Murder Is Come Again

by Joan Smith

  The Mercers were sent home in style in Luten’s carriage and enjoyed a day of unparalleled excitement. The need for rest was entirely forgotten. Their little front room could scarcely hold the crowd of neighbours who came to hear the fabulous tale, as soon as Miss Gray came over to find out why they were brought home in a crested carriage and passed the word along.

  The story had to be retold to each new arrival. They never tired of hearing it, and Miss Mercer never tired of repeating it. They used up a week’s supply of tea in one afternoon. Mr. Harper, the night watchman at the bank, brought over a keg of ale and Miss Mercer took two glasses, something she rarely did. She even let Betty have a few sips, which fortunately put her to sleep, for she couldn’t handle crowds, poor thing.

  At Nile Street, Corinne said, “Should we notify the constable? The necklace was stolen after all.”

  “He’d take it for evidence,” Luten said.

  “Aye, and call in the press,” Black added. “Why let him get the glory? He had nothing to do with finding it.”

  “I agree,” Prance said, “but when the journals write it up, he’ll be after you to turn it over, Luten.”

  “This is a job for Bow Street. I’ll send for Townsend,” Luten said. “He’s more reasonable.”

  Prance gave a knowing grin. “In other words you can wind him round your thumb.”

  “That too,” Luten allowed with an answering smile. “But this is too important a case to be entrusted to a minor constable from Brighton. Prinney would have it from him within hours.”

  “You plan to put it to some political use,” his wife said.

  “Why should the Tories get the glory? I plan to notify deLieven this very day. The Russian ambassador should certainly be told. He was very distressed that the famous Russian parure was lost, even if it no longer belonged to Russia.”

  “Lady deLieven will be your slave forever,” Corinne said.

  “Oh she’s my slave already,” he replied, to annoy her. “She tells me all Prinney’s secrets, and tries to worm our secrets from me.”

  “Meanwhile, what are you going to do with the necklace?” Coffen asked. “Who it was stolen from is the Duchess of Brampton.”

  “I shall take it home and put it in the safe,” Luten said. “The sooner we get it to London, the better, but we don’t want that known. It is to be our bait to trap Mad Jack. Plenty of publicity, but no notice that it’s already safe in London.”

  “Then I take it that you still want to use Boo’s paste necklace as bait,” Prance said. “He’ll be so happy to have a part in one of our cases.”

  “But don’t tell him till after it’s all over,” Luten cautioned.

  Prance considered being angry at this slur, but he was too excited at the contemplation of telling Boo and Tony of this afternoon’s doings. They’d be green with envy. “What is the first step?” he asked, thinking of how he might work up something clever to say for the journals.

  “Sending a footman off to London to get Townsend down here, as soon as he’s notified the London journals of the find. That’ll alert Lloyds Insurance. A note to deLieven, then a round of champagne to reward ourselves.”

  Coffen slid his fingers under his wig and said, “Do I still have to be Lady Carter? I mean to say, Mad Jack will know the diamonds ain’t here now.”

  “But the tunnel is still here,” Luten pointed out. “I believe that is his major interest in your house.”

  Corinne gave a tsk of annoyance. “Why the deuce don’t you sell the house to him, Coffen?”

  Luten stared. “And abet the highwayman?”

  “Oh, I forgot about that,” she said.

  “I see my carriage has returned. We’d best get this necklace home before Mad Jack learns we have it,” Luten said, and put it in his pocket. “You know, on second thought, I believe I shall put it in a safety box at the bank. We might very well have a visit from a house-breaker tonight. I wager the curtains were twitching at the neighbours’ houses when the Mercers arrived home. That means the whole town will know by nightfall.”

  “I’m certainly glad we’re having this lovely, quiet holiday,” Corinne said. “I’ll be happy to get back to the hurly-burly of London.”

  She took Luten’s arm and they all went out to their carriages. Luten deposited the necklace in a safety box at the bank and continued on home to tell Evans to put three bottles of champagne on ice.

