By now Alfie could see the figure. It was Mallesh, grinning widely.
‘Mallesh and me have solved the problem for you,’ said Sammy placidly. ‘You’d better talk to him quick before he has to go. He’s signed on for a passenger ship going to India tonight.’
Sarah gasped. ‘How did you get out of the police station?’
‘I told the inspector that it was not possible for me to murder Mr Montgomery,’ said Mallesh. ‘I told him my friend knows that I was there at the lodging house all that evening and night. The inspector sent his man over to the East India Docks to bring back my friend to question him.’
‘Why didn’t you say that before?’ asked Jack.
‘I had thought Mr Montgomery was murdered in the morning,’ explained Mallesh. ‘That’s what I heard at the window when the inspector was talking to you.’
Alfie understood. The inspector had said that the body was found in the morning, and Mallesh must have assumed that the murder had just happened. However, there was something more important to be dealt with. ‘What’s that smell?’ he asked, sniffing.
Mallesh opened his mouth and blew strongly in Alfie’s direction. It did make the sharp smell much stronger – but that was not what filled Alfie’s mind with a sudden surge of excitement.
The fire had flared up and Mallesh’s widely opened mouth was clearly visible.
He had a mouth like the devil’s, all bright red, tongue and all – that’s how the gatekeeper had described the visitor to the Montgomery household.
‘Mr Scott!’ exclaimed Alfie.
‘Oh, shabash!’ exclaimed Mallesh. His very white teeth flashed in a grin of congratulations.
Sammy laughed. It was good to hear the sound. He was more himself today. An empty mug with some green leaves around the edges stood beside him. No doubt, Mallesh had given him a herbal drink.
‘See, Mallesh? I told you that Alfie here was a fly bloke.’
‘Dekho,’ said Mallesh taking something out of his mouth and pointing to it. ‘This is an Indian nut, wrapped in betel leaves. That’s what the smell is. That makes the red colour.’
‘Only someone who has been to India would have these betel leaves,’ said Sammy excitedly. ‘That’s what Mallesh has been telling me. Chances are that Mr Montgomery’s son wouldn’t have got hold of them, or have the habit in the first place – but Mr Scott has just come back from India.’
‘Why do people chew them?’ asked Sarah curiously, sitting down on the rag rug in front of the fire.
‘Makes you feel good – makes you . . . calm,’ said Mallesh. ‘I got some when I got the herbs for Sammy. My friend at the lodging house had my things safe.’ Once again he opened his mouth to let them see the red dye and smell the queer sharp smell.
‘But why should Mr Scott murder Mr Montgomery?’ Sarah sounded puzzled.
‘Perhaps they had a fight,’ suggested Jack.
‘Don’t think that was it,’ replied Alfie. ‘From what Betty said, the murderer was shadowing the two of them, and when she left Mr Montgomery, he moved in with his garrotting wire. She smelled the . . . what are they? The betel leaves. She smelled them and that’s what she told me – that he smelled funny. And of course, Sammy said the same thing. The man on the horse smelled funny, that’s right, isn’t it, Sam?’
‘It doesn’t make sense, though,’ said Sarah. ‘It would make much more sense if it was Mr Denis. He could murder his father, inherit all the wealth and pay off his gambling debts. Like we were talking about the other day.’
‘She’s right,’ said Jack, and Alfie nodded. That did make sense, but he believed Mallesh when he said that only someone from India would have that habit.
‘Perhaps you could talk to the inspector and get him to look for clues,’ said Sarah, but her voice sounded dubious and Alfie knew that this would not be a good idea.
‘Better for us to find out the reason first,’ he said wisely. ‘We’ve more brains than them fellows down at the police station.’
There was a silence. Alfie looked around. Tom was poking a stick into a gap in the fire and Jack was running his fingers through his dark hair. Sarah was turning her pattens over and over in her hands, Mallesh had his eyes closed and was chewing placidly on his betel leaves’ mixture and Sammy’s sightless eyes seemed to be fixed on the fire. Only Alfie would have known that the blind boy was thinking hard.
Sammy was the one that broke the silence. ‘What about the diamond belonging to Mallesh’s father?’ he asked.
