by Alex Grecian
“I mean your home,” he said. “You have a lovely home.”
“Thank you,” Penelope said. “My son, Bradley, and I are happy here. Would you care for tea?”
“Oh, good Lord, no!”
“Well, all right.” She looked hurt.
“I’m sorry,” Blacker said. “That was a bit emphatic of me, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, a bit. I take it you’ve spoken with Mr Hammersmith.”
“I do apologize.”
“No, it’s perfectly understandable. I made a horrible mistake with him. I should never have—”
“Think nothing of it. Water under the bridge and all that.”
Blacker was mortally embarrassed for having made things so awkward between them. He had no idea how to bridge the silence, and so decided he would take his leave and return another time.
“Well,” he said, “I’m sorry to have disturbed you today. Perhaps I could—”
“Mother?”
Blacker turned to see a young boy standing under an arch by the staircase.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mother. I didn’t know you had company.”
The boy was perhaps five years old, and his tiny pointed face was creased with worry. He looked as if he’d always been worried. Blacker was glad of the distraction. He smiled and waved him over.
“Not at all,” Blacker said. “Come here, lad.”
The boy glanced at his mother and dragged himself over to them.
“What is it, Bradley?” Penelope said.
“It’s raining and I can’t go outside today. I thought perhaps we might play a game of draughts.”
“You always beat me.”
“I won’t beat you this time.”
“Maybe when I’ve finished with Mr Blacker.”
“Call me Michael,” Blacker said. “And your name is Hasenpfeffer, correct?”
“No. It’s Bradley.”
“That’s an extremely silly name.”
“Is not. It’s quite common.”
“It’s silly and I should know because I collect silly names.”
“It’s not a silly name at all.”
“I beg your pardon. Hasenpfeffer is a very silly name indeed.”
“But I didn’t say Hasenpfeffer. My name is Bradley.”
“I’m certain you said Hasenpfeffer.”
“And I’m certain I didn’t!”
“Well, perhaps you didn’t hear yourself say Hasenpfeffer. Honestly, I don’t see how you can hear anything at all when you’re walking around with that thing in your ear.”
“What thing in my ear?” The boy looked alarmed.
“You mean you didn’t put it there?”
Bradley shook his head.
“Then let’s see if we can’t fish it out.”
Blacker reached behind the boy’s ear and, with a flourish, drew forth a penny. Bradley gasped.
“Your ear is hardly the best place to keep money,” Blacker said. “Perhaps you should find a better place for it.”
Bradley took the penny and stared at it. Then he looked up at Blacker and grinned. He turned and held the coin out for his mother to see.
“Look, Mother, it’s a magic penny.”
“That’s wonderful.” She smiled at Blacker. “Bradley,” she said, “why don’t you go and show your new penny to Elizabeth.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And have her put the kettle on for tea, would you? I’m in the mood.”
Bradley ran out of the room with the penny cupped in his hands as if afraid it would vanish as easily as it had appeared.
“Thank you for that,” Penelope said. “I can’t remember the last time anything made him happy.”
“My pleasure,” Blacker said. “I rather like making people happy.”
Penelope smiled at him, and Blacker decided that making her smile again might be the most worthwhile task he could take up.
“That’s a nice thought,” Penelope said. “Bradley’s had a rough time of it lately. But I don’t think being a child is ever particularly easy.”
“It’s not particularly easy being an adult, either.”
“No.”
There was an awkward silence, but the tension in the room had dissipated and Blacker decided he didn’t want to leave after all.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry to do this, but I have to ask you some official questions.”
“Of course.”
“The person or persons who … well, who murdered Dr Shaw have, I believe, killed several others. I think they plan to continue killing unless they’re stopped.”
“You ain’t far wrong.”
Blacker and Penelope both turned at the sound of the woman’s voice.
Two women emerged from the entrance to a short hall at the back of the parlor. One was short and the other tall, with a long scar running down her face. They both wore too much makeup. The tall one had a pistol in her hand and it was pointed at Blacker.
“But you’re wrong about stoppin’ us,” the short one said.
“He ain’t the one,” the scarred one said.
“True. He ain’t the one. But he’ll do. Look at that silly ginger mustache.”
97
Up you go,” Day said.
He let go and the little boy, Fenn, was pulled upward through the shaft of light. The twisted linen rope held tight under the boy’s arms. Day stepped back and he and Hammersmith watched the boy disappear up into the tailor’s shop above as Henry Mayhew, the dancing man, hauled on his end of the rope.
“I’m a bit nervous,” Hammersmith said. “Can this fellow handle the weight of a full-grown man?”
“He’s unnaturally strong,” Day said. “I believe he’s perfectly able. Handy bloke to have around, to tell the truth, but he badly needs a hot bath.”
Hammersmith moved away into the darkness of the cave and Day followed him. He felt about until he encountered what seemed to be a leg. He grabbed it and pulled. Hammersmith had the other leg and together they dragged the unconscious man across the dirt floor until they had him under the trapdoor above. A minute later, an end of the makeshift linen rope was tossed back down and they tied it under the injured man’s arms.