  ‘‘Three bottles!” Partridge said to his wife when she relayed the message. “I wonder what’s afoot.”

  “And them all grinning like monkeys,” his wife added. “Whatever it is, Mr. Pattle is still wearing my gown, so it’s not over yet.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Once again Lady Luten invited the Berkeley Brigade to dinner that evening. It had become a common enough occurrence that Mrs. Partridge was prepared for them. She had put three fowls in the oven instead of two. An extra bird never went astray in any case. Luten had brought a kitchen maid along to help her with the rough work. She peeled the vegetables and washed the dishes while Mrs. Partridge took care of the fish, fowl and meat, and of course the baking. Before dessert was served, Constable Brown was at the door. Evans had learned his lesson.

  “Mr. Brown would like a word, your lordship.” he said. “I haven’t let him in. What should I tell him? He says it’s urgent.”

  Luten did some rapid calculations. Townsend wouldn’t leave as soon as he received the message. It would take an hour or so to write up a notice to the various journals. He’d deliver them himself as Luten had requested secrecy. Unless something of major importance delayed him, he would leave this evening, in which case he’d arrive in the middle of the night and call first thing in the morning.

  “The grapevine has been busy. He’s heard about the necklace,” Luten said. “Tell him I can’t possibly see him before ten tomorrow morning. I’m busy with affairs of state tonight. To set his mind at ease, you may assure him the necklace has been found and is safe under lock and key until the proper authorities in London have been notified.”

  When reporters from the journals arrived after dinner, they were given a warmer reception. They were allowed into the waiting room and given the story. As they had already interviewed the Mercers, it was the future plans for the necklace that interested them. What was his lordship going to do with it? Would it be returned to the Duchess of Brampton? As the insurance company had already reimbursed her, would it now go to them? Would Mr. Pattle be allowed to keep it, since it was found in his house? Would he receive a reward at least?

  “Until Mr. Pattle has spoken to the insurance company and Lloyd’s has discussed the matter with the Duchess of Brampton, the disposition of the necklace is uncertain. As Mr. Pattle is in London at the present time he can make those arrangements. We should know before long.”

  “Can we have a look at it?”

  “The necklace is not here. It’s in a safe place. I shouldn’t be surprised if it is put on display after it’s taken to London,” Luten informed them. “If you consider it worth the trip you may see it there.”

  “When will it be taken to London?”

  “Soon, but for security purposes, the time and means of travel will not be revealed until its safety is guaranteed. We shan’t let the highwayman get it this time.”

  “Mad Jack,” the reporter said. “Do you think he’ll go after it again?”

  “He’ll not get it if he does. I doubt if even Mad Jack would be brash -- or clever — enough for that,” Luten said, hoping Mad Jack would accept the challenge.

  At length he got rid of the reporters and joined the others. Prance decided to return to the hotel. Since the reporters were so well informed, they probably knew by now that Coffen had been putting up at the Royal Crescent and would go there to search out background material. Why should Luten get all the glory when it was himself who had given Coffen so much help? Of course he wouldn’t reveal where the necklace was, or any plans for its journey to London.

  He was sorely disappointe
d to find no reporters at the hotel but a trip to Nile Street proved more successful. Two reporters were there, peering in the windows. Prance made a businesslike tour of the house, trying doors and windows and casting questioning glances at the reporters until one of them accosted him. “Do you have something to do with the Czarina’s necklace?” he asked.

  Prance managed a look of surprise. “As it happens, I was present when it was found, yes.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Sir Reginald Prance, of the Berkeley Brigade. You may have heard of our little group?”

  “Oh aye! We know all about it. You were there? Can you give us the inside story?”

  Prance made a much more thrilling tale of it than Miss Mercer had. The necklace fell in a glimmering cascade, casting blinding prisms of light. No one had realized at the time that the pendants were not crystals but diamonds. In fact, Miss Mercer had clung to the necklace for dear life when she tripped, nearly breaking her neck in the tumble from the ladder as pail, water and cloths flew in all directions.

  “Is it true Lord Luten himself caught her, as Miss Mercer claims?”

