh, guv’nor,’ he pleaded. ‘I’ve got more places that hurt than places that don’t.’

Steele’s tone became serious. ‘Well, there’s nothing funny about the next story. I’m afraid there’s tragic news from the Austin house.’

‘Oh dear. Not that poor frightened girl, I hope.’

‘No, the housekeeper, Mrs Butters. She’s dead.’

‘Good God! The housekeeper? What happened?’

‘They found her at the foot of the cellar steps with a fractured skull. Austin called in his friend Dr Frankel, as you might expect, and he said it was an accident, as you might also expect. George Willoughby has his doubts. He’s ordered a post mortem, and his men are investigating. There’ll be an inquest, obviously.’

‘I should certainly hope so. Frankel’s verdict will be about
as reliable as a cart with three wheels.’

‘Mind you, it could have been an accident. You’ll have noticed that the lady was somewhat overweight.’

‘And overworked as well. Any other details?’

‘The back door was open, so there could have been an intruder. Anyway, it wasn’t the Heath Maniac. Not his modus operandi.’

Mason peered into his whisky glass and pondered on life’s injustice.

‘Poor old duck! I liked her. I shouldn’t think Austin treated her very well.’

‘I’m damn certain he didn’t. It’s a sure bet he’s never treated anyone very well in his life. But he’ll soon get his comeuppance.’

‘It can’t come soon enough.’

‘Another thing to tell you is they’ve arrested Cedric Jamieson on a string of charges. Nothing to do with Austin.’

‘Oh well, I suppose we can still carry on building up our own case against him.’

‘Certainly. And any more papers we need from Jamieson’s office, Willoughby can get them for us.’

There was a pause. Mason drank another mouthful and began to feel more comfortable. But his professional curiosity was still working. ‘So what do we do next?’ he enquired.

‘You lie in bed and get yourself better quick. I may need you back on your feet by Sunday. While you’re lolling around here, I’ll be doing fieldwork.’

‘Fieldwork? What does that mean?’

‘It means the office can take care of itself for a day or two. I’m going back on the Heath, with my binoculars. Incognito.’

‘More of your scouting missions?’

‘Exactly. I want to pry about and see what’s happening in and around those big houses. I’m going to observe what goes on at Dunblane and Hillside and the Greenwells’ when no
one’s watching. Or when they think no one’s watching.’

‘Sooner you than me. It’s getting a bit chilly out there. And damp.’

‘I’ll wrap up warm.’

‘What’s brought this on?’

‘A new line of inquiry, Jack. Perhaps the conclusive one. I’ve left the biggest news till last.’

‘There’s more?’

‘Considerably more. I’ve had a very interesting letter from Luke Scully.’

Mason was instantly alert. ‘Scully? I wouldn’t have thought he could write a letter, even when he was fit and well, and now he’s on his deathbed!’

‘That’s the point. He knows he’s about to kick the bucket and something’s been troubling him, something he needed to tell us. I expect his wife did the writing; it’s a woman’s hand. But the words are Scully’s.’

‘Are they important?’

‘If they imply what I think they might, they could solve the mystery. The case could be over on Sunday.’

‘What?!’ Mason sat up in astonishment and then winced with pain. ‘What is this? What have you got up your sleeve?’

‘I’m not absolutely sure yet. But I want you fit and ready for action by the end of the week.’

‘I will be. Of course. Whatever the doctors say. But will you please tell me what this is all about? What did Scully say in this letter?’ Mason grabbed his colleague’s arm.

‘Don’t get carried away!’ said Steele. ‘It may not mean what I think it means. I have to do some research. And then Willoughby will want proof, and I’m not sure how we get it. I may have to set a trap. And I’ll need you for that.’

‘For God’s sake, guv’nor, stop playing games! Suspense is bad for invalids! What does Scully say in his letter?’

‘Calm down, Jack, and I’ll tell you. What Scully says is …’

At that moment there was another cursory knock on the door and again it was opened without delay. The nurse ushered in a pleasant middle-aged woman of medium height – a slightly plump figure built more for comfort than speed. She had a motherly face and a kindly smile.

