by Jack Murray
‘Meet back at the bikes at twenty minutes past one,’ said Hadleigh. They shook hands and wished each other luck. Seconds later Hadleigh had disappeared into the night.
Miller sprinted in the opposite direction. Arriving at the house, Miller used a screwdriver to lever open a narrow arched window. It was old and gave way easily. Moments later he was inside the cloakroom. It was then he encountered his first problem. The door was locked from the outside. He shone a torch and saw it had a simple latch.
Removing a file from his pocket, he slipped it in between the door and the frame and flicked the latch open. He was now in the corridor. It would have been pitch black without his torch. He crept down the hall and found the back stairs that led up to the strange turret at the side of the house. Miller flew up the stairs and reached the door at the top.
Pressing his ear to the door he checked for any noises from within. All was silent. He used two metal picks to unlock the door. It took a couple of minutes before he heard the lock click. He opened the door.
Miller’s flashlight shone around the interior. It was a largish room. On the walls hung paintings. All had a similar theme. His eyebrows shot up at the same time as a smirk appeared on his mouth. On the table in the middle of the room were some books. He glanced at them. The content could, at a stretch, have been described as esoteric. His smile widened.
‘Dirty devil,’ he whispered.
He walked over to a large cupboard. Opening it, he found a variety of implements that would have been used by Torquemada some four hundred years previously. Curiouser and curiouser thought Miller. The only other cupboard was across the room. He opened it and nearly exploded in laughter.
The dresses, to his untutored eye, looked very much of the current fashion. On a shelf above was a collection of Venetian masques. Hanging from the back of the door were some handcuffs and a cat-o-nine-tails. Buried deep in the wardrobe, he recognised a number of birches of the type he would have had first-hand experience of around fifteen years previously at school.
One thing was certain, thought Miller. The Earl of Hertwood, on this evidence, had some unusual interests but Satanism was not one of them.
It was then Miller heard the alarm. It started at the other side of the house but soon others took up the baton. Before long, the whole house was in uproar. He restricted his reaction to string of oaths made in a passionate whisper. A split second later he was leaping down the stairs, several at a time. Half a minute later, he was out through the window he’d entered and running around to the front.
He was greeted by quite an extraordinary sight.
-
Raven Hadleigh tested a few windows on the ground floor to see if they were open. It often amazed him the lack of caution in houses that had much to be cautious about. Once more his faith in human stupidity was rewarded when a large window opened easily to the merest hint of force. Seconds later he was in.
The room was dark until he drew the curtains. Then it was still dark, only slightly less so. The flashlight revealed that he was probably in the drawing room. He opened the door and crept across the corridor to the room that Kit’s map suggested was the library. Thankfully, Kit’s map was still up to date. He shone his torch around the room and saw floor to ceiling books in what was by any standards a rather impressive collection. He wondered idly how many of them had actually been read.
The few gaps in the walls were filled with paintings. Equestrian art mostly. He spotted the Munnings on the far side. Had there been time, had it been a decade previously, he would have considered taking it. It was a rather fine painting. Small, colourful and done with the slapdash joie de vivre of a master. Hadleigh carefully lifted the painting off its hook. This action coincided with the letting loose of all hell.
The room immediately exploded into noise. The sound of the bell, if not deafening, was certainly sufficient to raise those twin enemies of any cat burglar: Mr Hue and Mr Cry. There was no time to inspect the contents of the safe. He glanced wistfully down at the painting and made straight for the window. Already he could hear the sound of barking.
-
Nathaniel Robinson was a former infantry man with the Black Watch. Former because after his demobilisation he had been taken on by the Earl of Hertwood as a footman. This recruitment was less to do with Robinson’s skills in the art of service than his physical scale, strength and penchant for violence.
The end of the war had in no way diminished his proclivity for meting out punishment. A chance introduction to the Earl at an exclusive location in London visited by a privileged clientele with singular predilections had provided a new, permanent and paid outlet for a onetime hobby that had now become his profession.
