by Emily Organ
“What has happened to your finger?” I asked Tommy.
“I ain’t sayin’.”
“Did someone cut it off?” I asked. “Do you know what they did with it?”
“Why do you want to know that?” Sergeant Harrison asked me.
“Inspector Blakely received a severed finger in the post,” I replied. “Perhaps it belonged to Tommy.”
“Someone sent James a finger?” exclaimed Charlotte in abject horror. I had forgotten she had not been informed of the development. “In the post?”
“The Yard receives quite a lot of odd things in the post,” I said, trying to lessen the impact of this new revelation.
“I realise that, but a finger? Was it this man’s finger?” she asked.
“That’s what I should like to know,” I said. “Because if it is, he can lead us to the people who threatened James and are presumably responsible for his disappearance.”
“I see.” Charlotte’s face had turned pale.
“Heard from your friends in Marylebone Lane, have you?” Sergeant Harrison pulled even harder on Tommy’s ear, causing him to howl with pain. “Did they send you a message?” he demanded.
“Stop it!” shouted Charlotte.
“I’ve got to make him talk, madam.”
“Not like this,” she said. “He’s already had his finger cut off, show the man some sympathy. Perhaps we could ask him nicely —”
Charlotte was interrupted by a cackle of laughter from Sergeant Harrison.
“Ask him nicely, Miss Jenkins? Does this man look like the sort of man you can speak nicely to? He can hardly string three words together, let alone understand questions other people put to him.”
“If he’s of no help to us, please stop hurting him,” I said.
“I didn’t say he was of no help. His brother Blinker’s a member of that gang down in Marylebone Lane.”
“I don’t know nuffink about wot ’e done!” Tommy protested.
I wondered whether Tommy’s brother had removed the finger. More voices could be heard from the other side of the wall.
“Do you know who ordered the gang to carry out the attack on Mr and Mrs Forster, Tommy?” I asked.
“I don’t know nuffink, like I said!”
The situation was becoming quite frustrating. Even if Tommy knew something he evidently wasn’t going to share it with us.
A shout came from beyond the wall and suddenly there was a loud smash behind Sergeant Harrison. A flash of flame rose up and spread across the yard. He let go of the young man and lunged toward the door of the pub.
Charlotte screamed. I grabbed her arm and pulled her along behind me in pursuit of Sergeant Harrison. Inside the pub, people leapt to their feet as they realised something serious had occurred.
There was no sign of Tommy or his friends.
“We need to get out of here!” I called to Charlotte.
“Fire!” someone shouted, prompting a rush to the street outside.
Elbows were shoved into my shoulders and face. I fought to push through the smelly, unwashed crowd. I couldn’t see past the men in front of me, and for a moment my feet left the floor as I was carried by the mob. A sensation of panic rose from my chest into my throat, and my breath felt constricted. I stumbled as my feet returned to the ground and I fought to stay upright, terrified that if I fell I would be trampled upon.
Just as I was beginning to think I would be confined to this interminable crush forever I found myself outside on the damp, filthy pavement, gasping for air. People stumbled all around me.
“Charlotte!” I called out.
I looked around frantically, trying to catch a glimpse of her pale blue dress. I eventually found her slumped against the wall of the pub, where a sunken-cheeked man with an eyepatch was trying to make her acquaintance.
“Charlotte, are you all right?”
“Penny, thank goodness!” She took my hand and stood to her feet. “What happened in that yard? Where did those flames come from?”
“I’m guessing it was lit paraffin in a bottle. We heard those voices on the other side of the wall, didn’t we? They must have been Tommy’s friends.”
She nodded.
I turned to see a dozen or so police officers dispersing the crowd with their truncheons raised.
“So what do we do now?” Charlotte asked.
“I really don’t know.”
Chapter 53
“It’s no enormous surprise to find you at the centre of this debacle, Miss Green,” said Chief Inspector Cullen as we stood in the parade room at Commercial Street police station.
Sergeant Harrison had found Charlotte and me outside the Golden Heart pub and escorted us back to the police station in the interests of our safety.
“I find your comment rather uncharitable, Chief Inspector,” I retorted. “Miss Jenkins and I were merely conducting some enquiries about the possible whereabouts of Inspector Blakely.”
“Which ended up causing a full-scale riot in London’s East End!”
“That was not our fault! There is clearly great antagonism between H Division and some of the people who live here, and we merely found ourselves caught up in it.”
“There’s no antagonism, Miss Green,” corrected Sergeant Harrison. “They understand we’re in charge and sometimes they get a little lively.”
“You need to return home, Miss Jenkins,” said Chief Inspector Cullen. “You’re making a big mistake having anything to do with this ink-slinger. In fact, you probably don’t need me to tell you that; you’ve no doubt realised it for yourself by now.”
“I want to know where James is,” protested Charlotte, “and I asked Miss Green for her help!”
“You should have asked the police,” he replied, “not some news reporter.”
“I did ask the police,” she replied, “and they’ve done nothing! You’ve done nothing! That’s why I thought Miss Green was my best hope.”
