The Phantom

by Jack Murray

  ‘Perhaps the real Phantom might be concerned an impostor could do something to tarnish his reputation, though,’ said Ryan. Kit nodded to Jellicoe, while Hadleigh burst out laughing.

  ‘Touché, young man,’ replied Hadleigh. It seemed to Kit, Hadleigh said this with something approaching relief. It was another thing to ponder. Jellicoe looked at Ryan without saying anything, but the twinkle was unmistakeable.

  It became clear that the meeting was drawing to a close. Jellicoe stood up and rapped the door, which was opened by a guard. The farewells were warm on the part of Hadleigh and Jellicoe, the mutual regard undisguised. Kit looked closely at Ryan and Hadleigh as they shook hands. The impression Kit drew was of two men assessing one another and, on the whole, liking what they saw. Kit wasn’t sure if Jellicoe had picked up on the undercurrent. He would check this a later, he decided.

  Outside the cell, the three men walked along the corridor with Brickhill, who had returned to collect them.

  ‘What did you think of Hadleigh, Lord Aston?’

  ‘Fascinating. A very charismatic man. A lot to think about from that meeting.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Jellicoe eyeing Kit closely.

  ‘A cliché, I know, but he knows more than he’s letting on,’ continued Kit.

  .

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Jellicoe, ‘I had that feeling also. By the way, why did you think you’d met previously?’

  ‘I’m damned if I can put my finger on why, Chief Inspector, but it was a strong feeling.’

  Jellicoe nodded and then turning to Brickhill, and asked, ‘Is it possible to see the other prisoner?’

  ‘Of course, follow me,’ replied Brickhill.

  The four men reached the end of the corridor and descended a flight of stairs to a basement corridor. Kit felt his senses tingling. He wasn’t sure of it was excitement, anger or fear.

  The corridor mirrored the one up above. The group went to the first door and the guard gave it a rap. The keys clanked noisily against the door. Finally it opened, and Kit looked inside to see a very different type of cell. It was small, there was no window, just a naked light. Lying on the bed was a man. He turned over as the two detectives and Kit entered.

  It took a few moments for Kit to register who the man was. Then, he realised. He was staring into the face of Leonid Daniels.

  Chapter 9

  Judson Fish had been with Lady Agatha for longer than either of them cared to remember. She inherited him by marriage, following her union with the late Eustace, or ‘Useless’, Frost, as she called him. Often.

  Lord Frost had passed away in 1911 in Agadir. A lifer in the diplomatic corps, Frost had spent many years in various posts in the Middle East and north Africa, arriving in Morocco days before the first German crisis. He believed, rightly as it turned out, this event heralded the birth of a new phase of German expansionism and that war was inevitable. Convinced that the German gunboat which had pulled into Agadir harbour, as he and Lady Agatha were taking a short break from his work at the embassy, was the first phase of his long-predicted war sadly proved too much for a constitution he had spent decades fortifying with rich food and vats of brandy.

  Lady Agatha returned with Fish to England and set up home in Grosvenor Square, where they had resided these last nine years. Thankfully, her ladyship, although not necessarily blessed with the easiest of personality’s, was at least quite low maintenance. Her relatives were few and friends fewer still. She entertained rarely, holidayed often and confined her interests to occasional and quite devastating interventions in her family’s affairs. In the case of her brother, and Kit’s father, Lancelot Aston, affairs was certainly the operative word.

  The lack of any real work to do in the house encouraged a certain torpor in Fish bordering on indolence. That and the fact that he was even more elderly than the mistress of the house, combined to create a certain resentment when called upon to execute what few duties remained to him. Such as leaving his comfortable seat in the kitchen to answer the phone upstairs.

  The phone was ringing insistently on this particular morning. He guessed it was someone who knew Lady Agatha as it rang for an inordinate amount of time. The caller clearly understood that he was no longer the lithe athlete of yesteryear and that his arrival to the phone would be measured in minutes rather than seconds.

