The Kit Aston Mysteries (All Five Books)

by Jack Murray

  Jellicoe introduced his colleague, ‘And this, Mr Hadleigh, is Detective Sergeant Ryan.’

  Hadleigh nodded to the young man, ‘Detective Sergeant. You’re a very fortunate man to have such capable mentor. I have him to thank for my present circumstances.’ This was said with a smile and no hint of malice towards Jellicoe. It was clear there was not just a respect for the older policeman who had caught him, but a liking also. Kit sensed a similar regard in Jellicoe.

  ‘Take a seat, gentlemen. Can I offer you a drink?’ asked Hadleigh.

  Kit nearly fell off his seat as he realised Hadleigh had a drinks cabinet as well.

  ‘A little early for me, Mr Hadleigh,’ said Jellicoe before turning to Kit with one eyebrow raised archly and the trace of a smile, ‘Lord Aston?’

  ‘Thank you but a little early for me, also.’

  Hadleigh was a couple of inches out of danger of being short. Some lines were apparent on the fine contours of his face. Dressed in a prison uniform that could have been cut by Saville Row, his slender frame was clearly well maintained. His hair was greying with just a hint that it was receding at the temple, but he remained, to all intents and purposes, a good looking and successful man, notwithstanding the curious environment in which he appeared to be residing rather than incarcerated.

  Kit became fascinated by the hands of Hadleigh. They could have been those of a pianist. Long and perfectly manicured, they seemed to have an external life to the rest of the body. Their movement was graceful yet precise. It was as if they could reveal the character of the man, the most famous cat burglar of his day. The man who became a thief, not through need but because he could, for the thrill: it was a choice. It was perhaps on this basis the judge had sentenced him so harshly.

  Brickhill appeared satisfied that all was in order and said, ‘I shall leave you gentlemen to your meeting.’ Hadleigh nodded to the Chief Warder as he turned to leave the cell.

  Turning to his guests, Hadleigh said, ‘Well, gentlemen, as much as I would like to believe this a social call, I presume we have business to conduct. Please have a seat.’

  Jellicoe’s eyes crinkled just enough to suggest a smile and he and Ryan sat down.

  ‘Yes, Mr Hadleigh. We do have some questions. I hope we won’t detain you long’

  Hadleigh resisted the temptation to point out he was being detained for at least another five to ten years. Instead, he raised his eyebrows and smiled.

  “My apologies,’ continued Jellicoe as it dawned on him what he had said. Over the next few minutes, Jellicoe outlined details of the three robberies that had taken place in London over the previous few months. Kit wandered over by the bookcase and looked at his library. His tastes were eclectic, ranging from the classics to science and philosophy. Some of these tomes were in French and German.

  Every so often, as Jellicoe outlined why they were here, Kit would glance at Hadleigh. He was sitting forward and listening intently, a smile never far away from his face. He nodded as the Chief Inspector spoke but did not interrupt. When Jellicoe had finished, Hadleigh sat back and exhaled.

  Turning to Kit he asked, ‘If I may, Lord Aston, what is your involvement in this case?’

  ‘By all means. I was at Lord Wolf’s on the night that the robbery was discovered.’

  ‘I see. But even so, Lord Aston, that still doesn’t quite explain your presence here today. If you don’t mind me pointing out, you’re just a witness, not a detective.’

  Kit laughed, ‘I certainly don’t claim to be a detective.’

  Jellicoe glanced at Kit, who stopped to let the policeman speak.

  ‘Lord Aston’s being somewhat disingenuous, if you don’t mind me saying, sir. He was instrumental in helping resolve a recent case. I thought it would be an idea to bring him along to meet you.’

  Hadleigh smiled broadly, ‘And obtain his thoughts also, no doubt. Are you worried you have the wrong man, Chief Inspector? You know, each crime committed by this thief will add to the evidence in this regard. I haven’t read anything in the newspapers about a new Phantom, although the first two crimes you mentioned did capture my attention.’

  Jellicoe’s face suggested there was a smile buried underneath his beard.

  ‘No, Mr Hadleigh, as you’ve correctly guessed, we’ve withheld some details of the crimes not, I would add, for fear we’ve made a mistake in your case, but principally to avoid distractions in apprehending this thief.’

