Terror by Gaslight

by Edward Taylor

  ‘I would imagine,’ said Steele, ‘that he has been doing quite well from his trading with Tommy Slaughter, supplying him with the wherewithal to drug horses and manipulate the result of races.’

  Willoughby’s jaw dropped. ‘You scoundrel! You knew! Why didn’t you tell us?’

  Steele corrected him gently. ‘Not so, George. I didn’t know. It was just a theory. After all, Slaughter’s record as a racehorse trainer is not exactly unblemished. We were going to investigate Frankel once the Maniac had been caught.’

  ‘Well, you won’t need to now. Slaughter agreed to tell us everything, once we consented to reduce his charge. It’s been changed from attempted murder to grievous bodily aarm.’

  Mason rubbed his head ruefully. ‘It felt like attempted murder to me!’

  ‘Don’t worry, he’ll still go down for a long time. Anyway, it seems Frankel is well known to London’s underworld, as a sort of all-purpose crime doctor. For a lot of cash, he’s been treating wounded criminals who daren’t go to hospital. And, besides supplying stuff to affect horses, he’s provided drugs for all sorts of illegal purposes. We think he may even have sold explosives to anarchists!’

  Mason whistled with surprise.

  ‘I’m pleased to hear you talk of his villainy in the past tense,’ said Steele.

  ‘You can be sure of that.’ Willoughby swallowed a little more whisky, and the triumph returned to his voice. ‘I led a raid on Dunblane just before dawn this morning and arrested both Frankel and his secretary, Charles Stone. We had to move fast, there was a chance they might flee the country.’

  ‘Was there a struggle?’ Steele enquired.

  ‘Yes. Between the villains. Frankel blamed the secretary for getting the police on to them. Apparently, Stone’s little game was stalking women on the Heath till he got them alone, and then exposing himself.’

  Mason winced in disgust. Steele drew on his little cigar and said, ‘I must say, that doesn’t surprise me.’

  ‘In fact, Frankel was quite wrong. We hadn’t heard about those goings-on. Women too embarrassed to report it, I suppose. Anyway, that’s what Frankel thought, and he laid into Stone with a stick. Then the manservant, Prosser, joined in and knocked them both down. Said he’d been wanting to do that for months.’

  Steele smiled. ‘I can believe it. We’ve met Prosser. An extremely robust character, I’d say.’

  ‘As tough as a threepenny chop,’ Mason confirmed. ‘Not the sort of man to get the wrong side of.’

  ‘Well, the bad doctor seems to have done that all right. We had to hold Prosser back or he’d have killed him. Prosser says Frankel’s been abusing and ill-treating boys: young lads who’ve worked for him. If we get him on that, the swine will go down for an extra fifteen years, on top of twelve for his other villainy.’

  ‘Will you be able to prove it?’

  ‘I’m sure we will. Prosser’s eager to testify in court. And he says he can find two recent victims who’ll speak up.’

  ‘That should do it,’ said Mason.

  ‘It seems Stone was at it, too. I think he’ll turn Queen’s evidence to make it easier for himself.’

  ‘A very nasty household,’ Steele observed.

  ‘More scum than we’ve got on our water-butt,’ said Mason.

  ‘Extremely nasty,’ Willoughby agreed. ‘I’m very glad to have rounded them up.’

  This time the inspector’s triumph was not deflated.

  ‘Well done, George!’ Steele’s admiration was genuine.

  ‘Congratulations, sir!’ Mason exclaimed. ‘The Highgate Road has got rid of three evil men in one week!’

  ‘A splendid week for the law,’ said Steele. ‘Two cases concluded already, and it’s only Thursday!’

  ‘Three, in fact,’ said Willoughby. ‘Surrey police have closed their file on the death of Florence Austin. It’s clear her husband killed her, and it’s a shame he’s escaped the proper penalty. Still, he has come to a suitably unpleasant end.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Steele. ‘At the hands of one of the daughters he tormented.’ He paused for a moment, while all three reflected on the poetic justice. Then he asked, ‘How is Clare Austin?’

