‘That’s another thing I learned at Rugby School,’ he said with a wink at Alfie, who had limped up to him.
‘Take off his boot,’ ordered Inspector Denham grimly and one of the police constables bent down instantly.
‘Get off me!’ growled Mr Lambert, kicking out frantically, but the young doctor just grinned and did not move.
‘That boot,’ said Alfie pointing. He saw Miss Burdett-Coutts look at him with interest and wondered whether she might give him a penny afterwards. There was a bank called Coutts; he remembered that. If she were related to the people who owned that bank, then she must be rich. Rich people – in his experience – rewarded the poor if they interested them, or amused them.
‘And . . . they . . . match!’ he said, spacing out the words and exaggerating his tone of triumph.
Inspector Denham examined the boot and the imprint carefully and then nodded, raising one bushy eyebrow of enquiry at Mr Lambert.
‘Nothing to say?’ enquired Inspector Denham.
Mr Lambert had nothing to say, but his face showed fury and frustration. His eyes narrowed as they looked at Alfie, but Alfie did not care about black looks. Neither did Inspector Bagshott, whose eyes were worried as he looked at his superior. Alfie studied his face with inner satisfaction. Inspector Denham looked well and ready for work. No doubt Inspector Bagshott would soon be plain Sergeant Bagshott again, and not in line for promotion either.
‘Arrest this man,’ said Inspector Denham impatiently.
His colleague said the words reluctantly. ‘John Lambert, I arrest you for the crime of starting a fire at the Ragged School of St Giles and being responsible for the death of Mr James Elmore.’
Mr Lambert looked at Sergeant Bagshott with an expression of rage in his face and then across at his friend. ‘Why arrest me and not him?’ he screamed, pointing to Daniel Elmore.
‘I had nothing to do with it!’ roared Daniel Elmore indignantly.
‘Yes, you did!’ shouted Mr Lambert. ‘You were the one that had the idea in the first place!’
‘I thought you would just set fire to the place over a weekend,’ snarled Daniel Elmore. ‘I didn’t think that you would choose a time when my brother was still in the school. That’s what’s caused all the trouble!’
From behind the back of the policemen, Alfie grinned at the young doctor and his smile was returned.
The two villains were well and truly unmasked by these words!
CHAPTER 31
CELEBRATION
‘Fog again,’ groaned Tom, opening the basement window and sticking his head out.
‘Should lift,’ said Alfie, joining him. ‘Smell the air. It’s a bit fresher than yesterday.’
Tom was nervous, he knew. This Saturday was going to be the big day. Hundreds and hundreds of marbles were stacked up in a rusty old bucket, ready to be sold. Everything was ready. Sammy and Mutsy had been rehearsed in their roles, the board game had been given the last touches – at Charlie’s suggestion a tiny fat clay man, baked hard, was placed beyond the bridges as a target, and on top of the bucket of marbles was a neat pile of small brown paper bags, pinched by Alfie from a stall run by one of Mary Robinson’s henchmen.
‘Who’s going to be in charge?’ Tom sounded aggressive, but Alfie did not take offence. He was in a good mood. The murder was solved. Mr Lambert and Daniel Elmore had obligingly incriminated each other. Inspector Denham and Miss Burdett-Coutts had each given him a shilling and the young doctor had dressed his leg again, telling him cheerfully that the wound was much better and that Alfie was obviously born to be hanged!
‘You and Charlie are in charge, of course,’ said Alfie now. ‘Jack and I will just wait around in case you need anything.’
By the time everything was set up the fog had begun to lift, and when the church bells sounded noon, there was quite a crowd around Tom, Charlie, Sammy and Mutsy. Sammy’s high, sweet voice penetrated through the noise of the chattering crowds and even rose above the cries of the stallholders. Alfie, from his watching place on a wall, could see heads turning and people moving in that direction.
It helped that the weather was fine and that a few beams of watery sun warmed the dull winter’s day. Jack was busy packing the marbles into the bags and taking money. And the cap placed at Sammy’s feet was beginning to fill with copper coins; more pennies than halfpennies, or farthings, Alfie noticed with satisfaction when he pushed his way through the crowd and came close to his gang.
Mutsy, of course, was the star. The sight of the big dog clapping his two hairy paws together or hiding his eyes was making all the children shriek with laughter. Alfie noticed that several of the children had a look of envy in their eyes as they watched Tom and Charlie play the game.
