by Mick Finlay
‘Take if off me hands, will you, mate?’ he growled.
I shook my head and had another bite of my spud.
‘Just bloody take it!’ he barked, spittle flying out of his mouth. He seemed crazed, and for a moment I saw him as one of Molly’s punters, and she with her hand on his ulcerated cock-stand.
‘Fuck off,’ I hissed, hurling my spud at him. It struck his neck. He yelped and ran off down the road, his tree jumping and scraping behind him.
I took up my spud from the gutter, picked off the mud, and had another bite. Neddy arrived just then, two scarves around his neck and the sailor’s cap on his head. A bruise had come up round the scar on his forehead, but he seemed cheery enough.
‘Mr Arrowood wants you to meet him at the Elephant and Castle,’ he said, taking the spud from my hand and having a bite.
‘I know.’
He held the spud out for me.
‘You keep it, Neddy. Where’s that queer dog of yours?’
‘Flossie’s got him.’
‘You shouldn’t have left him there. They got too much going on, mate. Why didn’t you leave him at yours?’
‘I can’t do that. Ma’ll eat him.’
‘Don’t be soft, Neddy.’
‘She done it afore when I had Dolly. I swear it. She pretends she didn’t but she did.’
‘She never did. That dog ran away.’
‘She did. I found the bones in the ditch.’
I shook my head. ‘You know what you’re looking out for?’
‘Black bloke with stick-out ears and a yellow shirt. I’m to follow him.’
‘How are you going to send us word?’
‘I got to find a boy and tell him Mr Arrowood’ll give him a penny when he delivers the message.’ He took another bite of the spud. ‘It ain’t got any marge.’
I nodded at the potato man on the corner. ‘Bloke’s a skinflint. Here, those boys give you any more trouble?’
‘I’m keeping out of their way. Picking up my money in the morning now.’
‘Looking forward to Christmas?’
His face darkened. ‘You know that money I was saving for Christmas dinner? Well, Ma only went and found it. She went on a bender.’
‘The guvnor told you to leave it with him, didn’t he?’
That didn’t help. He looked at me like I’d robbed him myself.
‘Sorry, son,’ I said. ‘Your ma shouldn’t have nicked that money. It ain’t right. You’re a good lad. You do your best to look after your sisters and it ain’t fair.’
‘I wish she was dead. She ruins everything.’
‘She can’t help herself, Neddy. Least she stuck by you.’
Neddy’s eyes fell. His old man walked out when he was five and was never heard of again. The guvnor was the nearest he got to a father.
‘I wanted us to have beef and mince pies for once,’ he said. ‘We’ll never have a proper Christmas long as there’s a bottle of gin somewhere in London.’
I gave his shoulder a little squeeze. ‘Right, now don’t do anything stupid. Keep well back and don’t let the bloke see you. He’s a copper, remember, so you need to take extra care. Don’t go inside or try and overhear him. You promise?’
‘’Course.’
I handed him a couple of mint imperials from my pocket and left him there.
The Elephant and Castle was on Newington Butts. Outside, a group of women from the Temperance Society was singing carols at every thirsty sinner trying to get inside. One of them put her hand on my arm.
‘Join us,’ she said, her eyes twinkling with kindness.
‘I’m working.’
‘Be sober-minded, be watchful,’ she whispered, bringing her face up too close to mine, ‘for the devil prowls like a lion seeking someone to devour.’
‘Thanks for the warning, ma’am,’ I said, tipping my hat. ‘Merry Christmas.’
The guvnor was at the counter. He drained his mug and handed it me. I held it up for the barmaid.
‘Ettie’s arranged for the funeral tomorrow at four.’ He shook his head. ‘Christmas Eve. I don’t know how Isabel will manage.’
‘Her family coming?’ I asked as the barmaid slid our drinks over.
‘They never visited Leo once so I doubt they’ll bother now he’s dead. Best get it over, anyway.’ He drank his porter down in one. All the skin of his face seemed to sag and stretch, from his watery eyes to the hair of his neck. He shook his head again. ‘Let’s finish this case, Norman.’
‘What are we going to do?’
He scratched his oxters. ‘If the princess has something to do with the gold, then they didn’t all arrive in London at the same time by coincidence. Senzo worried that we’d found out about it, which can only mean that the Ninevite leaders don’t have it. It means the gold’s somewhere else, somewhere that he didn’t want us to know about.’
‘You think it’s here?’
‘It’s possible. What I’m puzzling over is why they didn’t tell us Musa’s death was a traitor killing.’
‘So we didn’t suspect he was killed by an African.’
He nodded. ‘Did they kill him? Or S’bu?’
‘Or someone with the princess?’
‘Her party left for Edinburgh the day before the murders.’
‘What about Mabaso?’ I asked. ‘He’s the only other one.’
‘But if it was him, why would they hide it from us? The whole country thinks they’re the murderers. They could be executed.’
‘He’s a police officer. Napper’d never believe them over Mabaso.’
‘But they could at least speak out.’ He tapped his hooter with a finger. ‘Or… perhaps Mabaso also knows about this gold, and they fear exposing him would bring it to light.’
I nodded as I lit a fag.