‘Not more than ten minutes today, Mrs Mason,’ the nurse was saying. ‘Your husband’s had a long talk with Major Steele already, and he mustn’t get overtired.’ She shot a glance at Steele. ‘I expect you’ll be leaving soon, Major.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Steele meekly. ‘Just a few more points I need to tell my colleague about.’

‘Oh dear,’ said the nurse. ‘Mr Mason needs to relax. You shouldn’t be talking business to him.’

‘Don’t worry, Nurse,’ said Steele. ‘He never listens.’

The nurse went to the door. ‘When I return in ten minutes, I want to find Mr Mason lying down and ready for relaxation,’ she declared. And then she left.

‘That sounded like an invitation,’ Steele observed. ‘You may be in luck, Jack.’

Mason shuddered. ‘No, thank you! That would be like cuddling a hedgehog! I think I’ll stick with my Emily here.’

‘I’m glad to hear that,’ said Mrs Mason. ‘I’ve just bought a new double blanket.’ She bent over the bed and kissed her husband warmly. ‘How are you feeling today, dear?’

‘A bit like I’ve been run over by a coach and horses. But it’s all right, they’ve confirmed there’s nothing serious.’

‘And how are you, Major?’ asked Mrs Mason, with a faint note of disapproval. ‘You two certainly get into some scrapes.’

Steele rose to his feet. ‘I’m fine, thank you, Emily. I let Jack take most of the blows. His skull is thicker than mine.’ He looked at the basket the lady was carrying. ‘You seem to have brought most of Covent Garden market with you.’

On view in Emily Mason’s basket were grapes, apples and oranges, as well as some other objects, unidentifiable in paper
bags. She was also carrying a bunch of chrysanthemums.

‘Just a few things to cheer him up and make him better,’ said Emily, unloading fruit on to the bedside table until it began to look like a harvest festival display. Then she produced a solid item, wrapped in greaseproof paper, and handed it to Steele.

‘And I’ve brought something for you, Major,’ she announced. ‘I thought I’d see you here today.’

‘For me?’ Steele eyed the object cautiously.

‘It’s my special eel and onion pie. I know you don’t look after yourself properly. You tuck into that when you get home.’

‘Ah. Er … well, thank you, Emily. Er … do I heat it up?’

‘Doesn’t matter. Hot or cold, it’s full of goodness. Now what about my Jack? He’s been through the mill, hasn’t he? He’s going to need a lot of rest.’

‘I’m sure the nurse will see he gets that,’ Steele reassured her.

‘Yes, but when he gets out of here. He ought to have a holiday. I hope you’re not planning to get him back to work in a hurry.’

‘No, no, of course not,’ Steele lied.

‘He should have time to convalesce. He could do with some sea air. I’ll see if I can get us a few days at Mrs Hankey’s in Brighton.’

Mason pulled a disapproving face. ‘Brighton will be cold at this time of year.’

‘Well, we’ll see about that in a minute,’ said Emily ominously. ‘These flowers should be in water. Where can I get a vase?’

‘The nurse has a little room at the end of the passage,’ said Mason. ‘The dragon’s lair, I call it. I expect she’ll help you if you ask her several times. Turn left as you go out of here.’

‘All right,’ said Emily, opening the door. ‘And when I come
back I’d like my Jack to myself, please, Major. No more business talk for him today.’ And with that she set off down the corridor.

‘Oh dear,’ said Steele with mock gravity. ‘Just when I need you, you’ll be in Brighton.’

‘Not bloody likely!’ said Mason vehemently. ‘Brighton brings on my rheumatism.’

‘But Emily says you need sea air.’

‘I’ll let her fan me with a kipper. I’ll be back on the job Sunday, if not sooner. Put money on it!’

‘I never bet on a certainty, you know that. It’s dishonest.’

‘Now for God’s sake, guv’nor, tell me what’s in Scully’s letter, and what you and I have to do!’

Steele told him, and Mason let out a whistle of astonishment.

Frankel’s oaths and cries of wrath could be heard while he was still outside, first in the coal store and then as he stomped back to the house. And when he flung open the back door and stormed in, his rage was incandescent.

‘The young vermin’s gone!’ he roared. ‘He’s got out! He’s gone!’