  “Yes, Luten happened to be closest to her,” Prance allowed.

  Was it true Mr. Pattle had gone to London? Did he know the necklace was there, in his house when he left? “No, he had left on personal business before the discovery.”

  Did Sir Reginald have any idea how the necklace came to be there? “We had heard a few rumours about the former owner, but couldn’t confirm them.” The reporters exchanged a knowing grin.

  Miss Mercer had mentioned a Lady Carter. Did she have a part in all this? “No, just a relative who happened to be visiting Lady Luten.”

  Prance was on thorns to join Boo and Tony, but knew himself too well to take the risk. Boo, with his insinuating ways, would worm it out of him. Villier made a satisfactory confidant, and there was no danger of the story going any further before it was safe to reveal all. Along with his other excellent qualities, Villier was a perfect oyster when it came to keeping secrets.

  Black remained at Luten’s for another hour to discuss plans for leaking the news to Catchpole, who would pass it on to Mad Jack. It was decided that they would wait a day. With the rest of the evening free, Black drove out the Dyke Road for a little entertainment. Luten and Corinne went abovestairs for the same purpose and Prance settled down to discuss the outline for his new novel with Villier.

  “I shall need a title,” he said, narrowing his eyes and staring out the window in concentration.

  “We’ll want to include the word highwayman, I take it? It has such a dashing sound. Sends shivers up my back.”

  “Yes, with an adjective, preferably an alliterative one.”

  “What’s that, then?” Villier asked. He never hesitated to admit to a little lack in his education. Sir Reginald loved to lecture, and did so. “You mean something like the Happy Highwayman?” Villier asked, when the little lecture was over.

  “Yes, but a word indicating danger, not joy. ‘‘Something like hellcat, only of course that refers to a vixen or witch. It could be a slightly different arrangement, not necessarily an adjective. Something like Highwayman of the Heath, or the Heart of a Highwayman. No, I am not happy with either of those. I wonder if they have a dictionary downstairs. I didn’t bring mine.”

  “I’ll ring, shall I?”

  “Let us discuss a name for him instead,” Prance said. Something just a little outré, preferably with noble associations.”

  Villier took his turn staring out the window, then exclaimed, “Hound of the Heath! For the title, I mean. Oh I know it’s not noble, but —”

  “That has possibilities, Villier! Hound of the Heath. Yes, I like it, with the inference of persisting in its goal and a touch of menace. A nice bit of irony too, as the word hound is usually conferred on a low type of fellow, whereas our highwayman will be a peer. He might even work with a real hound. Why not? I wonder no highwayman has thought of that. I haven’t heard of it. Yes, I shall give our highwayman a hound.”

  “A wolfhound!” Villier suggested. “Oh dear, that won’t do. Then the title will refer to the dog, not the highwayman.”

  “We’ll think of something. I am very happy with your suggestion of a hound, Villier.”

  “Have we earned a glass of something delicious?” Villier asked coyly.

  “You read my mind.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Townsend arrived at Marine Parade early the next morning and was admitted by Evans, who recognized the rotund little fellow with a wide-brimmed white hat over his flaxen wig. Neither his kerseymere breeches nor straight cut blue jacket was in the acceptable style of a gentleman, but he was a familiar and welcome caller at the best homes, including palaces.

  The grandest balls were safeguarded by him to prevent theft of the ladies’ jewelry. The government hired him when it was necessary to transport large sums of money, and the Berkeley Brigade often hired him to help out on a case. Townsend was the premier Bow Street Runner, having taken more prisoners than the rest of the Runners together.

  Overnight, Luten had formed his plan for the safety of the Czarina’s necklace and greeted Townsend warmly. Without wasting time in courtesies, Luten explained the situation to him, beginning with Coffen’s inheriting the house on Nile Street and finishing with, “What we’re after is to get the necklace safely to London and to capture Mad Jack. To accomplish these goals, we’re going to let it be known publicly that the necklace is going to London under your supervision and heavy guard, but let Mad Jack believe it’s going by a different means at a later date.”

