Murder at Madame Tussauds

by Jim Eldridge

  ‘You don’t know Gerald Carr. He’s clever. For all his malevolence he’s never been convicted of any offence. And he’s absolutely ruthless. He thinks nothing of killing people if they pose a threat to him. There is a very real possibility that he’s behind the murders at Tussauds, hence the warning to us to back off.’

  ‘Do you think he’s responsible for the murders?’

  ‘I didn’t before today. I thought it was a rival gang of bank robbers, but after this …I’m not so sure.’

  ‘Go in and put the kettle on,’ she said. ‘I’ll just finish cleaning my coat and then we can have a cup of tea and talk things over.’

  ‘What is there to talk over?’ demanded Daniel. ‘You’re in danger.’

  ‘And from now on I’ll be on my guard,’ she told him.

  ‘But …’ Daniel started to protest.

  ‘Put the kettle on,’ repeated Abigail. ‘I’m in desperate need for a cup of tea.’

  Resignedly, Daniel entered the house and put the kettle on the kitchen range. There’s no arguing with Abigail, he reflected ruefully. It was the same when they’d been in Manchester and her life had been threatened, but she’d refused to hide away. All I can do is let John Feather know the danger, and between us we’ll do our best to keep an eye on her.

  Abigail came in from the yard, wiping her hands, just as the kettle came to the boil and Daniel set about making tea.

  ‘I found a tunnel at Tussauds,’ he told her as he poured the boiling water into the pot.

  She looked at him in bewilderment. ‘A tunnel?’

  ‘In the cellar. It’s only partially made, but it definitely heads in the direction of the bank.’

  Abigail sat down, stunned. ‘So you were right.’

  ‘I was,’ said Daniel. ‘But we still need to get it confirmed. I got John Tussaud to send a message to John Feather, telling him about it. John was out on his investigation, so I asked for him to come here after he’s examined the tunnel so far.’

  ‘So they were planning to rob the bank. Dudgeon and Bagshot, and Michaels.’

  ‘Along with Gerald Carr, as I get the impression he was in partnership with Michaels.’

  ‘So why would Carr want to kill Dudgeon, Bagshot and Michaels?’ asked Abigail.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Daniel. ‘That’s what puzzles me. That’s why, until I was attacked today, I didn’t think of Carr as being responsible for the deaths.’ He poured tea for them both, then asked, ‘By the bye, with all that’s gone on, I forgot to ask how your lunch went with Mr Doyle.’

  She gave a wry smile. ‘I think that he and I have different agendas about this expedition.’

  ‘Oh? How so?’

  ‘I think he’s hoping to find confirmation for the supernatural aspects of Egyptian religions. You know, re-animation, for example. Life after death. Eternal life.’

  ‘Surely not. Mr Doyle is one of the most practical people there is, and very down-to-earth. Look at his Sherlock Holmes stories: practical answers to apparently supernatural events.’

  ‘But then you have to look at his other stories. The Egyptian ones. I think he’s searching for something.’

  ‘Something other-worldly?’

  ‘I could be wrong, but that was the impression I got.’

  ‘Will that affect the expedition you’ve been talking about, if you and he have different agendas?’

  ‘No,’ said Abigail. ‘We might interpret what we find differently, but that won’t stop us gathering information and materials from the site. For me, any expedition must be approached with an open mind, and I hope that Mr Doyle feels the same.’

  There was a knock at the door.

  ‘That might be John,’ said Daniel.

  It was, and he returned from answering the door with the inspector behind him.

  ‘You’re just in time for tea,’ said Daniel.

  Feather stopped and sniffed suspiciously. ‘What’s that smell?’

  ‘Horse dung,’ said Abigail ruefully. ‘I got it off my coat but some got in my hair.’

  Feather looked at her, puzzled. ‘What are you doing putting your head in horse dung?’

  ‘I didn’t do it deliberately,’ said Abigail. ‘I fell in the road.’

  ‘She was pushed,’ said Daniel, grim-faced.

  They told him their experiences that afternoon: Abigail being pushed in front of a wagon in Oxford Street, and Daniel being attacked as he left Tussauds. ‘They said it was a warning from Gerald Carr, which suggests he’s behind the three murders.’