  ‘I understand, Chief Inspector. Now, you clearly believe I can help you in some way otherwise you wouldn’t be here.’

  ‘Perhaps, Mr Hadleigh,’ nodded Jellicoe. ‘Is there anyone, to your knowledge who would have either your, shall we say, unique skills in this field, that we might consider speaking to?’

  Hadleigh shook his head, ‘I’m sorry, Chief Inspector, but as you may have gathered back then, I was never a part of the criminal underworld. What I can’t understand is how this thief can imitate the Phantom so perfectly. It has to be someone who knew every detail of the Phantom’s technique.’

  ‘A gentleman player?’ suggested Kit.

  ‘Perhaps, Lord Aston. Or perhaps a member of the police,’ replied Hadleigh smiling. ‘Perhaps the Chief Inspector is preparing for his retirement.’

  This made Jellicoe smile before he acknowledged, ‘I’m a little past such a caper.’

  Hadleigh turned to the young sergeant and with wry smile said, ‘But this young man certainly isn’t.’ Ryan, not knowing what to make of this, remained silent while Hadleigh continued, ‘Presumably the valuables stolen will need to be sold. Have you looked at the usual channels for distribution?’

  ‘We’ve been speaking to some of the gentlemen who specialise in this area,’ said Jellicoe.

  ‘I suspect they‘re under surveillance. I can’t imagine they’d be very forthcoming, otherwise.’

  ‘They’re not,’ said Jellicoe, neatly dodging the question and moving on to another topic. ‘Is there any possibility that your calling card may have found its way into someone else’s hands?’

  Hadleigh laughed, ‘Well, Chief Inspector, as I always proclaimed my innocence, I think it better if I speak in the abstract rather than the specific. Let’s assume that the calling card design did fall into someone else’s hands, how is of less importance now. The design itself, which we both know was never made public, is easily replicable by any common or garden printer. This, of course, is conjecture, but there are any number of ways this could have happened: a leak at Scotland Yard, perish the thought, being one. The original printer could have supplied details of the design to a n’er-do-well, another. One of the unfortunate victims of the dastardly Phantom could’ve done likewise. You see there are any number of ways that this thief could have come by the design from the Phantom’s calling card. But I’m sure that you’ve already begun enquiries along these lines, Chief Inspector.’

  Jellicoe by means of the merest movement of his head confirmed Hadleigh’s thesis.

  ‘Why would someone want to impersonate the Phantom?’ asked Kit.

  ‘Well,’ said Hadleigh with a smile, ‘Hypothetically, you understand, if I am the Phantom, and this is not an admission, then there are a number of thoughts that strike me. Firstly, perhaps someone wants to demonstrate that the good Chief Inspector caught the wrong man. This opens a wide field of inquiry, some of which might be embarrassing for my old friend, Jellicoe. Alternatively, it could be some fantasist. This would be quite a dangerous fellow I imagine, as who knows where such make-believe may lead?’

  All the while Hadleigh was speaking, Kit found himself wrestling with an overwhelming certainty that their paths had crossed. Occasionally he would see a look from Hadleigh that confirmed this suspicion. But where? And when? The feeling was almost unendurable.

  ‘This may seem like a strange question, but have we met before, Mr Hadleigh?’ asked Kit, unable to suppress the question any longer.

  Hadleigh laughed, ‘If you remember, I was rather famous, or infamous, at one point, thanks to the C
hief Inspector’s efforts.’

  This was a possible answer, Kit acknowledged, but he also sensed Hadleigh had deftly avoided a direct response. Rather than pursue the thought, Kit, with some degree of exasperation with himself, let it drop and allowed Jellicoe to continue the interview.

  ‘How do you feel about the existence of this Phantom?’

  ‘Well, if he is an impostor, then I imagine the real Phantom would feel both flattered by the imitation and quite pleased that someone else could take the fall for his crimes. Don’t you think, Detective Sergeant?’

  Ryan looked at Hadleigh in surprise. Until this point Ryan had been surprisingly quiet. Kit was not sure if Hadleigh was being polite and including him in the conversation or had another motive. The look on Jellicoe’s face suggested he was of a like mind.

  ‘Perhaps the real Phantom might be concerned an impostor could do something to tarnish his reputation, though,’ said Ryan. Kit nodded to Jellicoe, while Hadleigh burst out laughing.