‘Mister, would you sell that game?’ one small boy asked Jack, who looked confused.
‘Do you want to have a go?’ Alfie moved smoothly forward and applied his toe to Tom’s rear to move him out of the way. ‘This little gentleman would like to have a turn,’ he said suavely, ignoring his cousin’s indignant eyes.
That proved a wonderful success. Every child in the crowd wanted to try out the game. It didn’t matter whether they managed to knock over the small fat man or not – in fact, it seemed to be even more fun when they missed. Mutsy hiding his eyes was even funnier than Mutsy clapping.
And of course, their parents bought bags of marbles and dropped coins into the cap at Sammy’s feet.
‘What are we going to have for supper tonight?’ asked Tom as they made their way home. The few rays of sunshine had disappeared and the thick, yellow fog had come down again. The gas lamps were encircled with the hazy mist. Alfie felt his face dampen and knew that it was going to be a bad night. He had sent Jack up to meet Sarah as this was a time when Joseph Bishop might be around. He was glad to see them standing safely by the railings, waiting as the rest of the gang approached.
‘Follow me,’ he said grandly.
There was a fine public house on the edge of Long Acre. The sign, The George & Dragon, was made invisible by the fog, but the windows glowed and the swing door sent out a smell of fine cooking every time someone entered.
Alfie marched resolutely in and his gang followed. The landlord had his back to them when they entered. He was bending down and carefully pulling a huge tray from the oven. Then he straightened and turned around.
On top of the tray was a pie – the largest pie that could be imagined. It was the size of the wheel on Jack’s barrow and its crust was golden brown, scattered with ornamental leaves and rosebuds, all made from pastry. There were several small holes in the crust and from these rose a delicious smell.
Alfie’s mouth watered. He knew what was beneath that pastry crust. He had often stood outside the window of The George & Dragon and enviously watched the landlord cut a slice from one of his famous pies. There would be chunks of steak and knobs of kidney; there would be chubby circles of orange carrots, yellow cubes of parsnips and small transparent globes of onions lurking in the rich brown gravy that covered the meat. It was a pie to dream of!
‘Out you go, all of you,’ said the landlord firmly. ‘No begging allowed here.’
Hastily Alfie took some coins from his pocket and held them out. He wanted to taste that pie so much that he just could not speak.
The landlord looked surprised. ‘All right,’ he said, his eye on the coins. ‘How many slices?’
Alfie’s voice came back to him. He stared at the perfect circle of the golden crust and knew what he must do. He put the copper coins back into his pocket, advanced to the counter and slapped two silver shillings down on to it.
‘I’ll take the whole pie,’ he said triumphantly.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Much gratitude to all my family – my husband who accepts that trips to London will include quite a bit of research, my son who sets up and maintains my two computers, my daughter who is always full of such good suggestions for ways around difficult parts of the narrative, and my son-in-law who has m
ade such a wonderful website for me.
Thanks to my junior editor, Peter Wall, who read the first one hundred pages and frankly acknowledged that he hadn’t a clue as to the murderer. That was so helpful!
Thanks, also, to my agent Peter Buckman who is always so agreeable about reading and commentating on my books.
Anne Clark of Piccadilly has been the perfect editor, committed, involved and relentless in the quest to produce a good book. I owe her so much and am glad to have this opportunity to acknowledge my gratitude.
In the mean streets of Victorian London lies the body of wealthy Mr Montgomery. The police must move fast to catch his killer. They need an insider, someone streetwise, cunning, bold . . . someone like Alfie.
When Inspector Denham makes him an offer he can’t refuse, it’s up to Alfie and his gang to sift clues, shadow suspects and negotiate a sinister world of double-dealing and danger – until the shocking truth is revealed.
‘A hugely enjoyable read . . . The characters are fun, brave and resilient.’ Bookzone4boys
A scream rings out through the theatre. The man on stage is dead! Who killed him? Alfie has a few suspects in his sights.
But when the spotlight turns on Alfie himself, the search for the murderer becomes a fight for his own survival. He and his gang must pick their way through a deadly web of revenge, jealousy and greed to unmask the true villain.
COMING SOON
Find out more about the
THE LONDON MURDER MYSTERIES
www.piccadillypress.co.uk/londonmurdermysteries
The Deadly Fire Page 13