Mr Bucket was unmoved. ‘Let he who is without sin and all that. Anyhow, some weightier matter came to light that you knew could be used against her. And this intelligence suited you admirably because you feared that Lady Rhynde knew or had guessed that you had something to do with her own missing ferns. Thus you had something over her to ensure her silence. And that’s what I believe them who knows bigger words than the likes of me call ironic. Because having interviewed her ladyship I’m quite certain that she originally had no inkling of any impropriety on your part nor even any suspicions regarding Chuddersby.’
Gordon noticed the first crack in Baroness Sowerby’s facade. At the news that her risky and – presumably – illegal enterprise had all been for nothing, she winced briefly and he thought he detected a sudden paleness to her complexion. But then she seemed, after an internal struggle, to reach a decision.
‘You are a very shrewd and clever man, Mr Bucket. Far more so than I would have credited for someone in such a lowly station in life. So now it is time to lay our cards on the table. You believe I am responsible for stealing ferns from certain ladies in London, and of….’
At this point she glanced in Gordon’s direction as if she had only then remembered he was present and felt constrained to choose her words carefully. The fact that his own chief and this apparent criminal, however well regarded in society she might be, appeared to share a secret to which Gordon was not privy made him feel like a child being protected from grown-up matters by his parents. He had little choice, though, but to silently go along with their game and listen to her pronouncement.
‘… Of attempting to embarrass Lady Rhynde. But I also suspect that you cannot, nor never will be able to, prove any of it – and since I certainly shall not own to any such improprieties I don’t see that you have any choice but to quietly let the matter drop.’
‘These are not improprieties, madam, but crimes. Don’t you see? Offences for which people go to gaol if convicted. I spoke of warrants earlier, and what if I were to obtain one that permitted me to examine every nook and cranny of this splendid residence, eh? What do you think I might find – plants which might be identified by bereft owners? Copies or originals of incriminating letters? Perhaps, if your ladyship is as meticulous as I suspect she is, even accounting ledgers showing unusual payments to certain former butlers known to associate with the criminal fraternity.’
‘You would never be granted such a warrant, Bucket.’
‘It is my job so to do, your ladyship.’
‘But I am not a common criminal. I am the widow of Sir Langley Sowerby. I have only to say the word to ensure not only that any warrant sought by you is refused or rescinded, but that your future in the Detective is a very short one.’
Mr Bucket stuck his thumbs in his lapels and considered this for a moment. ‘Well, now; I see I shall have to lay my cards on the table too. It is only Mr Jukes – Chuddersby to you – as I’m interested in from a criminal point of view. Does he still keep a room here?’
‘Keep a room? May I remind you, sir, that this is not a common lodging house.’
‘No it is not. But I suspect that he has some sort of temporary base here – perhaps his old room still contains some of his possessions?’
‘We have plenty of spare rooms and it has not been cleared out.’
‘And when he visits – as I know he does – he makes use of this room?’
‘He has been known to – but I can assure you that you will not find him there now or at any time in the future.’
‘I can quite believe it. But I believe him to have involved himself in other enterprises – ones with which madam would certainly not want her name to be associated. More to the point, I suspect that an item purloined by him, which would have a great bearing on this grave matter, can be found in this house. Will you not reconsider your decision to prevent us from inspecting the premises?
‘Good day, Inspector.’
‘That is a shame. The other things that have been alluded to can be put right and then forgotten about. Earlier, I mentioned laying my cards on the table and speaking of cards, madam seems to delight in gambling for high stakes – and believe me, these are high stakes for a person of your station. Maybe you could stymie my inquiries, and yes, even get me the sack. Maybe not. I ask very little of you, and the consequences of denying me could prove to be disastrous for you. I could obtain new employment – but could your ladyship get her reputation back so easily? I’m sure a little time for reflection will make madam come round to my way of thinking! I have other matters to attend to, so my colleague and I shall bid you good day.’