  ‘Touché, young man,’ replied Hadleigh. It seemed to Kit Hadleigh said this with something approaching relief. It was another thing to ponder. Jellicoe looked at Ryan without saying anything, but the twinkle was unmistakeable.

  It became clear that the meeting was ending. Jellicoe stood up and rapped the door, which was opened by a guard. The farewells were warm on the part of Hadleigh and Jellicoe, the mutual regard undisguised. Kit looked closely at Ryan and Hadleigh as they shook hands. The impression Kit drew was of two men assessing one another and, overall, liking what they saw. Kit wasn’t sure if Jellicoe had picked up on the undercurrent. He would check this a later, he decided.

  Outside the cell, the three men walked along the corridor with Brickhill, who had returned to collect them.

  ‘What did you think of Hadleigh, Lord Aston?’

  ‘Fascinating. A very charismatic man. A lot to think about from that meeting.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Jellicoe eyeing Kit closely.

  ‘A cliché, I know, but he knows more than he’s letting on,’ continued Kit.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Jellicoe, ‘I had that feeling also. By the way, why did you think you’d met previously?’

  ‘I’m damned if I can put my finger on why, Chief Inspector, but it was a strong feeling.’

  Jellicoe nodded and then turning to Brickhill, and asked, ‘Is it possible to see the other prisoner?’

  ‘Of course, follow me,’ replied Brickhill.

  The four men reached the end of the corridor and descended a flight of stairs to a basement corridor. Kit felt his senses tingling. He wasn’t sure if it was excitement, anger, or fear.

  The corridor mirrored the one up above. The group went to the first door and the guard gave it a rap. The keys clanked noisily against the door. Finally, it opened, and Kit looked inside to see a very different type of cell. It was small, there was no window, just a naked light. Lying on the bed was a man. He turned over as the two detectives and Kit entered.

  It took a few moments for Kit to register who the man was. Then he realised. He was staring into the face of Leonid Daniels.

  Chapter 9

  Judson Fish had been with Lady Agatha for longer than either of them cared to remember. She inherited him by marriage, following her union with the late Eustace, or ‘Useless’, Frost, as she called him. Often.

  Lord Frost had passed away in 1911 in Agadir. A lifer in the diplomatic corps, Frost had spent many years in various posts in the Middle East and north Africa, arriving in Morocco days before the first German crisis. He believed, rightly as it turned out, this event heralded the birth of a new phase of German expansionism and that war was inevitable. Convinced that the German gunboat which had pulled into Agadir harbour, as he and Lady Agatha were taking a short break from his work at the embassy, was the first phase of his long-predicted war sadly proved too much for a constitution he had spent decades fortifying with rich food and vats of brandy.

  Lady Agatha returned with Fish to England and set up home in Grosvenor Square, where they had resided these last nine years. Thankfully, her ladyship, although not necessarily blessed with the easiest of personalities, was at least quite low maintenance. Her relatives were few and friends fewer still. She entertained rarely, holidayed often, and confined her interests to occasional and quite devastating interventions in her family’s affairs. In the case of her brother, and Kit’s father, Lancelot Aston, affairs was certainly the operative word.

  The lack of any real work to do in the house encouraged a certain torpor in Fish bordering on indolence. That and the fact that he was even more elderly than the mistress of the house combined to create a certain resentment when called upon to execute what few duties remained to him. Such as leaving his comfortable seat in the kitchen to answer the phone upstairs.

  The phone was ringing insistently on this particular morning. He guessed it was someone who knew Lady Agatha as it rang for an inordinate amount of time. The caller clearly understood that he was no longer the lithe athlete of yesteryear and that his arrival to the phone would be measured in minutes rather than seconds.

  Fish took to the telephone like a boulder to water. The shrill ring of the infernal device was always certain to produce a sinking feeling in the estimable butler’s heart. This was because, in common with most people of a certain age, new technology brought out his inner Luddite. He hated the contraption and cursed the day Lady Agatha had been persuaded by that demonic Simpson woman to bring the evil device into her house.

  ‘Lady Frost’s residence. Miss Simpson, so nice to hear from you. Again. Lady Frost is having lunch. I shall inform her directly. Just a moment.’