“Well, if your dancing man can’t handle the weight, better he should drop this load than either of us,” Hammersmith said. “I wouldn’t mind seeing this one take a bit more punishment after what he put that boy through.”
“Who is he?”
“I think he’s the tailor’s coachman. Regardless, he’s good with a knife.”
Day glanced at Hammersmith’s wounded arm. “Kingsley’s up there, too.”
“You brought nearly everyone.”
“We do seem to have converged. Good thing. Although we’ve misplaced Mr Blacker.”
“I’m afraid I have no idea where he went. I fell asleep and he was gone when I woke up.”
“He’ll turn up or I’ll find him when I find the tailor. Time’s of the essence, so I’m afraid I need to leave you here. The doctor’ll wrap you up and I’ll have a carriage take you to hospital.”
The coachman’s inert body jerked, then rose smoothly up and away. The two men watched the soles of his shoes until they were reeled through the bottom of the cabinet.
“This arm isn’t going to kill me,” Hammersmith said. “I’m not done until we find the man who put this all in motion.”
“Rest assured, I won’t fail to catch him.”
“I have no doubt of that. But it’s a bit personal for me now. If you don’t mind, I’ll stick it out.”
The end of the rope hit the ground in front of them again. Day picked it up and pulled it around Hammersmith’s waist.
“First, Kingsley takes a look at that arm,” Day said. “If he says it’s all right, then I’ll be glad of your company.”
Hammersmith nodded. He rose into the air and disappeared from view the same way the other two had gone. Day looked around him at the empty black cave and shook his head. It was amazing what they’d all gone through in the past thr
ee days.
He stepped back as the end of the rope descended once more.
98
Kingsley talked to Day while he wrapped Hammersmith’s arm.
“The marks on the shears match the marks on the sewing machine,” he said. “I’m confident that the tailor’s your man.”
“But how to find him?” Day said. “He’s not here, we don’t know where he lives, and he knows now that we’re on to him. We have no idea where he’s gone to ground.”
“I know where he lives.”
The three men turned at the sound of Fenn’s voice. The boy was standing at the door of the shop, hiding behind one of Henry Mayhew’s massive legs.
“Will you write his address for us?” Day said.
“I don’t know his address,” Fenn said. “But I can show you where he lives.”
“We wouldn’t ask that of you,” Hammersmith said.
Day looked at him, eyes wide, but Hammersmith shook his head.
“You never have to see that man again,” he said.
“I don’t have to see him to show you his house,” Fenn said. “I don’t mind. Really. Just don’t let him take me again.”
“There is no chance of that,” Day said. “If you’re sure you’re up for it, we’ll go for a carriage ride.”
“What should we do with him?” Kingsley pointed at the unconscious coachman.
“We’ll tie him up and send someone round for him,” Day said. “We don’t want him near the boy if he wakes.”
“Fenn stays in the carriage at all times,” Hammersmith said.
“We’ll do even better than that. Once he points the place out, you and I go after Cinderhouse and Dr Kingsley takes the boy away. We won’t put him in danger for even a moment.”
“I’ll take him to my laboratory,” Kingsley said. “It will be safe there, and my daughter would be delighted to entertain him until you can catch this fellow and take the boy home.”
Hammersmith looked at Fenn. The boy nodded and Hammersmith smiled at him.
“You’re a brave lad,” he said.
99
Day and Hammersmith stood on the curb and watched until the carriage had rolled out of sight. Once they were sure that Kingsley, Fenn, and Henry Mayhew were safely away, they turned and approached the big house. It was a tidy two-story home, well looked after, nothing ominous about it at all. Day imagined it rented for upward of forty pounds a year, more than his own house in Kentish Town.
The front door was locked, but Hammersmith found a window at the side of the house that had been jimmied.
“When do you think that was done?” Day asked.
“Looks fresh to me.”
“That’s what I was thinking as well. Pried open some time after the rain.”
Hammersmith nodded and drew his club from its belt loop. His injured arm hung useless at his side, but he looked determined and Day was glad to have him there. Day held up a hand and, with his Colt drawn, he sat on the sill and maneuvered himself through the window and into the house. He crept through a dark drawing room to the front door and opened it. Hammersmith was waiting on the other side. He stepped through, quietly closing the door behind him, and the two men made their way through the rooms at the front of the house without finding a sign of the tailor.
They split up at the staircase. Hammersmith slid through an open arch, headed toward the rooms at the back of the house, while Day edged up the stairs to the next floor. He poked cautiously through every doorway until he was certain he was alone upstairs. Then he put his gun away and went back through the rooms, more carefully this time, hoping to find some evidence.
At the end of a hallway, near the water closet, there was a small bedroom. The window had been barred. He approached it and looked out. The top of a retaining wall was directly under the windowsill, and beyond that, a tall tree. Day put his cheek to the bars. There was nothing in the yard except an old carriage house that looked like it might fall down the next time it rained. He sniffed and pulled his head back. The iron bars cast a long shadow across the bed. There were leather straps on both sides of the bed and a coil of rope hung loose at the foot of it. Day tested one of the straps and it came loose. The strap looked new, and Day guessed that it had been purchased to replace the rope, but had not yet been installed or used.
