The Thieves' Labyrinth (Albert Newsome 3)

by McCreet, James

  There was one more thing that marked the fellow out. Though private in nature and not in the least troublesome for most of the time, he had been known to fly into most terrible rages. On one such occasion, it had been something so trivial as a warder knocking over a pile of sorted newspapers – an act that moved ‘Crawford’ or ‘Cowley’ to such a fury that he had to have his hands prised from the throat of the poor turnkey.

  Could this unusual man have been the same who called himself Eldritch Batchem? There was no beard, no russet cap, no apparent aspirations to lauded investigation. Certainly, I was in no position to judge further . . . at least not as long as I remained unable to resolve my debts. That time would come soon enough, and I would return gloriously to the cab stands, public houses and itinerant street lads who are the true authorities on the city’s happenings.

  In the meantime, and as I garnered more shreds of information from other sources, Eldritch Batchem himself had spent little time luxuriating in the triumph of his evening at the Queen’s. Assuredly, he stepped with perhaps a little more pomp than heretofore, and stroked his beard with a more practised air, but he had seen his chance to eclipse the Metropolitan Police and there was no time to be lost while the Detective Force gathered its wits.

  Thus, on the very afternoon I was quizzing the turnkey at Horsemonger-lane, our be-capped investigator had taken the first logical step in chasing the vanished brig Aurora and was down among the carpenters, canvas cutters, rope weavers, biscuit-bakers, blacksmiths and instrument-makers of deepest Wapping. He was looking for crimps.

  As any sailor (or river-district constable) knows, there are generally three kinds of people awaiting a ship as it finally tosses its ropes ashore: the multifarious shore-side workers, the ruddy-cheeked whore, and the crimp. It is the latter, of course, who offers most. The finest beds, the cheapest beer, the most wholesome nutriments, and the most convenient lodgings for rapid shipping – all such lies roll off his tongue like poetry. Never mind paying now, he says to the tars rolling down the gangs onto solid land – they can pay him in full after they have collected their payment from the shipping office. They can pay him in full after he has kept them drunk for three weeks, inflated their bill, paid their women and gone quite through their wages before they even receive them, heading back out to the horizon with a throbbing head and no recollection of land.

  Accordingly, Eldritch Batchem was working his way along the dozens of taverns on Wapping-street asking if any of these crimps had welcomed the crew of a ship called the Aurora recently, and whether any of them might be resident. He had already visited the Ship and Pilot, the Golden Anchor, the Ship and Whale, and the Marline Spike before meeting any fortune.

  The obstreperous sot who owned the Marline Spike had offered the investigator little but invective, yet there happened to be two sailors on the cobbles outside who had heard the exchange.

  ‘Ho, sir! You there wi’ the child’s red cap on,’ hailed the taller one of the pair, evidently a number of days into his prodigious intake of liquor.

  ‘Are you referring to me, sir?’ said Batchem, turning.

  ‘Aye, mate. Was yer ’quiring ’bout th’ Aurora? The brig out o’ Calais?’

  ‘Indeed. Do you know of it?’

  ‘Know o’ it? I was a ——— seaman on it two . . . three . . . some days hence!’

  ‘Is that so? You may be of considerable importance to an investigation I am conducting.’ The investigator took out his notebook and pencil. ‘I had heard that half the hands were lost with the vessel.’

  ‘Well . . . my ’ands is both accounted for. Are yer wi’ the newspapers?’

  ‘I am an investigator. Tell me, sailor – where did the Aurora dock? She did not land where expected?’

  ‘Aye, that’s right enough. Should o’ roped up at St Kath’s, but the tidewaiter said there were no place and we ’ad to wait. After a bit, first mate said we could go ashore by lighter on account o’ our thirst for beer and whores!’

  ‘I see. Do you recall the name or the appearance of the tide-waiter who came on board? This is really rather important.’

  ‘Youngish chap I s’pose . . . I didn’t pay him much ’eed. He spoke to the first mate, not to me.’

  ‘Did the mates accompany you on the lighter?’

  ‘The mates stay aboard for offloading, don’t they?’