‘I’m not convinced he wants to solve the case himself to impress his superiors. Getting on the boat without Detective Duffy and then lying about it is too much. They’d never forgive him for that. No, Barnett, the fact he didn’t tell us about the traitor killing suggests a different story. There’s a secret, most likely about the gold that was stolen from the mine owner’s compound. That secret is known by all of them and involves the princess. None of them wants the police here to know. If that’s the case, it might be that Mabaso doesn’t want the police in South Africa to know either.’
I thought on it for a moment as the guvnor ordered us each a brandy.
‘You think he did something to Duffy to stop him boarding the boat?’
‘I think he killed Duffy. If he was alive and in South Africa, his station would know.’
‘He could have had an accident on the way to the boat.’
‘Then Mabaso would have reported his disappearance much earlier. I think we’d best assume Mabaso’s a bad apple, that he knows the gold isn’t with the gang and that he wants to retrieve it himself, either to impress his superiors—’
‘He wouldn’t kill a detective for that—’
‘—or because he wants that gold himself.’ He pulled his watch out. ‘Quarter to eight. The Edinburgh train doesn’t arrive for another fifteen minutes. Ah!’ he said, looking over my shoulder. ‘Miss Druitt. So kind of you to come.’
She was packed out for the cold, her brown overcoat bulging with wool. A severe brown hat was on her head, a severe black scarf tied round her throat. She looked around the pub like she’d never been in one afore.
‘Are we having porter?’ she asked the guvnor.
‘No time, I’m afraid,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘First we’re going to talk to S’bu again, then we’ll call on the princess. Now, here’s what I want you to do…’
We walked down Walworth Road as he explained, and were at Lewis’s house on Wansey Street five minutes later. Lewis answered my knock.
‘It took you long enough!’ he barked. ‘Where’ve you bloody been?’
‘What’s wrong?’ asked the guvnor.
‘He’s through here,’ said his friend, hurrying into the parlo
ur. Willoughby stood in the doorway to the kitchen, his face pale.
There, on the sofa, lay S’bu. His face was battered, his bottom lip swollen like a sausage and oozing thick blood. His breath came in whistles through his nose, plugged as it was with thick, bloody snot. One eye was shut, the flesh around it purple, and below it looked like his cheekbone was caved in. His good eye turned to us.
‘I’ve called for the doctor,’ said Lewis, his voice breaking. He lowered his bulk onto the chair by the fire.
The guvnor knelt by S’bu’s side. ‘Oh, my dear boy. What’s happened to you?’ He raised his hand to touch the lad, then stopped, not knowing where.
‘It’s lucky we came back when we did or I don’t know what would’ve happened,’ said Lewis. ‘There was an African. S’bu was on the floor. He was stamping the poor boy in the face. We might all be dead if I hadn’t had that.’ He nodded at a pistol on the mantel. ‘He ran off when he saw it. I’d just brought it from the shop. It wasn’t even loaded.’
‘Describe him.’
‘Short hair, tightknit. Raincoat. Yellow shirt.’
‘That’s Mabaso. The constable I told you about.’
Delphine came into the parlour with a basin of water and a cloth. She took the guvnor’s place and began dabbing at S’bu’s face, her movements gentle as a sparrow. She spoke soft as she did it, and slowly S’bu’s breathing calmed, his hands stopped shaking, his eyes lost their terror.
At last, he spoke. She nodded. He flitched as she touched his lip, then allowed her to clean it. They talked like this for some time, while me, the guvnor and Lewis sat watching. Willoughby stood by the fire.
Eventually, she rose.
‘He says Mabaso wanted to know where the gold was. S’bu said the Ninevites had it. Mabaso wouldn’t accept it. He was stamping on his face.’ Delphine fingered a curl that sprung out from beneath her bonnet. She sighed. ‘S’bu told him he didn’t know, that he wasn’t on the raid. Senzo and Musa didn’t tell him anything about the gold.’
‘Did Mabaso ask anything else?’
‘He asked him if Princess Nobantu had the gold, but S’bu didn’t know that either.’
‘How’s he feeling?’
‘He’s afraid. D’you have any laudanum?’
Lewis took a vial from the drawer and handed it to her. She let a few drops fall on S’bu’s tongue. Willoughby brought over a mug of ale and helped him drink.
Tears began to roll down the lad’s face.
‘If we had any doubts about Mabaso, we don’t anymore,’ said the guvnor.
‘He must be a Ninevite,’ said Delphine.
‘He’s a PC with the South African Police, Miss Druitt,’ said the guvnor.
‘The Ninevites are everywhere. They have soldiers among the native police, the guards of the mining compounds, the prison officers.’ Delphine corked the vial. ‘Everywhere.’
‘Good God. Why didn’t you tell us this before?’
‘I thought you knew about them…’ She touched S’bu’s hand. When he didn’t flitch, she stroked it with her finger. This wasn’t the cold, severe young woman we’d seen before. This was a different Delphine.
‘Ask him if Mabaso’s a Ninevite.’
She spoke to S’bu. He answered softly through his tears.
