by Jack Murray
‘Not many of us left, I’m afraid,’ commented Hastings as Kit turned away from the photograph.
Kit and Hastings looked at one another. Nothing else was said. Hastings sat down and bid the men do likewise. Jellicoe began to speak, ‘Thank you for allowing us to see the prisoner at such short notice, Major Hastings.’
‘It’s not a problem, Chief Inspector. I must confess it was rather a surprise, though. May I ask why?’
Jellicoe, it seemed to Kit, looked reluctant to reveal the reason, and Kit’s hunch proved accurate.
‘There have been a number of recent robberies which bear similarities to Hadleigh’s imprint. We thought he might have some ideas that could help us in our enquiries.’
Hastings nodded and then looked at Kit. Jellicoe caught the direction of the Governor’s gaze. ‘Lord Aston is here because he was the one who uncovered that a robbery had taken place.’
‘And of course, I remember now, his connection to the other prisoner.’
Kit sat forward as he realised the other prisoner’s name was about to be revealed, however at that moment there was a knock at the door and a uniformed man walked in. He was short but powerfully built. He didn’t so much walk forward as march, coming to a dramatic halt near the Governor’s desk.
Hastings smiled and introduced the new arrival, ‘Gentlemen, this is Chief Warder Brickhill. As you’ve probably surmised, he is, like me, ex-army. In fact he was my sergeant major.’
The two policemen and Kit rose to greet Brickhill. His dark slicked back hair and features suggested a man who could have been aged anywhere between forty and sixty. The steel grey eyes bespoke a man you didn’t mess with.
After the initial introductions, Hastings continued, ‘If you would take these gentlemen down to our guest, Mr Hadleigh.’
‘Yes sir.’ A man of few words, thought Kit, unless he was barking at some poor unfortunate. The three men followed Brickhill out of the office, down stairs to a basement floor with an, impressively, thick oak door.
Another prison guard opened the door for the men which led to a long dark corridor, dimly lit. There were four cells it seemed. This made Kit all the more curious as to what type of facility this was. A prison dedicated to a handful of men was highly unusual.
Brickhill gave a brief rap on the door before extracting a set of keys from his pocket. Selecting a mortice key from the band, he opened the door, and all four men walked in. When Kit saw Hadleigh’s cell his mouth almost fell open.
Chapter 8
The address on the piece of paper given by Fairfax was in Southwark. Ryan decided to make his way straight there. The alternative was to go home and break the news to his wife as well as risking someone else would get there before him and nab any potential job.
Two bus rides later he was still a short walk away. The factory was one of a number in the city dedicated to the production of tobacco, cigars, cigarettes, and snuff. Ryan walked down one of the most desolate roads he had seen in London. There were no houses or shops or pubs. There were a number of small businesses and factories. Some of the businesses had been abandoned. Dogs roamed around the grounds, barking and fighting.
Ryan kept on walking past one vacant unit after another. He turned a corner and saw a fairly austere red brick facility at the end of a road that even the kindest observer would have described as abandoned by the rest of society.
Outside the factory gates, there were hard-looking men smoking cigarettes. They barely glanced at Ryan as he walked towards the office at the front. Outside the office sat another group of men. They eyed Ryan as he headed in their direction. Ryan overheard one say, ‘Another one.’ One of the men stood up. He didn’t seem that much taller once on his feet. He was powerfully built and walked aggressively towards Ryan.
Two years at the front meant that Ryan didn’t shrink in the face of physical intimidation. The man’s hands remained in his pockets, however, so Ryan assumed he was going so to speak to him instead. Rather than wait for the man, Ryan spoke.
‘I’ve been told I should speak to a Johnny Mac.’
‘Who told you that?’ asked the man. His face, his voice and his posture still suggested Ryan’s next answer could land him in a fight.
‘Alf Fairfax.’
The man laughed mirthlessly.
‘Hear that boys,’ said the man turning to his work mates, ‘Another one of Alf’s lost souls.’ He turned back to Ryan and said, ‘You got any proof of that?’
Ryan handed him the scribbled note from Fairfax. The man put it in his pocket and motioned for Ryan to follow him inside the factory. Once inside, the man led Ryan down a corridor to a small office. He knocked and opened the door. He put a hand on Ryan’s chest, however, and walked inside himself.