Stone and Prosser had been alerted by approaching sounds of fury from their employer, and by his bellowed demands for their immediate attendance, so they were waiting for him in the kitchen. Stone had been wondering what had brought on this outburst; Prosser, of course, knew the answer only too well, and had been quietly preparing himself to deal with the onslaught.

‘Gone?’ said Stone, with genuine astonishment. And then he added injudiciously, ‘He can’t have gone! I saw you lock him in this afternoon!’

The ferocity in Frankel’s voice went up several decibels.

‘If I say he’s gone, he’s bloody well gone, you brainless
dolt! Or do you think he’s hiding under the coal? Perhaps you should go and search through it!’

Stone showed no inclination to accept this invitation.

‘Sorry, sir,’ he said in his weaselly way. ‘I wasn’t arguing with you. It’s just that I can’t understand it. The boy must be in league with the devil!’

‘The devil himself couldn’t have helped him, if you two had kept watch properly!’ Frankel glared at his underlings. ‘How did he get out? How did it happen, eh? Tell me that!’

Prosser broke the tense silence.

‘When you locked him in, guv’nor, did you leave the key in the lock?’

‘Dammit, I don’t know!’ barked Frankel. ‘What the hell has that got to do with it?’

‘These young villains got a trick where they push the key out and drag it in under the door. When you lock someone in, you oughta take the key.’

At this suggestion of negligence on his own part, Frankel’s temper mounted further. ‘Never mind that! He should have been watched! All the time! You should have been watching the coal house!’

‘You never said that,’ Prosser protested. ‘You told me to clean upstairs. That’s what I been doing.’

‘Don’t bandy words with me, you oaf! You’re idle, that’s what you are! Idle and stupid!’

‘Can’t be in two places at once, can I?’

The veins stood out on Frankel’s forehead. ‘You’re idle, I say! And now you’re insolent as well!’ The doctor now had a target for his anger. ‘I know you, Prosser. Loafing around drinking beer when you should be on duty! You let that young blackguard escape!’

‘I told you, guv’nor, I was upst—’

The raging Frankel cut him short. ‘Lies! Lies! Don’t you argue with me, you cur! I’ll have to teach you a lesson!’

He was still carrying the stick with which he’d been looking forward to thrashing the boy. Now he swung a vicious blow at the servant’s head.

Prosser ducked and grabbed the stick as it whirled through the empty air. As so often in the past, he would have liked to break it over his employer’s skull. But, as before, he reminded himself that it was Frankel who brought in good money for all of them. It was too soon to kill him. So he restrained himself and just broke the stick over his own knee. Then he tossed the broken pieces to the ground and stood looking calmly at his master.

Frankel stared back at him with hatred in his eyes. He was a big man, but Prosser was bigger. And the fellow was useful. There was a moment of suspense, during which Stone moved a little further away from the two large men. Finally, Frankel contented himself with saying, ‘You’ll pay for that.’

From a safe distance the secretary strove to ease the situation.

‘There may still be traces of the boy’s blood on the larder floor,’ he suggested. ‘If we gave the dog a sniff of that, he might be able to track the wretch down. He’s probably got no further than the Heath.’

‘You mean, you’ll take the dog out and search for him?’ rasped Frankel.

The secretary’s face would have paled had it not been already devoid of colour. As it was, there was just a tightening of the skin.

‘I’d rather not, sir,’ he said. ‘Surely Prosser’s the man for that job. I have to finish last week’s accounts.’

Prosser was dismissive. ‘There’d be no sense in it,’ he said. ‘The boy could have got out hours ago. Likely he’s miles away by now.’

The fire had gone out of Frankel since the failed confrontation. And the wine that had helped to influence his wrath
was now becoming debilitating. He sat down on a kitchen chair and scowled at Stone.

‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘I want Prosser in the house for the next few days, in case we get a visit from Slaughter’s men. It seems he’s not happy with our new arrangement.’

‘Then what do we do about the boy?’ Stone asked.

Frankel shrugged. ‘Nothing. Forget about him. If he doesn’t starve on the Heath he’ll probably drown in one of the ponds. When I’ve finished this commission from Lensky I’ll go down to the slums and find another urchin.’