by Jim Eldridge
‘Now,’ she ordered, ‘we go to your office and you do what I say when we get there. Otherwise, I’ll kill you.’
They left Smith’s office and Evelyn Scott allowed herself to be ushered towards the door of her own office and the uniformed police constable standing on guard outside it. Smith held Scott’s blouse in such a tight grip that the front of her blouse collar pulled against the front of her neck, forcing her head back. She could feel the sharp point of the scissor blades against her skin just behind the bone of her chin. One sharp upwards thrust and the point would go through her soft skin, up through the roof of her mouth and into her brain.
‘You don’t need to do this,’ she whispered, desperately.
There was no reply from Smith; her attention was fixed on the constable, who stared at the two women in shocked amazement.
‘What’s going on?’ he demanded.
‘Open the door,’ hissed Smith.
‘What?’ said the constable, stupefied by what he was seeing.
‘Open the door or I’ll kill her.’
‘B-b-but …’ burbled the constable, bewildered.
‘Open the door,’ echoed Scott, as calmly as she could.
The constable opened the door, and Smith forced Scott through, the scissors still digging into her neck.
Daniel and Inspector Feather turned in their chairs at the sound of the door opening.
‘I said no interruptions—’ began Feather, angrily. Then he stopped and rose slowly to his feet, as did Daniel. Dawson Turner sat staring at Smith and Scott, stunned.
‘Let him go or I’ll kill her,’ said Smith. ‘Let him go and he and I will walk out of here with Miss Scott. We’ll let her go once we’re clear.’
Daniel and Feather stared at the two women, not believing what they were confronted with. Turner got up.
‘Penelope, don’t do this,’ he appealed.
‘We’re in this together, Dawson,’ said Smith. She looked at Daniel and Feather, challengingly. ‘One push is all it will take and she’s dead. Now, let him go.’
Scott saw the hesitation and uncertainty on the faces of the two men. If they let him go, what will happen then? There’s a chance she’ll still kill me. I can’t let this happen, she decided. I’m a strong woman. I will not let everything end for me here.
‘Mrs Smith,’ she began. ‘Penelope …’
‘Quiet,’ hissed Smith.
Because Smith’s attention was fixed firmly on Daniel and Feather, with occasional glances towards Turner, she didn’t notice that Scott was very slowly raising her right hand towards the hand that held the scissors. Suddenly, Scott’s fingers closed on Smith’s wrist and pulled downwards, just enough to take the point of the blade away from her skin. Daniel and Feather saw this and immediately threw themselves at Smith, grabbing the arm that held the scissors and wrestling the secretary to the floor. Daniel dropped on top of Smith while Feather tore the scissors from her grasp. Then the two men rolled Smith onto her front, and Feather produced a pair of handcuffs from his pocket which he shackled around Smith’s wrists. But as soon as Smith was released from their grasp, she leapt to her feet and threw herself at the two men, biting and kicking, spittle flecking from her lips as she screamed ‘No! No!’ at them, before she was pulled off them by Scott, who grabbed Smith by the hair and forced her to her knees. Feather lifted Smith up and pushed her onto a chair, where he held her.
‘Do you have any strong string?’ he asked Scott.
Scott went to her desk and took out a roll of string, which she handed to Feather. The inspector tied Smith’s ankles to the legs of the chair. Smith’s head hung down and she panted heavily, emotionally exhausted. Turner looked at her in anguish.
‘Penelope,’ he said, ‘there was no need for this.’
‘Yes,’ said Smith. ‘There was. They have evidence.’ Then Smith looked up at Feather and Daniel, her glare defiant.
‘It was me,’ she said. ‘I killed that man Petter. Dawson had nothing to do with it.’
‘And Raymond Simpson?’ asked Feather.
As she hesitated, Turner’s resolve crumbled. ‘I did it,’ he admitted. ‘I killed Simpson.’
‘We killed him,’ said Smith. ‘Together. It needed both of us to wrap him in that cloth.’
‘Quiet, Penelope,’ Turner warned her.