  ‘Physically, she is recovering well. Your shot to the shoulder was well judged. Mentally, I’m afraid she goes from bad to worse. She has become quite wild, and attacked a male nurse who was tending her. She now has an armed guard at her bedside.’

  ‘Do the doctors let you talk to her?’

  ‘She demands to see me, in order to brag about her crimes. She admits killing Grace Butters, who she calls “a silly old woman, too feeble to stand up for herself”.’

  Steele shook his head thoughtfully. ‘Do you think she might escape the gallows on the grounds of insanity?’

  ‘Quite possibly,’ said Willoughby. ‘Since the M’Naghten ruling, courts are making many more allowances for mental disturbance.’

  He was referring to the case of Daniel M’Naghten, a Scottish carpenter who, some years earlier, had shot dead Sir Robert Peel’s secretary under the delusion that he was assassinating Peel himself. He claimed he thought the Prime Minister had been out to kill him. He escaped the death penalty, when his counsel convinced the court that M’Naghten suffered from other delusions as well, and was not responsible for his actions at the time of the killing. After that, it was accepted as a possible defence that some people can suffer from monomania, a form of madness that causes occasional bouts of homicidal hysteria, while leaving the individual intellectually sound. It was a defence of which the police, and many of the public, did not approve.

  Steele was familiar with the rule.

  ‘The M’Naghten Rule applied to a single homicide, did it not? Miss Austin killed several times.’

  The inspector sniffed. He was clearly one of those who didn’t care for the current trend.

  ‘I’ve no doubt a clever lawyer could argue that the condition could be recurrent,’ he said. ‘Anyway, two medical experts are to examine the woman next week.’

  ‘I hope they may be merciful,’ said Steele. ‘The poor wretch has been much ill-used.’

  ‘I shall do nothing to send her to the hangman,’ Willoughby assured him. ‘I am content that no more young men will be murdered on the Heath. At least, not by Clare Austin.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Now, gentlemen, to a more pleasant topic. The younger sister.’ He glanced at Mason. ‘I understand you have been looking after her.’

  Steele intervened. ‘Mrs Mason has. Jack himself has been relaxing in hospital. There’s a nurse there he’s much attracted to.’

  Mason ignored the jibe. ‘Yes, Emily has been treating Harriet like a daughter. She’ll be sorry to say goodbye to her.’

  ‘Miss Austin is moving today to a more permanent home,’ Steele explained. ‘We’ve managed to trace her mother’s brother, Richard Cresswell, living in Richmond and unaware of his niece’s problems. He’s delighted to have her join his family. And he’ll be here to collect her shortly.’

  Willoughby was a kindly man and he smiled with genuine pleasure. ‘Ah! A happy outcome indeed!’

  ‘Which we hope may become even happier. Cresswell is in touch with Harriet’s mother in Australia, where she has a gentleman friend. He thinks they may come to England and marry, now Austin’s dead. So, in due course, the girl may experience the novelty of having loving parents around her.’

  The hall door was knocked and opened, and a uniformed policeman came in. He addressed the inspector.

  ‘Excuse me, sir. The postman just delivered this letter for Miss Clare Austin. Sergeant Atkins thought you would want to deal with it.’

  ‘Quite right, Constable. It may contribute to our investigation.’ Willoughby nodded at Steele. ‘This may give us some clue as to the girl’s state of mind.’ He took the proffered letter, produced a penknife from his pocket, slit the envelope, and produced a folded sheet of notepaper. As he pulled it out, a smaller piece of paper fluttered to the floor.

  ‘Hello,’ said Willoughby, ‘tha
t looks like a cheque.’ He picked it up, and it was a cheque.

  Steele’s mind raced. ‘Good Lord! I wonder …’ He paused. ‘What does the letter say?’

  Willoughby read it aloud.

  Dear Miss Austin. Thank you for sending us the above story, which we would like to publish in our February issue. I enclose our cheque for ten guineas in full payment. Please let us know if this is acceptable to you. Yours faithfully, J.G. Blythe, Assistant Editor, Strand Magazine. P.S. We would be interested to see any other stories you write.

  ‘What’s all this about?’

