‘The Queen,’ blurted Henderson. ‘I swore an oath to serve her.’
‘The Queen?’ echoed Peters in disbelief. ‘You claim she told you to look the other way while her subjects are hacked to pieces?’
‘Or her government and ministers,’ elaborated Henderson, desperately. ‘Men who have the best interests of our country at heart.’
‘And how is the murder of the Archbishop of Canterbury in our country’s best interests?’
‘It’s not my job to ask that sort of question,’ blustered Henderson. ‘It’s—’
‘You don’t know, do you?’ said Peters, shaking his head in disgust. ‘When these orders came, you followed them dumbly, like a faithful dog. You’ve no idea who issued them!’
Henderson’s face was ashen. ‘I don’t need to know, and nor do you. It came from on high, and our duty is to obey.’
‘Our duty is to protect life and catch criminals,’ said Peters, not bothering to conceal his disdain. ‘Not bow to the whim of some anonymous master. He told you to look the other way while men were brutally murdered, for God’s sake! Surely you questioned the ethics of it?’
‘Yes, but orders are orders. It isn’t my place to refuse.’
‘Of course it’s your place to refuse!’ exploded Peters. ‘You’re the Commissioner of Police! If you can’t draw the line at perverting the course of justice, then who can? Worse, it sounds as if you didn’t even ask why he wanted his crimes covered up.’
‘I did, but an explanation was refused,’ mumbled Henderson, then looked worriedly at Lonsdale and Hulda. ‘You can’t publish any of this. It would upset some very powerful people and put your own lives in danger.’
‘On the contrary,’ countered Hulda. ‘Publishing it is the only way we’ll be safe. Once the story is out, no one will need to ensure our silence.’
‘You have two choices,’ said Peters icily. ‘You can take the blame for everything this “higher authority” has done. Or you can begin to make amends for your role in his vile crimes.’
‘How do I do that?’ asked Henderson worriedly.
‘By appointing me to investigate the murders and dismissing Wells. You can also reflect on your criminal paymaster – you must know something to identify him.’
‘But I don’t! I never met him – he just sent me messages via another important man.’
‘What important man?’ demanded Hulda.
‘I don’t know his name. All I can do is promise to point him out if I ever see him again.’
‘I suppose that’ll have to do,’ said Peters in disgust. ‘Now summon Wells.’
The atmosphere was tense in the commissioner’s room as they waited for the inspector to arrive. Henderson had been given a serious fright, but he was a reed in the wind, and was already bending to his new circumstances. He began to negotiate – offering snippets of information in return for leaving his name out of the report. Peters ignored him and went to the window, staring moodily into the yard outside.
Lonsdale chafed at the passing minutes, wondering what was happening at the Garraway, and no longer sure it could be stopped. What if the rot went deeper than Henderson and Wells, and the “higher authority” held other senior officers under his sway? Which way would the police jump if it came to a final confrontation?
There was a knock, and the duty sergeant opened the door. His expression was carefully neutral, but Lonsdale knew he had heard every word spoken. Was he in the killer’s pay, and news of Henderson’s capitulation was already on its way? He ushered in a small, slightly built man with dark hair and a moustache, who carried a bowler hat.
‘Inspector Wells,’ said Henderson. ‘Please come in.’
‘Wells?’ gasped Lonsdale. ‘It’s you who’s been following us!’
Wells looked shifty. ‘No, I haven’t.’
He was not even a very good liar, thought Lonsdale, as a light of understanding began to gleam in the back of his mind.
‘You look like Maclean,’ he said, ‘but that’s the point, isn’t it?’
Wells’s expression was genuinely bewildered. ‘The escaped lunatic? What’re you jabbering about? We look nothing alike – I’ve got ten years on him, for a start.’
But Lonsdale now knew exactly why Wells had been chosen to ‘investigate’ the murders – and it was not just because he was unlikely to solve them.
‘How long have you had that moustache?’ he demanded.
‘Ages,’ replied Wells shiftily, glancing at Henderson. ‘It suits me.’
‘It appeared about a month ago,’ countered Peters, also beginning to understand. ‘Around the same time that you started wearing a bowler rather than your usual cap. And yes, Lonsdale, it was roughly when Maclean escaped from Broadmoor.’
