Watchers of the Dead

by Simon Beaufort

  ‘So Ingram agreed to help you in exchange for an exclusive interview with cannibals,’ surmised Lonsdale. ‘Which you can never provide. You defrauded him and his newspaper as well as the museum.’

  Roth winced. ‘The professor promised the museum cannibals, but then it proved impossible to get any. Rather than admit failure – Owen would’ve been unbearable – he hired these three, whom he found in a circus. The exhibition would’ve passed off with no one any the wiser, had he been here.’

  ‘Why did Dickerson insist on exhibiting cannibals in the first place?’ asked Lonsdale curiously. ‘Ingram’s right – human zoos are unethical. But Dickerson didn’t sound like a man to exploit innocent people.’

  Roth swallowed hard. ‘No, he wasn’t.’

  Lonsdale stared at him. ‘He never even tried to get real Kumu, did he? He intended from the start to use Africans who understand our culture, and who wouldn’t be harmed or unsettled by the experience.’

  Roth hung his head. ‘He just wanted to inject a bit of variety into the displays – something other than stuffed birds and dinosaurs. There was no harm in it. Or there shouldn’t have been, until it all started to go so horribly wrong.’

  ‘Is this why he was murdered? Because he was embroiled in a monstrous fraud?’

  Roth shook his head. ‘I’ve thought of little else since we found his body, but I believe he was killed for some other reason – something to do with the Garraway, probably. I never wanted to become a member, but he insisted, so I did it to please him. But I’ve never liked the place, and the only friend I have there is Burnside. I won’t be going back.’

  ‘So why not confess once everything started to fall apart?’ asked Lonsdale. ‘Obviously, Khade and her friends are innocent of Dickerson’s murder, and if they didn’t kill him, they didn’t kill the others.’

  ‘I did consider it,’ said Roth hoarsely, ‘but Inspector Wells told me that they’d be found guilty regardless. I couldn’t let that happen. None of this is their fault.’

  ‘No,’ came a soft voice at the door. ‘It’s yours.’

  ELEVEN

  Lonsdale’s first thought when he heard the voice behind him was that Hulda had brought the police at last. But the speaker was Ingram, his face as dark as thunder. Hornby was behind him, looking hurt and angry. Roth deflated as if punctured.

  ‘I trusted you,’ Ingram snarled. ‘I thought you were a man of honour, but you’re just a common swindler. Worse, you don’t tell me the truth, but a reporter from a rival paper!’

  ‘Put the gun down, Roth,’ ordered Hornby. ‘You can’t shoot all of us.’

  ‘I can,’ blustered Roth. ‘It holds six bullets.’

  ‘Five,’ spat Ingram. ‘It was the weapon discharging that brought us racing back – where we heard the most disgraceful revelations.’

  ‘I can scarce believe your audacity,’ said Hornby, shaking his head slowly. ‘If I had men with your nerve in my team last summer, we’d never have lost to Australia.’

  ‘Nerve!’ sneered Ingram. ‘He lied to me and took my money! I’ll see the lot of them in gaol for this, and I hope they rot there.’

  Lonsdale became aware of other voices in the distance. This time it was Hulda with the police – to whom Ingram would demand that the Khoikhoi and Roth be arrested. Wells would find out and charge the Africans with murder. Lonsdale could not allow that.

  ‘You claim to be a campaigner for human rights,’ he said urgently to Ingram. ‘So prove it. If the Khoikhoi are arrested today, they’ll hang for a crime they didn’t commit. Is that what you want Stead to write in his next editorial – that the owner of The Illustrated London News helped perpetrate a gross miscarriage of justice?’

  Ingram gaped at him. ‘I’m the victim here! Do you expect me to overlook what they’ve done to me?’

  The voices came closer. Lonsdale did not have much time.

  ‘Yes, because it’s the right thing to do. Circuses also abuse basic human rights, and I’m sure Khade can tell you all about the one she worked in before Dickerson hired her.’

  Khade nodded quickly. ‘We agreed to be part of this deception because the professor promised to get us home afterwards. The circus had trapped us, you see – we’d never have been free. And we’re heart-sick, Mr Ingram. We want to go home.’

  Ingram opened his mouth to refuse, but her dignified plea had touched the gallant Hornby.

