‘A very nasty young man,’ said Mason. ‘But clever. He’d have got away with that but for you.’
‘You flatter me, Jack,’ said Steele, not displeased. ‘It was the police who found the hair on Nesbitt’s golf club.’
‘Only because you told them where to look.’ Having softened up the senior man, Mason ventured further. ‘You think this may be the same thing? Someone’s doing random murders before he kills his real target?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘So there may be more deaths?’
After brief consideration, Steele’s reply was measured. ‘Perhaps not. I hope not. My instinct suggests that Robert Kemp may have been the assassin’s ultimate target.’
‘Any reason, apart from intuition?’
‘Consider the difference between the previous crimes and this last one. The first three were casual killings, in remote parts of the Heath. Pitch darkness, deserted areas, no police patrols, at least in the first two cases. Easy crimes for a ruthless killer who knows how to use a knife and has the advantage of surprise. Am I correct?’
‘Yes, guv’nor. You’re always correct.’ Mason allowed himself a slight smile. ‘But how was last night different?’
‘Kemp’s murder was scarcely on the Heath at all. It was behind a house, facing the main road. Street lamps. The possibility of passers-by, even at night. If this was another random killing, the villain could have found an easier victim in a quiet place. But he was determined to kill Kemp, and did so at some risk to himself.’
‘You mean, risk of retaliation?’
‘Risk of being observed. Someone looking through the window of one of the houses. Someone taking a short cut. Such was the risk that he dared not stay to finish the job. He left his victim dying, instead of already dead, as on all previous occasions.’
‘Right.’ It all seemed obvious, now that Steele had pointed it out. ‘So we’re looking for someone who wanted Robert Kemp dead.’
‘That is my present feeling. Of course, we mustn’t close our minds to other possibilities. Kemp’s killer may have wanted to strike a blow at the Austin household.’ Steele paused. ‘I am interested in this man Scully.’
‘The gardener who was sacked.’
‘Precisely. A man with long red hair and piercing eyes.’
‘You may recall a man with long red hair was near the scene of the Tate murder?’
‘Indeed. I also recall that Clare Austin seemed a little startled when Scully was mentioned. What was his first name, Jack?’
Mason consulted his notes. ‘Luke. Luke Scully.’
‘We must find Luke Scully as soon as possible.’
‘I’ll ask around the Hampstead pubs.’
‘That shouldn’t be too onerous for you. We’ll talk to friend Willoughby, and enlist the help of the constabulary.’
When the two had made their discreet exit from the army, there had been some quiet liaison between Military Intelligence and senior figures in the Metropolitan Police. Officially, of course, the latter had to disapprove of the duo’s unorthodox methods as strongly as the army had done. But Scotland Yard recognized the value of two astute investigators who were not bound by the same rules as the police were, and a senior policeman, Chief Inspector George Willoughby, had been appointed to maintain an unofficial link with Steele and Mason, with a view to mutual assistance.
The alliance had already borne fruit, when Steele and Mason had helped Scotland Yard solve the murder of a Russian diplomat. The police would never have been able to penetrate the ambassador’s study and examine his papers, something which, of course, never happened. So Anglo-Russian relations remained unruffled.
The hall door opened, and Clare Austin came in. The men rose to their feet.
‘Please be seated, gentlemen,’ said Clare. ‘Forgive me for leaving you. You’ll understand my concern for Harriet.’
‘Of course,’ said Steele. ‘How is she now?’
‘She’s still sleeping. It took a while to convince her that what she saw in the basket was a hare from the butcher’s. But I succeeded in the end.’
‘Poor girl,’ said Mason.
‘Poor girl indeed,’ echoed Clare. ‘Ella is still missing, and Harriet fears she’ll come to harm, if she hasn’t already.’
‘Small wonder,’ Steele observed. ‘The evil mind behind that trick may have other unpleasant plans.’
‘Let us not beat about the bush, Major. The evil mind we are talking about is that of my father.’
Steele sighed. ‘Yes. It does appear so.’
