Rage of the Assassin

by Edward Marston

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I have a feeling that we’re going to be proved right.’

  Standing outside the hotel, Harry Scattergood sent a message to Bow Street and awaited the response. He was confident that the Runners would come in force. Two floors above him, Alan Kinnaird was watching from a window so that he knew exactly when to attempt his escape. He’d put his trust in his friend and, despite the tremors he was feeling, he believed that everything would go as planned. At the end of it all was a large amount of money shared between him and Scattergood. Keeping his mind on that helped to drive away any niggling doubts.

  Yeomans and Hale had hired two carriages to take five men apiece to the hotel. When they left Bow Street, it never occurred to any of them to look over their shoulders. Had they done so, they’d have seen Paul Skillen trailing them on his horse. After a dash through the streets, they clattered to a halt at the point where the man they knew as Giles Clearwater was waiting. Yeomans jumped out of the first carriage and ran over to him. Hale was with him.

  ‘Is he still inside?’ he asked.

  ‘You have my word on it,’ replied Scattergood.

  ‘Is he alone?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I’m certain of that.’

  ‘Where exactly is he?’

  ‘He’s in room 29. It’s on the second floor.’

  ‘Deploy the men, Alfred.’

  ‘I will,’ said Hale.

  Watched by Paul from his vantage point nearby, Hale stationed the men in pairs around the four sides of the hotel, then rushed back to rejoin Yeomans. With Scattergood leading them, the Runners went into the hotel and rushed across to the counter. Yeomans wasted no time on explanations. He simply demanded a master key that would open the door of the relevant room. The manager handed it over without protest. The three of them headed for the staircase. They crept up the steps until they came to the second floor. A narrow passageway confronted them. Leading the way, Yeomans took out a pistol from his belt. Hale had his own weapon. The trio tried to move as silently as they could. When they reached the room they wanted, Yeomans inserted the master key gently into the lock.

  After checking that Hale was ready, he suddenly turned the key, flung the door open and charged in with his gun at the ready. Hale followed suit. But it was all to no avail. There was nobody there. They searched under the bed and looked in the wardrobe, but it was evident that the place was empty.

  ‘The bird has flown,’ said Scattergood. ‘Get after him!’

  Chevy Ruddock, meanwhile, was lurking outside the rear entrance of the hotel with Filbert. After lighting his pipe, the latter inhaled the tobacco.

  ‘It will be the same as usual, Chevy,’ he said, rancorously. ‘We do the work and they get all the bleeding credit. We’re the ones who’ll have to catch this devil and he’ll be dangerous.’

  ‘No, he won’t,’ said Ruddock.

  ‘But he’s an assassin. That means he kills people.’

  ‘He’s working with a crook named Giles Clearwater. That means he’s not an assassin at all. I don’t really know what’s going on, Bill, but one thing is certain. We’re not going to arrest the man who shot Sir Roger Mellanby dead.’

  ‘Yes, we are.’

  ‘Mr Skillen agrees with me.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘I spoke to him earlier.’

  Filbert frowned. ‘Do you think that was wise, Chevy?’

  ‘He’s the one person who believes I’m right. Peter or Paul Skillen – I don’t know which one it was – is clever enough to work it out. We’re being tricked, Bill.’

  ‘Let me ask you one question—’

  But he had no time to do so. The back door of the hotel suddenly opened and Kinnaird hurtled out, colliding with the two men and forcing them apart. Ruddock immediately gave chase, but Filbert was winded by the power of the impact. A hue and cry developed with all the men stationed outside the hotel joining in the chase through the crowded streets. Eager to take part in the manhunt, Paul kicked his horse into action. He was soon well ahead of the chasing pack.

  Kinnaird was fleet-footed but he couldn’t outrun the pursuit for long. Now that Scattergood’s plan had been activated, his friend was having qualms about it. Being arrested by a gang of men from the foot patrol meant that he would probably be pummelled until he lost consciousness. He might be seriously wounded and unable to make the escape from custody that Scattergood had promised. With the dangers starting to outweigh the rewards, Kinnaird opted for a change of decision. The plan had to be ditched. He was running to save his life.