  ‘Of course. How many of you eventually came ashore by lighter?’

  ‘O, seven or so. And the master. I don’t recall p’cisely.’ The sailor turned to his fellow, who was leaning against the wall of the public house with heavy limbs and an expression of spiritous idiocy. ‘How many o’ us came ashore on the lighter, Pikey?’

  He addressed as Pikey moved his eyes towards the origin of the question and merely gaped in wonder at the function of speech.

  ‘Well, it was ’bout seven,’ said the taller sailor. ‘And the master.’

  ‘What of the ship herself? What happened to her thereafter? Have you met any of your fellows hereabouts who stayed aboard?’

  ‘I ’ave no idea, mate. And I ’ave no care. Never saw the ship again after I came ashore. I got money to drink! What is all o’ this ’bout?’

  ‘It is an investigation I am conducting. You may have heard of me – my name is Eld—’

  ‘An ’vestigation? You police, then? If I’d known you were police I wouldn’t of spoke to yer!’

  ‘I am not a policeman. I am something quite different. My name is Eldri—’

  ‘——— copper! I don’t talk to no coppers!’

  Eldritch Batchem recognized that the interview was at an end. He made his little bow and continued on his way along the high street in search of any more sailors from that unfortunate vessel.

  And as he strolled, his nose was assailed by a quite hideous stench of effluent that caused him to resort to use of his handkerchief. He looked about the street, perhaps expecting to see an open sewer, but there was no evidence to be seen. At the same time, as he hastened his step to escape the stench, he had the curious notion – that queer tickling at the base of the neck – that he was being watched.

  Others in the thoroughfare seemed to show no particular sign of interest in him, so he glanced at the upper-storey windows, at shadowy doorways and at a passing omnibus for signs of his observer. But no curtains twitched, no figures lurked and no sign of surveillance presented itself. He hurried on.

  NINE

  ‘Inspector Newsome – you are no longer under my direct command. Did I not make it absolutely clear? Furthermore, you are neglecting your duty on the river by being here.’

  Sir Richard Mayne occupied his customary position behind the oak desk at Scotland Yard. Standing before him, Mr Newsome was dressed in the uniform of the Thames Police and was indeed absent from his official duties. His constables waited impatiently for him in the galley at Whitehall-stairs.

  ‘Sir – if I may speak frankly . . .’

  ‘You generally do, Inspector. That is a significant proportion of your failing as a senior officer.’

  ‘Eldritch Batchem, sir – he cannot be permitted to escape his recent slurs upon the name of the Detective Force—’

  ‘And he will not be permitted to do so. The case will be solved and we will prove conclusively that justice is best served by an official body.’

  ‘Sir – if I were to be reinstated in the Detec—’

  ‘No. I already have Inspector Watson of the Detective Force working on this case. Any assistance you can offer will be through your duties on the river . . . wait, do not attempt to interrupt me! Your duty with the Thames Police allows you access to the wharfs and docks and warehouses of the entire Port of London. If the Aurora is to be found, she is likely to be found there.’

  ‘So I am to remain in uniform . . .’

  ‘That was our agreement: until you prove yourself. Now – since you are here, perhaps you can tell me something about the body you apparently pulled out of the river four days past.’

  ‘It was nothing
. Just another suicide washed up by the colliers. We have no identity as yet.’

  ‘Really? I heard that there was a length of chain about the legs. An odd sort of suicide, was it not?’

  ‘One might think so if one had not worked on the river, sir. It seems they shoot themselves, poison themselves or weight themselves and then leap into the waters. I surmise that they want to be absolutely sure of reaching oblivion.’

  ‘And what of the hurried post mortem you allegedly arranged at Wapping station? That was not standard procedure.’

  ‘I am thorough in my work, sir . . . but, may I ask how you came to hear of the examination? I rather feel I am being spied upon.’

  ‘Not at all. The superintendent at Wapping merely mentioned it to me and questioned whether you understood that you are no longer a detective. Do you?’