‘There can be no doubt of it. He told Mrs Butters that Harriet was to be punished. And he had time to do it before he left the house.’
Mason shook his head sadly. ‘Extraordinary! For a man to do that to his child.’
‘I do believe he hates her,’ said Clare. ‘I fear for her safety.’
Steele stared at the young woman. ‘For her safety? You put it as strongly as that?’
‘I do. I think my father is bent on driving her mad.’
As the detectives digested these remarkable words, Clare seemed to make a decision. There was new frankness and urgency in her voice. ‘Major, I thank heaven that you gentlemen have come into our lives. I beg your help in saving her. Please protect us both from our father!’
Steele spoke calmly. ‘Our help you shall certainly have when needed, Miss Austin. But it’s hard to see how we can act against your father at present. Putting a dead hare in a cat’s basket is wicked but it is not an illegal act. Unless he breaks the law there is little we can do. Is there anything more you can tell us?’
‘Yes. I was too restrained in answering your questions earlier. This latest atrocity has convinced me I must speak out.’
‘Please do. What you say will be treated as confidential.’
‘I believe our father’s cruelty to Harriet has some financial motive. I do not understand business but my instinct tells me so. I think he may be planning to steal her inheritance. Or there may already have been some improper use of funds. Such things would be against the law, surely. Is it possible you could look into that aspect? As an act of kindness. I cannot pay any fees.’
‘You need not worry about fees, we have our own reasons for probing your father’s affairs. We can assist each other, Miss Austin. It’s difficult to pursue our inquiries when we are barred from this house. Will you continue to admit us at times when your father is absent?’
‘I can do better than that.’ As she spoke, Clare went to the mantelpiece, removed the lid from a small pewter pot, and took out a key. ‘This is a spare key to that garden door. Please take it. But have a copy made and put this back in place before it’s missed.’
‘Thank you. I can return it at once, if you have water and a bar of soap available.’
‘Soap and water? Well, there is a washbasin in the conservatory there.’ She was pointing to a door at the end of the room. ‘But I don’t understand.’
Steele took the key and went to the door. ‘Mr Mason will explain while I do the job,’ he said. He opened the door and disappeared into the conservatory.
Mason welcomed the chance of some cheerful chat. ‘A little trick we have learned from the criminal fraternity, Miss Austin. You soften the soap with water, and then press the key into it. If you take the key out gently, it will leave an exact impression. We know one or two craftsmen who can use that to produce a perfect replica.’
‘Oh. Is that legal?’
‘Er … not entirely. But if it’s done in a good cause …’ Mason smiled. ‘Say no more.’ He now broached a new subject. As the medical half of the team, he felt it was his province. ‘We were surprised that your sister is prescribed strong sedatives. Is Dr Frankel an experienced physician?’
‘I doubt it. He doesn’t seem to do general practice. His interest is in research, we’re told.’
‘Yet he’s your family doctor!’
‘That’s because he’s my father’s crony, as I told you. Since Dr Frankel moved in last year, they�
��ve been as thick as thieves. They go together to their club every Sunday night. To play whist, I think.’
Steele returned from the conservatory, using a small towel to dry his hands, the key, and the bar of soap. ‘Thank you, Miss Austin.’ He handed Clare the key, then wrapped the soap in a piece of paper from the wastepaper basket and put it in his pocket. ‘I hope this soap won’t be missed.’
‘I shall replace it with a new bar. I know where Mrs Butters keeps them.’
‘I think that would be wise,’ said Steele. ‘We’ll have a duplicate key by tomorrow. And, speaking of keys, it might help us uncover your father’s activities if I could unlock these desk drawers. Also that bureau over there.’
‘I can assist you with the desk,’ said Clare. She replaced the door key and extracted a small key from the same pot. ‘But I cannot help you with the bureau. I’ve never seen it opened, and I’ve no idea where the key is kept.’ She held out the desk key for Steele, but he declined.
‘I won’t take that now, Miss Austin. I have a lot more questions to ask while I’m with you. If you’ll kindly replace it in the pot, I’ll know where to find it when I need it.’