  Fish took to the telephone like a boulder to water. The shrill ring of the infernal device was always certain to produce a sinking feeling to the estimable butler’s heart. This was because, in common with most people of a certain age, new technology brought out his inner Luddite. He hated the contraption and cursed the day Lady Agatha had been persuaded by that demonic Simpson woman to bring the evil device into her house.

  ‘Lady Frost’s residence. Miss Simpson, so nice to hear from you. Again. Lady Frost is having lunch, I shall inform her directly, just a moment.’

  Fish set the phone receiver down and went to the dining room. A minute later Agatha arrived at the phone.

  ‘Hullo Betty, what news?’

  For the next minute Agatha listened and then said, ‘I shall let Mary know and then we will plan our next steps. Good work Betty.’

  Replacing the phone, Agatha went into the dining room to apprise Mary of the news from her friend.

  ‘Betty has managed to locate Caroline Hadleigh,’ said Agatha excitedly to Mary, who was eating some toast.

  ‘That’s good news. I don’t think the police will particularly like the idea of us visiting Miss Hadleigh but there’s no reason why…’

  ‘We can’t follow her,’ finished Agatha, ‘My thoughts exactly. Let me write down the address before I forget.’

  For the next few minutes the two ladies outlined a plan of action.

  ‘So we’re agreed, Alfred will take you to Eaton Square tomorrow and you can follow her on foot. Alfred can stay in touch with you at a distance. Did you have anything planned with Christopher tomorrow?’

  ‘We’d planned on going to the Royal Academy and then lunch at the Ritz,’ said Mary.

  ‘Right my dear, I suggest you rearrange that. Stick to the lunch but suggest visiting the Royal Academy in the afternoon. You’re needed in the morning. Tell Christopher you’re meeting Betty. This will be true, of course. And today, when will he be coming?’

  ‘He said he’d come me late afternoon, probably. I’ll suggest we dine together here rather than going out.’

  ‘Good idea, we can pump him for information on today’s events,’ replied Agatha, eyes alive, she was almost pawing the ground with excitement.

  Mary smiled at the elderly lady. When Esther had left to spend a week with Richard at his parent’s house, she’d been worried about how things would be at Kit’s infamous Aunt Agatha’s house without her co-conspirator. The sudden turn of events was proving that every cloud might contain a golden goose.

  The thought that life in London, when Kit was not around, would prove more amenable than she could have imagined also made her feel positively chipper. The chance to prove her skills as a detective, at such an early stage, was a marker she wanted to lay down for their future together. All in all, she reflected, this is turning out rather nicely. However, whether it was the curiosity about Kit’s meeting with Scotland Yard and the Phantom himself, or simply the prospect of seeing him again, Mary felt excited about the evening ahead.

  -

  Leon Daniels was every bit as big as Kit remembered but his appearance had altered dramatically in the few weeks since Kit had last seen him. His eyes were black. There were cuts around both eyes and his face. Although Kit had little sympathy for the man, he was a cold-blooded murderer after all, he was appalled by the sight. However, he recognised that this treatment was probably inevitable both as retribution as well as a tactic to obtain information. Kit questioned its utility of the latter and the morality of the former.

  One glance towards Jellicoe confirmed in Kit’s mind that the Chief Inspector was no more comfortable about the treatment meted out to Daniels than he was. Kit w
ondered if Jellicoe was a supporter, or not, of capital punishment. There was little question, though, Leon Daniels was destined for the hangman’s noose.

  Daniels recognised both Kit and Jellicoe immediately. He was in agony. His body had been beaten severely and his head pounded from the pain. He nodded to them and smiled grimly.

  ‘Mr Daniels,’ said Jellicoe, much to Brickhill’s chagrin and Kit’s undisguised surprise, ‘perhaps we should all sit down.’

  Daniels nodded gratefully. It was too painful to stand.

  ‘I won’t ask you how you’re being treated,’ continued Jellicoe, clearly unhappy by what he was seeing, and equally intent on conveying a message for Brickhill. ‘I will assume that you’ve not supplied the information requested.’

  Daniels raised one eyebrow but remained silent.

  ‘You’ll doubtless remember Lord Aston.’