  ‘Possibly now five,’ said Feather. And he told them about Arthur Crum and Derek Parminter. ‘I think they were each passing information to the bank robbers to let them know when there was a sizeable amount in the vault worth robbing. And both were killed to make sure they didn’t reveal who was behind it. Oh, and I saw the tunnel in the cellar at Tussauds. You were right.’

  ‘It was the only logical answer as to why Dudgeon and Bagshot, two tunnellers, had been brought in to replace Bruin and Patterson.’ Daniel shrugged. ‘But, if it’s any consolation, I had my doubts. It did seem a long way for two men to dig a tunnel. Did you go inside it?’

  ‘I did,’ said Feather. ‘I’m going to get an engineer to do a proper inspection of it tomorrow, tell us how long it is so we can work out how much time they’d have needed to get to the bank.’

  ‘The puzzle is why all these people are being murdered.’ Daniel frowned. ‘The two bank clerks I can understand, to stop them talking about who they told about the amount of money in their respective bank vaults. But that means they were killed by the people breaking through from the cellar next door. And I can’t shake the idea that there are two different gangs at work: one who breaks into the next-door bank, and one behind the tunnelling long distances. We know that Gerald Carr is involved with the tunnelling gang through Michaels, but what’s his connection to the other bank raids?’

  ‘He’s surely connected to the murders at Tussauds,’ said Feather. ‘The men who attacked you said the warning came from him, and to stop looking into those murders.’

  ‘But what’s his connection?’ asked Daniel. ‘Why would Carr have the two nightwatchmen and Michaels killed? Especially before the tunnelling is completed. It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Maybe there aren’t two rival gangs?’ suggested Abigail. ‘Maybe it’s all one big gang doing both?’

  ‘Possibly,’ said Daniel. ‘But it doesn’t explain why they’re killing their own people.’ He looked at them, grimly determined. ‘We need to question Gerald Carr.’

  ‘Inspector Jarrett’s been tasked with bringing him in,’ said Feather.

  ‘When he does, I’d like to be part of the team that questions him,’ said Daniel.

  Feather looked doubtful.

  ‘I can’t see Armstrong agreeing to that,’ he said. ‘You know how set he is against you.’ He sighed. ‘But I’ll mention it. See what I can do.’

  ‘Thanks, John,’ said Daniel. ‘After all, he must see that we’re all on the same side.’

  ‘He just sees that he’s compared in the press with you two unfavourably,’ said Feather.

  After Feather had gone, Daniel and Abigail discussed the weighty problem of Gerald Carr.

  ‘He holds the key to this case,’ said Daniel. ‘And if Armstrong isn’t going to let us in when they bring him in, I’ll just have to find a way to talk to him myself.’

  ‘Is that a good idea?’ said Abigail doubtfully. ‘You’ve just had first-hand experience of him already today. The next time it might be more than just a warning. Why not wait and see what he tells Jarrett? I’m sure John Feather will tell you.’

  ‘Because I don’t think that Jim Jarrett will ask the right questions,’ said Daniel.

  ‘Can’t you give John a list of the questions you want asked?’

  ‘It doesn’t work that way,’ said Daniel. ‘There are protocols to follow. It’s Jarrett’s case.’

  ‘Surely not now they’ve found the tunnel at Tussauds. Th
at’s John’s case.’

  ‘Yes, you may be right,’ agreed Daniel. ‘But I’d still like to be there when Carr is questioned. It’s not just the answers he’ll give, it’s how he says them. His manner. His body language. His hand movements. That’s what a proper questioning is about.’ He sighed. ‘I still think the only way for me to find out what I want is to be face to face with Carr.’

  ‘And say he kills you?’ demanded Abigail.

  ‘That could be a drawback,’ said Daniel. ‘Which is why it’s down to me to make sure that doesn’t happen.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Gerald Carr stood at the window overlooking his yard. Locky and Lard, his two bodyguards, should be arriving about now and ringing the bell for him to open the gates and let them in. As he stood there he heard the unmistakeable sound of two shots being fired outside his gates, followed by the big brass bell in the yard ringing as the rope outside was pulled. Two shots! Locky and Lard must have come across someone dangerous. Perhaps more than one, as two shots had been fired.

