The Body in the Fog (12 page)

‘You doing anything special this afternoon?’ asked Dora, the other parlour maid, when Sarah reappeared in the bar.

‘I have to go and see a friend,’ said Sarah promptly. She and Dora shared a bedroom and as they were the only parlour maids they had become friends. Sarah knew that Dora was going to
suggest window-shopping in Oxford Street as usual, where they wandered from shop to shop planning the outfits that they would buy if they had the money. Sarah had enjoyed this for a while, but now
she was getting tired of pretend shopping. Also, she had something else on her mind – the frightening man in the red scarf. She had decided to go and see Inspector Denham again.

Almost as though he had read her thoughts, the man turned around, gave her a wink and raised his glass to her. Sarah forced her lips to a polite smile, slipped rapidly behind the bar and began
vigorously polishing the beer taps and wiping the counters clean of all the circles from the mugs and tankards.

As soon as Sarah had finished clearing the plates from the parlour, she set off for Bow Street police station.

As she had hoped, Inspector Denham was in his office when she arrived. He was very nice, thought Sarah, as she sat in the chair that he pulled out for her. He spent a few minutes asking about
her new job and whether she was happy in it, and then she told him about the man with the red silk scarf.

‘He’s after Alfie and Jack,’ she said. ‘He tried to catch them two nights ago, just before the storm broke. He chased after them to the White Horse Inn, but they managed
to get away.’ Sarah decided not to tell the inspector about the boys going down the sewers. That might be against the law. ‘And then he turned up today at the White Horse again, trying
to get out of me whether I knew them. I told him that I would bring Alfie and Jack to Seven Dials at two o’clock,’ she finished. ‘You might be able to capture him then.’

‘Unlikely,’ said the inspector wearily. ‘That place is full of criminals. I’d need twenty men to go in there and the chances are that by the end of it all, I’d have
a man shot or badly injured and no one would be captured.’ He saw her disappointment and added kindly, ‘But you would be of great use to us. We’re beginning to suspect that there
might be two gangs involved. We know that Flash Harry’s gang is one of them, but this affair seems a bit clever for them.’ He stopped for a minute, thinking hard. ‘Would you be
able to describe this man for someone I know?’ he asked. ‘This chap is very clever with his pencil and he might be able to make a drawing of him.’

Sarah nodded.

Inspector Denham left the office briefly and, five minutes later, a constable appeared with a man in a floppy hat with a satchel tucked under his arm.

Inspector Denham ushered the artist into his office and firmly shut the door on the policeman, but when the picture was finished and the artist had been paid and thanked, he invited the
constable and another policeman in. Sarah watched their faces light up with excitement.

‘Sid the Swell!’ exclaimed PC27. ‘He’s got him dead to rights – good as if he sat for his portrait!’

‘That’s him, all right,’ commented PC32. ‘Do you see the way his nose turns to one side? He got that broken nose from the night watchman at the jewellery place in
Burlington Arcade.’

‘Deals in jewels, does he?’ mused the inspector. ‘Well, well, well, now that’s interesting.’ He saw Sarah looking at him inquisitively and gave a nod.

‘There was a registered package of diamonds among the mail that was stolen from the Trafalgar Square post office,’ he said to her. Sarah nodded. She knew this already. ‘The
jewels were being sent from a diamond merchant in Hatton Garden to an address in Holland. It seems likely that the raid was planned specially for that night because the thieves knew about the
diamonds – I suspect someone from the post office itself gave them the information. It was a hugely valuable parcel – we are trying to get hold of it before it’s shipped abroad
for the best price that can be got for it.’

‘And nothing has been found yet, has it?’ asked Sarah, thinking of the ten-pound reward that was still on the board outside the police station. She would use her share of the reward
to go back to school, she thought. She would like to be more educated. The Ragged School, which was free, had been burned down, but there were other schools if you had the money to pay for
them.

‘Shall we put the picture outside the door with a “Wanted” sign on it, Inspector?’ asked one of the constables.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Inspector Denham after a pause. ‘Sid the Swell on his own is not much good for us. We want to recover the diamonds, but above all I want to lay
my hands on the traitor who tipped the gang off about what was in the Trafalgar Square mailbags that night. Thank you, Sarah; you’ve been very helpful, but I must ask that you leave this case
to us now. And don’t, whatever you do, meet with Sid the Swell this afternoon. Go back to the inn and stay safe. Constable, see Sarah out.’

‘Leave it to us, now, Sarah,’ said the constable in a friendly voice as they stood together at the door of Bow Street police station. ‘Don’t start doing any
investigations, not you nor any of the other kids. That Sid the Swell is a nasty piece of work. Best not to meddle with him.’

CHAPTER 19

Alfie and Sammy had retreated to the shadows at the top of Hungerford Bridge.

The river was very still, very silent, the weight of the heavy fog smothering all sounds. Alfie listened. For a moment he heard nothing but then a sound came, from under the bridge. It was
unmistakably the clank of a chain being stealthily drawn through the water. And it was not the only sound.

Sammy was right. There was a boat there, also. Alfie could hear it drift in the water, occasionally bumping softly against the iron support of the bridge. It must have just glided up the river
on the ebbing tide. The faint murmur of whispering voices came to him and then a short, hissed ‘
Sh-sh-sh
’ from one of them.

The chains clonked again, then came the sound of something large being hauled over the side of the boat. One man groaned softly with the effort of pulling it in. A second, unwieldly bulk was
loaded into the boat in the same way. Then the sound of the chain being dragged in.

Suddenly the truth flashed on Alfie. On the night of the robbery, the post office raiders had driven off at high speed down Hungerford Lane. A couple of the gang must have jumped from the wagon
with the mailbags and hidden them under the bridge, while the others led the police on a wild goose chase across the river. That was it, he thought. Tonight they were pulling the mailbags up and
taking them away.

