The Penny Green series Box Set

by Emily Organ

  “Penny, how are you?”

  I turned away from the window and was relieved to see James standing nearby. He regarded me with solemn blue eyes which almost matched the colour of his tie.

  “Rather saddened,” I said. “Your prediction came true.”

  “I don’t suppose it was a difficult prediction to make.” He glanced at Winston as if wondering who he was.

  “This is Winston Nicholls,” I said. “His mother is Martha, whom I’ve visited a few times now. She told me about the other murders in St Giles.”

  “She sounds like a useful person to be speaking to. Hello, Mr Nicholls. I’m Detective Inspector Blakely from Scotland Yard.”

  “The Yard!”

  It was the first time I had seen Winston smile.

  “A proper detective from the Yard!” He continued. “What do you think so far? Four people with their throats cut in three weeks. A man with a grievance? An act of revenge? Or someone with an appalling thirst for gore?”

  James frowned but remained polite. “I’ve only just joined the investigation, so there is much to do, as you can imagine, Mr Nicholls.”

  “If you need any help, Inspector, I’m happy to oblige.”

  “Do you live here?”

  “No, but Ma does. I live in Red Lion Square in Holborn.”

  “And you have an occupation?”

  “Clerk.”

  “If I do need to speak to you about anything, Mr Nicholls, be reassured that I shall come and find you.”

  “I’ve a lot of ideas about the murders, you see.”

  “Is that so?”

  “All committed in the hours of darkness and the same manner of death each time. Audacious attacks wouldn’t you say, Inspector? Do you think it was a mistake to release Reuben O’Donoghue? He’s a troublemaker if ever there was one.”

  “E Division have their reasons for releasing him, Mr Nicholls.”

  “That may be so, but what does the Yard say? I urge you to reconsider O’Donoghue as a suspect, Inspector Blakely. I think it’d be of great service if you were able to establish where that man is at this present time, and what he’s doing. Washing the blood from his clothing, perhaps?”

  “We will leave no stone unturned, Mr Nicholls.”

  James took his notebook from his pocket and leafed through its pages.

  “Because the murderer will have a lot of blood on him, won’t he, Inspector? You can’t cut a man’s throat without making a great deal of mess.”

  “Thank you for your opinion, Mr Nicholls, but I must examine the scene of the crime and see what clues, if any, the perpetrator has left behind.”

  I expected Mr Nicholls to take this as his cue to leave, but still he persisted. “You’d be looking for a young man with some strength in him, I suspect. He’d be strong enough to overpower his victims because I should think they’d all have put up a fierce struggle. And who wouldn’t? A man’s desire to stay alive is extremely strong, wouldn’t you say, Inspector?”

  The door of the pawnbroker’s shop opened and Inspector Fenton pushed his head out. “So you’re finally here then, eh Blakely? You took your time.”

  “Meet me at the Tavern at six o’clock if you can,” James said to me quietly, before stepping past the two constables guarding the shop door.

  “Goodbye, Mr Nicholls. Please send my best wishes to your mother,” I said. “I hope she is not too upset by this latest murder.”

  “Oh, she will be. There was a time when this place was safe. Many people will now be too frightened to leave their homes.”

  I saw Tom Clifford swaggering over to us out of the corner of my eye.

  “The Scotland Yard detective’s here now, eh?” he said, spitting a globule of chewing tobacco onto the icy ground.

  “You shouldn’t spit in front of a lady,” said Winston.

  “Lady? This is Miss Green we’re talking about.”

  Tom gave me an unpleasant leer.

  “You’re the Yard’s favourite, aren’t you, Miss Green? There’s little chance of any other newspaper getting time with Blakely now. Doesn’t really seem fair, does it, sir? Sorry, I don’t know your name.”

  I introduced the two men. Winston immediately began to talk about the murders and Tom listened intently.

  I realised this was the perfect opportunity to depart and headed off to find some other local people to interview.

  Chapter 16

  All the tables were taken at The Museum Tavern that evening, so James and I found a place to stand by the staircase at the back of the pub. The air was filled with tobacco smoke, chatter and laughter. James hung his overcoat and jacket on a coat stand and stood with his shirt sleeves rolled up and a pewter tankard in one hand. I noticed that today his tie pin was topped with a small gold star.

  “I’ll be interested to read your news article when it’s published in the morning,” he said. “Did you find anyone with useful information in St Giles today?”

  “Some of Larcombe’s customers and a neighbour. They all described him in a similar manner: rather short-tempered, friendly when he’d had a drink and often cantankerous. He had lived in St Giles for about fifteen years, and prior to that had been living in Clerkenwell, close to the King’s Cross end, where he’d also run a pawnbroker’s shop. He was married, but his wife was often away. Some think she was staying with a daughter who was in poor health, but someone else suggested it was a maiden aunt. Either way, it seems she was helping to look after a family member of some description.”

  “Or perhaps someone she chose the company of over him,” suggested James. “I’ve taken statements from eight people today and their views of Mr Larcombe largely match the description you’ve been given. The inquest will be held within the next day or so, and we’ll hear more from the witnesses then. CID in E Division are trying to find his wife. I’m struggling to understand why the pawnbroker was attacked. If it had been an isolated incident, I’d be tempted to speculate that it could have been a falling out with a customer or a burglary gone wrong. But because of the other murders in the area recently, I feel certain that the attacker is the same man.”