  Lungs bursting and legs starting to ache, he did everything he could to escape, twisting and turning, diving down lanes and plunging at one point into a market and causing mayhem amongst the stalls. It all served to put him well ahead of Ruddock and the others, but he sensed that he still wasn’t safe.

  Paul rode at a steady canter, keeping the fugitive in sight from his elevated position but giving him time to run until he was completely exhausted. As it was, the man was visibly slowing and beginning to stumble. When he saw his quarry turn into the courtyard of an inn, Paul slowed his horse to a trot. Caution was needed. The man would certainly be armed and was unlikely to surrender without a fight. The first thing that Paul did as he entered the courtyard was to peer through one of the windows. The bar was quite empty and there was no sign of a panting newcomer. After moving to a second window to see the room from a different angle, he accepted that the man had gone to ground elsewhere. The only possibility left was that he’d dived into the stables.

  Dismounting from his horse, Paul led him by the bridle as if he were a patron of the inn wishing to leave the animal in a safe place. As he found him an empty stall, he talked affectionately to the horse and got a responsive whinny. In the gloomy interior, there was a compound of smells. The stink of sweat on horseflesh blended with the stench of manure and was tempered by the aroma of fresh hay. But there was something else that Paul’s nostrils picked up. It was the odour of fear. The man was there. When he listened carefully, Paul could hear his laboured breathing. Pretending to leave, he tethered his horse and gave it a friendly slap on the rump before going out. Instead of walking to the inn, however, he waited outside the door.

  The sound of movement inside the stables was almost instantaneous. Paul could hear the sound of feet descending a ladder followed by the rustle of straw. He guessed that the man was going to steal one of the horses to make his escape. First of all, he’d check to see that the coast was clear. It was the moment for which Paul was waiting. The second a head poked out from the stables, he came alive, hurling himself forward and dragging the man out into the courtyard. The element of surprise gave Paul an initial advantage but, even though he’d been fatigued by the chase, the man found reserves of strength and fought back. They grappled, punched, kicked and did everything possible to get the upper hand. Paul yelled in disgust when the man spat in his face. He reacted angrily, getting in a relay of punches to the body before stamping hard on the man’s foot to send him off balance. Using his shoulder, Paul knocked him to the ground, then dived on top of him, letting his weight hold his adversary on his back. He was now able to get in a series of powerful hooks to the head. Blood was soon cascading down the fugitive’s face, getting into his eyes and blurring his vision. Feeling the resistance weakening, Paul summoned up his strength for a decisive punch to the jaw. There was a grunt of pain and Kinnaird became too groggy to fight on.

  Paul got to his feet and lifted his prisoner up by his hair.

  ‘What are you and Harry Scattergood up to?’ he demanded.

  When he got to the warehouse, the assassin had the reassuring sensation that he’d found the man at last. He took out the letter again and looked at the signature. Of the four guesses he’d made at deciphering it, it was the first – Denley. The name was painted on the doors ahead of him in large letters. From inside the warehouse, he could hear the sounds of crates being loaded and bottles rattling. Judging by the size of the premises, the wine deale
r was a very successful businessman. The assassin resolved to deprive him of more than his wealth. One last hurdle faced him. He had to find a way to get close to Hugh Denley.

  Losing the man they’d chased so hard was a painful experience, but having to admit their failure to Yeomans was even more agonising. As they dribbled back to the hotel in disgrace, he gave each and every one of them a roasting. The moment Yeomans finished, Hale took over to add more scorn and humiliation. One man had somehow managed to elude all eight of them. They’d never be allowed to forget it.

  For his part, Harry Scattergood was mystified. He’d given strict instructions to Kinnaird to be taken prisoner after a scuffle with the posse. What had happened to him? Had he lost his nerve and bolted? Had he betrayed his friend and gone into hiding? One conclusion was unavoidable. The well-rehearsed plan had been summarily abandoned. There’d be no reward for the capture of the false assassin.

