The Phantom

by Jack Murray

‘Very well,’ said Kit resignedly.

  Mary’s face lit up in a grin that made Kit wish they were alone, while Sam hopped up onto a chair to hear more. For the next hour Kit went through, in forensic detail due to the questions of the two ladies, the events of the day, including the meeting with Leon Daniels. However, he refrained from describing the treatment of Daniels, partly from a desire to protect the ladies but also because of his feeling of repugnance and guilt.

  Conversation turned to plans for the next day. Mary glanced at Agatha who put her hand up to stop Mary from saying anything.

  ‘Christopher, do you mind if you delay your trip to the Royal Academy? Perhaps make it tomorrow afternoon? Betty Simpson is coming over tomorrow morning, I believe she’s keen to meet Mary.’

  Kit looked at Agatha and then Mary. He smiled and said, ‘Of course. Give my love to Betty.’ Mary’s face was difficult to read but Kit sensed something was afoot.

  ‘Excellent. I’m sure Betty and Mary will get on winningly,’ said Agatha. Then observing the fact that Sam had taken up a position on Mary’s knee, a further thought seemed to strike her. ‘Why don’t you leave Sam here, you know how much Betty likes dogs. I doubt Sam will complain. Pass the salt my dear.’

  Sam, by now was all but necking with Mary. Kit smiled and shook his head feigning exasperation with the little dog.

  ‘Any chance we can swap places Sam?’ asked Kit. This brought a look of rebuke from Aunt Agatha, but Mary smiled, raised her eyebrows and nodded imperceptibly. Changing the subject, Kit asked, ‘Any word from the love birds in Sussex?’

  ‘I gather Esther is unwell,’ chipped in Agatha before Mary could say anything. Mary turned slowly to Agatha; her eyes wide with surprise. However, Agatha persisted, ‘Yes, she may have to extend her stay, I understand.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, what’s wrong?’

  Mary felt like asking the same question. However, it was clear that the question was being addressed to her, so she turned to Kit with a smile and said, ‘I’m sure it’s nothing.’

  ‘Let’s hope so,’ said Kit with concern.

  Unnoticed by Kit, Mary and Agatha exchanged looks. The old lady gave a slight shrug and continued with her soup.

  -

  The rain had eased off as Joe Ryan made his way back to the factory. Darkness was drawing in, throwing a blanket over the streets. This did little to improve the beauty of the surroundings but increased Ryan’s sense of ghostly-unease as he walked towards the plant. A chill north wind was blowing. Snow was coming.

  Groups of men were exiting from the facility, a few stragglers, like himself, going in the opposite direction. He made his way through the same entrance from earlier and walked over to a group of men who were standing with Rusk. The group turned to look at Ryan but there was no welcome greeting, so Ryan did not offer any back. Instead he stood with the group and waited.

  Over the next few minutes a couple of other men joined the group. Ryan was reassured to see their reception was no warmer than his. Soon, Ryan became aware that Rusk was counting the number of people. His mouth twisted into a peculiar grimace that Ryan took to be a smile.

  ‘Stay here,’ ordered Rusk and walked off in the direction of Johnny Mac’s office. A few minutes later he returned alongside the towering figure of the Ulstermen. The man beside Ryan whispered to him, ‘Big lad that one.’

  Ryan nodded but said nothing.

  ‘Are you new here?’ asked the man. His accent was strange. Part British, part European.

  ‘Yes. You?’

  ‘Yes,’ came the reply.

  Johnny Mac surveyed the group for a few moments and then bent and whispered something to Rusk. As far as Ryan could tell, the comment seemed to amuse the shorter man. A quick scan of the other men’s faces suggested they were all like himself, new to the job. They were a rough lot but on the whole he judged them to be in the same boat as him. This was confirmed a few moments later.

  ‘You men are very lucky to be here. Lose one job and then find one in the blink of an eye,’ said Rusk. ‘My name’s Rusk, but you can call me sir.’ He laughed humourlessly at his own joke. Even Johnny Mac looked unimpressed. He turned, glanced up at the giant beside him and shrugged.