The alarm could only mean one thing. Nathaniel Robinson leapt into action.
‘What’s happening?’ asked Daisy Winthrop, a parlour maid in the Hertwood estate.
‘Burglars,’ said Robinson, through gritted teeth.
Opening a cupboard in his bedroom, he took out his old Lee Enfield and raced through the door.
‘But your clothes?’ pointed out Daisy, wondering how the pursuit of dangerous criminals could in any way be aided by an absence of clothes. However, as men went, and Daisy Winthrop’s experience was fairly limited in this regard, it did seem, her inexperience notwithstanding, that Nathaniel Robinson was a magnificent example of the breed.
-
Raven Hadleigh was not a man to hang around when a burglar alarm was ringing. Nor was he going to retrace his footsteps back to the drawing room. He had seconds to play with. Before the alarm was seven seconds old, Hadleigh had drawn back the curtains and opened the window of the drawing room which, from the map, lay at the front of the house. Hadleigh’s slim frame was through the window and darting into the night before you could say, ‘Stop thief’. Which, coincidentally, was the first thing he heard from behind.
As he had been crunching through the gravel pathway, he’d been vaguely aware of a front door being opened. He didn’t look back. He tore ahead hoping that his old fleetness of foot had not deserted him. The noise of gravel behind told him someone was giving chase. He risked a glance behind.
It was nearly his downfall.
The sight of a naked six foot tall man running towards him was as bizarre as it was, naturally, compelling. For a moment the two men locked eyes then Nathaniel Robinson’s training kicked in. He stopped and knelt down.
Hadleigh speeded up.
The first bullet went whistling by his ear principally because Hadleigh had deliberately weaved at the last moment. This was worrying, to say the least. He had another twenty yards to cover before he was in the forest.
In the background he heard the voice of an elderly man shouting at him to stop. Given he was currently the target of a naked man with a rifle, the advice was always likely to get short shrift from the escaping cat burglar. All things considered, Hadleigh was a worried man. If the naked oaf was as good a shot as his first effort suggested, this was a sticky situation. His lungs were exploding as he sprinted forward towards safety, expecting at any moment to….
-
The sight of a naked man chasing a burglar was not one Miller had come across often in his brief career a robber. A few things struck Miller immediately. The man was well over six feet tall and impressively made. Furthermore, he was waving around an army Lee Enfield. In fact, this wasn’t the only thing waving around in the night air. Miller knew well how the cold could impact one’s extremities. In one regard, he found himself doubly impressed by the goliath who, it appeared, was about to take a pot shot at his partner-in-crime.
Moments later he knelt down and fired off a round. Miller glanced towards Hadleigh and was relieved to see him still running. Glancing towards his partner meant that he missed the arrival on the scene of a middle aged man wearing a nightshirt.
‘Stop thief,’ shouted the man.
His arrival managed to distract the naked man momentarily as well as providing cover for the noise of Miller who, instinctively, was sprinting direc
tly towards the shooter on his blindside.
It wasn’t until he was within a few yards that either of the members of the household were aware of him. The kneeling man swung around.
Too late.
Miller’s flying kick knocked the man to the ground and the Lee Enfield out of his hands.
There was no time to engage with the other man who was loudly inquiring as to who the blazes Miller was. Miller rolled over and grabbed the weapon and pointed it at the naked man as he rose. His confident manner of handling the weapon quickly disabused Nathaniel Robinson of any foolhardy notions.
Miller slowly backed away from the two men who were now joined by a woman. She was probably in her early fifties and very striking. Miller guessed that this was the Countess, Olly Lake’s mother. Miller jerked the rifle upwards. All three immediately put their hands up.
‘Stay where you are,’ ordered Miller as he retreated. Once he was twenty yards away, he turned and ran towards the forest. No one following him.