  Having chastised his men, Yeomans now turned his fire on Scattergood, accusing him of calling them too late to arrest the man in his hotel room.

  ‘This is your fault,’ he bellowed.

  ‘It’s the fault of your useless men,’ retorted Scattergood. ‘They let the rogue slip through their fingers. You should train them properly.’

  ‘Don’t you tell me how to do my job.’

  ‘Somebody needs to, Mr Yeomans.’

  The row quickly accelerated with insults galore from both parties. It was not only entertaining for Yeomans’ men, it was a salve for their wounded pride. They were so absorbed in watching the fiery debate that they didn’t notice the two people approaching. One was Paul Skillen, leading his horse with one hand and pulling a blood-covered Alan Kinnaird with the other. The prisoner’s wrists were tied securely behind his back.

  It was Chevy Ruddock who finally spotted them.

  ‘He’s been caught,’ he yelled. ‘Mr Skillen has apprehended him.’

  ‘What was he doing here?’ cried Yeomans, breaking away from his argument. ‘The assassin was ours until we let him escape.’

  ‘That was your second mistake, Micah,’ teased Paul. ‘The first one was in assuming that this man I caught had anything whatsoever to do with Sir Roger’s murder. He’s no assassin,’ he went on. ‘He’s a confederate of Mr Giles Clearwater.’

  ‘I’ve never laid eyes on this fellow before,’ said Scattergood, indignantly.

  ‘Don’t believe a word that he says.’

  ‘The credit for the arrest shouldn’t go to me,’ confessed Paul. ‘The real hero is Chevy Ruddock.’ All eyes turned to their colleague. ‘He was the person who discovered the truth and he was cruelly ignored by those above him.’

  ‘Quite rightly,’ shouted Yeomans.

  ‘I say the same,’ added Hale, defiantly.

  ‘Then let me show you how easily you were tricked,’ said Paul, drawing his sword in a flash and holding it at Scattergood’s throat. ‘Don’t move an inch, Harry, or I’ll cut your Adam’s apple out and toss it to the dogs.’

  ‘You are very much mistaken, sir,’ said Scattergood, trying to brazen it out. ‘My name is Giles Clearwater and I’ll be taking an action against you for this grotesque slander.’

  ‘He can’t be Giles Clearwater,’ said Ruddock. ‘I proved it.’

  ‘Indeed, you did, Chevy,’ agreed Paul. ‘The one thing you didn’t realise was that the man who purloined that name was no less a person than Harry Scattergood.’ There was general amazement. ‘He persuaded his friend, Kinnaird, to pretend to be the assassin so that they could claim the reward.’

  ‘This is absolute nonsense,’ said Scattergood, haughtily.

  ‘It’s no use, Harry,’ warned Kinnaird. ‘Skillen knows everything.’

  Scattergood tried to get away, but Paul was ready, sticking out a foot to trip him up then standing over him with the point of his sword at his captive’s throat once more. Scattergood was hissing like a snake.

  ‘Since you first found out that he was an impostor,’ said Paul, looking at Ruddock, ‘you should have the honour of arresting him.’ There was loud applause for Ruddock. ‘As for the rest of you, don’t always respect your leaders. Next time they criticise you, remind them that they were completely taken in by Harry Scattergood, one of the wiliest criminals in the whole of London.’

  Yeomans and Hale cringed in the face of mocking laughter.

  Before he accepted her judgement, Peter had questioned Kitty Denley at length. She was able to quote several instances of her husband vowing to kill Sir Roger Mellanby. After his embarrassing defeat in the duel, Hugh Denley had been even more determined to strike back at the politician. His wife knew for a fact that her husband had paid someone to gather information about the Radical Dandy’s private life. What Kitty couldn’t be certain about was whether or not Denley had been acting alone or in concert with one of the politician’s many enemies in Parliament.

  Armed with the evidence she’d given him, Peter went to the wine merchant’s premises and asked to see him. Denley reluctantly agreed and soon wished that he hadn’t done so because his visitor was asking unsettling questions.

  ‘Do you admit that you had Sir Roger spied on?’ asked Peter.