  ‘I offered you my help, ma’am, and you shall have it,’ he said briskly. ‘You can stay with my wife and me until passage can be arranged. I’m sure The Illustrated London News will settle for an exposé on circuses instead and leave the human zoos for Stead.’

  Ingram hesitated still, but Hornby knew they were out of time. He grabbed Khade’s hand and pulled her to the door at the back of the room, indicating that her menfolk were to follow.

  ‘You’d better go with them, Roth,’ said Ingram icily. ‘No, leave the weapon. I won’t have firearms near my sister. Go on – hurry.’

  ‘What will you do?’ asked Roth uneasily, not moving.

  ‘Create a diversion, so that you and your fellow criminals can escape in my hansom,’ replied Ingram, although there was a gleam in his eye, and Lonsdale saw he had begun to appreciate the advantages in Hornby’s suggestion: circuses were indeed rich grounds for a moral crusade. ‘Lonsdale will help.’

  Lonsdale nodded, although he sincerely hoped Ingram’s diversion would not involve anything felonious. He watched Roth disappear after the others, then heard voices in the hallway outside. Ingram pulled out a box of matches.

  ‘I won’t be complicit in setting Lord’s alight,’ said Lonsdale in alarm.

  ‘I was thinking rather of lighting a cigar,’ said Ingram, and sat in one of the chairs. ‘Join me and follow my lead.’

  They were barely seated when the first of the police burst in – a uniformed constable whose face was flushed with excitement.

  ‘In here!’ he yelled, eyes flashing around the room as he took in the obvious signs that people had been living there.

  He was followed by more officers – none of whom were Peters – and Hulda.

  ‘You’re too late,’ said Ingram, puffing on his cigar as though he had been lounging there for hours. ‘They must’ve gone in the night. Lonsdale and I have been debating where they might go next.’

  ‘Clearly, they realized it’s no longer safe here,’ put in Lonsdale, which was true enough. ‘So they decamped while they could. I wonder if there’s a similar pavilion at The Oval.’

  ‘They’re more likely to have gone to the New Forest,’ said Ingram, ‘a place in which they could safely vanish.’

  The police clamoured questions, which Ingram proceeded to answer in a lazy drawl designed to give the fugitives longer to escape. He explained his presence there as due to a tip-off from an anonymous source, and said Lonsdale had accompanied him because he was good in a fight. All the while, Hulda’s gaze was fixed unblinkingly on Lonsdale, as she tried to work out what was going on.

  It was some time before Lonsdale and Ingram were permitted to leave, although the police remained to sort through the Khoikhoi’s abandoned belongings in a determined quest for clues. Outside, Ingram grabbed Lonsdale’s arm.

  ‘You’d better stick to what was agreed in there – Stead gets human zoos and I get circuses.’

  Lonsdale nodded and Ingram walked away without another word.

  ‘You did what?’ exploded Hulda, once she and Lonsdale were alone and he told her what had happened. ‘Are you insane? Wells may be a buffoon who can’t tell a guilty man from an innocent one, but he’s still the police! You can’t take matters into your own hands like that. Stead and Mr Morley will be livid.’

  ‘Mr Morley will,’ conceded Lonsdale. ‘But only if you tell him. Stead will think it was the right thing to do. I’m sure the Khoikhoi are innocent, but if they fall into Wells’s hands … well, justice won’t be served.’

  ‘Stead will be livid!’ argued Hulda. ‘An exposé of circuses is a good
idea – the kind of thing he loves. If he ever learns you passed it to The Illustrated London News …’

  ‘Quarrelling is getting us nowhere,’ said Lonsdale tiredly. ‘And chasing “cannibals” has lost us most of a day. They have nothing to do with the murders, other than knowing one of the victims.’

  ‘The Khoikhoi might be innocent,’ said Hulda angrily, ‘but Roth is a ruthless fraudster who threatened to shoot you. And you let him go.’

  ‘Only to Hornby’s house – we can visit him there if necessary. But never mind him. Where’s Peters?’

  ‘He couldn’t come because he was busy with something he deemed more important – the murder of Superintendent Hayes.’

  ‘Hayes is dead?’ blurted Lonsdale, shocked.

  ‘I met Bradwell at Scotland Yard – he was there to drop off his official report. He told me that the attack on Hayes was exactly the same as the others – chopped down with a panga-type weapon, and a blade of watcher-grass left on the body.’

  ‘Did he know when Hayes was killed?’