  Steele’s face wore a sad smile as he answered. ‘The girl aspired to be a writer. She told us she had sent her first story to The Strand.’ His eye fell on the letter-heading. ‘Good heavens! Look what her story’s called!’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘The Hand of Justice.’ Steele gave a little mirthless laugh. ‘Life has its cruel ironies, has it not?’

  Ever practical, Mason asked, ‘What happens to the letter and cheque now, sir?’

  Willoughby took the letter back from Steele. ‘They are not relevant to our inquiries, so I shall hand them to Miss Austin in one of her more lucid moments. She is not yet a convicted felon, so she is entitled to receive mail. And money, of course.’

  ‘Rather too late,’ Steele observed. ‘Still, perhaps it may be some consolation to the poor creature. Her wretched life has not been without some worthwhile achievement.’

  The constable had been standing respectfully silent, but he now gave a discreet little cough, and spoke up.

  ‘I have another message, sir.’

  ‘Yes, Phillips?’

  ‘Miss Harriet Austin asked me to let these gentlemen know that she’s done her packing. When she returns from the garden, she’ll be ready to leave.’

  Willoughby was astonished. ‘The garden? In this weather? What the devil is she doing out there?’

  ‘I couldn’t quite follow, sir. Something about a rabbit.’

  ‘Hm. Well, women do strange things. Thank you, Phillips.’

  Constable Phillips withdrew, and Willoughby turned a puzzled face towards Steele. ‘What on earth would induce the girl to go out in the garden on a day like this?’

  Steele’s reply was somewhat self-satisfied. The blackcurrant wine had made him quite mellow. ‘I think she may be reacting to a discussion we had on the way here.’

  ‘Oh, the lost cat!’ said Mason. He told the inspector about Austin’s cruel hoax.

  ‘Good gracious!’ said Willoughby. ‘That actually happened, did it? Clare Austin described it in one of her mad ravings. I thought she might be fantasizing.’

  ‘No, it really happened,’ Steele confirmed. ‘And after that the cat, Ella, disappeared, to Harriet’s great distress. Today I realized where the creature might be found.’

  ‘Another of your theories,’ said Willoughby, with a hint of mockery.

  ‘My dear chap, I prefer to think of it as deduction,’ Steele purred. ‘Obviously, Austin will have set out to kill his daughter’s pet rather than just pretend to do so. But Ella saw him coming, sensed the man’s evil intentions, and fled the house.’

  ‘A sensible thing to do,’ Willoughby observed.

  ‘Very sensible,’ Steele agreed. ‘She will have needed a refuge. She must have felt cold and unloved,’ he continued. ‘In need of comforting.’

  ‘I know the feeling,’ said Willoughby. He took another swig of whisky.

  ‘She will have sought a friend. And today, in the cab, Harriet told us how her cat loved to play with Herbert, her rabbit, and Freddie, her guinea pig.’

  ‘The guinea pig’s gone,’ said Mason.

  ‘So he has,’ said Steele. ‘But his abandoned hutch will still be there, with a strong scent of Freddie left behind. I suggested Harriet might look inside.’

  At this moment they saw Harriet coming up the garden path cradling a cat in one arm and carrying a straw basket with the other. Above the rim of the basket two furry ears could be seen. Mason jumped up and opened the garden door and she came in, glowing with happiness.

  ‘You were right, Major!’ she declared. ‘Ella was playing with Herbert in Freddie’s old cage. They’d torn back the wire so they could get in and out. Thank you a million times! Now I can take them both to Uncle Richard’s!’

  ‘Let’s hope Uncle Richard is an animal lover,’ said Mason.

  ‘He should be,’ said Steele. ‘He’s a vet.’ He turned to Inspector Willoughby. ‘Make that four cases concluded this week, George.’

  By the Same Author

  The Shadow of Treason

  Copyright

  © Edward Taylor 2015

  First published in Great Britain 2015

  ISBN 978 0 7198 1879 0 (epub)

  ISBN 978 0 7198 1880 6 (mobi)

  ISBN 978 0 7198 1881 3 (pdf)

  ISBN 978 0 7198 1661 1 (print)

  Robert Hale Limited

  Clerkenwell House

  Clerkenwell Green

  London EC1R 0HT

  www.halebooks.com

  The right of Edward Taylor to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988