  ‘That’s a wild accusation, Mr Skillen.’

  ‘It was made by Mrs Denley.’

  ‘My wife would say anything to get me into trouble.’

  ‘She was able to give me a firm assurance that she overheard you giving instructions to someone to pry into Sir Roger’s private life. Either you did or you didn’t. Which one is it?’

  ‘Kitty was mistaken in what she overheard.’

  ‘So you do admit that instructions were given?’

  ‘I admit nothing.’

  ‘You went to see your wife earlier today.’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘My principal objective was to complain about you and your brother. I told Kitty that I resented the way that she’d unleashed the pair of you on to me without any reason to do so.’

  ‘I never even met your wife, Mr Denley. I came at my brother’s suggestion in the hope that I might get to the truth.’

  ‘Then the truth is that I had nothing whatsoever to do with the assassination, though I’m happy to confess that it brought me a great deal of satisfaction. I loathed everything that Mellanby stood for. Whoever silenced that dangerous voice is a public benefactor.’

  ‘Does that mean you condone the crime of murder?’

  ‘No, of course I don’t.’

  ‘You sound as if you want the killer to get away with it,’ said Peter. ‘How much did you pay him?’

  Denley blushed. They were in his office, a large, well-appointed room with a selection of bottles of wine displayed on a table. A series of framed awards hung on the walls. The firm was clearly a leader in the market. Close to the window was an exquisite sofa for occasions when Denley needed to relax. In a corner was a sizeable safe on top of which were some wine goblets.

  ‘I must ask you to leave, Mr Skillen,’ said Denley, pulling himself up to his full height. ‘If you refuse to do so, I’ll have you removed.’

  ‘There was another reason why you visited your wife, wasn’t there?’

  ‘The door is behind you.’

  ‘You not only told Mrs Denley that you missed her, you were clearly hoping to effect some sort of reconciliation in due course.’

  ‘That’s a private matter.’

  ‘Your wife was shocked that you should even have raised the issue. It was only after you’d left that she realised what you were trying to do. You were anxious to lure her back into the family home to restore the impression of normality. It would put to bed all those rumours about an attachment between your wife and Sir Roger Mellanby. Moreover, it would divert any suspicion of your involvement in Sir Roger’s death away from you.’

  ‘This is insufferable,’ said Denley. ‘I want you out of here.’

  Before he could even walk towards the door, however, it opened to admit a man who locked the door
behind him, then pulled out a pistol from under his coat. He moved it from one to the other.

  ‘Which one of you is Hugh Denley?’

  ‘I am,’ said the wine merchant, nervously.

  ‘Then I want the rest of my money.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m the person you hired to kill Sir Roger Mellanby,’ said the other, ‘and I obeyed my instructions. Instead of paying me my full fee, you ordered someone to have me killed.’

  ‘I did nothing of the kind.’

  ‘That person is no longer alive, and neither is the one who tried to shoot me dead in St James’s Park.’

  ‘Please believe me,’ cried Denley. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Yes, you do,’ said Peter.

  ‘Keep out of this,’ ordered the assassin.

  ‘But I came here to accuse Mr Denley of having blood on his hands.’

  ‘He’ll have it all over him by the time I’ve finished with him. Stand back,’ he added as Peter took a step towards him. ‘I can shoot just as well with either hand.’

  He produced a second pistol from inside his coat and pointed towards Peter who took a step backwards. Denley was trembling with fear but Peter remained calm and watchful. He was surprised how young and elegant the assassin was.

  ‘Open that safe,’ demanded the newcomer.

  ‘You’re making a terrible mistake,’ said Denley. ‘Whoever told you that I was implicated in the murder was lying.’

  ‘The person who told me was you.’

  ‘That’s impossible.’

  ‘I have your letter to prove it.’

  He tucked one of the pistols under his arm so that he could take the letter out of his pocket. When he’d slapped it down on the desk, he grabbed the other pistol again and kept it trained on Peter. Denley was frozen with horror. He couldn’t even bear to look at the letter.