Without further ado Mr Bucket gave a slight bow, and they proceeded to show themselves out. Out in the street, the fog had cleared somewhat and a weak, hazy sun shimmered over Hyde Park.
‘Could she really get the case stopped, get you dismissed?’
‘There’s no maybe about it, Mr Gordon. She risks exposing her own underhand dealings, and after we’ve let her stew awhile she should see sense. But she’s a pig-headed woman when all’s said and done, so what we need is an insurance policy.’
‘What do you mean?’
Mr Bucket stopped and rubbed his chin as if the plan were still solidifying in his mind. ‘If some minor calamity were to befall number 6, Belgrave Place in the middle of the night, which prompted her ladyship to rush out, and some brave officers of the law forsook all thoughts of their own personal safety and rushed in….’
Gordon broke into a grin. ‘Such as a burglar who makes a lot of noise yet manages to slip through our hands!’
‘Or a fire….’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘You did say minor calamity, sir. Much as I detest Baroness Sowerby I shouldn’t wish to see her burn to death.’
‘Upon my soul, not a bit of it! But if some deranged criminal mind could engineer a small, contained blaze in an uninhabited area, creating a lot of smoke without causing much damage ….’
‘The consequences if your plan should be discovered ….’
‘Why, I might just as well get sacked for one thing as another!’
Gordon couldn’t argue with that – and besides, the idea of Baroness Sowerby getting her come-uppance in such a deliciously devious plot appealed to his sense of natural justice, if not to his professional one. ‘I believe it would have to be tonight, and that someone should keep the house under surveillance in the meantime to prevent her from disposing of the evidence.’
‘Why, Lord! It’s mighty selfless of you to volunteer for such a tedious task,’ beamed Mr Bucket.
‘Thank you; but I wasn’t exactly—’
‘Such enthusiasm shall be noted in your record, that’s what shall be done! In the meantime I need to see a man about a fire.’
‘You have someone in mind?’
‘I do indeed – a trustworthy and intelligent fellow who will be perfect for this job – none other than our friend Mr George!’
XXIII
A FIGURE LEANED against a wall near the corner of Belgrave Square and Belgrave Place, unhurriedly refilling his pipe. He was well away from the nearest street light, his head covered by a broad-brimmed felt hat so little could be discerned of his features; but he was powerfully built and despite his casual posture there was something of the military bearing about him. He had some sort of workman’s canvas bag slung over his left shoulder, which looked bulky and filled to capacity. It was coming up to 2.30 in the morning, and the presence of a man loitering at this hour might arouse suspicion in other towns and villages; but this was London, a place where idlers and workers alike haunted the streets and alleyways at all times of the day and night. A police constable turned the corner of Eaton Place and strode slowly towards the man just as the newly lit tobacco in his pipe began to glow brightly in the darkness. Even though it was common for the constable to see people out and about at this hour, the man’s bag and loitering presence might well have prompted a brief comment or inquiry – but the policeman walked by and didn’t even look in
the smoker’s direction. In fact, Belgrave Place was not even part of his normal beat.
Soon after the policeman had passed, another man came into view. He was wearing an expensive silk top hat, and tapped the pavement with a silver-tipped cane. This man was quite fat, and the hint of unsteadiness in his gait showed that he had enjoyed a long and pleasantly bibulous evening with friends. When his eyes fell upon the pipe smoker, a scowl darkened his face.
‘What are you about?’ he growled.
When no reply was forthcoming, he stopped and glared at the idler. ‘I ask again, sir – what are you about at this hour? There have been burglaries in this area!’
A contented puff of the pipe was the only response from the man in the shadows, which only served to inflame the fat man further. He banged his cane down and lurched towards the object of his suspicions. But before a confrontation could develop the constable who had passed by only moments earlier returned.
‘Nothing to worry about, sir. Let’s not cause a fuss and go waking folks up.’
‘But …’ spluttered the fat man, pointing his cane in the pipe smoker’s direction.
‘This fellow is known to me,’ said the constable calmly but firmly, ‘and there is no cause for concern at all. Kindly move along.’