  ‘This morning, in the Garraway. He’d been assigned to guard the Houses of Parliament again but told Peters that he was going to the club for breakfast first.’

  Lonsdale blinked. ‘Are you saying that Hayes was a member of the Garraway?’

  ‘And a Watcher, according to Bradwell – he asked Mrs Hayes.’

  Lonsdale shook his head in disbelief. ‘Hayes should have told us! He knew that the other victims were members. Why did he keep it quiet?’

  ‘He didn’t,’ replied Hulda. ‘According to Peters, he informed Commissioner Henderson and Inspector Wells. He didn’t tell us, because the police aren’t in the habit of sharing information with newspapers. He did everything by the book.’

  ‘I haven’t seen Bowler Hat all day,’ mused Lonsdale soberly. ‘And now there’s been another murder …’

  ‘You think it might be Maclean, like Stead does,’ surmised Hulda. ‘It’s possible. The false-Kumu – and Roth, I suppose – can’t be the culprits if they’ve been here the whole time. And it’s a solution that suits me – I’d rather believe the killer is an escaped lunatic than a man who walks among us as though he’s normal.’

  ‘Or as though she’s normal,’ countered Lonsdale. ‘Women kill, too.’

  ‘Not with machetes,’ said Hulda. ‘But come back to Scotland Yard with me. Peters will want to hear what happened here.’

  ‘Now a senior police officer has been killed, has Henderson finally seen sense and appointed a competent detective to investigate?’

  ‘Unfortunately not. He’s given the case to Wells.’

  It had begun raining again, so hansoms were in short supply. Thus it took them a long time to reach Scotland Yard, as they had to walk most of the way. They arrived to find it in a state of shock. It was rare that officers were killed, especially senior ones, and the station reeled with the horror of it. Men spoke in whispers, and there was an atmosphere of numb disbelief.

  Peters was in his cupboard-like office, staring at nothing. He stood when Lonsdale and Hulda entered, and Lonsdale thought the inspector looked as though he had aged ten years since he had last seen him. He closed the door so no one would hear them talking.

  ‘Hayes was the best superintendent I ever had,’ Peters said softly. ‘A good and decent man. I can’t believe he allowed himself to be claimed by this vile killer.’

  ‘According to Bradwell, the first blow came from behind,’ said Hulda. ‘He probably didn’t know he was in danger until it was too late. He was a member of the Garraway and a Watcher, so I’m sure that’s why he was killed.’

  ‘I investigated the Garraway when Tait was murdered – before Henderson took me off the case. It has about two hundred members, but the Watchers have considerably fewer. Six are now dead, so there can’t be many left.’

  ‘Seven are dead,’ corrected Lonsdale. ‘Robert Barkley Shaw was killed in Whitechapel last month, but it was passed off as a robbery. There may be others, too.’

  Peters nodded. ‘Shaw was mooted as a possible victim when I visited the club today, and I promised to look into it, but the file has disappeared. If Wells has it – and I believe he does – it means the truth about Shaw’s demise is already known to him.’

  ‘So what will you do about it?’ asked Hulda.

  Peters grimaced. ‘I’ve been ordered to stay out of Wells’s way, but now Hayes is a victim, I’m disinclined to oblige. Of course, this is probably why Hayes was killed – he petitioned Henderson on a daily basis, arguing that his skills lay in solving murders, not protecting the Houses of Parliament. I fear he may have pressed too hard and paid for it with his life.’

  They were silent for a moment, then Lonsdale and Hulda told him all they had learned since their last meeting, including the apparent innocence of the Khoikhoi and their relocation to Monkey Hornby’s house. When they had finished, Peters escorted them outside, defiantly not caring who saw him with reporters. In the street, the short winter day was fading into darkness.

  ‘So what will you do first?’ Hulda asked him.

  ‘Speak to the victims’ next of kin,’ replied Peters promptly. ‘You prised a good deal of information from them, but there may be more, and I shall have it. You can go to Broadmoor tomorrow, as Stead ordered. I doubt you’ll learn much, but it’ll save me from doing it.’

  ‘But there’s no longer any need to go,’ argued Lonsdale. ‘The “cannibals” are safe, and that’s all Stead cared about.’

