The Kit Aston Mysteries (All Five Books)

by Jack Murray

  The other men were already two flights up when Alfred, with no little amount of internal grumbling, began to follow them up at a more leisurely clip. He was two flights up when he heard the shouting. He looked down, which was mistake. For it was at this moment he realised he suffered from vertigo. Looking up, it dawned on him that there was another couple of flights to go. A glance back down decided him. Staying close to the wall, he started his descent.

  It was with something approaching ecstasy that Alfred reached terra firma once more. He pushed the door he had originally entered through and realised he may have jumped out of the frying pan into a stampede.

  -

  ‘His office is over here,’ said Joe Ryan sprinting through the factory.

  Ben Ryan, weighed down by his heavy overcoat, struggled to keep up. Up ahead he saw Joe burst through a door. He was with him moments later, inside an empty office. Fear gripped Joe Ryan. Then a thought struck him.

  ‘Upstairs. I haven’t been up there but there’s a big space on the top floor of the building that’s not used.’

  Both men rushed out of the office. They found Jellicoe and Bulstrode accompanied by several constables arriving the in the corridor outside the office.

  ‘We think he’s on the top floor,’ said Ryan to Jellicoe.

  Jellicoe nodded and said, ‘Which way?’

  Ben Ryan turned to his brother.

  ‘There are two stairwells,’ said Joe Ryan pointing to a door at the end of the corridor, ‘this one and one on the back wall of the factory floor.’

  Jellicoe turned to Bulstrode, ‘Go with Ryan here to the other stairwell. Ben you come with me.’ The two men and a constable immediately ran to the end of the corridor. Ryan, meanwhile, led Bulstrode and another constable back out to the factory floor.

  Joe Ryan rushed past confused factory workers towards the back wall near to the packing section of the factory where once he had stood with Abbott. The sound of the machines was, as ever, close to deafening and he had to shout to make himself heard.

  ‘This way,’ said Ryan pointing to a door at the end of the factory floor. As they sprinted towards the door, it burst open. The portly chauffeur appeared. He looked out of breath and then his red face seemed to turn white in the blink of an eye.

  Then Ryan saw why. He sprinted forward. Wellbeloved and Bulstrode followed. At a discreet distance.

  -

  Wag McDonald burst through the door followed by his two men, Dan ‘Haymaker’ Harris, a former middleweight boxer whose ranking had never reached the dizzy heights of the top ten, and Chris ‘Crazy Bastard’ Christie a man who had spent his life fighting anyone who laughed at his name, which he was oddly proud of. How often in his life had the words, ‘Chris Christie, what kind of a stupid, f___’ resulted in a swinging left hook that usually started from somewhere around Alaska?

  Johnny Mac looked in shock at the appearance of McDonald. Meanwhile, McDonald was equally shocked at Johnny Mac’s appearance. His face was dripping with what looked like an unpleasant cocktail of white glue and something green which McDonald really didn’t want to know more about. Then McDonald glanced down at Johnny Mac’s arms and saw the toddler.

  Perhaps the effort expended in forcing the contents of his stomach so prodigiously over the Ulsterman had exhausted the poor child or it was just simple curiosity. But for the first time that morning, seemingly, he had stopped crying and was dividing his attention between Johnny Mac and the new arrivals.

  Time was on the point of standing still when young Ben did something completely unexpected. He began to laugh. Wag McDonald, who had been about to request the child be handed over looked at the youngster in utter confusion.

  This was nothing compared to Johnny Mac’s reaction. He glared at the child which only provoked further howls of mirth. Perhaps it was an appreciation of his handy work on the features of the big Ulsterman or the excavation of his stomach, but something had clearly done wonders for the mood of young Ben.

  Johnny Mac walked backwards towards the hatch. His face and eyes, at least the parts that were visible under the dripping contents that formerly occupied the child’s stomach, displayed signs of mania.

  ‘Give me the child, Johnny. You don’t want to do this,’ said McDonald fearfully, when he had at last, found his voice.

  Harris and Christie fanned out either side of McDonald. Each tensed their muscles, ready to spring forward if Johnny Mac did anything.