Alfie gazed at him. There was no doubt that young Sammy had brains. Mallesh opened his eyes and smiled sleepily. ‘I have decided to forget the diamond,’ he said. ‘The inspector was very kind to me. I think he believed my story, but he said that he cannot give the diamond back to me. But he gave me a letter for the police in my hometown to look into the matter. And, another thing – this is very good for me – he gave me a police certificate to take to the East India Docks to say I can work on passenger ships as an attendant. So now I have a new job. I will make much more money on those ships than I did on the trading ships and then I will study to be a hakim.’
‘You’ll make a very good one,’ said Alfie warmly. ‘You was the one that cured old Sammy here.’
‘And your mother will be glad to see you come back,’ said Sarah softly.
Mallesh nodded and then he looked curiously at Sammy, whose face was still turned towards the fire. ‘What are you thinking of, Sammy?’ he asked.
‘You see, if there was one diamond in the ground,’ said Sammy turning around, ‘then there might have been more. Alfie, do you remember how Grandad used to tell us stories of how in Ireland people saw gold in the streams, and then when they dug into the mountain they found so much gold that they had their hearts’ desire.’
Alfie said nothing. He had always thought these tales of his grandfather had been fairy stories, but he was surprised to see Mallesh nodding vigorously.
‘You’re right, Sammy,’ he said. ‘I did not think of that. It is true. Where one diamond lies, fifty more may be hiding deep down in the earth and ready to be found.’
‘Perhaps there is a diamond mine in the place where your father found the diamond, Mallesh.’ Sammy sounded like someone going step by step through some well thought-out matter.
‘Would that land have been owned by Mr Montgomery?’ queried Sarah.
Mallesh nodded vigorously. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But not just by Mr Montgomery, remember they are . . . are together – a pair.’
‘Partners,’ said Sarah.
‘Yes, partners.’ Mallesh nodded again. ‘Mr Montgomery and Mr Scott.’
‘And now that Mr Montgomery is dead, then Mr Scott might be the owner,’ suggested Jack.
‘Surely he would have to share it with Mr Denis, though,’ argued Sarah. ‘That’s the law. I heard that from the man that runs the Ragged School. He said that if a rich man dies, then his eldest son inherits all his land and property. The wife only gets whatever has been settled on her when she was married. Mr Denis will be able to afford his gambling now his father is dead.’
‘Are we going back to having this Denis as the chief suspect, then?’ asked Jack.
‘It’s a puzzle, isn’t?’ said Alfie. He understood how Jack felt. ‘On the one hand, Mr Scott looks guilty because of Sammy and Betty smelling these betel leaves from the murderer – and the gatekeeper saw Mr Scott with a red mouth and red teeth, just like Mallesh has now.’
‘But on the other hand,’ said Jack slowly, ‘it seems as if Denis has more to gain. Don’t forget, we are only guessing about this diamond mine. We may be quite wrong.’
‘You’re right, Jack,’ said Sarah quietly. ‘We need some more evidence.’
Mallesh rose to his feet. ‘You will have to think. I wish I could help, but I must go now. My ship sails tonight. I just came back to say goodbye to you all.’
‘And one day, when you’ve made money and you are working as a hakim you might come back and show the English doctors how to cure sick
people,’ suggested Sammy, feeling the cut on his arm gingerly.
‘And perhaps some day I might come out to India,’ said Sarah softly. ‘I’d like to see those snow-covered mountains that you were telling me about, and to sit in a sari in the hot sun and watch elephants go down the road.’
‘Good luck with everything, Mallesh.’ Jack’s voice was warm as he clapped Mallesh on the shoulder.
‘Good luck,’ echoed Tom.
‘I’ll see you to the door,’ said Alfie gruffly. When he got there he didn’t quite know what to say, but eventually he squeezed Mallesh’s hand. ‘I’ll never forget what you did for Sammy,’ he said.
‘And I’ll never forget you all. You have been family to me,’ said Mallesh solemnly. ‘You believed me from the beginning and you protected me and fed me.’
He put the two palms of his hands together, said ‘Namaste’ and bowed in farewell. Then he was gone, leaving behind the faint tang of the sharp, clean-smelling betel leaves.