  ‘I wanted to be sure that it was indeed a suicide. As you say, the chains were suspicious. But the surgeon’s report was quite conclusive: drowning with some injuries sustained after death.’

  ‘I see. That is what I assumed, but perhaps in future you could spend more time on the water with your constables . . .’

  ‘Yes, sir . . .’

  ‘Is there something else you would like to tell me, Inspector?’

  ‘Sir Richard – I am confused. You clearly had no intention of entertaining my request to work on the Aurora case, and yet you agreed to receive me this morning. Was it to ask me about the suicide? I feel there is something more afoot.’

  Another man might have smiled, but the police commissioner was content to nod an acknowledgement of his interlocutor’s perceptiveness.

  ‘Good. That is the Inspector Newsome I know. I will explain further in just a moment, but I am just waiting . . .’

  Sir Richard took out his pocket watch and flicked open the case. There was a knock at the door and the clerk appeared. ‘The gentleman for whom you are waiting has arrived, Commissioner.’

  ‘Very good. Show him in.’

  The figure of George Williamson entered the room carrying his hat in both hands before him and looking ill at ease. Sir Richard stood to receive him.

  ‘What is this!’ erupted Mr Newsome.

  ‘Silence, Inspector,’ said Sir Richard. ‘You have been given admittance despite my better judgement – might not we extend that invitation further?’

  ‘This man is no longer a member of the police, Sir Richard. I must protest in the strongest terms.’

  ‘I asked for your silence, Inspector. Mr Williamson is my guest in a purely informal capacity.’

  Sir Richard came out from behind his desk to shake Mr Williamson’s hand.

  ‘George – I thank you for responding to my letter. It has been a long time and I have been remiss in passing on my regards since you left the Force.’

  ‘Hmm. I imagine Mr Newsome here has been informing you of my activities over the last year or so,’ said Mr Williamson.

  ‘What is that supposed to mean?’ said Mr Newsome.

  ‘Gentlemen!’ Sir Richard held up placatory hands. ‘This animosity between you is something I neither understand nor condone. Collaboration is the more effective strategy.’

  ‘The man collaborates with criminals,’ said Mr Newsome.

  ‘And I see that you are back in uniform,’ offered Mr Williamson.

  ‘That is enough,’ said Sir Richard with finality. ‘Let us go and sit by the fire. I have something to share with both of you.’

  The three moved to the leather wing-back chairs by the hearth. Sir Richard stoked the coals as the two ex-detectives took opposing seats: one scowling, the other still looking highly dubious about the whole affair. Neither seemed to notice the neat pile of papers or the pen and ink-stand on the fireside table between them.

  ‘George – I understand that you recently discovered the truth about your wife’s death,’ said Sir Richard, taking his seat. ‘I am happy that you were finally able to solve that most private of crimes.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Mr Williamson.

  ‘Do not question him too closely on how he went about his investigation,’ said Mr Newsome.

  Sir Richard fixed him with a gimlet eye: ‘Inspector – your current uniformed attire should be proof enough that your investigative methods are not beyond reproach, so let us dispense with such accusations. It is actually rather fortuitous for me to have the two of you in one room today. You are both fine, but flawed, detectives – by temperament if not by employment – and I believe that justice is in earnest need of your like.’

  ‘Hmm. I have found justice to be a strange mistress,’ said Mr Williamson. ‘Things are done in her name that would shame some criminals.’

  ‘You are quite correct, George,’ said Sir Richard, ‘and that is why the investigation of this case must be an exemplar of righteous, honourable detective work: an investigation that will stand the scrutiny of any judge, whether legal or moral.’

  ‘Forgive me for saying so, sir,’ said Mr Newsome, ‘but you speak as if the three of us had already made a covenant over this Aurora case.’

  ‘You are eager, as always, to reach the conclusion, Inspector. Well, let me reveal my thoughts. You gentlemen have solved some of the greatest mysteries to face the Metropolitan Police, whether working together or at odds with each other. And yet you have both demonstrated qualities unbecoming of a detective. I will not dwell on these – rather I will say that the Detective Force is a better body with such as you within it.’