  Carr hurried down the wooden stairs to the yard and across it to the gates. It was important to get the dead bodies dragged inside the yard before people started poking their noses in. The bell had stopped ringing now and there was no more shooting, which suggested that Locky and Lard had dealt with the problem, whatever or whoever it had been. Carr unlocked the padlock and pulled the two bolts, then pulled the first of the gates open. He began to step out, then stopped in shock. The bodies of Locky and Lard lay face down on the pavement; both had been shot in the back. As he stared at them, bewildered, he was suddenly aware of a flicker of movement on the other side of the road, and he darted back into the yard just in time as a bullet smashed into the wood of the gate, right where he’d been standing.

  Hastily, he pushed the gate shut and slammed the bolts home, then ran to a large gong suspended from a frame close to the gates. He picked up the long-handled mallet and hit the gong hard, once, twice, three times, the sound echoing from the yard into the surrounding streets. It was a sound that his men who lived nearby would recognise, the alarm that the yard was under attack. Who would dare to do this?

  And then the answer hit him. First those two watchmen, then Michaels, and now him. For the first time in his life – well, in his adult life – Gerald Carr knew he wasn’t safe. He had to do something he’d never done before if he was going to save himself.

  Superintendent Armstrong sat behind his desk looking up at Feather as he told him about the tunnel that had been discovered the previous day in the cellar at Tussauds Museum. ‘So, it looks as if Wilson was right and the murders at Tussauds are connected with the bank robberies.’

  Armstrong sat, processing the information, a scowl on his face.

  ‘It may just be coincidence,’ he said at last. ‘Get someone in to check this alleged tunnel out. It could be just subsidence behind the wall.’

  ‘I examined it myself. There are wooden slats in it supporting the ceiling and sides. It’s definitely a tunnel. At least, part of a tunnel, and it’s heading in the direction of the bank two shops away.’

  ‘Get someone in to look at it, anyway. Someone who knows about tunnels. They can tell us how far it goes.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Feather.

  He turned and was about to leave, when Armstrong called him back.

  ‘On second thoughts, we can’t afford delays on either case. Important people are watching us. Get someone in to check this alleged tunnel, but at the same time bring Wilson in. We need to talk to him.’

  ‘Just him? What about his partner, Miss Fenton?’

  ‘Bring her in as well. They work together; what he knows she knows, and vice versa. Bring them both in, and tell Inspector Jarrett to come in as well. Set up a meeting here for this afternoon.’ As Feather once again made for the door, the superintendent shouted after him, ‘And keep it out of the papers! If these two cases do turn out to be connected, I want Scotland Yard to get the credit, not Wilson and Fenton! We’ll tell the press about it in our own time, and in our own way.’

  Gerald Carr watched as two of his men loaded the bodies of Locky and Lard onto the back of an open wagon and covered them with a large, oiled cloth.

  ‘Put them in the usual place,’ he said.

  ‘The usual place’ was a large area of marshy ground that a friend of Carr’s owned not far from St Pancras railway station, a convenient place for many things to disappear, including bodies.

  Carr turned to the others who’d come, summoned by the gong.

  ‘I want a carriage, something that looks like a hansom cab but doesn’t have any numbers on it,’ he told them.

  ‘There’s one at Harry Towb’s,’ said one of the men.

  ‘Go and get it,’ said Carr. As the man left on his errand, he addressed the others: ‘Iggy and Joe, you’re coming with me.’

  ‘Where to, boss?’ asked Iggy.

  ‘On an errand,’ said Carr. ‘Foxy, you stay here and keep an eye on the yard until I get back. The rest of you can clear off home.’

  ‘Don’t you want us to make enquiries as to who the shooter was who bumped off Locky and Lard, Mr Carr?’ asked Foxy.

  Carr shook his head. ‘I know who it was,’ he said. ‘I’m dealing with it.’

  From his vantage point behind a large wagon parked by the kerb, Daniel continued to watch the activity in Carr’s yard. He’d come to Somers Town intending to find a way of getting to meet Carr face to face, and had found the place a hive of activity with one wagon drawn by a large heavy horse in the yard, onto which two dead bodies had been loaded and covered with an oiled cloth, and men bustling to and fro, some of them armed, while Carr stood in the middle of the yard directing operations. What had happened? How had the two men died? Had Carr killed them?