  “Perhaps it’s a different killer this time and he’s simply copying the other murders?”

  “We can’t rule that out. I suppose there could be more than one murderer. But to have two people in the locality who could kill so brutally would be unusual, I think. Tell me who you’ve spoken to in St Giles so far.”

  I held James’ tankard of porter while he fetched his notebook from his overcoat pocket. “Are you all right holding my drink with your injured hand?”

  “It’s my arm which is injured.”

  “Yes, but even so. Doing anything much with your hand will put strain on your arm. How long until the sling can come off?”

  “Another two weeks, my doctor tells me. Have you heard about the man in the mask?”

  “Yes, now that sounds rather queer. Several witnesses have mentioned him to me.” He flicked through the pages of his notebook. “There are some pertinent sightings of him, in fact. On the night that Roger Yeomans died, a man wearing a mask was seen over on Broad Street at half past eleven. He was seen again at half past three in the morning on Betterton Street. There is also a sighting of him on the seventh of January, the day that Jack Burton was murdered. A man wearing a mask was seen shortly after sundown on Tower Street.”

  “About the time Jack was murdered?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what sort of mask was it?”

  “Apparently, the sort of mask an actor would wear on the stage. It’s dark in colour and covers the eyes and nose. A Pulcinella-style mask, if you like. Perhaps it’s an actor from Drury Lane having a bit of fun.”

  “Let’s hope so. Otherwise, he sounds rather sinister.”

  “He could be. The mask would be the perfect thing for concealing someone’s identity. E Division are making enquiries about further sightings and are asking the theatres if any of their actors are walking about St Giles in costume. Now, tel
l me who you spoke to today.”

  By the time I had finished giving James the particulars of the people I had interviewed, a table had become available and we sat down. James bought us another drink and consulted his notebook again.

  As he bent his head over his notes, his brow furrowed in thought, he absent-mindedly tapped the end of his pencil on the table. I watched him closely and pictured him standing at the altar with Charlotte. She would wear a beautiful dress, perhaps similar to my sister’s, which had been made of white satin trimmed with lace and orange blossom. I imagined the happy couple illuminated by beams of sunlight from a colourful stained-glass window.

  “Which church are you getting married in?” I asked.

  “What?” He looked up at me with a puzzled expression. “Oh. St John the Baptist in Croydon. Why do you ask?”

  “I don’t think I’ve asked you before.”

  “The future Mrs Blakely and her parents live in Croydon.” He returned to his notebook. “So, in summary, we have Ellen O’Brien found close to her home in Nottingham Court on the twenty-seventh of December. Then we have Roger Yeomans on the second of January, Jack Burton on the seventh and Ernest Larcombe the pawnbroker on the fifteenth. All of them have had their throats cut. Judging by the examinations of the E Division police surgeon, it seems the incisions have been made from left to right while the victim was lying on the ground. By ensuring that the victims are on the ground, the murderer is taking care not to get too much blood on his clothing, although there must surely still be a fair amount.”

  “He must have some considerable strength to get his victims onto the ground before he uses his knife,” I said.

  “It’s interesting you should say that, because something peculiar was found in Mr Larcombe’s mouth.”

  “Really?”

  “A rag which had been soaked in chloroform. I imagine the attacker would have held the rag over the pawnbroker’s nose and mouth to render him unconscious before administering the fatal wound.”

  “That must have taken some doing in itself.”

  “Yes, Mr Larcombe must have put up a struggle. It would have taken him two or three minutes to succumb.”

  “So the murderer was carrying a bottle of chloroform with him?”

  “It would seem so. I suspect he hid himself somewhere in the shop and waited for the pawnbroker to lock up for the day. The police surgeon estimates that the time of death was between seven and eight o’clock yesterday evening. Mr Larcombe was last seen by a customer who visited his shop shortly before Mr Larcombe closed up at seven. The customer didn’t see anyone else inside, which suggests our man was perhaps hiding somewhere. It’s full of curios that place. Very easy to hide away.”

  “Mr Nicholls intimated that many of the items at the pawnbroker’s shop were stolen.”

  “They might have been. There’s a great deal of criminality in the area. So once Mr Larcombe had closed his shop, the killer poured some chloroform onto a rag, emerged from his hiding place and caught the pawnbroker unawares. He approached him from behind, perhaps, and got the rag over his face before his victim could react. By all accounts, Mr Larcombe was a fit man in his forties, so he should have been able to defend himself well in a fair fight.”

  “So there would have been a struggle in the shop for a short while and then the pawnbroker would have collapsed to the floor? And after that, the attacker used his knife on him?”

  “Yes, I think so, and the fact that the rag was pushed into his mouth suggests it was used to restrict his airway as well. It was a brutal attack, during which the murderer did all he could to ensure that the pawnbroker was certainly dead. Photographs are going to be taken of the pawnbroker’s eyes in the hope that they hold the image of the murderer.”