The fat man did reluctantly get under way again, occasionally glancing back over his shoulder at the mysterious, silent presence leaning against the wall. Once he had gone, the constable gave the pipe smoker what almost looked like a wink before returning to his patrol.
Belgrave Place fell silent once again. The pipe smoker removed his pocket watch and struck a match so that he could read it clearly, then he glanced both ways, straightened himself up and walked briskly towards Eaton Place. This narrow thoroughfare ran at a right angle to Belgrave Place, and a little way along it was a gap between the buildings that led to the rear of number 6 Belgrave Place, home of Baroness Sowerby. He disappeared from sight, and when he reappeared approximately twenty minutes later, his empty bag flapping loosely with each step, the man pulled the brim of his hat down low over his eyes and headed away from Belgrave Place towards the east of the capital.
The policeman conveniently reappeared at this point and retraced his steps along Belgrave Place. As he passed number 6 he glanced up. All seemed well, but he stopped and waited. Within two minutes, black smoke began to seep through an open window at the top of the building, and the constable immediately sprang his rattle and twirled it energetically.
‘FIRE! FIRE!’
Within seconds, the windows of numerous houses were lowered and servants’ heads emerged. Raised, muffled voices began to seep into the streets, and lights come on. Almost as if they had been waiting for this moment, two men came running out of Wilton Street and made for number 6, where the constable was, by now, hammering on the door and shouting urgently. The glow of lighted candles flitting quickly past upper windows could be seen from the street below. Soon there was a rattling of bolts and locks, and the door was thrown open. By now, smoke was billowing from the top floor window. The constable entered the house yelling for everyone to leave, and as the two men – a rather portly one of average height and a taller, more athletically shaped figure – approached the steps, two women were in the act of leaving, the younger of the two supporting the other on her arm. Both were still wearing night-clothes and had blankets wrapped around their shoulders; the woman being supported was short, wiry and elderly. Physically she looked frail, yet signs of an inner strength could be seen in her eyes: she was not a person easily given to panic or fear. When her gaze fell upon the two men coming up the steps, her countenance darkened considerably.
And when the stouter of the two men touched the rim of his hat as he brushed past her, saying, ‘Fear not! We shall ensure everything is taken care of,’ rage flared across her features, but he and his companion were already in the house before she could raise her voice.
XXIV
AT FIRST IT seemed odd to be charging into someone’s property in the midst of such pandemonium about a fire, when on the lower floors there was no evidence inside the building of any conflagration whatsoever. By the time Gordon and Mr Bucket reached the first floor landing they encountered their accomplice, Constable Garmory, bringing up a pail of water from the kitchens below.
‘No rush, Constable,’ said Mr Bucket now that they were out of sight of the house’s normal inhabitants. ‘Mr George knows what he’s about. There’ll be no danger from that fire.’
But the policeman still beat them to the top floor. As they climbed after him up the narrow stairs to the servants’ quarters, they could at first smell and then see the smoke. Gordon was surprised, then, to hear laughter from above.
‘Why, old George decided to make life easier for us!’ Constable Garmory exclaimed when they joined him. And there, positioned neatly outside the door under and around which the smoke was emanating, stood a large pail of water.
They joined in the constable’s mirth, and Mr Bucket picked the additional pail up and handed it to Gordon. ‘You can play the fireman!’ he grinned.
Garmory opened the door cautiously and they waited a moment to let the initial rush of smoke escape. Through the smoke Gordon glimpsed tongues of orange flame, no more than a foot high, in the centre of what looked like a little-used storage closet with bare floorboards and just a dust-coated cupboard inside. The constable advanced towards the fire and emptied the contents of his pail onto it. This in itself appeared to have doused the fire completely, but Gordon followed suit just to be sure. He could now see that to protect the floorboards the fire had been made on a few house bricks, and appeared to consist of some kindling at the bottom with green shrub-like leaves and wet branches placed on top.