‘He doesn’t know,’ she said, letting fall another few drops of laudanum on the poor lad’s tongue. Willoughby helped him take more ale.
‘Oh my Lord!’ cried the guvnor. ‘Neddy!’
Chapter Forty-Two
We hailed a hansom on Newington Butts and drove as fast as the horse would take us to Lambeth Road. It was almost nine when we arrived. The doorway I’d left him in was dark and empty: Neddy was nowhere to be seen. We hurried up the street to Mabaso’s lodging house.
‘Open up!’ I bellowed, hammering at the door. There were no lights within. I hammered again.
‘What is it?’ came the woman’s voice just as the guvnor caught up. He held the railings, wheezing and panting.
‘It’s the agents. Let us in. It’s urgent.’
The lock turned, the bolt slid back, and we were in. There was no light in the corridor.
‘He ain’t here,’ said the woman, taking the key from her pinny.
Mabaso’s room was empty, the portmanteau in the same place, still open as we’d left it. I lit a candle on the window sill and had a look round.
‘Did he come back?’ asked the guvnor.
‘No. What’s happened?’
‘Did a boy come?’
‘No, sir.’
‘If Mabaso returns, send a message to Detective Napper at Scotland Yard as soon as you can. But don’t take any risks. Don’t let him catch you. He’s dangerous.’
‘Why? Tell me what he’s done!’
Arrowood turned back to the front door, where Delphine waited quietly, her eyes on everything. ‘Please, just do it, madam.’
We searched that street, checking every doorway, every set of basement steps, asking in every pub. Neddy was nowhere to be found.
The guvnor was beside himself; he couldn’t stand still, his head jerking this way and that, looking up and down the dark street again and again. ‘What the hell’s that fiend done with him?’
‘Perhaps he was scared,’ said Delphine. ‘It’s so dark.’
‘Yes. Yes.’ Arrowood was already marching north. ‘He’d have run back to Coin Street.’
The pudding shop was shut when we arrived. We hurried through to his rooms. The orange cat leapt off the good chair, purring loudly and rubbing its side on the guvnor’s leg. Upstairs, we could hear Ettie’s low, scratchy snore.
The guvnor lit a candle and climbed up. I heard some murmured words. He came back down with Ettie.
‘He’s not here, Norman,’ he said.
‘Hello, my dear,’ said Ettie to Delphine.
‘Mabaso must have him,’ said the guvnor, wringing his hands.
‘But why?’ asked Ettie. She wore a nightdress, her under-trousers tucked into thick socks, a jumper over the top. ‘He’s of no use to him.’
We all knew that didn’t mean anything. Mabaso might have taken him to an alley to try and beat some information out of him. His body might already be in the mud at the bottom of the river.
‘He’s a brute,’ said the guvnor. ‘He hurt S’bu quite terribly, and it might have been him who battered Musa too.’
‘You think he killed Mrs Fowler?’ I asked.
He nodded. ‘Though I still can’t understand how he moved her body across town without being seen. Hard enough for a white man to do that without witnesses.’
‘He must have had help,’ said Ettie.
‘I didn’t get the impression he knew anyone in London.’
‘But how much do you really know about him?’ asked Ettie. She placed her hand on his arm. ‘William, be calm. You don’t know Neddy’s in danger. If he came back here I wouldn’t have heard him knock. I was abed at eight. Have you called on his mum?’
‘I’ll do it now,’ I said, heading for the door.
She stopped me. ‘You get a drink and something to eat. I’ll go.’
The guvnor still couldn’t settle. I lit the lamp as he paced the small room, then went to put on the kettle. Miss Druitt examined the guvnor’s shelves of books on the psychology of the mind.
And then there was a tapping at the window.
The guvnor was there first, lifting the cloth and peering out into the black alley. From behind, I saw his shoulders lift.
‘My Lord,’ he muttered, lifting the catch and pulling up the window sash. ‘Neddy. My boy. Thank goodness.’
He leant out to pull him in and moments later Neddy’s sailor’s cap appeared at the window, then his head, his dirty hands on the ledge. The guvnor gave one more hoik and the boy landed with a tumble on the floorboards. Arrowood took him in his arms.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Arrowood,’ said Neddy, his face pressed to the guvnor’s coat front. ‘There was a gent. He kept walking past me, looking at me funny
. I thought he was…’
‘An African?’
‘No, sir. A dirty great man. I…’ He pulled away from the guvnor’s embrace, his eyes full of tears. He caught his breath, then whispered. ‘’Cos that boy got snatched on Bankside. I got… got scared, sir.’
‘You did right to come back, lad,’ I told him. ‘There’s some nasty sorts out late.’
His filthy, bruised face went tight as he tried not to weep.
‘Nothing’s more important than you being safe,’ said the guvnor.
Ettie returned just then. She’d thrown her coat over her nightclothes. ‘Oh, Neddy. Thank the Lord. Are you hurt?’
He took off his cap and bowed his head. ‘I’m a bit hungry, miss. And thirsty.’
She stroked his cheek and smiled. ‘The biscuit tin’s in the scullery.’
‘Where’s my dog, Miss Arrowood?’
‘Upstairs with Flossie, darling. They’re sleeping.’