  Fish set the phone receiver down and went to the dining room. A minute later Agatha arrived at the phone.

  ‘Hullo, Betty, what news?’

  For the next minute Agatha listened and then said, ‘I shall let Mary know and then we will plan our next steps. Good work, Betty.’

  Replacing the phone, Agatha went into the dining room to apprise Mary of the news from her friend.

  ‘Betty has managed to locate Caroline Hadleigh,’ said Agatha excitedly to Mary, who was eating some toast.

  ‘That’s good news. I don’t think the police will particularly like the idea of us visiting Miss Hadleigh but there’s no reason why…’

  ‘We can’t follow her,’ finished Agatha, ‘My thoughts exactly. Let me write down the address before I forget.’

  For the next few minutes, the two ladies outlined a plan of action.

  ‘So, we’re agreed. Alfred will take you to Eaton Square tomorrow and you can follow her on foot. Alfred can stay in touch with you at a distance. Did you have anything planned with Christopher tomorrow?’

  ‘We’d planned on going to the Royal Academy and then lunch at the Ritz,’ said Mary.

  ‘Right, my dear, I suggest you rearrange that. Stick to the lunch but suggest visiting the Royal Academy in the afternoon. You’re needed in the morning. Tell Christopher you’re meeting Betty. This will be true, of course. And today, when will he be coming?’

  ‘He said he’d come to me late afternoon, probably. I’ll suggest we dine together here rather than going out.’

  ‘Good idea. We can pump him for information on today’s events,’ replied Agatha, eyes alive. She was almost pawing the ground with excitement.

  Mary smiled at the elderly lady. When Esther had left to spend a week with Richard at his parents’ house, she’d been worried about how things would be at Kit’s infamous Aunt Agatha’s house without her co-conspirator. The sudden turn of events was proving that every cloud might contain a golden goose.

  The thought that life in London when Kit was not around would prove more amenable than she could have imagined also made her feel positively chipper. The chance to prove her skills as a detective, at such an early stage, was a marker she wanted to lay down for their future together. All in all, she reflected, this is turning out rather nicely. However, whether it was the curiosity about Kit’s meeting with Scotland Yard
and the Phantom himself, or simply the prospect of seeing him again, Mary felt excited about the evening ahead.

  -

  Leon Daniels was every bit as big as Kit remembered but his appearance had altered dramatically in the few weeks since Kit had last seen him. His eyes were black. There were cuts around both eyes and his face. Although Kit had little sympathy for the man, he was a cold-blooded murderer after all, he was appalled by the sight. However, he recognised that this treatment was probably inevitable both as retribution as well as a tactic to obtain information. Kit questioned its utility of the latter and the morality in the former.

  One glance towards Jellicoe confirmed in Kit’s mind that the Chief Inspector was no more comfortable about the treatment meted out to Daniels than he was. Kit wondered if Jellicoe was a supporter, or not, of capital punishment. There was little question, though, Leon Daniels was destined for the hangman’s noose.

  Daniels recognised both Kit and Jellicoe immediately. He was in agony. His body had been beaten severely and his head pounded from the pain. He nodded to them and smiled grimly.

  ‘Mr Daniels,’ said Jellicoe, much to Brickhill’s chagrin and Kit’s undisguised surprise, ‘perhaps we should all sit down.’

  Daniels nodded gratefully. It was too painful to stand.

  ‘I won’t ask you how you’re being treated,’ continued Jellicoe, clearly unhappy by what he was seeing, and equally intent on conveying a message for Brickhill. ‘I will assume that you’ve not supplied the information requested.’

  Daniels raised one eyebrow but remained silent.

  ‘You’ll doubtless remember Lord Aston.’

  Daniels looked at Kit. There was neither hate nor resentment in this look. Kit realised that Daniels accepted his fate. He was a soldier. He took orders. These orders required him to kill. Implicit within the act of killing is the risk at that moment, or at some point in the future, of your life also being similarly imperilled. That time had arrived.

  Once again Kit reflected on his own actions during the War. He’d killed men. He had ordered men to kill. The difference he believed, he hoped, was in the context. Those same men were trying to kill him; they were trying to kill his fellow soldiers; they were invaders. The victims of Daniels were, in this sense, innocent. However, sickened he was by the sight of Daniels, the man deserved no sympathy.