  ‘They’re not safe,’ countered Peters. ‘Nor will they be until we have the real culprit behind bars. Wells may be stupid, but his paymaster isn’t, and he may well make the association between Africans hiding at Lord’s and Monkey Hornby. And if he orders a search of Hornby’s house, Wells will charge the Khoikhoi with murder.’

  ‘But who’s his paymaster?’ asked Lonsdale in frustration. ‘Henderson? Get us an interview with him – perhaps he’ll let something slip and we can expose him.’

  ‘He won’t. He’s not an idiot – just weak and malleable. Please go to Broadmoor. I’m not happy with Maclean’s role in all this, particularly the fact that he’s been seen at the sites of all the murders.’

  ‘Gloating,’ put in Hulda.

  ‘Possibly. Regardless, I want to know more about him – whether he’s also an instrument of this mysterious but influential paymaster, or is the paymaster himself. Come see me the moment you get back. And be very, very careful. Hayes won’t have been an easy man to kill, so our culprit is an extremely dangerous individual.’

  Hulda and Lonsdale hurried to Northumberland Street, keen to tell Stead what had happened. As they went, Lonsdale looked for Voules, wishing The Echo man was following him, because he wanted to confront him about being in Ingram’s pay. But there was no sign of him, Bowler Hat or anyone else involved in the case.

  ‘I wonder if we should warn Burnside,’ said Lonsdale, as they climbed the stairs to Stead’s domain. ‘Perhaps he’s a Watcher and his life is in danger. And Lord Carlingford and Fleetwood-Pelham.’

  ‘They’re suspects,’ countered Hulda. ‘Well, probably not Fleetwood-Pelham, as secret societies tend not to recruit gossips for obvious reasons. Regardless, I’m disinclined to seek any of them out after what happened at the Garraway last night.’

  Stead was in, so they furnished him with an account of all that had happened that day. He was quietly triumphant that the Khoikhoi had been exonerated, although he reiterated Peters’s concern that they would be caught eventually, at which point they would find it impossible to prove their innocence.

  ‘There are answers at Broadmoor,’ he declared. ‘For a start, how did Maclean escape with such consummate ease when the place is supposed to be secure?’

  ‘Then Peters should find out,’ argued Lonsdale, hating to waste time when every day was precious. ‘He’s better than us at prising the truth from witnesses and—’

  ‘Then this’ll be good practice for you,’ interrupted Stead, unmoved. ‘I wish I could do it mysel
f – I had an unpleasant encounter today, which annoyed me more than I can say, and it would be a good way to avoid another. Unfortunately, Mr Morley needs me here.’

  ‘What unpleasant encounter?’ asked Lonsdale curiously.

  Stead gave one of his enigmatic smiles and declined to elaborate. ‘Now go home, both of you. Rest, and be fresh for tomorrow. You look exhausted, and you’ll need your wits about you if you want to thwart this sly villain. Have a roasted chestnut to help you on your way. I bought them for Audrey, but she won’t mind.’

  ‘Audrey?’ asked Lonsdale, then wished he had held his tongue. Stead’s wife was Emma, and no gentleman questioned another about mysterious women in his life.

  ‘My favourite hen,’ explained Stead. ‘She roosts on our bedstead, although Emma finds the droppings a bit of a nuisance, especially as Audrey likes to sit directly above our heads.’

  Lonsdale could not get that image out of his mind all the way home.

  As Hulda always kept an overnight bag in the office, there was no need for her to return to her lodgings before moving into Cleveland Square. Lonsdale glanced at her as he led the way up the steps to his house, surprised to find himself glad she would be there. It was not just that he wanted to keep her safe, but now there was the prospect of an evening in her company, which would be balm to his soul after such a frantic and nerve-wracking day.

  Inside, he helped her out of her coat, then shouted for Sybil to prepare one of the spare bedchambers, as they had a guest. It was then that Humbage stepped out of the drawing room.

  ‘Did you say that she’ll be staying overnight?’ he demanded without preamble; his face was dark with angry disbelief. ‘A woman?’

  ‘Yes, Miss Friederichs is a woman,’ acknowledged Lonsdale, bristling at the way he spoke as if Hulda was not there. ‘She’ll be in the green room, which has a nice view of the garden.’

  ‘But you’re engaged to marry my daughter!’ declared Humbage hotly. ‘You can’t have other women sleeping here. Such behaviour is scandalous, and if my friend Lord Carlingford ever learned—’