Clare returned the little key to the pot, and turned to face the detectives. ‘What more can I tell you, gentlemen?’
At that moment the hall door flew open and in rushed Mrs Butters, in a state of great alarm.
‘Miss Austin, Miss Austin!’ she cried. ‘The master’s back!’
Clare was visibly shaken. ‘What? He’s come home?’
‘And he told me not to let these gentlemen in! What are we to do?’
Mason glanced at the garden door. ‘Should we make a dash for it?’
‘No,’ said Steele. He shut the hall door as they heard the front door open and close beyond. ‘We could scarcely get away unseen. And if Austin glimpsed us fleeing, our friends here would be in worse trouble.’
Mrs Butters was gibbering. ‘What can we say? What can we do?’
‘Calm yourselves, ladies,’ said Steele. ‘I shall deal with this situation.’
‘But he has such a temper, sir! You haven’t seen him in one of his rages!’
‘No,’ said Steele. ‘It should be an interesting sight.’
From the hall came the sound of a cupboard door opening and closing.
‘Oh dear.’ Clare spoke evenly, her self-control now restored. ‘He has gone to the hall cupboard. That’s where he keeps his gun.’
‘A gun?’ said Steele. ‘Even more interesting.’
Then the hall door was flung open, and Meredith Austin entered, incandescent with rage, and carrying a shotgun.
‘You blackguards!’ he roared. ‘You have invaded my house again! You have flouted my orders!’
Steele remained cool. ‘You cannot be surprised to see us, sir.’ He indicated the shotgun. ‘You have come prepared.’
Now Austin’s voice was steely. ‘I received a message from my neighbour, Dr Frankel. He saw you both skulking back here. And you treacherous women let them in! Against my instructions!’
‘These good ladies had no option, sir. I had left a valuable silver pencil here.’
‘Ha!’ said Austin. ‘And it has taken you over an hour to find it! Do not waste time dissembling! You two scoundrels came back to pry, and I will not have it!’ He pointed the gun at Steele. ‘Leave my house at once, both of you! Or you will be sorry!’
Mason intervened. ‘Have you got a licence for that gun?’
‘Yes, I have. Though it is none of your business, I am licensed to shoot game on the Heath. Also vermin, in which category I include unwelcome intruders!’
‘I don’t think a court would share that view,’ said Steele.
‘A householder is entitled to defend his property.’
‘He is not entitled to harm visitors calling on lawful business. However, we shall not stay to bandy words; we have work to do.’
‘Then go and do it, by God, and cease to pester me!’
Steele moved towards the garden door. ‘Time to leave, I think, Mason. Next time we call, perhaps we should bring our friend from Scotland Yard with us.’
Austin was not intimidated. ‘Then make sure he brings a warrant with him, or he will fare no better.’
‘Do not trouble to show us out, Mrs Butters. We can leave by this door.’ Steele inclined his head to the women. ‘Good day to you, ladies. We apologize for barging in. Mr Austin must understand that you could not prevent us.’
The two men went to the garden door and Steele opened it. As Mason passed Austin, he grasped the barrel of the gun and swung it up to point at the ceiling. ‘If you’re going to wave that thing about, you should put on the safety catch,’ he advised. ‘Otherwise you might shoot yourself in the foot.’
‘Get out!’ thundered Austin. ‘Go now! Get out!’
Steele and Mason did so. Austin slammed the door behind them, and turned to face the trembling housekeeper and the stoical Clare. He was shaking with anger, and almost at a loss for words.
Clare spoke first. ‘I’m sorry you seem distressed, Father. Please calm yourself. Dr Frankel has warned you against excessive tension.’
‘He’d have done better to warn me against meddling troublemakers and disobedient women! I strictly forbade you to admit those men, Mrs Butters, and you have chosen to defy me!’
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ pleaded Mrs Butters. ‘It was the silver pencil.’
‘Silence!’ Austin shouted. ‘Do not insult me with that absurd pretext! I told you not to let them in, and within an hour you had done so!’