Feather strode to the door and opened it. At first the corridor looked empty, but then a constable appeared on the run, accompanied by two others.
‘I’d gone to get help, sir,’ said the constable, out of breath.
‘It’s all under control,’ said Feather. ‘But from now on, make sure no one comes in.’
Feather returned to the room, then closed the door. Turner had resumed his seat next to Smith and had his hand on her arm. Daniel was standing with Miss Scott, examining the area of skin beneath her chin.
‘The skin’s not broken,’ he said. ‘You are a very brave woman, Miss Scott.’
‘The instinct of self-preservation,’ said Scott. To Feather, she said: ‘I assume I am now part of this, Inspector.’
‘Very much so,’ said Feather. ‘It’s only right that you know everything that happened. And I can only endorse what Daniel has already said: you are an incredibly brave woman.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Feather had brought in other chairs and he, Scott and Daniel had taken their places opposite Turner and Smith. She seemed to have recovered her usual composure, although Daniel was aware of the anger that burned in her eyes.
‘Penelope – Mrs Smith – had nothing to do with anything,’ said Turner. ‘I killed Raymond Simpson. I killed the man Petter.’
‘That’s not true,’ said Smith. ‘He’s just saying that to protect me. We killed Raymond Simpson together.’
‘Who strangled him? You or Mr Turner?’
‘Does it matter?’ asked Smith, dismissively. ‘It took two of us to roll him in that cloth. We did it together.’
‘And Erskine Petter? We know Mr Turner went to the butcher’s and got the address of the lodging house where Petter was hiding out.’
Smith nodded. ‘Yes, he got the address, but it was me who went to see Petter. Dawson was worried that the investigation was looking into blackmail as the motive for Simpson’s death. I told Dawson we needed to get it back to the threat to the museum, which started with the smashing of the dinosaur skeleton, and so get people’s minds off the blackmail idea.’
‘You told him about the letter from Petter and Wardle.’
‘Yes. I said if we could get Petter to write another threatening letter it would do the trick. We would have paid him to do it, but then we learnt that he’d gone into hiding. So, I asked Dawson to find out where he’d gone, and I offered to talk to him. But when I tried, Petter became abusive. He ordered me out. He threatened me with a knife. Luckily, he was drunk, so I was able to overpower him.’
‘And you killed him.’
‘Because I knew we had to do something. If he wouldn’t write the letter, then if his dead body was found it would make the police think his murder was connected to the museum and turn them away from the blackmail motive.’
‘So, you slit his throat?’
She nodded. ‘Yes.’ Bitterly, she added: ‘I didn’t think it would take so long before his body was discovered. I thought he’d be found straight away.’
In the Grand Hall, Warmsley had just finished, taking his bow as the audience rose to their feet in a standing ovation, cries of ‘Bravo!’ being heard amidst the applause. Abigail moved across the temporary stage to join him.
‘Well done,’ she congratulated him. ‘That was most excellently done. A real credit to her memory.’ She looked towards the audience and saw many of them were heading towards the stage. ‘It looks as if there are some questions for you and also, I suspect, many wanting to express their congratulations. I’d better leave you to your audience and report on the evening to Miss Scott.’
‘Yes,’ he said, looking around. ‘Where is she?’
‘I believe something urgent came up which took her away,’ said Abigail.
At that moment the first of the crowd arrived, eager hands reaching out to shake Warmsley’s.
‘Magnificent,’ boomed one large man, earnestly.
William Watling and Lady Fortescue watched as Abigail manoeuvred her way through the throng and headed for the stairs.
‘She’ll be on her way to Miss Scott’s office,’ grunted Watling. ‘It’s time for us to get ready for her and Wilson.’ He and Fortescue headed for the museum entrance and the outdoors.
‘You’re taking care of Fenton?’ asked Fortescue.
‘I am,’ said Watling. ‘And I’ve arranged for someone to deal with Wilson. He’s waiting outside for us.’
‘He knows what he has to do?’
‘Shoot him,’ said Watling.
‘Good,’ said Fortescue.
‘The thing is we want to make sure he shoots the right man, so I need you to point Wilson out to him.’