  ‘I’m Johnny. You can call me whatever you want,’ said Johnny Mac. For the first time Ryan noticed that two of his top teeth, at the side, were black. A deep black. It looked like they had been painted rather than a result of neglect. It made his appearance even more menacing. ‘Rusk will show you the ropes.’

  Following that short statement, he turned and walked away from the group, leaving Rusk. ‘Alright, I’ll show you around.’

  For the next fifteen minutes Rusk conducted a tour of the factory, explaining what the process of making the products and the role of each machine. Although quite different from the varnish factory, Ryan quickly grasped that the key principles were similar. One of part of the factory made the product, another part packaged it. Whether by accident or design, Ryan found himself paired with the man he’d spoken with briefly earlier. Rusk assigned them to packing the cigarettes as they came off the production line. After Rusk had left them to sort out the other men, Ryan held out his hand.

  ‘Joe Ryan.’

  ‘Abbott, Richard Abbott.’

  Abbott was around forty and half a foot shorter than Ryan with relatively dark skin and jet black hair. There was definitely more than a trace of an accent. He looked up at Ryan with his moon eyes and explained a little of his background as the machine cranked into gear.

  ‘My dad was English, my mum Austrian. I grew up in Vienna but moved over here when I was young,’ said Abbott reading the mind of Ryan. Conversation was cut short as the machine began to spew cigarettes onto a conveyor belt. They looked at one another and got on with the job. Ryan had a feeling his arms would ache the next morning.

  Ryan and Abbott chatted occasionally as they worked. He learned more about his colleague, almost as much from what he did not say as what he did. He sensed that Abbott had flirted with the other side of the law and perhaps had spent time in prison. He’d clearly not gone to France, but Ryan was not interested in why. At least the subject of the War was avoided. It was over, he was here. He didn’t want to think about it anymore.

  Aside from one short break for a snack, Ryan worked almost continuously with Abbott for eight hours. As he had surmised, his arms and wrists ached with the effort of packing the cigarettes.

  The night shift ended around four in the morning. Ryan had never been much of a smoker but by the end of this shift he never wanted to see a cigarette again. The workers trooped into a line walking wearily away from the factory gates. Abbott fell in step with Ryan.

  Abbott lit a cigarette and handed it to Ryan, then he lit one for himself, ‘These managed to find their way into my pocket. Not sure how.’ He laughed at his own joke. Ryan looked at the cigarette with disgust and then smiled at Abbott.

  ‘Sick to death of these things,’ said Ryan handing the cigarette back to Abbott. The little man shrugged and blew out the light, putting the stub in his pocket. ‘Do you think they’ll revolve people onto different machines? I’m not sure I can take that night after night,’ asked Ryan.

  There was a sly look on the face of the small man. It added little to his attractiveness. He was clearly pondering something. Finally, after glancing around to make sure no one was around, he replied, ‘The only thing about where we are is that it might offer potential.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I mean they can’t keep their eyes on us all the time. What if a few packs of cigarettes were to find their way into our hands. Just a few. We don’t have to be greedy. I’m sure we could make a bit of extra money, don’t you think?’

  Ryan looked at Abbott. It was clear the little Anglo-Austrian was serious. It wasn’t a bad idea. A little bit each night could build quite nicely. If they kept their wits that is. There had been no searches as they left the factory gates.

  ‘What do you think?’ persisted Ab
bott.

  Ryan thought about his brother, a policeman. Not only a policeman, but one who was making rapid progress in the force. What would he think? This would only be an issue if they were caught. Was it worth the risk. Then he thought about young Ben.

  ‘Yes, I think it’s an idea,’ replied Ryan, nodding his head.

  They looked at one another and shook hands.

  Chapter 11

  February 13th, 1920: London

  The pitter patter of rain on the window woke Mary. She’d hoped that her first dive into the world of surveillance would be made easier by benign weather. The gods of undercover detection were not going to be with her this morning. She rose from the bed and walked to the window. It was almost five in the morning. The lights on the street danced off the wet pavement. Yes, detective work was perhaps not going to be quite as glamorous as she’d first envisaged. On the bed, Sam was gently snoring. She walked over to the little terrier and gently stroked him behind the ear.

  ‘Wakey, wakey. You’ve got work to do this morning.’

  Sam continued to snore.