Clare’s voice was firm. ‘You must blame me. I told Mrs Butters to open the door to them.’
Austin stared at his daughter. ‘Oh, you did, did you? By thunder, I shall deal with you presently, madam!’ He turned back to Mrs Butters. ‘Does this young person pay your wages, woman?’
‘No, sir,’ mumbled the housekeeper.
‘“No, sir” indeed! I provide your wages and your home! So you will take your orders only from me, and not from junior members of my household. Do you understand?’
Mrs Butters affirmed that she did.
‘Very well,’ Austin continued. ‘That’s for the future. As to the past, you have disobeyed my direct orders. You will forfeit two weeks’ wages.’
‘Oh no, sir!’ begged the woman. ‘Not two weeks, please!’
‘Very well,’ said Austin, enjoying the moment. ‘Three weeks. Now leave the room and go about your work, before you lose your job altogether.’
‘Yes, sir,’ sobbed Mrs Butters. ‘As you say, sir.’
The dejected servant left, and Austin spent a moment closing the door behind her. Then he moved quietly, almost imperceptibly, to the other two doors, before rounding on his daughter.
‘So, you wretched girl! You admit to instigating this outrage!’
‘Yes, if that is how you describe an act of common courtesy.’
‘Courtesy? Courtesy?! Your first duty of courtesy, my girl, is to obey your father! That is your duty, and that is what you have wilfully failed to do!’
‘I merely helped a visitor retrieve his lost property.’
‘Poppycock! You brought enemies into my house, to spy on me. You have betrayed and dishonoured me, and you must be punished. You will learn that I do not tolerate disloyalty!’
Clare was quietly defiant. ‘You are welcome to fine me. The pittance you allow me is so small its absence will scarcely be noticed.’
‘For your shameful behaviour, madam, a fine will not suffice. A more severe penalty is appropriate.’
Austin went to the bureau and took a key from his waistcoat pocket. ‘It is fortunate that I never got rid of the horsewhip!’
Now Clare was very afraid, and her hand went automatically to the scar on her face. ‘No!’ she cried. ‘No!’ But she still disdained to use the word ‘please’.
It would have made no difference. Austin took the whip from the drawer and watched his daughter rush to the three doors and try each in turn. But her father
had locked them all.
A moment later, Clare’s screams were heard throughout the house. Indeed, they reached the house next door.
Dr Frankel looked up from his work and smiled.
5
CEDRIC JAMIESON WAS indeed moving up in the world, as Steele had observed. Abandoning the one-room office in Stepney, he had installed himself in Chancery Lane, the heartland of London’s legal profession. But the advance had been limited: his new premises were not palatial nor were they at the better end of the road.
As Steele and Mason approached the street number on Jamieson’s change-of-address card, they found themselves looking at Dolly’s Dairy, from which customers were emerging with jugs of fresh milk. Several churns stood outside on the pavement and through the shop window a young woman in a white hat and striped apron could be seen patting slabs of butter into shape with two small wooden bats.
Next to the long window, at the other end from the shop entrance, was a street door beside which cards in a small frame identified the occupants of the upper areas. The first floor was ascribed to ‘C.R. Jamieson, Solicitor’, the second to ‘Jas. Hoskins, Fruit Importer’ and the third to ‘Miss Lamour, Personal Services’.
The street door was unlocked. The two men entered and climbed a steep flight of narrow wooden stairs. At the first landing the staircase twisted round on its way to the higher regions. But the detectives had reached their destination, being in no need of imported fruit or wild oats at that time.
The door ahead of them amplified the information displayed downstairs. Here the lawyer was described as ‘Cedric R. Jamieson. Solicitor and Commissioner for Oaths’. This door also was unlocked. Steele opened it and the pair went in.
They were impressed to find that Jamieson now had an outer office, with a couple of chairs and framed certificates on the walls. There was also a desk, at which sat a spotty youth perusing a comic paper, his lips moving as he wrestled with occasional clusters of words.
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