Two minutes later he came out of the office. He gestured with his thumb and said, ‘In you go.’
Ryan walked in, but the man remained outside. Inside the office was a relatively young man, perhaps Ryan’s age or slightly older. He stood up as Ryan entered. The man was slender, his hair was close cropped and there was a scar running from his left eye down the side of his cheek. This alone would have had most men checking for the nearest exit. He was also one of the tallest men Ryan had ever seen. At least six feet five.
The giant made no attempt to be welcoming. Wisely he had long since realised that his appearance was unlikely to make a first impression anything other than uneasy for the viewer. Fortified by this certainty, he always strove to ensure the second impression confirmed the first. In spades.
He walked up to Ryan with a smile that was reminiscent of a lion coming across an antelope catching forty winks in the hot African sun. Ryan tensed himself. Whatever happened, the man would find himself in a fight alright. The years at the front had deadened much of his fear: he was no coward.
‘I’m Johnny Mac.’
An Ulsterman. Ryan had met many in Flanders. He’d liked them, mostly. They’d fought with a ferocity, a mad courage and a hatred that seemed almost spiritual in its purity. Ryan had almost felt sorry for the Germans. They were a God-fearing people who showed no mercy to the enemy.
‘I’m Joe Ryan. Alf Fairfax sent me here.’
‘Why?’
‘I was laid off.’
‘Why?’
‘Last in first out.’
‘War?’
‘Yes.’
This seemed to satisfy Johnny Mac for he nodded, ‘Can you do nights?’
Ryan nearly jumped for joy. ‘Yes, no problem.’
‘You start at six, finish at four,’ said Johnny Mac, not taking his eyes of Ryan. In fact, Ryan could swear the man had not blinked in all of the time he’d been in the office.
‘Thanks,’ said Ryan for wont of anything else to say.
Johnny Mac looked to the door and shouted, ‘Rusk.’
The man who had led Ryan here re-entered. He looked to Johnny Mac, who merely nodded.
‘Go with Rusk. He’ll get you details. Give him the two pounds.’
Ryan turned sharply to Johnny Mac.
‘What?’
Johnny Mac glowered at Ryan, ‘You want the job, it’ll cost you two quid. Understand?’
Ryan felt rage and fear. He needed the job, but he wanted to kill the man in front of him. And Fairfax. The other man moved forward towards Ryan. The air seemed to leave the room. Finally Ryan nodded to Johnny Mac. He needed the job. There were still a few shillings left over from his pay off.
‘Where do I sign?’
He had a job. That was the main thing.
-
Kit stepped into the prison cell after Jellicoe, Ryan and the Chief Warder, Brickhill. The cell, if it can be so described, was around five times the usual size. There were a couple of landscapes on the wall, a gramophone, a leather arm chair with matching Chesterfield sofa. Over by the wall was a dining table with three seats and a large bookcase. On the floor was, to all appearances, an expensive Persian carpet. Only the single bed with the steel grey blanket betrayed the location. The rest of th
e room was more like the room of a man of independent means in London.
‘Jellicoe,’ said the man in surprise. He rose from the armchair to greet a man who seemed like an old friend.
‘Chief Inspector, I gather now. My congratulations, albeit belatedly. What a pleasant surprise. And if I’m not mistaken, this is Lord Kit Aston.’ The voice was more aristocrat than convict. Kit stepped forward and shook the outstretched hand.
‘Hello Hadleigh,’ said Kit who if not nonplussed, was certainly not exactly plussed either. Looking around the cell, Kit added, ‘They seem to be looking after you well.’
The convict smiled. Something in the smile made Kit start. There was a look on Hadleigh’s face, something indiscernible. Without knowing why, Kit wondered about where he could have met Hadleigh, but the connection to where and when was frustratingly just out of reach. They looked at one another for a moment. He sensed Hadleigh recognised him but not for the reasons that might appear obvious. There was something in the look. Was it sympathy? Sadness? It was hard to tell and Hadleigh understood Kit’s confusion. However, Kit was certain Hadleigh knew their connection. The moment passed quickly and Hadleigh’s attention was drawn to the younger policeman.
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 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 also.
‘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 about it 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 imagine 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 at the moment. 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; the original printer could have supplied details of the design to a n’er-do-well; 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 up a wide field of inquiry, some of which might be embarrassing for my good 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. Once in a while 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 Chief 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.