  “Could that really happen?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a new idea that the eyes retain the last image beheld before death. It’s called optography.”

  “And does it work?”

  “A scientist in Germany claims to have found that it works in rabbits. But it’s a new idea, as I say.”

  “I’ve not heard of it before. If it works, solving the murder should be easy! I can’t imagine it being so straightforward, however. How do you think the killer got out of the shop unseen?”

  “A window was left open in the pawnbroker’s accommodation at the back. He probably escaped that way, because the shop door remained locked. It seems his wife was not in the property at the time, as you said. E Division are still trying to find her.”

  “Do you think the killer could have colluded with his wife?”

  “It is a line of enquiry that we may consider. But I think it’s rather likely that this is the same man who cut the throats of the previous three victims. The question we need to answer is, why did he do it?”

  “But chloroform wasn’t used in the other murders.”

  “Sadly, because it probably wasn’t needed. Mr Yeomans was drunk and only had one leg. Mrs O’Brien and Jack Burton were both of a smaller build. It is likely that our killer found it quite easy to overpower them.”

  As with the other murders, I couldn’t understand the motive. “So this despicable man went to the pawnbroker’s shop armed with chloroform and a knife, and laid in wait for his moment to attack. Then it was not a chance killing; he deliberately targeted the man. But why?”

  “Once we understand that, we will be closer to discovering the killer’s identity, but for the time being we must continue with our investigations. We know the motive could not have been robbery, because the day’s takings were left alone in the shop along with a whole range of valuables. Perhaps our man helped himself to something, but there is no way of telling. This is a similar case to Jack’s murder, when the killer could have taken your bag with him and helped himself to the money in your purse. Instead, he just left it there, didn’t he?”

  “Jack’s murder was so swift. He was attacked and killed within a matter of minutes, and yet the murderer took more time with Mr Larcombe. I suppose that’s because he knew he might have been discovered at any moment in that courtyard, while in the pawnbroker’s shop he was hidden from view. Where might he have obtained the chloroform?”

  “It’s found in many household apothecary kits, although the rag found in Mr Larcombe’s mouth had been soaked in quite some significant amount. The kits usually contain small bottles, so we need to remain on the lookout for someone buying large quantities from an apothecary. There is no doubt that he may try to use this method again.”

  “On whom? And when?” I shivered. “I can’t bear the thought of anyone else suffering in this way. Surely he’s done enough?”

  “I would like to think so, but this man is clearly a degenerate. There’s no telling what he’s capable of.”

  Chapter 17

  “Understanding how the victims knew each other has to give us a clue to the murderer, doesn’t it?” I said. “I’ve discovered that Jack ran errands for Mr Larcombe as well as for Mr Yeomans. Jack was a member of the Seven Dials Gang. It’s led by Edward Keller, who calls himself the Earl of York.”

  “I’ve been finding out about them. One of the gang’s activities is to run messages for people. They also move around money and stolen property. I don’t know enough about Ernest Larcombe’s character yet, but it is not unheard of for pawnbrokers to collude with gangs and thieves in criminal activity, pawning stolen watches and jewellery, for example. However, I don’t think that’s why he was killed. I think it must be something less obvious than his criminal activities, just as it was with Jack.”

  “Might he have fallen out with Keller?”

  “It’s a possibility, and the other victims may also have done so. I certainly need to interview Keller and find out whether he can enlighten me any further. I’ve yet to find a connection between three of the victims and Mrs O’Brien.”

  “Mr Yeomans was once married to her sister.”

  “Ah, was he indeed?” James wrote this down.

  “I’m not sure why that shou
ld mean that the two of them had to be murdered, but it’s a connection that Mrs Nicholls told me about.”

  “And the rather queer man we met earlier is her son?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t say that I took to him. He said a number of strange things. I suppose these murders are rather shocking, and they obviously affect people in many different ways. He must be worried about his mother living so close to these crime scenes.”

  “I suppose you hadn’t anticipated a case as challenging as this on your return to London.”

  “No, and I could have done with something a little more straightforward.” James sat back in his seat and glanced over at a man sitting beside the bar, who was refilling his pipe. “It’s almost enough to persuade me to smoke tobacco again.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  “The future Mrs Blakely abhors the smell of pipe smoke.”

  “But she isn’t here.”

  “True,” he smiled. “The odour lingers though, doesn’t it?” He took a sip of stout. “Tell me what else you’ve been working on recently, Penny. I need to stop thinking about the murders for a moment.”

  “Well, until this unfortunate business with Jack Burton occurred I had just begun writing a book.”

  “A book?” His face brightened. “That’s impressive news indeed! What about?”

  “It’s on the subject of my father’s plant-hunting travels. I’ve wanted to collect together all his letters and diaries and publish them in one volume for a number of years now, and that is what I’ve started doing. My mother and sister have given me all the papers they had and I have a fair few myself.”

  “And your father’s papers were in your bag when Jack took it, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, so it was an enormous relief not to have lost them permanently.”

  “You had a close shave. To think that Frederick Barnsley Green’s papers were almost lost for good!”

  “I keep them all safe in my room now to avoid that ever happening again. You’re welcome to come and visit me if you would like to see them.”