Wells glared at Henderson. ‘Tell them, sir.’
‘Tell them what?’ asked Henderson slyly.
Wells scowled. ‘That you suggested the moustache and bowler. You said they made me look like a proper detective.’
‘You misremember,’ said Henderson flatly. ‘I’d never presume to lecture my officers on their personal appearance.’
‘The killer is even more cunning than we thought,’ said Lonsdale to Peters and Hulda. ‘He wanted “Maclean” seen around London and used Wells to achieve it. Stead’s urchins reported seeing Maclean at the scenes of the murders—’
‘But it was Wells,’ surmised Hulda. ‘Who had every right to be there, of course, because they were his cases.’
‘The killer also wanted us to think it was Maclean who was dogging our footsteps,’ Lonsdale went on; he glanced at Wells. ‘No doubt you were ordered to do it. Were you told to burn down the mortuary as well?’
He expected Wells to deny it, but the inspector was unnerved by the fact that Henderson had declined to defend him.
‘He said I should.’ Wells nodded at the commissioner. ‘He sent me to persuade the doctors who looked at Shaw, Haldane, Tait and Bowyer to revise their reports, too, but we couldn’t do that with Dickerson, because too many people saw the body. He said burning it was the only way to “eliminate confusing evidence”. But I waited until everyone was out.’
The way he glared at the commissioner suggested that the original order might have included disposing of anyone who had witnessed the post-mortem as well. Henderson opened his mouth to deny it, but Wells forged on.
‘It wasn’t me who tried to push you into the road either. Henderson said it was in our country’s best interests, and that important people would be grateful, but I drew the line at murder. He sent others instead.’
Henderson leapt to his feet to deny it, and a furious row ensued. Peters let it run, listening with contempt as they accused each other.
‘Enough,’ he snapped eventually. ‘Now tell us about the Garraway Club.’
‘He said never to go near it,’ replied Wells. ‘And that if my enquiries ever pointed in its direction, I was to tell him at once.’
‘And did they point in its direction?’ asked Peters, cutting across Henderson’s response.
‘Yes – I found out that some of the victims belonged to a society called the Watchers, which met there. He said he’d look into it personally.’
Peters turned to Henderson. ‘And what did you discover?’
Henderson licked dry lips. ‘Nothing – I’ve been too busy to—’
‘Are you a Watcher?’
Henderson blinked his astonishment at the question. ‘No! I’d never even heard of the society before Wells mentioned it. But I did intend to explore the—’
‘Are you aware that some of its members are planning an atrocity today?’ interrupted Lonsdale. ‘Almost certainly at this club you’ve been so careful to shield?’
The startled expressions of both men made it clear they were not.
‘Right,’ said Peters briskly, unwilling to waste more time. ‘Here’s the situation: you’re both guilty of conspiracy to murder and will answer for it, but you might escape the noose if you help us catch the man who corrupted yo
u. I want his name.’
‘But I don’t know it!’ cried Wells, frightened.
‘Then I’ll settle for a description.’
‘I can’t do that either!’ wailed Wells. ‘Most of my orders came via Henderson, and the few times I did meet the other fellow, it was always dark. However, he was a military man – I could hear it in his voice. And he said he has friends at the Palace. I followed him home once. He lives on Gordon Square.’
Lonsdale felt himself go weak at the knees. ‘Humbage!’
Although Lonsdale was ready to race to Gordon Square at once, Peters took him and Hulda to an empty office to talk.
‘Henderson won’t have risked so much for just anyone,’ he began. ‘Therefore, Humbage must be powerful, resourceful and dangerous.’
‘What of it?’ demanded Lonsdale tightly.
‘It means we must be sure of ourselves before challenging him, or he’ll slip off the hook, and I won’t see him walk free just because we’re precipitous. I want hard evidence and I want men in place, lest he tries to run – good men, not Henderson’s rabble.’
‘But he may run if we don’t corner him now,’ objected Lonsdale. ‘That sergeant heard every word we said. For all we know, he’s already warned Humbage. We must go now!’