Fortescue stopped and glowered at him. ‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ she snapped. ‘Why can’t you do it?’
‘Because I shall be busy dealing with the Fenton woman.’
‘Surely you could have pointed Wilson out to him before this,’ seethed Fortescue.
‘I intended to, but there’s been no chance,’ Watling protested. ‘For some reason, Wilson’s been tied up with the police since halfway through tonight’s event. And Fenton will be leaving the museum at any moment, so I have to make sure I’m there ready for her.’
‘Very well,’ said Fortescue, sourly. ‘But I’m not happy about it. It’s dangerous. I don’t want to be associated with this.’
‘You won’t be,’ Watling assured her. ‘I haven’t told him my name, and I most certainly haven’t told him yours. We’re anonymous, which suits him. All he’s interested in is the money.’
‘Where is he?’
Watling led her outside and gestured towards a short man dressed in slightly ragged clothes who was hovering a short distance away.
‘There,’ said Watling. ‘Now, I’m off to intercept Fenton. I’ll come to you later and we can celebrate.’
‘I still don’t like it,’ complained Fortescue. She looked towards the small man, who was watching them. ‘He looks seedy.’
‘He is seedy, but he’ll do what we want,’ said Watling. ‘I’ve got to go. I expect that Fenton will be coming out any second now.’
He moved off. Fortescue glared after him. The small man, on seeing Watling depart, sidled towards Lady Fortescue.
‘That bloke said you’d point out who’s to be topped,’ he said.
‘“Topped”?’ repeated Fortescue, with distaste.
‘Offed,’ said the small man. He pulled a revolver from his jacket pocket.
‘Put it away,’ said Fortescue, sharply.
The man slipped the weapon back in his pocket.
Abigail walked along the corridor towards Miss Scott’s office and found a uniformed policeman guarding the door.
‘Are Mr Wilson and Inspector Feather still busy?’ she asked.
‘They are, miss. They’ve ordered me to make sure they’re not disturbed.’
Abigail nodded. ‘I understand. When they finish, let Mr Wilson know that Miss Fenton will be waiting for him outside the main entrance.’
Abigail then headed back down the stairs to the Grand Hall and deliberately chose a circuitous route towards the main entrance that avoided most of the crowds, who were still gathered and chatting animatedly about the evening’s talk. Right at this moment, she didn’t want to be distracted from concentrating on what answers Daniel and Inspector Feather were getting from Dawson Turner. Did they have enough to charge him?
She walked out into the evening air and found her way barred by the figure of William Watling.
‘Miss Fenton,’ said Watling, curtly.
‘Mr Watling,’ responded Abigail, equally curt, and made to go past him, but again found him barring her way.
‘You will walk to my carriage,’ he said.
‘Why on earth would I consider doing that?’ retorted Abigail.
Watling pulled back one side of his coat and revealed a pistol that was pointed directly at her. ‘Because, if you don’t, I will shoot you right here,’ he said.
Abigail stared at the pistol, stunned. ‘This is nonsense,’ she snapped.
‘No, this is reality,’ said Watling. ‘You and your partner have been a thorn in my side, and now I’m dealing with it. Now, walk to my carriage.’ He gestured towards the waiting vehicle.
‘And if I refuse?’ demanded Abigail.
‘Then I will shoot you.’
‘The sound of the shot will draw attention to yourself.’
Watling shook his head. ‘I will say we were talking when a shot rang out and you fell to the ground. No one will suspect an eminent person like myself of having committed the crime, especially when my coachman will back up my story. Now, walk.’
I have to go along with this and play for time, thought Abigail. Look for an opportunity to get away.
Abigail headed towards the carriage where a coachman sat on the driving seat, the reins for the black horse in his hands.
‘Step down, Jeffers,’ said Watling.
The coachman climbed down from his driving seat.
‘Tie her wrists together,’ ordered Watling.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Jeffers.
He’d obviously been expecting this instruction because he had a length of cord ready.
‘If you attempt to resist, or try anything, I will shoot you,’ Watling threatened Abigail.