Where would they go? Would it be possible to follow them? The river bank was very dark and the fog was coming down thickly. Even without Sammy, it would be impossible for Alfie, running on the
dark shoreline, to keep up with a boat rowing downstream on an ebbing tide. Alfie froze in an agony of indecision. The thought of losing that ten-pound reward made him want to scream with
frustration.

The boat slid out from under the bridge. Just one man was sculling, moving the oar as silently as possible, towards the Hungerford Stairs where the Bristly Eyebrows stood, still muttering to
himself. A second man reached out a hand and held him firmly while he stepped into the boat. No one spoke. It seemed this was not the first time they had seen him in this state. The boat moved back
into the shadow of the bridge and Alfie could see nothing more. Then, quite suddenly, the toff began to sing in a strange, high-pitched voice.

‘
Hickory Dickory Dock
,

The mouse ran up the clock
,

The clock struck
. . .’

Then there was a sort of groan.

And then silence.

The boat moved away; the men rowing strongly and smoothly down the Thames. Alfie let go of Sammy’s arm and went cautiously down towards the river’s edge, being careful to keep in the
black shadow of the nearby boathouse. By now, the boat was well out into the middle of the river, going downstream towards the sea. And there was no sign onboard of Bristly Eyebrows.

He must be with them, thought Alfie, though when he looked out towards the moonlit boat he could still only see two heads.

Then both heads looked all around, as if they were making sure that no one else was near. And a minute later, Alfie knew why.

A large, heavy object was heaved over into the water, making a surprisingly small splash. ‘My God,’ thought Alfie, ‘they must have strangled Bristly Eyebrows!’

Alfie held his breath, praying that they could not see him. He did not dare to move until the boat was far downstream, the men rowing quickly as if to get away as fast as possible from the
object that they had thrown into the Thames.

Alfie felt himself filled with anger as he went back and whispered to Sammy what had happened. For the first time, the ten-pound reward faded from his mind. That poor old fellow, he thought.
Wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t needed the money for his opium drug. He seemed a harmless old cove. He certainly had not been the one to kill old Jemmy. He wasn’t big enough,
or strong enough. Probably always had the shakes!

But Flash Harry and his gang – they were a different matter. The sooner Inspector Denham caught them, the better.

And then came a voice. Someone was coming down Hungerford Lane – two people, one talking to the other.

‘Ever eaten smoked eel, Jack?’ said the voice. ‘Real delicacy, that. Stick it up the chimney and leave it there for a few months. Tastes great!’

It was Charlie Higgins, the fisherman, and he had Jack with him. Now Alfie could make out their figures, each carrying a pair of oars. If Charlie was willing to help, then they could follow the
boat and see where the raiders went.

Alfie had a short struggle with himself. If they used Charlie’s boat, and Charlie’s rowing power, they would have to share the reward with him – at least. He might even claim
three-quarters of it!

However, without a boat, the men would not be traceable. Alfie made up his mind. The important thing now was to catch this gang before they did any more harm.

‘Stay there,’ he whispered to Sammy and slipped quietly back up towards the two figures coming down Hungerford Lane.

Jack always said that Charlie Higgins was a clever fellow and it turned out to be true. After a few words from Alfie he understood the situation completely and continued to discuss the smoking
of eels in loud, carrying tones, as he and Jack came out from the darkness and stopped beneath the one solitary gas lamp at the top of the Hungerford Stairs. They dragged the heavy wooden boat down
the bank and launched it into the river. Jack held the boat as steady as he could by gripping the iron bar of the Hungerford Stairs while Alfie helped his brother into the boat.

‘Sort out the fishing lines, Jack. Blessed if they aren’t all in a tangle.’ Charlie’s voice boomed over the silent water. By now Charlie and the three boys were well out
into the centre of the river, quite a distance from the Hungerford shore.

Alfie lay flat down on the floor of the boat and allowed no more than his forehead and eyes to appear over the side. Sammy sat peacefully in the centre of the craft and in the prow Charlie, with
a voice like a foghorn, cursed Jack for being so slow with untangling the lines and declared his intention of moving off before the tide turned.

‘That’s the time to catch eels, sonny boy,’ he roared. ‘If I have to hang around here any longer there won’t be a single one of them critters left to catch. They
don’t sit on their backsides and hold up little placards saying
Please catch me!
you know.’

‘Yes, Mr Higgins,’ said Jack respectfully. He seized a pair of oars and with a strong, steady stroke kept time with Charlie.

Charlie was still bellowing, but even without that, they would probably not have heard a sound from the galley boat just ahead of them.

It was lucky that Charlie Higgins liked the sound of his own voice. Between the bridges of Hungerford and Waterloo he never stopped giving his opinions on fishing and fish markets, and telling
stories about fish sellers he had known during half a century on the river. He kept well to the south side of the galley boat that they were following and only a few feet behind it. It would be
impossible for the men to land the boat without being spotted. And as they’d just killed a man, it was unlikely that they wanted to draw attention to themselves.

‘Drop back a little and we can watch to see where they go,’ whispered Alfie into Charlie’s ear when they reached Southwark Bridge, and the man nodded.

‘Let’s cast a line here, lad, and see if the eels are rising tonight,’ he said in tones loud enough to be heard by the men in the boat. ‘Come on boy, ship your
oars,’ he added to make it clear to anyone that might be listening that the fishing boat was going to stop.

The galley, however, did not stop. Nor did it go towards the shore. It continued on its journey, nearer to the south bank of the river than the north, but not so near that it looked as though it
were going to land. After a couple of minutes, Alfie touched Charlie on the arm and murmured, ‘We’d better follow them.’