  And he did.

  All the while Johnny Mac had, either through instinct or, well, instinct, been manoeuvring himself closer to the hatch that led to the laundry. Now, standing directly in front of it, he reached a decision.

  ‘Catch,’ he shouted, and hurled the child through the air, in the direction of McDonald. Years spent playing goalkeeper on the streets of Lambeth meant McDonald’s reaction was as quick as it was agile. He leapt forward and caught the delighted youngster, who was enjoying this new game immensely, in mid-air, a foot from the ground and serious injury.

  Harris and Christie rushed Johnny Mac, but he disappeared backwards and down the chute.

  Harris looked in. It was an uninviting black. He turned to the other two men and said quite accurately, ‘He’s disappeared.’

  -

  The conversation with the three men accompanying Kit was convivial. None of the men particularly liked the Ulsterman and the prospect of a fiver each turned vague uneasiness in the big man’s presence into active antipathy. They walked at good pace through the factory floor, but they seemed to understand intuitively that walking too fast would not be possible for the gentlemen with a pronounced limp and a stiff wooden walking cane.

  ‘Do you see the door over there, sir?’ said one of the men to Kit.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We’ve seen Johnny go up there a few times this morning and Rusk also.’

  ‘Rusk.’

  ‘Johnny’s right-hand man.’

  ‘They’re both there now you think?’

  Another man piped up, ‘Not Rusk. He left twenty minutes ago out the factory gates. Didn’t see him return.’

  Kit nodded and put held out three crisp, five-pound notes to the men who grabbed them hastily.

  ‘Thank you, gentlemen

  As he said this there was a strange sound emanating from a nearby hatch. And then a crash. Kit looked at the three men who, almost as one, shrugged, clearly mystified by the sound. The three men approached the hatch. Someone was inside trying to escape. The banging increased in intensity until finally the door burst off its hinge.

  Outstepped one of the tallest and meanest man Kit had ever seen. To his side, Kit was aware of his three companions beating a rapid retreat. The man, meanwhile, still unaware of Kit’s presence, patted himself down and tried to stretch the pain in shoulders and back away. The tumble down the chute had been at the cost of several bruises and, what felt like, a cracked rib.

  Kit sensed immediately he was looking at Johnny Mac. There was no sign of the child. Finally, the hulking hoodlum looked up and perceived a tall, well dressed gentleman looking at him. The man smiled and spoke casually.

  ‘I presume I’m addressing Johnny Mac. May I ask what you’ve done with the child?’ Johnny Mac watched as the man calmly removing his gloves, placing them in his pockets, before looking him directly in the eye.

  The man, unusually, did not seem afraid. In fact, there was a hint of malice in the eye if Johnny Mac read him correctly. There seemed little point in trying to intimidate him. In fact, there was probably not much time to do so, anyway. Johnny Mac recognised he needed to make a swift exit. These thoughts flew through his mind in a split second. His reaction to them was immediate.

  Years of boxing at school and then university, as well as a painful lesson handed out by the great lightweight boxer, Jem Driscoll meant that Kit easily sidestepped the first clubbing right hand, aimed by Johnny Mac at his temple. The punch had upset the balance of the Ulsterman which Kit took full advantage of by smacking him with his cane a stinging
slash across his cheek.

  The goliath let out a yelp of pain. An already bad morning had just become worse. His plan had failed; there would be no set-for-life diamonds to enrich him; the hell-child had thrown up over him; he had endured a bruising fall down a laundry chute and now, a poncey-looking posh bloke was handing out what he would, no doubt call, a thrashing.

  Johnny Mac snapped. Roaring in rage, he charged at Kit only to be met with a stiff left jab made with the heel of Kit’s fist. However, his momentum carried the big man forward and he crashed into Kit. Both men fell to the ground.

  The size and weight of Johnny Mac came to his advantage and he managed to roll Kit onto his back. Now he had the upper hand. He raised his fist to deliver a hammer set of blows when suddenly, an arm appeared around the giant’s neck which yanked him backwards.