‘I have an idea, Alfie,’ said Sarah. ‘Tomorrow everyone will be out of the Montgomery house between eleven and twelve. They’ll all be at the funeral. Why don’t we go and have a look through Mr Scott’s bedroom? We might find something.’
‘How would we get in?’ The idea appealed to Alfie, but he was annoyed that he hadn’t thought of it himself.
‘Through the mews and then in through the scullery door. The key is hidden in an old pot outside the scullery. Cook told me to leave one there when I got permission to go to the Ragged School as soon as my work was done each evening, so I could let myself in if I came back late. I bet no one has thought to take the key away.’
Sarah and Alfie looked at each other. A smile began to form on Alfie’s lips. He liked the idea of this. Usually, if you took a chance, something turned up. This would be much better than trying to explain to the inspector that because a blind beggar boy and a poor girl from Monmouth Street had smelled betel leaves, the murderer had to be Mr Scott. He would never be believed. But who knew what they might find in the bedroom – even some betel leaves would help. This was just the sort of adventure that he liked.
‘Tomorrow, then, at eleven,’ said Alfie.
‘Tomorrow at eleven,’ repeated Sarah, as she rose to go to Betty’s place for the night.
‘Be careful,’ said Sammy quietly, as he stroked Mutsy’s head.‘That Mr Scott is a dangerous man.’
CHAPTER 28
ENEMY TERRITORY
The fog had seeped away overnight. Heavy black clouds replaced it, making narrow Monmouth Street as dark as if the day had decided to end almost as soon as it had begun. Small triangles of candle flames burned inside most windows and the lamplighter had already propped his ladder against a gas pole, his lighter in hand.
Sarah appeared so quickly that Alfie knew she had been waiting for him. Neither spoke as they made their way to Bedford Square. Alfie guessed that she was nervous, but he couldn’t think what to say. He kept throwing quick glances over his shoulder, expecting to see a giant, top-hatted shadow on the road behind them.
The mews at the back of the Bedford Square houses were busy. Almost every stable had men working on horses, brushing them, cleaning out the straw, putting in new straw, putting hay in the feeding racks, all except for the stables behind number one. These were silent and empty. All were at the funeral.
Sarah went confidently down the steps, through the yard and then slipped around the corner. Alfie followed her and Sarah already had the scullery door unlocked by the time he reached her. Luckily the yard had been swept clean so their bare feet did not leave marks on the luxurious carpet as the two of them raced up the main staircase, passing gold-framed mirrors, white marble statues and a marvellous stair window with pictures made from coloured glass. Alfie wished he could stop and study these, but he knew that he shouldn’t. There had been no servants in the kitchen, but that did not mean that some of them would not be coming back after the church service, and before the burial, in order to get the lunch ready for the mourners.
‘Where are the bedrooms?’ asked Alfie, but Sarah shook her head, looking around her helplessly.
‘I told you; I was never allowed upstairs,’ she whispered.
‘That’s where the drawing room was; the bedrooms are probably up the next set of stairs.’ Alfie had spent quite some time staring at the house from the gatekeeper’s shelter and he remembered the three rows of windows. The upper servants would probably be in the attics, so the bedrooms would be in the top row.
‘Not that one,’ whispered Sarah as Alfie opened the first door when they reached the top of the stairs. ‘That must be the missus’s.’ It did look like a woman’s room, with pretty flowery hangings on the bed and a table piled high with little boxes and jars in front of a tall looking glass.
‘Not this one either.’ The second room obviously led from the woman’s room and the doors were set open between the two rooms. This was probably Mr Montgomery’s room. The furniture was darker and the curtains plainer.
‘I’d say this is Mr Denis Montgomery’s room,’ said Sarah after a pause while they gazed into the third room. ‘There’s such a lot of things here – a visitor wouldn’t have this many bits and pieces, and look – that looks like a boy’s cricket bat. Why would Mr Scott bring that all the way from India? They’ll be back soon,’ she added nervously. ‘They won’t be gone for long.’ Her voice was trembling and she jumped when a loud explosion sounded.