“You’re overestimating the woman’s capabilities.”
“What exactly are you doing to find Inspector Blakely, Chief Inspector?” I asked. “Someone must be holding him somewhere, and this someone has to be connected to the case he’s working on. D Division already has some of the men in custody, so why aren’t you arresting more and questioning them?”
“We’re doing what we can, Miss Green.”
“I don’t think you are, and that’s why Miss Jenkins has asked for my help. She and her family are desperate for news, yet they’ve received no assurance that anything is being done. One of your colleagues is missing and you don’t seem the least bit concerned about it.”
Chief Inspector Cullen sighed. “It’s almost eight o’clock in the evening and you ladies should be in the safety of your homes.”
“Is there something you’re not telling us, Chief Inspector?” I asked bluntly.
“Of course not. And even if there was I cannot publicly state something which might prejudice the investigation. You’re a news reporter, Miss Green, so it should come as no surprise to you that I have no wish to divulge the details of everything I’m working on.”
“I have no interest in publishing any of this in the newspaper! My concern for Inspector Blakely is of a personal nature, and Miss Jenkins is his fiancée. Don’t you see how important any information you might have on his whereabouts is to her? I demand you to tell her something – anything – which could allay her fears. She and Inspector Blakely are to be married in just a few weeks’ time, and she needs to know that matters are in hand for his safe return. How will she even be able to sleep at night otherwise? If you wish to tell her something in private I can leave this room in order for you to do so. Surely you can see how trying this is for her.”
“You misunderstand me,” he said. “I did not intend to suggest that I know anything, but merely to clarify that if I did I wouldn’t necessarily, as a matter of course, share that information with you. Now go home, Miss Green, before you say something you later regret.”
Chapter 5
4
Mrs Garnett’s knock woke me the following morning. A heavy sleep had finally descended upon me in the early hours and my head ached as I opened my eyes.
“Telegram!” she called out, pushing an envelope beneath my door.
I leapt up to read it, hopeful of good news. My head span with the sudden movement and I stumbled as I picked the envelope up from the floor.
The telegram was from the Morning Express offices:
Miss Holland begs meeting with you.
The telegram was dated the previous evening. I had returned home so late that I hadn’t noticed it waiting for me on the hallway table.
I hurriedly dressed and fed Tiger some sardines. After eating them she curled up on my bed to sleep while I left the house and dashed to Moorgate station, from which point I could take the underground train to Gower Street station near Euston.
I couldn’t think why Emma wished to see me, but I was desperate for news of any sort. I wanted something – no matter how small or irrelevant – which would hopefully lead me to James.
“Penny, are you all right?” asked Emma as she welcomed me into her home. “You’re not unwell, are you?”
“No, I’m quite well, thank you. I must confess that I haven’t eaten a great deal in the past few days. I’ve been rather distracted.”
“Come and sit in the dining room. We’ve only just finished breakfast, so I’ll ask Doris to bring up some fresh toast and eggs.”
I felt the need to explain my tired appearance, so I told her about James’ disappearance and of my fruitless search for him.
“How terrible! I suppose we usually assume that detectives never come to any harm. They somehow seem infallible, don’t they? You must be extremely worried.”
I nodded. “I have to remain hopeful and determined. I don’t trust Chief Inspector Cullen, his superior at the Yard. I think he’s withholding something from me.”
“That other chap was murdered, wasn’t he?”
“Which one?” I asked, buttering a slice of toast. I suddenly realised how hungry I was.
“The man Alfred mentioned in his diaries. Mr Mawson.”
“Yes, it was a dreadful attack. I interviewed a member of staff at the India Office who had spoken to the perpetrator shortly before he carried out the act. It’s just awful. I cannot make head nor tail of what’s been happening these past few days. Have the Holborn police been of any help with regard to the theft of your brother’s diaries?”
“None at all.”
She sighed, and I felt disappointed that she appeared to have nothing new to tell me.
“I think the man who attacked Mr Mawson could be the same man who murdered your brother,” I said. “Inspector Raynes at Scotland Yard is looking after the case. Has he spoken to you?”
“No, I haven’t heard from him. Perhaps he’s planning to.”
“I hope so. I should like to know where your brother’s diaries have got to. They clearly contained information someone wished to remain hidden.”
“Yes, they contained quite a few damning accusations. I don’t know how true it all is, but I have no reason to believe that Alfred would lie.”
“Just the accusations regarding Mawson, or others as well?”
“Alfred was also caught up in something. I was too upset when I saw you last to explain what else I had read.”
“Did you manage to read much of the diaries before they were taken?”
“I got as far as July, but I hadn’t found the chance to update you. I visited your offices yesterday evening in the hope that I would catch you just as you finished work for the day.”
“I was already heading for the East End with Charlotte Jenkins at that time. What exactly was Alfred caught up in?”
“After Mawson was dismissed a man approached Alfred. It seems he told him in no uncertain terms that because he had caused Mawson’s dismissal Alfred would have to take his place.”