  ‘Men,’ said Mary dismissively, moving towards the bathroom, ‘you’re all the same.’

  Twenty minutes later she was met downstairs by Aunt Agatha and the chauffeur, Alfred. Neither Mary nor Alfred were particularly chipper, but Agatha was in fine fettle. Mary turned down the suggestion of breakfast. Alfred looked, as ever, like he’d eaten breakfast for three. Sam had finally woken and was keen to be fed and wolfed down bacon and sausage.

  ‘Well then, let’s say goodbye,’ said Agatha, keen to get everyone on their way and back to bed, ‘Best of luck.’

  Mary and Sam followed Alfred out to the Rolls.

  ‘Not the most inconspicuous,’ said Mary sardonically. “Do you know where we’re going?’

  ‘Yes ma’am,’ replied Alfred holding the door open for Mary.

  The journey to Eaton Square was completed in a matter of minutes such was the eerie emptiness of the London streets. At Mary’s suggestion, Alfred parked the car alongside a large Bentley. This gave them unobstructed view of the road ahead and the front door to Caroline Hadleigh’s town house with the added benefit of not looking entirely out of place.

  It was nearly six and still night. Sam sat happily on Mary’s lap as they waited. At one point a policeman strolled by and stopped to look at the car. He rapped on Alfred’s window.

  ‘Is everything alright?’ he asked looking at Sam and Mary in the back.

  ‘Yes, constable,’ replied Mary. ‘I’m just waiting for the rain to stop and then I’ll take my dog for a walk.’

  ‘Very good madam. It’s an awful morning.’ The policeman seemed satisfied with this explanation and went on his way.

  Alfred looked in the mirror at Mary, something he had spent a large part of the journey doing, much to her amusement.

  ‘Good thinking ma’am.’

  ‘Thank you. I was being honest. What an awful day,’ replied Mary looking out at the rain falling steadily onto the pavement. As a rule she loved the sound of rain. It was strangely therapeutic. However the prospect of having to go out when it was so bad, was about as appealing as a trip to the dentist.

  In the distance, the booming notes of Big Ben indicated it was six o’clock in the morning. Mary idly wondered how people living near to the clock put up with the beastly sound.

  And so they waited. And waited some more. Sam fell asleep again. Mary looked down and envied him. She was beginning to worry this detective game was definitely not as she had envisioned. Trailing master criminals, remarkable leaps of the imagination to connect the seemingly unconnected and exciting shootouts seemed a million miles away from what she was doing at that moment.

  At seven, Big Ben woke up Sam who looked around confusedly and began barking before remembering his attractive companion and standing on her lap pressing his face up to hers, perhaps in penitence at his over-reaction.

  ‘Ma’am, the door’s opening,’ said Alfred, pointing towards the house under observation.

  Mary glanced away from Sam. A young woman emerged from the house dressed in a long light brown mackintosh and flat shoes. She wore a head scarf but there was no mistaking her for someone older. She was in her early twenties and, even from a distance of fifty yards, very attractive. A strand of blonde hair fell from the front of the scarf. She walked down the steps and away from the parked car.

  ‘What shall I do ma’am?’ asked Alfred.

  ‘Let her walk to the end of the street. If she turns, then drive forward but remain out of sight.’

  The both waited and watched Caroline walk straight ahead. Mary said, ‘She might be heading in the direction of Sloane Square. When she gets to the next street move forward then park near to where she is now. I’ll take Sam for a walk at this point. There are quite a few small cafes up ahead. We can’t risk losing her.’

  ‘Very good,’ replied Alfred, and soon they were moving forward in the direction of Sloane Square. They stopped at the point Mary had suggested and she hopped out of the car with Sam.

  The rain held off, but Mary was glad of her thick overcoat. It was very cold. Sam was wearing a stylish tweed coat but still seemed reluctant to walk in the decidedly chilly air.

  ‘You really are a bit lazy aren’t you?’ laughed Mary. Sam seemed to grumble in reply. ‘I don’t think you can buy doggie ear muffs old boy.’

  Ahead, Caroline Hadleigh had slowed down as she passed a number of shops. Mary checked her pace and bent down on a couple of occasions to pet Sam. In fact, May now appreciated the fact that Sam was a bit lazy as trying to keep a hold of him if he’d gone tearing ahead would have presented a problem or two.