  ‘But you have told me—’ began Mr Newsome.

  ‘I have told you that you are to remain with the Thames Police, and that is the fact. What I have perhaps not made clear is that my offer also extends to Mr Williamson.’

  ‘What!’ ejaculated Mr Newsome.

  ‘I know of no such offer,’ said Mr Williamson.

  ‘The offer is this, gentlemen.’ And Sir Richard extracted two sheets from the bottom of the pile of papers on the table that stood between them. He handed one sheet to each man.

  Contract of Compliance

  I, .............................. , accept the challenge of Metropolitan Police Commissioner Sir Richard Mayne to pursue the whereabouts of the missing brig Aurora and all circumstances relating to her disappearance (including any touching upon Customs and Excise regulations). I also accept and understand that the first to solve this mystery (to the complete satisfaction of the Police Commissioner) will be reinstated at their former rank within the Detective Force and begin duty once again with a clean record.

  This contract is applicable only on the conditions that the above signatory agrees to, and abides by, the promises to:

  Break no law, whether knowingly or unknowingly, in pursuit of the case.

  Fraternize, associate or otherwise collude with no known or suspected criminals in pursuit of the case (other than questioning them where strictly necessary).

  Behave at all times in a manner that brings honour and respect to the name of a police detective.

  Cease from any unfair or underhand practices aimed at inconveniencing or otherwise disrupting the efforts of his competitor in this challenge.

  Do nothing that will physically harm or defame Mr Eldritch Batchem as he pursues the same case (though he might not offer the same courtesy).

  Signed: ..............................

  Witnessed: .............................. (Sir Richard Mayne)

  Mr Newsome was first to finish reading, having frowned with particular consternation over the itemized points. Nevertheless, he did not hesitate in reaching for the pen on the table and signing his name to the contract.

  Mr Williamson took longer over his read. Finally, he addressed Sir Richard:

  ‘I believe this contract makes a number of assumptions about my previous behaviour.’

  ‘George – you are fundamentally a good man and an honest man. I make no reference to things I may have heard previously, but I saw you at the Queen’s Theatre two nights ago in the company of a man who has been in gaol and who, but for events I would
rather not dwell upon, should have been transported. This contract is to prevent that kind of taint from attaching itself to the police. Are you prepared to sign it?’

  ‘I am no longer a policeman.’

  ‘You are right, George,’ said Mr Newsome. ‘You are not a policeman. Why not enjoy your other work in peace, without the threat of daily danger.’

  ‘The choice is yours,’ said Sir Richard to Mr Williamson. ‘Though I cannot comprehend how a man of your talents could be content toiling in an office of the Mendicity Society in pursuit of mere begging-letter writers, or standing on theatre steps looking out for common thieves. Yours is an ability to be tested against greater crimes, and with the entire apparatus of the Metropolitan Police supporting your efforts.’

  ‘Hmm. I am content enough in my way.’

  ‘Might you not consider this a sport then?’ offered Sir Richard. ‘A test of your wits against those of that buffoon Eldritch Batchem? I can promise you no wage – you would investigate entirely in your own capacity and with your own resources, whereas Inspector Newsome here has the uniform of the Thames Police to aid him. The odds are not in your favour, and it is likely the Detective Force will solve the crime before you or the inspector can. If you wish, sign the contract and then throw the job back in my face when you are the triumphant challenger. ’

  ‘He will not win!’ scoffed Mr Newsome, almost to himself.

  ‘One thing further, George,’ said Sir Richard. ‘If you will not sign, I cannot reveal any further particulars about this case, which the merchant Timbs has since relayed to me. You will go on your way with my blessing and I will communicate the details to Inspector Newsome alone, who will have less competition in his quest.’

  Mr Williamson looked at the inspector, who was grinning malevolently in response. Here was a gentleman who, just a few months before, had left a man to die so he could instead pursue his own glory. Here was a man for whom treachery was a tool of ‘justice’ and ambition. Here, more to the point, was a man who had engineered Mr Williamson’s expulsion from the Detective Force on the spurious grounds of his being injured and unfit for duty.