Mr Bucket produced a sack from the pocket of his great coat. ‘Here, Garmory. Once it’s a-cooled down all safe and sound you’d better place everything in here and take it away for … eeh … scientific examination.’
‘Very good sir.’
Then, turning to Gordon, Mr Bucket said, ‘Let’s look sharp, Mr Gordon! You take her ladyship’s private rooms. Ferns and letters!’ he urged. ‘Collect up all the ferns, and then look for letters – private, incriminating letters. But don’t you go a-reading ’em! I’m going to the servants’ quarters.’
‘But what if they’re Baroness Sowerby’s own ferns?’
‘If they’re hidden away, chances are they’re all a-pilfered, Mr Gordon. We shall work on that basis, anyhow. Bag ’em all, or at least as many as you can. Any inconsistencies can be sorted out at a later date, but I doubt whether her baronesship will press the point.’
He dashed off to inspect other rooms in the attic while Gordon hurried down the stairs, wondering quite how he could identify incriminating letters without reading their contents.
Moving quickly along the landing, he soon located what could only be Baroness Sowerby’s bedroom. This was spartan in the extreme, but otherwise looked perfectly normal; there was a door leading off it, which he assumed must be her dressing room, so he turned his attentions there. As soon as Gordon opened the door he felt as though he had entered a jungle. The room was full of ferns in containers of all shapes and sizes. He took from his pocket the hessian sack he had been instructed to bring along, and began to carefully fill it. Once this was done, his eyes fell on some sort of bureau, which had previously been hidden by the mass of foliage. The first drawer he tried was locked, but before he could try any others Gordon heard an urgent clatter of footsteps on the stairs. He went out onto the landing and was confronted by two men in the uniform of the Fire Brigade – and Mr Bucket, who had moved swiftly to intercept them.
‘Bravo, gentlemen! A swift and timely response – you are a credit to your insurance company. I am Inspector Bucket of the Detective, I am, and let me assure you that no further professional intervention is required, as the fire is quite put out. My colleague and I – Mr James Alexander Gordon, the Seventh Earl of Drumnadrochit, no less – just happened to be patrolling these streets in
search of Lenny Boyle the notorious cat burglar when we were alerted to the fire by the constable’s rattle. Turns out it was a conflagration of small and harmless proportions, easily extinguished. Perhaps you might explain that to her baronesship on your way out?’
The would-be firefighters seemed only too happy to be able to return to their beds, and trooped back the way they had come.
‘I have found a locked bureau, Mr Bucket.’
‘Lead on!’
The detectives went back into the dressing room, where Mr Bucket bent down to examine the locks on the drawers of the desk for a few seconds. He then reached into his pocket and drew something out – Gordon could not see what it was, but he soon heard a great deal of fumbling and scraping for a minute or two, followed finally by a distinct metallic click. He heard Mr Bucket let out a little grunt of satisfaction, before pulling the top drawer open and rummaging around inside.
‘Bingo!’ he cried, and waved a bundle of letters in the air like a trophy. They were tied together with a black ribbon, which Mr Bucket quickly undid, picking out one of the letters at random and inspecting it. ‘Yes, just as I thought,’ he said rather enigmatically, slipping the letters into his pocket.
He then reached into another pocket and took out a piece of paper and a small, rectangular, silver box, ornately decorated – no doubt his prizes from Jukes’s old quarters.
‘Lookee here, Mr Gordon!’
‘Is that the snuffbox taken from Dr Scambles’ room?’
‘I’m willing to wager my career on it. Come to think of it, I am wagering my career on it. Better make sure then!’ He opened the box and sampled a generous pinch. ‘Yes. Good quality, that. Too rich for Alfred Jukes’s pocket – sure to have belonged to Dr Scambles. Care to join me in a pinch?’
Gordon shook his head. ‘It’s not something I indulge in, sir. So, Jukes was the person who broke into Mrs Scambles’ house. I can’t help thinking that it must be linked to the murder of Mizzentoft – yet I can’t think how.’
Murder in Montague Place Page 19