Alfie jumped too. ‘Sounds like a gun,’ he said. He glanced out of the window and saw jagged streaks of lightning cross the sky. ‘Just thunder,’ he said with an attempt at a laugh. He didn’t like thunder much, but he didn’t want to admit it in front of Sarah. He turned his back on the sky, marched out of the room and followed her in through the next door.
‘This looks like Mr Scott’s room.’ Alfie’s voice was full of satisfaction as he gazed into the fourth room. It was bare and tidy, and a labelled trunk stood in the middle of the floor, with a few tightly packed leather bags arranged beside it. In fact, he thought, everything was so neat and orderly that it looked as though Mr Scott planned to leave the house soon after the funeral was over. He walked over towards the bags and then suddenly another clap of thunder ripped through the air. He jumped. ‘What’s that? Something moved there.’
‘That’s just the looking glass. You saw yourself in it.’
Alfie spun around. The room was filled with a strange light and opposite him he saw a boy in ragged clothes.
‘My ghost, maybe.’ Alfie tried to joke, but his voice was trembling. He looked all around the room, trying to imagine that he was a police inspector.
There was only one thing out of place in the room. In the corner, by the window, there was a tall sloping desk, just like the ones at the police station. On it there was an inkwell with a quill stuck into it, a piece of sealing wax flung down beside the flintlock tinder-box for melting it, and a tin canister with its lid lying next to it. A piece of white paper with marks on it lay beside it, pushed askew as if someone had carelessly dislodged it before leaving the bedroom.
‘He was writing a letter,’ said Sarah, moving over.
‘I suppose he took it with him. What’s that for?’ Alfie pointed at the white paper.
‘Oh!’ There was another clap of thunder. Sarah had been in a state of nerves ever since she had entered the house.
‘Take no notice of it,’ said Alfie firmly. ‘What’s written there?’
‘That’s blotting paper. They dry the ink with that. I can’t read the word. It’s backwards. Wait, though. Nora had a piece of blotting paper that she’d picked out of the waste-paper basket from Mrs Montgomery’s bedroom. She’s very nosy, Nora, and this is what she did to read it.’ Quickly she went over to the looking glass and held it up.
‘It’s to a bank in the Strand,’ she said after a minute. ‘I’m not sure how to pronounce the first word. It’s either Cowts or Coots. It’s spelled C-o-u-t-t-s.’
‘Coots, I think,’ said Alfie fi
rmly. ‘Do you remember Sammy heard the butler ask the man at breakfast if he had found Coutts Bank? Now, did he take this letter with him, or could it be in his bag?’
In a second he had the smallest leather bag up on a chair and unsnapped the catches. There was another crash of thunder, but in his excitement he ignored it.
‘There it is,’ he said immediately, taking out a sealed and stamped envelope. ‘Right on the top of his bag. Got its penny black stamp already on it, too. Go on, Sarah, read it.’ With an effort he kept his voice steady. Sarah was nervous enough already. She would be worse if he, too, betrayed any nerves.
Sarah gasped as he recklessly broke the seal and tore open the envelope, but she took the sheet of paper in her trembling fingers.
Alfie waited. From the square he heard the noise of a heavy front door slam closed. He reckoned it was a few doors down, but even so he could not help giving a slight jump. Sarah was screwing up her eyes in an effort to make out the words on the page. She had learned to read at the Ragged School – she had often suggested that he should go, but he had never wanted to bother. It had all seemed too difficult.
But how well could she read?
‘It’s not easy,’ she said after a moment.
‘I’ll just have another look through his bags and see if I can get any clue there. Perhaps I’ll find some of those betel leaves and those nuts that Mallesh was telling us about.’ Alfie felt that he could not bear to stand there, doing nothing, for another moment.
‘No, wait. I’m getting the hang of it now. It’s just that he makes some of the letters in a funny way. Listen.
‘Messrs Coutts & Company, The Strand, London.
‘Dear Sirs, I enclose the deed to the diamond mines in Calcutta. I also enclose a report from an engineer in which you will see that the diamond mines, after years of being considered a failure, have started producing good quantities of fair-sized diamonds.
‘Please note that I am now the sole owner of the mines according to the deed of agreement between myself and the late Mr Montgomery. I believe you have that deed in your possession.
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