  The man responsible looked very like Sergeant Ryan, and he looked none too pleased with Johnny Mac.

  ‘Where’s my son?’ yelled Joe Ryan at Johnny Mac.

  The Ulsterman leapt to his feet, grinning madly, and stepped towards Ryan. In the background, Kit could see Bulstrode regarding the scene with some concern but not taking any action.

  He didn’t need to.

  Ryan tore into Johnny Mac with a ferocity and a hatred that had been building for days and reached a peak when it was apparent, he had kidnapped the boy. The fight, if it can be so described, was mercifully short but just long enough for Johnny Mac to experience a severe rearrangement of his features, a possible broken jaw, and a pain in his groin that would discourage conjugal relations with his cell mates for quite a long time.

  Kit and the two policemen had to drag Ryan off the colossus before there were more serious consequences to the violent retribution being meted out. Ryan was in tears, mad with rage, crying with worry.

  ‘Joe,’ shouted Ben, ‘Look.’

  Walking towards the group and the stricken figure of Johnny Mac was the leader of the ‘Elephant Boys’ holding a gurgling toddler in his arms. He handed the child over. Ryan buried his boy in an embrace.

  Relief flooded through Kit. He looked at McDonald and nodded. Then Jellicoe arrived on the scene. He glanced at McDonald and said, ‘Well done.’

  McDonald acknowledged Jellicoe but said nothing. Then he put on his trilby and turned to his men and said, ‘Time to go.’ He started to walk away then stopped. Moments later he turned around and came back to Jellicoe.

  ‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance of a lift?’

  Chapter 33

  As the police car approached Caroline’s house on Eaton Square, it was apparent there was a big crowd of newsmen, photographers and passers-by standing outside. Mary saw immediately that it would be impossible for Caroline to return there.

  ‘Keep driving,’ ordered Mary and then gave an address in Grosvenor Square where they should go.

  A few minutes later, Mary helped Caroline up the steps of Aunt Agatha’s house. She knocked on the door which was soon answered eventually by Fish. They walked through to the drawing room. Agatha and Betty were there drinking tea.

  ‘Good lord,’ said the ladies in unison.

  ‘Meet Caroline Hadleigh,’ said Mary and sat her down on the sofa. “Fish, more tea please.’

  ‘What happened?’ asked Agatha, unable to contain her curiosity before her innate good manners took over and she remembered to greet Caroline more warmly.

  Mary took the next few minutes to explain the events at the prison.

  ‘And the child?’

  ‘I don’t know, we’re waiting for news.’

  The two ladies looked at Caroline, still distraught by the possibility of any harm coming to the child.

  ‘You mustn’t blame yourself, my dear. These are wicked men. You’ve done nothing wrong.’

  This last statement was a little disingenuous. After all, Caroline had been a co-conspirator in several robberies. However, it seemed churlish to point this out although it was clear to Mary by the look on Agatha’s face the thought had crossed her mind.

  The tea arrived and with it came the miraculous cure that this astonishing drink has delivered for Englishmen and Englishwomen over countless generations. Caroline finally regained her composure but with it came confusion. She looked at Mary, now unsure as to whether she was a saviour or her enemy. Mary could see the conflict in her eyes.

  ‘I should introduce these ladies more formally, Caroline. They, after all, helped crack this case even if it did cause you some discomfort.’

  Caroline looked askance at the two elderly ladies. They both seemed harmless enough although one of them certainly looked like she had a low tolerance for fools.

  ‘May I introduce Lady Frost. She is the aunt of my fiancé, Lord Aston, who you met earlier. And this,’ said Mary, indicating Betty, ‘is Lady Simpson. Both ladies have followed the career of your father with, I must say, something close to fascination.’

  ‘He’s a great man,’ said Betty excitedly, thereby proving that describing her as a fan would have been more accurate. ‘And now that I know he was also doing his bit for us during the War, well, I must say, he has gone even higher in my estimation.’

  The process of thawing towards this group of ladies was now well under way for Caroline. It was clear, despite everything, they had her interests at heart. With such knowledge comes an obligation. Continuing to be ‘put out’ was no longer either sensible, rational, or right. But the words to frame such thoughts would not come. Tears welled in her eyes. Once more she felt Mary’s arm around her shoulders.