“Oh dear. Did your brother say who the man was?”
“No, I don’t think he knew his name, but he wrote that the chap was a native.”
“And did Alfred agree to the man’s request?”
“No, he declined. He explained that many forms had to be completed when the opium arrived from the districts, and that other people oversaw the filling out of these forms. He made it clear that the opium pots were locked away as soon as they arrived and told the man he couldn’t agree to such a thing.
“But it seems the native didn’t give up. He made a second approach and Alfred refused once again. Then he approached him a third time and it seems his manner became more threatening. He told my brother he would inform the factory that Alfred was stealing opium from them, which was untrue of course, if Alfred wasn’t acquiescent. He also offered him money, and in the end I think Alfred was worn down by it all.”
“So Alfred began stealing opium from the factory?”
“Yes, just as Mawson had.”
“And was he found out?”
“I presume that was why he returned to England. By then he was using opium regularly, and I don’t think he ever recovered from the shame of what he had done.”
“Did he write in any detail about the people for whom he was stealing?”
“He was trying to find out more. In the last entry he wrote that he was about to question the native man who met with him once a week. They had begun to get along quite well, and Alfred seemed to think he had gained the man’s trust.”
“So it’s possible Alfred did find out more and wrote about it in his diary?”
“Yes, although unfortunately I didn’t get as far as that part before the diary was stolen. There was a mention of some sort of unofficial trade with China.”
“Presumably illegal trade, away from the jurisdiction of the Indian government.”
“I can’t say that for certain, but his diary certainly implied it.”
“Anyone obtaining and selling opium in that way must be making good money as they would avoid paying tax to both the Indian and Chinese governments.”
“I imagine so, though I really don’t know enough about it.”
“Your brother and Charles Mawson found themselves caught up in the trade of stolen opium. I wonder if Mr Forster also had a hand in it. That may be the connection between their deaths.”
“I suppose it could be. But how can we prove it? And how do we find out who killed them?”
“I think it has to be the person who didn’t want Inspector James Blakely to find out. It must be the man behind James’ disappearance.”
Chapter 55
“I’m convinced that Chief Inspector Cullen of Scotland Yard knows more than he is letting on about Inspector Blakely’s disappearance,” I said to Mr Sherman in his office later that morning.
“What makes you so sure?”
“I have deduced it from the way he conducts himself; from the things he says and the things he doesn’t say.”
“If he does know something I’m sure he must have an extremely good reason for withholding it.”
“But not from Inspector Blakely’s fiancée. The woman is beside herself! Poor Charlotte. Chief Inspector Cullen won’t even tell her what he knows.”
“Perhaps he doesn’t know anything more.”
“I am certain that he does!”
Mr Sherman sighed. “You’re simply assuming.”
“I have never liked nor trusted the man.”
“That’s where the root of this sentiment lies, isn’t it? You assume that he’s up to no good because you’ve never trusted him.”
“We need to find Inspector Blakely urgently. Charlotte is desperate with worry.”
“As are you, no doubt.”
“Yes, I am! If Chief Inspector Cullen would only tell me what he knows I could help him.”
“You need to leave all this to the Yard.”
“But I don’t trust the man”
“What would you have me do about it?”
“We need to publish a story about Inspector Blakel
y’s disappearance and hope that someone reading it will come forward with useful information. And I’d also like you to speak to your cousin.”
“Commissioner Dickson?” Sherman sighed again.
“Yes, your cousin is the chief inspector’s superior, after all. He can wring the information out of him!”
“It’s not my job to get involved, Miss Green.”
“But we have to do something. Chief Inspector Cullen soon got himself involved when I wrote that article about the wrong man being hanged for the Doughty Street murders. He used the relationship between yourself and Dickson to have me suspended me from my job.”
“So getting Dickson involved again is your opportunity for revenge.”
“Of course not! I just want someone to ensure me that the chief inspector is being quite honest about Inspector Blakely’s disappearance.”
“Surely it’s not a question of who’s being honest. The important point is that the chap’s found, isn’t it? I’m sure Cullen has no interest whatsoever in complicating the case. He’ll be doing his best to ensure the safe return of his colleague, and his methods are not for you or me to question, Miss Green. I certainly can’t use my familial relationship with the commissioner to ensure that Cullen is doing his job properly! I can understand your frustration, but there’s a limit to what I can do. You must trust the Yard to find their man. You may not agree with the way Cullen conducts himself, but he’s worked for the Metropolitan Police for more than thirty years. On this occasion I insist that you defer to his considerable experience.”
My jaw was clenched tightly as I left the editor’s office.
“I thought you were supposed to be resting at home, Miss Green,” said Edgar.
“I cannot rest while Inspector Blakely is missing,” I retorted.
“If you’re working today perhaps you would like to pursue one of the news stories Sherman has dropped on me and Potter,” continued Edgar. “We have far too much to do.”
“Maybe later,” I replied, packing my papers into my carpet bag. “There’s someone I have to go and see.”