  Daniels looked at Kit. There was neither hate nor resentment in this look. Kit realised that Daniels accepted his fate. He was a soldier. He took orders. These orders required him to kill. Implicit within the act of killing is the risk at that moment, or at some point in the future, of your life also being similarly imperilled. That time had arrived.

  Once again Kit reflected on his own actions during the War. He’d killed men. He had ordered men to kill. The difference he believed, he hoped, was in the context. Those same men were trying to kill him; they were trying to kill his fellow soldiers, they were invaders. The victims of Daniels were, in this sense, innocent. However sickened he was by the sight of Daniels, he deserved no sympathy.

  Kit nodded to Daniels, and then much to his own surprise, addressed him.

  ‘I understand you speak English well.’ This prompted no reaction from Daniels, other than to continue looking at Kit. ‘I presume you’ve been made aware that you were taking orders from two former British secret servicemen, one of whom, Kopel, had gone rogue.’

  For the first time, Daniels acknowledged what was being said. He made one curt nod.

  ‘The man you knew as Kopel is, in fact, Lord Olly Lake. He was a friend of mine. We were at school together. We grew up together. He’s an enemy of mine now. An enemy of yours also. Of your country. You realise this don’t you?’

  Silence. There was no reaction from Daniels to this. Kit gazed back at Daniels. It seemed there was no one else in the room. The only sound to be heard was the laboured breathing of Daniels.

  Kit reached inside his coat to his breast pocket and took out a wallet. He opened the it and extracted a small photograph which he handed over to Daniels. The big Russian looked from Kit to the photograph.

  ‘What do you see?’ asked Kit.

  Daniels held the photograph up to his eyes. He moved it back a little so that his eyes could focus better on the image. The photograph showed four boys; all were around ten years old. There was a man in the photograph also. They were sitting by a pond. One of the boys was holding a toy. It was a three-mast sailing boat. The boy looked like the man before him in the cell. Beside this boy, unmistakably was the smiling figure of a young Kopel. Daniels handed the photograph back to Kit, who placed it in his wallet and returned it to his breast pocket.

  ‘You understand don’t you? He used you. He ordered you to murder innocent people. Innocent people, Mr Daniels,’ repeated Kit more forcefully. Kit knew this had hit home. He pressed on. ‘You were a soldier. You followed orders. But these orders were not enacted on behalf of your country. They were enacted on behalf of an organisation that wishes to undermine your country and mine. They are anarchists. We don’t know what their objective is, but they are evil and must be stopped.’

  Kit wanted to ask for Daniels’ help. But how could he? Looking at the battered face of the Russian and asking him to help the people who had tortured him would have seemed like a sick joke. An act of hypocrisy. He realised the senselessness of torture lay not just in its illegality or even the immorality, quite simply it was ineffective. Perhaps Daniels could have helped the Intelligence Service find Olly. But that time was long gone.

  There was no farewell. Daniels remained uncommunicative. Outside the cell Jellicoe glared at Brickhill.

  ‘Was all that really necessary?’

  Brickhill smiled cruelly and replied, ‘Orders old chap. Orders.’

  Harry Miller opened the passenger door as the group walked back to the car, seen off by Hastings. It was clear that Jellicoe was angry and Hastings, sensing an atmosphere, did not prolong the parting with any unnecessary chit chat.

  Inside the car Kit looked at Jellicoe and said, ‘I don’t like what’s happened to Daniels any more than you, Chief Inspector, but you seem particularly angry.’

  Jellicoe was silent for a moment and then replied, ‘Principles aside, the plain fact is Daniels may be a killer, but he only did so because he was ordered. He had an opportunity to kill me but chose not to.’

  ‘He was surrounded, surely he knew he would be killed?’

  ‘No and yes. I’ve thought about that moment a lot, as you may imagine. There were several men with me, four were armed. He could easily have taken a couple of us with him. He chose to stop the killing. Oddly, if you think about it, he saved my life.’

  Kit smiled and agreed, ‘Well, in an odd sort of a way, I suppose you’re right.’