  Her quarry was back on the move and heading, as Mary had surmised, towards Sloane Square. Finally she appeared to reach her destination which was a large café that Mary recognised. Mary walked past the café and saw it was it was fairly full. This made it more difficult for her to enter as she had Sam and it was not clear if dogs were allowed. Mary turned and saw Alfred was some way behind, stuck in traffic. This was a dilemma.

  Mary crossed over the road to avoid being seen. From this position she could still monitor the comings and goings from the café. Meanwhile Alfred was gradually getting closer. Frustratingly it was difficult to see Caroline due to customers sitting by the window. Another look towards the car. It was still too far away to be able to deposit Sam. One or two people were leaving now. Not Caroline Hadleigh, however.

  Finally Alfred’s car was at a point where Mary could safely walk over and leave Sam while maintaining an eye on the café. She attracted Alfred’s attention and motioned for him to pull over. Picking Sam up she jogged across the road, between cars to Alfred.

  Opening the rear passenger door, she dropped Sam into the back and instructed Alfred to wait. Closing the door she made her way quickly to the café and entered.

  There was no sign of Caroline Hadleigh.

  Mary was shocked. Then she reasoned that she may have gone to the bathroom. Attracting the attention of a waitress she ordered a tea and then explained she needed to visit the cloakroom.

  On her way there a couple of women went past her, but neither were of interest. Once inside the bathroom the alarming fact dawned on her. Caroline Hadleigh was not there. She’d given Mary the slip.

  -

  Agatha and Betty looked at each other and then back to Mary. Kit’s aunt asked the two questions on everyone’s mind.

  ‘How did she do it? And more important even, why? Was she aware she was being followed?’

  ‘There’s absolutely no chance you could’ve missed her when you were getting Sam into the car?’ added Betty.

  ‘None, my eyes barely left the café for a second. Furthermore, where would she have gone, but further down the street? It would’ve been impossible not to see her.’

  ‘Was she carrying a large bag?’ asked Agatha.

  ‘Yes, I was wondering about that afterwards. It could’ve contained a change of clothes because it was cer
tainly a large enough bag.’

  ‘This is very interesting,’ said Agatha, ‘And it definitely puts a new complexion on the case.’

  Betty’s eyes lit up and she said, ‘Well in that case I may have something else that will interest you. I did some digging in to Miss Hadleigh and I found out from an acquaintance that she was expelled from one of her schools when she was in her teens.’

  ‘Do you know why?’ asked Agatha.

  The smile on Betty’s face grew wider and she leaned forward, ‘Stealing.’

  The room grew silent as the three ladies considered the implications of Betty’s revelation. Finally, Agatha gave voice to the thought shared by everyone.

  ‘A kleptomaniac?’

  ‘Very possibly,’ replied Betty. ‘Now, having heard about Miss Hadleigh this morning, I think we have enough evidence to continue our surveillance.’

  ‘But how?’ asked Mary.

  ‘I have an idea,’ responded Betty.

  ‘Go on,’ said the other two ladies in unison.

  ‘You and I shall return to Eaton Square, Agatha, and spend the rest of the afternoon there to await Miss Hadleigh’s return.’

  Agatha looked at Mary and said, ‘Good idea, but how do we get there and where do we wait? We’ll need the car and Alfred’s away to his film studio. I don’t know about you dear, but I for one, don’t fancy standing outside in the cold, quite apart from the obvious fact it would look distinctly odd.’

  ‘I can drive,’ suggested Betty brightly. ‘I’ve driven cars before.’

  ‘No harm to you my dear, but a Rolls Royce isn’t any car,’ pointed out Agatha.

  ‘Nonsense. I’m sure we’ll manage,’ replied Betty, oblivious to the undisguised scepticism of her two companions.

  ‘What shall I do in the meantime?’ asked Mary, not sure whether to be amused or alarmed at the prospect of the elderly Betty negotiating London traffic in a Rolls Royce.

  ‘Stick to your plans for the moment with Christopher. There’s no point raising any suspicion. Your fiancé, unlike most of the male sex, is no fool.’