  Less than an hour later there was a knock at the door. From inside the room, they heard Kit’s voice as he entered the house. The four women looked at one another. All shared the same sense of dread and hope. Each held their breath. The only noise in the drawing room was the sound of a carriage clock on the mantelpiece. Even Agatha found herself experiencing a level of apprehension that she had rarely felt before. The doors to the drawing room finally opened. In walked Kit followed by Sergeant Ryan.

  ‘Ben,’ exclaimed Caroline rising from the sofa and running towards the detective.

  Mary looked up at Kit, her eyes brimming. Kit smiled to her and nodded. All at once the fear dissolved and the guilt was swept magically away from Mary to be replaced by relief. She, too, leapt up from the seat.

  ‘We found the child. It’s going to be all right,’ said Kit. Moments after saying this Kit, once more had to deal with an adult running at him full tilt. This time it was in the smaller and more attractive form of his fiancée. Mary jumped into his open arms and buried her head on his shoulder.

  Agatha looked at the smiling Betty with reproach, ‘The lack of control from young women nowadays is most unseemly. You shouldn’t be encouraging it, my dear. You wouldn’t have caught me doing this, I can tell you.’

  ‘Oh, do give over, Agatha.’

  Coda – One Year Later…

  February 14th, 1921: St Bartholomew’s Church, Little Gloston

  Kit’s face broke into a smile as he looked at his friends Charles ‘Chubby’ Chadderton, Dr Richard Bright and Aldric ‘Spunky’ Stevens. They were sat together providing Kit with some badly needed moral support. The moral support was in the form of a brandy they were swigging from a hip flask, magically produced by Spunky.

  ‘I knew this would come in handy, bloodhound,’ commented Spunky.

  ‘Good thinking, old boy. Just what the doctor ordered,’ added Bright, taking his turn to have a nip.

  ‘I meant to ask you, Spunky, that affair with the Phantom, last year. I’ve been reading a few reports about a series of robberies on the Riviera. Same sort of thing, jewels stolen off suspiciously rich big wigs from the continent. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve said they were committed by a mutual friend of ours.’

  Spunky grinned and put his monocle in his one good eye.

  ‘Would you now? Well, obviously I’m not able to confirm or deny anything. As you know, I stay well away from the factory floor.’ This brought an eruption of laughter from the
men. Spunky held his hand up as he wished to add something else.

  ‘All I will say is that “C” also drew my attention to said dastardly crimes inflicted on our dear continental cousins and I can report he was virtually dancing a jig of delight.’

  This brought more uproarious laughter from the three friends.

  ‘I must say, I’m sorry I missed that show,’ said Chubby.

  ‘Me too,’ added Bright. “What happened to the little boy?’

  Kit smiled and said, ‘Well, as a top-notch medical practitioner, you will be delighted to hear that he has spent the last year being taken care off by his family in warmer climes and that he is if not exactly cured then at least, he’s enjoying much better health.’

  ‘Where did the money come from?’ asked Bright.

  ‘A number of offers were made, shall we say, but one in particular stood out. The father and mother are now gainfully employed at a house in the south of France. A toast to my aunt Agatha for that. The heroic actions by Sergeant Ryan inevitably cast a shadow over his career with the police but thankfully, common sense prevailed. He is now working with a small, multi-national police task force which liaises on pan European crimes. Funnily enough he’s also based in the south of France. This means he’s near his brother and nephew.’

  ‘And what of that rather scrumptious daughter of Hadleigh’s?’ asked Chubby.

  ‘Too late, old chap,’ said Kit, ‘She and Ryan married. I presume she’s with him in the south of France. By the sounds of it, means she’s not too far away from her father either. Hopefully they can keep him out of trouble.’ Kit glanced archly at Spunky.

  Spunky held his hands up and indicated nothing short of torture would obtain the truth from his lips. At this point there was a knock at the door and Harry Miller popped his head around the door, in a pitch of excitement.