  -

  Sally Ryan sat in the front room of the house. On a table in front of her sat a pile of assorted coats, trousers, skirts and socks. Her fingers felt sore after a morning stitching together poor quality clothes that were falling apart. Despite the dull ache, she liked the work. It was mechanical which meant she didn’t have to think about it. Instead her mind began to wander. To dream.

  The sound of keys in the door made her start. Then she saw her husband walk in. Ryan looked down at Sally and saw fear descend on her, removing the colour from her cheeks and the life force in from her body.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she asked, tears forming in her eyes.

  Joe walked over to her, sat down and put his arm around her. Outside the sound of rain began to beat heavier on the street and the windows.

  ‘I was laid off Sal, but I’ve got another job already.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Sally, clearly upset by the news.

  Ryan explained to her what had happened leaving out only the extortion by his new work colleagues. The news was a mixed blessing, they decided. It would be painful not to have her husband around in the evenings with the two children, but both recognised that working in the varnish factory was irritating the lungs of Ryan, which had already been damaged by exposure to gas during the War. The money wasn’t great, but they had just enough. Perhaps Ryan could find another job during the day.

  ‘How’s my nephew?’ asked Ben Ryan.

  ‘Sleeping. Wasn’t so bad today.’

  Ryan nodded. He went over to the bedroom and opened the door. Lying on the bed was his son. Ryan stood for a few moments and listened to the laboured sounds of the boy breathing. The tell-tale whistling of severe asthma. He was joined at the door by Sally. They glanced at one another and then back to the boy. In some sense, their life was brutally simple. It was about survival. To get Ben through these few years and hope he could grow out of his illness. Taking the job was his only option.

  Ben turned away from the room and quietly shut the door. He held Sally as much to comfort himself as to comfort her.

  ‘We’ll be alright, Sal. Just you see.’

  ‘Do you really think?’ asked Sally.

  ‘Yes, Sal. Really.’

  Sally didn’t look up at him, but he sensed her tears. He held her closer still. Maybe a second job was the answer. Something during the day. A little extra money.

  Chapter 10

  ‘Hello darling,’ said Kit walking towards Mary.

  Mary smiled and knelt down to stroke Kit’s dog, Sam and replied, ‘Hello darling,’ to the terrier.

  ‘Am I in the dog house?’ said Kit looking down at Sam nuzzling Mary.

  Mary stood on tip toe and pecked Kit
on the cheek.

  ‘I haven’t decided yet Lord Aston,’ said Mary looking Kit in the eye. She brushed a hair off the shoulder of Kit’s tuxedo then knelt down and picked up the ever-willing Sam.

  ‘Yes he is,’ said Agatha arriving in the hallway. ‘I think you’ve quite a nerve, young man, to leave this poor young lady behind as you swan off on a new case.’

  Kit rolled his eyes and said, ‘I’m not on a new case, Aunt Agatha. My involvement, as of today is over, I’m sure. Chief Inspector Jellicoe is more than capable of handling this matter without my help.’

  ‘How did you spend the day?’ asked Kit over dinner.

  Mary looked at Agatha before saying, ‘We read a lot in the morning and we even tried to piece together a jigsaw puzzle. Unfortunately there are a few pieces missing.’

  This comment nearly made Agatha choke and she began coughing. Kit immediately poured her some water and gently patted her back. Agatha quickly regained control but gave Mary a look that suggested that she warn her in future if she’s going to be humorous.

  Mary continued, ‘After lunch we took a walk in the gardens. Alas the rain cut short our stroll, so we returned, somewhat bedraggled back to the house to await my lord and master. Have a drink.’ Mary poured some wine in Kit’s glass and looked at him intently.

  Kit noted the sardonic tone and ignored it. He glanced down at the wine then said, ‘Trying to loosen my tongue?’

  ‘I doubt she’s going to try to seduce you in my house Christopher, so please get on with it. What happened today with the police?’ asked Agatha, impatience glowing from every pore.

  Mary made a sad face; which Agatha could not see but Kit interpreted all too hopefully. As an interrogation team they presented a highly effective, and certainly original, take on good cop, bad cop.