  As he watched he saw a small carriage approach the yard from the end of the road, drawn by a single black horse. The carriage pulled up outside the entrance to the yard and a man got out of it and went into the yard, returning a short while later accompanied by Carr and two tough-looking men. The three men climbed into the carriage, and, as soon as the doors had shut, the driver flicked the reins and the carriage moved off. Once the entrance was clear of the obstruction by the carriage, the heavy wagon with the bodies on board trundled towards the entrance and then rumbled out into the roadway. The men who remained milled around together, talking in murmurs too low for Daniel to catch what was being said, but he could tell from the worried expressions on their faces that something had gone seriously wrong here. And, with Carr gone, there was no use in him hanging around to find out what it was.

  Daniel headed along the road, and as he neared the junction at the end he had to stop to let an elderly woman who was doubled over, wearing a cape with a hood and using a walking stick to hobble along, pass him. Instead she stopped.

  ‘Pardon me, madam,’ said Daniel, and he moved to one side.

  ‘You’re very polite, young sir,’ said the woman, and she stood up, straightening herself, and threw back her hood.

  ‘Abigail!’ Daniel cried in surprise. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘After what you told me about Gerald Carr, you surely didn’t expect me to allow you to just walk into danger, with the possibility of you being killed, without coming along to keep an eye on you.’

  ‘But what could you have done if things had gone badly?’

  ‘I would have done something,’ said Abigail. ‘I don’t know what, but something. Possibly to do with this.’

  And she clicked the handle of the walking stick and pulled on it to reveal a sword blade within the actual stick.

  ‘A sword stick?!’ said Daniel, incredulous. ‘When did you get hold of this?’

  ‘I brought it with me from Cambridge. It belonged to an uncle of mine who left it to me in his will. He said it would offer me protection on my foreign travels.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you had it?’

  ‘I don’t know. I thought you might laugh at me.’

/>   ‘Why would I laugh at you?’ He looked at her warily. ‘How many other things have you been hiding from me? Weapons, I mean.’

  ‘None,’ she told him. ‘This was all, and I’ve never had cause to use it. But today, after what you said, I thought it might be of some use.’

  ‘Against Gerald Carr and his gang?’

  ‘The threat of a woman armed with a sword would be enough to make them take pause,’ she said. ‘So, what happened? Did you see Carr?’

  ‘I did, but not to talk to. He’s just been driven off in a carriage. And two dead men were on that wagon that trundled away just now.’

  ‘Dead? How? Did Carr kill them?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ admitted Daniel. ‘But with Carr gone, I think we’ll have to pass this on to Inspector Jarrett and let him make his enquiries.’ He smiled. ‘I feel that might be more productive than you going in there and threatening people with your swordstick. And safer.’

  Marion Budd stood outside the large building that was Madame Tussauds waxworks museum and she could feel her heart pounding. He was in there. Her Daniel. At least, she hoped he was. This was where her uncle John said he was spending most of his time, investigating the murders there. She knew in her heart that Daniel was the one for her. She knew it as soon as she’d seen him again after all these years. Before she’d just been a young girl, but now she was a woman. Yes, she was younger than him, but that didn’t matter; she knew most women who got married had husbands much older than them. And she was sixteen. That was almost elderly by comparison with some of the women she knew. There’d been at least four girls in her home village who’d been married at thirteen and mothers at fourteen. Sixteen was old.

  She knew now she’d been wrong to push Abigail the way she had so that she fell in front of that horse. She’d only meant to frighten her so that Abigail might leave London, but she could have been killed, and if that had happened Daniel would have been overcome with grief. He might even have left London himself, and Marion would lose him. She wouldn’t make that same mistake again. Nor would she make the same mistake she’d done with the Reverend Wattle. She’d been wrong about the Reverend Wattle. She’d thought he loved her, the way he’d looked at her, smiled at her, been so kind to her, so caring. But when she’d told him how she felt about him, instead of taking him in her arms as she’d hoped, he’d stared at her in shock. Then he’d panicked and told her mother what she’d said. She couldn’t let that happen with Daniel. She had to be more careful. No, she’d just call on him, talk to him, smile at him, let him know by little things how she felt about him, how much she loved him.