She stood, her hands thrust forward, and allowed her wrists to be tied. She’d taken the initiative of pushing her hands in front of her to hopefully prevent her hands being tied behind her back, which would have made her situation more precarious, and fortunately the coachman and Watling seemed happy to accept this. Her wrists tied, Watling gestured for Jeffers to return to the driving seat.
‘Get in the carriage,’ ordered Watling, brandishing the pistol at Abigail. To his coachman, he called up: ‘The wharves at Chelsea Creek.’
Abigail climbed inside. Watling waited until she was settled in her seat before getting in himself, pulling the door shut and seating himself on the opposite bench. There was the muffled call from Jeffers to the horse, and then the carriage began to roll onward over the cobbles. Chelsea Creek, thought Abigail. Why there?
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Daniel and Feather stood with Miss Scott outside her office, watching as Turner and Smith were led away by uniformed police officers.
‘Where will you take them?’ asked Scott.
‘Scotland Yard,’ replied Feather. ‘They both seem eager to talk, mainly to protect the other, so I think we can safely say this closes the case.’
Scott shook her head in bewilderment. ‘I still can’t believe it,’ she said. ‘Mrs Smith always seemed so … ordinary.’
‘Many ordinary people do extraordinary things in certain circumstances,’ commented Feather. He turned to Scott, his hand extended. ‘Goodbye, Miss Scott. I’ll go with them and fill in the paperwork so we can start processing them.’
‘Goodbye, and thank you, Inspector,’ said Scott, shaking his hand.
‘I’ll see you, Daniel,’ said Feather. ‘Say goodbye to Abigail for me and give her my apologies for missing the talk.’
Daniel smiled. ‘I’m sure she’ll understand. Don’t forget, Miss Scott and I missed it too.’
Feather turned to the constable on duty outside the office. ‘I think we can safely say you’re relieved, Constable,’ he said. ‘You’d better come back to the Yard with me and give your statement about tonight’s activities.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said the constable. ‘I was just waiting to pass on a message to Mr Wilson from Miss Fenton.’
‘A message?’ queried Daniel.
‘Yes, sir. She said she’d be waiting for you outside the museum entrance.’
‘Than
k you,’ said Daniel.
‘I have to say again, Miss Scott, how brave you were,’ said Feather. ‘I’m not sure I would have been as brave.’
‘Tut, Inspector,’ said Scott. ‘I wouldn’t have put you down as a flatterer.’
‘It’s not flattery, ma’am,’ said Feather. He tipped his hat to them before he and the constable headed off.
‘He’s not a flatterer,’ said Daniel. ‘He meant it. As I do. This museum is lucky to have someone as brave and tough as you, Miss Scott.’
‘We were also lucky to have you and Miss Fenton here to solve the case,’ responded Scott. ‘Perhaps if you both are able to come in tomorrow, we can fill in the paperwork. Sort out your payment.’
‘Thank you, Miss Scott,’ said Daniel. ‘And now, I think I’d better go and find Miss Fenton and discover how the evening’s talk went.’
‘I would imagine very successfully,’ said Scott. ‘So, two successes in one evening.’
She and Daniel shook hands, and he made his way down the stairs and headed for the entrance. Most of the audience had now left the museum, with just a few still milling around talking. Cedric Warmsley also seemed to have left, and the staff was already at work dismantling the displays that formed the stage. Daniel headed for the street outside, looking forward to catching up with Abigail and relieved that the case had ended successfully.
Fortescue watched the crowd leaving the museum and soon afterwards spotted Daniel. He’d paused on the front steps of the museum and was looking about him. Searching for the Fenton woman, Fortescue guessed.
‘That’s him,’ Fortescue told the small man, pointing towards Daniel. With that, she left.
Daniel stood on the steps, looking around. There were still a few people left and he wondered if Abigail had got caught up in conversation. If so it wasn’t taking place out here because she was nowhere to be seen. He was just about to turn and go back into the museum when a small man in ragged clothes appeared beside him.
‘Don’t shout or I’ll shoot you right here,’ he said, his voice quiet and calm.