He looked around. A straight-backed wooden chair sat in the corner. He approached the chair and squinted at the dark shape lying across the seat. He went to the door and shouted out into the hall.
“Hammersmith, have you found anything?”
Hammersmith’s voice came back, surprisingly close to the staircase. “Nothing. You?”
“Up here.”
Day stepped back into the room. Hammersmith’s footsteps clattered up the stairs, and Day heard him checking the rooms along the hall.
“Back here.”
A moment later Hammersmith joined him. “What is it? Not the tailor.”
“No, he seems to be out. But look at this.” He pointed at the chair.
“A riding crop?” Hammersmith said.
“What is a riding crop doing in a bedroom?” Day said.
“I shudder to think.”
“Yes, but where might you be more likely to find a riding crop?”
“I don’t follow you.”
Day pointed to the window and Hammersmith looked out into the yard. He turned back to Day.
“A carriage house.”
“Let’s go.”
100
There was a thump-thump-thump on the stairs, and Mrs Flanders put aside her book. She hurried to the door and stepped into the hall in time to see one of the disguised policemen, the one with the bushy black beard, struggling through the downstairs door to the street. He was carrying something bulky wrapped up in a blanket. She scurried down the stairs and caught the door before it closed.
“Are you leaving already?” she said. “Mr Hammersmith hasn’t come back yet.”
The policeman jumped, clearly startled. He turned, staggering under the weight of the huge bundle on his shoulder.
“Ah, ma’am, you oughtn’t to come up on me like that.”
“Dreadfully sorry, sir.”
“Not at all. Just worried my police training might kick in and I’d do you harm. Wouldn’t want that, would we?”
He smiled and winked at her. Despite his rough appearance, Mrs Flanders found him utterly charming. She smiled back at him.
“No, we wouldn’t want that,” she said. “Where is the other policeman? The one dressed as a chimney sweep?”
“He left already.”
“I didn’t hear him on the stair.”
“He’s very sneaky. Got to be when you’re in disguise as a dipper like he is.”
“Do you mean to say that he picks pockets?”
“Aye, he does.”
“But he’s dressed as a sweep.”
“That’s a disguise on his disguise. Makes him double good at it.”
“Well, if he steals wallets, doesn’t that make him as much a criminal as the real criminals?”
“He’s got to blend in, you see, but then he always goes and gives people their things back, he does.”
“Oh, well, that makes perfect sense then. He returns what he steals.”
“Aye, that’s exactly what he does. Very sneaky one, that.”
“I don’t mean to seem curious, but may I ask what’s in the blanket?”
“Blanket?”
“The one you’ve got over your shoulder.”
“Oh, you mean this blanket?”
“Yes.”
“It’s police supplies in here, ma’am. Constable Hammersmith was savin’ ’em fer me. Gotta get ’em down to headquarters.”
“It looks very heavy.”
“Well, they’re not lightweight supplies, I’ll tell you that, ma’am. Not the easiest thing to have slung on me whilst I stand about in the street.”
“I’m sorry. I’m keeping you.”
“Not at all. It’s a sheer
pleasure talkin’ with you, and that’s for sure. Did I mention you remind me of me mum?”
“That’s very dear of you to say.”
“’Tis the God’s truth, ma’am. But now I’d better get this over to Scotland Yard afore it’s too late.”
“Too late?”
“Yes, ma’am. Big rush on it from the commissioner of police hisself.”
“Then I mustn’t keep you any longer. Only…”
“Yes?”
“Do promise you’ll come back for a visit.”
The rough-looking policeman grinned at Mrs Flanders and bowed slightly at the waist, keeping the bundle on his shoulders carefully balanced as he did so.
“I guarantee that I will, missus.”
And with that he tottered off down the road with his heavy burden and turned the corner into an alley halfway along the block.
Mrs Flanders put a hand on her heart and stepped back into the building. She closed the door to the street and went back up to her own cozy flat. Strange, she thought, that she hadn’t heard the second policeman leave. They were obviously very good at their jobs. She had not bought into all the recent condemnation of the police. It made her feel safe knowing that she had them as tenants in her own building.
She sat down with her novel and found her place again. She had read only two sentences when it occurred to her that the nice policeman had never actually told her what was in the bundle he was carrying. She made up her mind to ask him about it the next time he paid a visit to Mr Hammersmith.
101
Day looked over at Hammersmith, took a deep breath, and swung the carriage house door open. Something hot whistled past Day’s right ear and there was the sudden crack of a gunshot. He fell backward and waited for another shot, but none came. He crawled to the side, away from the entrance so that the building’s wall would block any more bullets that were fired his way. Hammersmith was already on the other side of the door, against the wall there.
“Cinderhouse?” Day said. “Stop shooting.”
He waited for a response. He was about to call again when the tailor answered.