Peters considered. ‘You go – monitor his house until I arrive with reinforcements. I’m sure I can trust you not to burst in on your own.’ He gave Lonsdale a piercing look.
‘How long will you be?’ asked Hulda anxiously.
‘Obviously, I need to deal with Henderson and Wells first. They’re just as responsible for Hayes’s death as he is, and I aim to make sure they don’t escape in the interim.’
Lonsdale could see the sense in it, although every moment that Humbage was free seemed a travesty of justice.
‘Then please hurry,’ he said. ‘We’ll never forgive ourselves if he escapes, and whatever he has planned for today swings into action before we can stop it.’
Peters grabbed his arm as he turned to leave. ‘Are you sure it’s Humbage? There’s no one else on Gordon Square who might be the culprit?’
‘It’s him,’ said Lonsdale tiredly. ‘And our experiences at Broadmoor prove it. He was the only one, other than Stead, who knew where we were going. He sent word ahead to Norris, telling him to make sure we never came back. Moreover, he ordered me not to explore the murders – his murders – any number of times.’
‘He did,’ nodded Hulda. ‘He claimed our investigation might result in a scandal that would reflect badly on him.’
‘But what reason can he have for killing all those men in so brutal a manner?’ asked Peters, still sceptical.
‘We can ask him when he’s arrested,’ said Lonsdale. ‘Although I imagine the answer lies at the Garraway Club. As I keep saying: it’s at the heart of everything.’
‘Burnside,’ said Hulda grimly. ‘I’ve never been happy with his role in this affair – his opportune appearances, the fact that he’s a liar, a Watcher, and bitter over his treatment after saving the Queen … If Humbage is involved, then Burnside will be his helpmeet.’
‘What about Humbage’s friends?’ asked Peters. ‘The courtiers – Lord Carlingford and Fleetwood-Pelham? I understand they’re the reason why Humbage joined the Garraway in the first place.’
‘They’re not his friends, no matter how much he might wish otherwise,’ said Lonsdale. ‘They barely know he exists. But we can discuss this later, when we have him in custody,’
‘Then off you go. And mind he doesn’t see you first.’
The city was busy as Hulda and Lonsdale left Whitehall Place. No shops were open, but every road teemed with people, and there was a buoyant, holiday atmosphere. Families toured the bright shop-window displays and bought hot chestnuts, spiced cakes, and cups of hot apple wine from street vendors. Lonsdale took one look at the traffic and, much to Hulda’s disgust, decided it would be quicker to walk the mile and a half to Gordon Square.
His stomach churned as they went. He had resigned himself – with a speed that astonished him – to losing Anne, but he hated the notion of accusing her father of terrible crimes. Despite the break, he had no wish to see her hurt.
They weaved in and out of the merrymakers, and he was glad when they left the main roads and entered the quieter streets beyond. They reached the edge of Gordon Square, where he aimed for a shrubbery in the central garden that stood almost opposite Humbage’s front door and provided an excellent vantage point.
‘I hope Peters doesn’t take long,’ muttered Hulda, wincing as a soggy branch slapped into her face. ‘This is no place for a lady.’
An hour passed. Lonsdale did not feel like talking, and was grateful that Hulda sensed it and did not press him. Then Humbage’s door opened.
‘He’s leaving!’ whispered Hulda in a strangled whisper. ‘Now what?’
‘No, it’s Lady Gertrude,’ Lonsdale whispered back. ‘That’s odd – she doesn’t usually go out alone. Humbage is embarrassed of her and keeps her on a very short leash.’
‘Then Humbage can’t be home,’ said Hulda, ‘because look at her – she’s virtually dancing along the road, like a naughty child escaping the nursery.’
It was true. There was a spring in Gertrude’s step, and under her cloak she wore a gown that looked almost as old as she was, revealing a shockingly low-cut bodice. Lonsdale abandoned the shrubbery and set off after her. She laughed gaily when she saw him.
‘Would you fetch me a carriage, dear? I’m off to Gloucester House to see Georgie.’
‘Georgie?’
‘Prince George, the Duke of Cambridge. He told me to drop in any time I was passing. Of course, that was thirty years ago, but I thought he might be lonely, as his mistress died recently. That’s the mistress he took after he married his previous mistress, who was an actress.’