  You didn’t have to tell Townsend things twice. He nodded his understanding. “So Mad Jack will think himself a slyboots to realize the public plans are a ruse. How are you to let him in on the secret without him becoming suspicious? If he’s as clever as you say, he’ll smell a rat a mile away.”

  “Black will take care of that. He’s established himself as a fellow with a shady reputation at the tavern where Mad Jack does his disappearing act. He’s also known to work for Pattle, which will explain his knowing about the plan. He’ll drop hints at the tavern that’s he’s unhappy working for Pattle, and gradually let himself be talked into revealing the plan, for a share of the profits.”

  “But Pattle is supposedly in London, so how is Black to ferret out the secret plan?”

  “His friend Evans, my butler, is to be his informant.”

  Townsend listened, then said, “Mad Jack will never tell Black where he means to attack.”

  “Black will actually be dealing with the fellow who runs the tavern, Catchpole. Catchpole certainly works for Mad Jack. We’ll have something to say about where he attacks. He usually works the Dyke Road, so Black will tell him the necklace will be taking the New Road to London. Mad Jack will want to strike as close to Brighton as possible, as he has his headquarters and ingenious escape hatch here. A few miles north of here there is a somewhat desolate spot of road with a hedge that offers good hiding on one side and a growth of trees on the other. If he doesn’t attack there, he’d have to go another five miles, for the area is built up south of Heath.”

  Townsend listened and pondered, picturing the attack in his mind’s eye, then said, “It’s only common sense that the necklace would be going before dark. Would he dast attack on a public road in daylight?”

  “When have you known us to limit ourselves to common sense, Townsend? The fiction is that Pattle’s visiting relative, Lady Carter, will be taking the necklace to London. An elderly lady in a modest carriage, relatively unprotected, is not likely to be carrying valuables. She is known to be an eccentric lady. She loathes travelling in a carriage, and always travels after dark, taking a sleeping draught so that she snoozes away the trip, unaware of the jostling. She never takes anything worth stealing with her on a journey.”

  “What, send the necklace at night with an old lady who is asleep? He’d never fall for that — would he?”

  “Oh she will not be quite alon
e. A companion, Miss Birk, will accompany her. That will be Sir Reginald Prance. He likes dressing up like a lady, but can handle himself well enough. Then of course there will be her groom and a footman.”

  “I see. And which role have you cast yourself in?”

  “Prance’s groom will drive, I have the honour to be the footman. I’ll have to wear a suit of my own livery, but in the dark the colour won’t be noticed. You will be waiting at the spot where we think Jack will attack. Black will be nearby as well.”

  “Sounds demmed risky to me. If anything goes wrong, Mad Jack will ride off with — what? For the trial, it’ll be best to let him actually steal something.”

  “He’ll relieve Lady Carter of a paste necklace borrowed from some fellows who put on plays here in Brighton, but he’ll not ride off with it. That’s when you make your arrest. You, with all due pomp and outriders, will already have taken the real necklace to London. Mad Jack, you recall, will be told your delivery is a trick devised by the Berkeley Brigade to mask the real time of delivery.”

  “Yes, of course. Any chance he’ll attack my rig in daylight?”

  “I doubt he will, but some bigger gang might be interested. When they see you accompanied by a dozen armed men, however, I should think they’ll change their minds.”

  “And if they don’t, I and my men will handle them. I’ll have a group of them sent down here. Plus I’ll hide the necklace so they’ll not find it.”

  “I’d be interested to know where you mean to hide it.”

  “In case you have to take if off my corpse, you mean,” Townsend said, and laughed. “Not much chance of that, Luten. No, I find the safest place is to hide it on the outside of the carriage. They never think to look there. They’ll make their victims strip off their hats and boots and even trousers, and slash the seats and interior roof and have the luggage pulled down and searched, but I’ve never known one to search the outside of the carriage. Tape the goods down on the roof with black tape and it’s as safe as a bank. There, I doubt you were aware of that. And don’t spread it about, for it’s our little secret.”