‘Who on earth was that?’ exclaimed the Earl of Hertwood, putting his hands down. As he did so, he became aware that his man, Nathaniel, was conspicuously unclothed. The Countess had long since noted Robinson’s lack of attire and had positioned herself accordingly to enjoy the spectacle fully.
Robinson’s hands came down to his sides. It was at this moment; he became aware of the rather distracted state of his employers. As the cold night air bathed his skin, realisation dawned that he was, quite literally, exposed to the elements. The big manservant immediately covered himself as best he could, apologised for his unclothed state and inquired whether Lord Hertwood wished for him to give chase.
In the distance they heard the sound of two motorcycles roaring to life and driving off. The look on the faces of the Earl and the Countess suggested that not only were they desirous that he should not give chase, his night was a long way from over.
21
The dining room at Highcliffe Mansions was ideally located to give diners a stunning view across the English Channel. Today there was barely a cloud in the sky. The bright sun glistened on the sea and the sky was a crisp blue. Sitting by one of the large bay windows were three gentlemen enjoying their breakfast. In fact, the atmosphere at the table went beyond mere enjoyment; it was a positively jovial affair. The three men could barely talk to one another as each additional comment was greeted with yet more laughter. Finally, Kit managed to string a few words together.
‘I can’t believe it. To think I used to spend every summer there.’
This caused more merriment among the group. The news that Hadleigh had failed to break into the safe was accepted with equanimity as the revelations of the torture chamber replete with dresses somewhat undermined the Earl’s credentials as a murdering Satanist. His tastes, on the evidence presented by Miller, lay in a wholly different, albeit no less iniquitous, direction.
‘Have you made much progress, sir?’ asked Miller. Under any normal circumstances such a question from a manservant to his master might be considered a case of borderline insolence and deserving of a good thrashing. Kit pointed this out to Miller and then the table descended once more into hysterics.
They were just coming up for air when Kit spied the arrival of Mary in the dining room. Her entrance, it must be reported, was also noted by many of the diners with varying degrees of admiration if the wave of kicks under the table administered by the many women to their male partners, was anything to go by. Kit waited until Mary was just at the table before replying.
‘We’ve been at it non-stop. I’m exhausted.’
Mary’s eyes widened in alarm. She looked at Kit questioningly.
‘They were just asking me how our investigations were going.’
The men stood up to greet Mary and she sat down. Kit continued to update the others on what they had found out. When he’d finished, Raven Hadleigh gave a heavily edited account of his adventure with Miller. However, the smirks from both Kit and Miller and the suppressed laughter eventually angered Mary enough to force a more unrestricted account. Thankfully the story about the poor manservant sufficed and a discreet veil was drawn over the predilections of the Earl and the Countess.
The conversation turned back towards ‘the Phantom’ and his plans for the future. With a grin he made his big announcement.
‘I’m a free man.’
Congratulations were immediately forthcoming from all. Kit was delighted by the news as he was aware that Hadleigh’s daughter and the young detective Ben Ryan were to be married in the South of France before Christmas.
‘Yes, I’ll be going down to France as soon as I can. Please thank your aunt once again, Kit. She’s been so kind for looking after Ben’s brother and family.’
‘I shall but there’s no need. Anyway, wait until Aunt Agatha actually goes down there and stays. You’ll change your tune, believe me.’
‘I’m sure she’s not that bad,’ laughed Hadleigh.
The looks on the faces of the other three breakfast companions suggested otherwise, which only amused Hadleigh even more.
‘She does have many good points,’ said Kit loyally.
-
Kit, Mary and Miller took the train back to London, arriving at Waterloo mid-afternoon. As they trooped off the platform, Mary turned to Kit.
‘What did you think of the old woman in our carriage?’
‘Seemed nice enough. I suppose you’re going to tell me that it was really a man. The vicar who accompanied us down.’
Mary stopped on the platform causing an elderly couple almost to collide with them. After a number of half-hearted apologies, Mary said, ‘Are you mocking me or were you being serious? That’s what I was going to say.’