‘Sir Gervais,’ said Lonsdale when he could get a word in. ‘Is he home?’
Gertrude raised her eyebrows. ‘Do you think I could embark on a pleasant adventure if that killjoy was about? He left for Birmingham an hour ago, taking Agatha and the girls with him. He dismissed all the servants except the butler, who is to close the house and follow the family north. Poor souls! What a time to be cast out with nowhere to go.’
‘Birmingham?’ asked Lonsdale suspiciously. ‘But he hates Birmingham – I heard him call it a blot on England’s green and pleasant land.’
‘Really? He told me that he arranged to spend Christmas there weeks ago.’
‘He’s lying. You know he was supposed to spend it with Jack and me. You were coming, too.’
‘I still shall,’ declared Gertrude firmly. ‘But today, I’m off to Gloucester House.’
‘Come back inside,’ said Lonsdale, taking her arm. ‘We need to work out where Humbage has really gone, because it isn’t Birmingham. He said that to mislead everyone.’
Gertrude grimaced that her jaunt was to be abandoned before it had started but did as she was asked. In the house were signs of a very hasty departure, and it was clear that the family was not intending to return. Lonsdale experienced a pang of disquiet.
‘No,’ said Gertrude, reading his mind. ‘Whatever my son-in-law has done in his quest to be noticed by “the right people” doesn’t involve Agatha or the girls. They objected strongly to being whisked away – and to leaving me behind – but he overrode them.’
‘What’s going on here?’ came an angry voice. It was the butler, immaculate as always, with a clean white apron over his dark suit.
‘Deceit and betrayal, Taylor,’ explained Gertrude crisply. ‘Tell them what Gervais asked you to do once you had packed the spoons away.’
‘More than just the spoons,’ objected Taylor stiffly. ‘But he told me to catch a train to Birmingham as soon as I finished, where he’ll reimburse me the fare.’
‘Poor Taylor,’ said Gertrude pityingly. ‘You’ve given us nigh on three decades of loyal service, but Gervais has no intention of meeting you in Birmingham, or anywhere else.’
Despite his antipathy for the butler, Lonsdale could not bear to watch his face as Gertrude told him what had happened. He began to search for clues as to where Humbage might have gone, but moments later he heard footsteps in the hallway. He braced himself to confront the man, but it was Jack, his face ashen.
‘Where’s Emelia?’ he demanded hoarsely and waved a letter. ‘She’s broken with me – says we can never marry. Where is she? I want more than this meagre excuse for an explanation.’
‘Gone,’ replied Gertrude, and led him to a horsehair sofa where she repeated what she had just told Taylor. Lonsdale felt his brother’s anguish but had no time to comfort him. He and Hulda continued their frantic search through Humbage’s papers, hoping against hope to find a clue as to where he might have gone. After hesitating uncomfortably, Taylor joined in.
‘And he has Emelia and Anne?’ cried Jack when Gertrude had finished. ‘Then we have to rescue them! We can’t leave them in the hands of a killer!’
‘He’d never hurt them,’ said Gertrude soothingly. ‘But yes, we should prise them away from him. All we need to do is find out where they are.’
She and Jack joined the others in their increasingly desperate hunt for clues.
‘Look at this,’ blurted Hulda suddenly, holding up a piece of gold-painted wood. ‘The nameplate from the bottom of the painting in the Garraway – Lord Carlingford was furious when he saw someone had made off with it.’
Lonsdale frowned his bemusement. ‘The first time I was in the Garraway, this read simply The Watcher.’
‘What does it say now?’ asked Jack.
‘The Watcher of the Dead,’ replied Lonsdale soberly. ‘Humbage must’ve intended to put the amended version back but didn’t have time. It’s proof of his guilt!’
‘It’s proof of something, certainly,’ said Jack. ‘Hah! Look! Here’s a letter from his brother. Strange! He always told me that Horace was a canon in Peterborough Cathedral, but it seems he’s an accountant in Woking. I bet they’ve gone to him. Emelia told me that he and Humbage are close.’
‘Go after them,’ ordered Gertrude. ‘Bring my girls home.’
Watchers of the Dead Page 27