Kit smiled and shrugged,
‘I looked at the hands this time.’
‘Why didn’t you say anything?’
‘To you or to him?’
‘Well, both, actually,’ said Mary, laughing.
‘I have a feeling he was on our side,’ replied Kit, enigmatically, before moving forward and causing Mary to aim a gentle slap on his rear with her umbrella. This was accompanied by a subtle warning about where the next one would be aimed if he was not more forthcoming in future.
-
Mary was dropped off at Grosvenor Square where they picked up Sam. He’d spent the night at Aunt Agatha’s mansion in the company of Fish. It was an arrangement that suited neither very well. He leapt up into the Rolls and barked happily at the return of his master. Miller drove the Rolls directly to New Scotland Yard.
It was around four in the afternoon and the blue sky of Bournemouth had been replaced by the leaden grey of London. After a short journey to New Scotland Yard, Miller parked the car on the Victoria Embankment outside the police headquarters.
The building housing the Metropolitan Police looked like one of the many apartment blocks that had sprung up in the last twenty years. It was certainly a lot less imposing than the buildings in Whitehall but a vast improvement on the relatively meagre pickings given to the Secret Intelligence Service. Kit stepped up into the building and was led straight through to the office of the Chief Inspector.
Jellicoe was alone in the office and he greeted Kit warmly. The two men sat across the desk from one another. Kit regarded Jellicoe for a moment. There was no question he liked the Chief Inspector. In addition, he trusted him. There was something about his solemnity; the utter seriousness in the way he went about his job. His integrity was incontestable. It was there on his face and in the aura surrounding him.
At that moment, Kit needed to talk to someone and there was no better someone than Jellicoe. The case had spun off its axis. The trip to Bournemouth had raised more questions than it had provided answers. The questions posed led to avenues of inquiry that suggested Kit had been misled right from the start. He expected nothing less from Smith-Cumming. He expected more from Jellicoe. But Kit had to be sure he could still count on the Chief Inspector.
‘Why can’t I speak to Eva Kerr?’ asked
Kit, getting down to business.
‘She has disappeared.’
Kit raised his eyebrows at this. This was an invitation for Jellicoe to explain more about what he had first revealed the previous day.
‘She was never under arrest and we don’t have the manpower to post a guard on her. Quite simply she has vanished into thin air.’
‘You don’t seem that surprised, Chief Inspector,’ said Kit, ‘Or worried, I might add.’
This prompted the merest hint of a smile from the policeman.
‘We don’t think she’s been kidnapped. She called Wellbeloved and told him that she was leaving her hotel. She refused to say where she was going.’
‘Is it not possible to go to her home address?’
At this point Jellicoe’s smile widened and he almost laughed. This was a rare occurrence. The smile, however, was a brief one. Then his face resumed its normal gravity.
‘My apologies, Chief Inspector, I’m sure this was the first thing that you did. My guess is that not only did you not find her address, it transpires that neither the address nor, indeed, Eva Kerr, actually exists except as a stage name, for wont of a better description.’
Jellicoe nodded in approval.
‘May I ask how you reached this conclusion?’ asked Jellicoe.
Kit smiled grimly.
‘Chief Inspector, if what I believe is true, then we’re both being played for fools.’
It was clear that Jellicoe had reached a similar conclusion. He leaned forward on his desk.
‘Can you tell me, your lordship, what you believe to be the truth?’
‘Only some suspicions. I’m certainly no nearer finding a killer of these young women, sadly.’
-
Following his interview with the Chief Inspector, Kit asked to borrow an office from which he made two brief phone calls. Then he bid farewell to Jellicoe and re-joined Miller who was waiting in the Rolls.
‘Where to now, sir?’
‘The apartment, please. We’re finished for today, Harry.’
The two men trooped into the apartment. Sam skipped happily into his home and hopped up onto the Chesterfield beside Simpkins, who had left Kit’s seat for time being.