The Phantom

by Jack Murray

  ‘Follow me,’ said Rusk curtly.

  The two men glanced at one another and followed Rusk into Johnny Mac’s office.

  ‘Wait here.’

  Rusk went out and returned a few moments later with Johnny Mac.

  ‘Take off your coats,’ said Rusk. Both men did so and handed them to Rusk. A quick inspection followed revealing no cigarettes.

  Johnny Mac nodded to Rusk to hand the coats back. Taking a risk, Ryan stepped forward and held his arms up by his side. Neither Rusk nor Johnny Mac moved, both seemed confused.

  ‘Do you want to search me?’ asked Ryan, keeping his tone neutral, neither mocking nor fearful, although he certainly was fighting a battle to avoid trembling.

  Johnny Mac turned and walked out of the room without saying anything. Instead Rusk shook his head and said , ‘Get out of it.’

  Ryan and Abbott made their way out of the plant silently. When they were outside, Abbott risked a triumphant laugh. Ryan remained quiet. They had managed to avoid detection, but it was a problem now. This potentially lucrative side line was now closed off.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Abbott, eyeing Ryan closely.

  ‘I don’t see what there is to celebrate.,’ replied Ryan gloomily.

  ‘We live to fight another day, Ryan. We don’t get greedy, we keep our heads down and we earn their trust.’

  Ryan nodded. This made sense, but his sense of impatience was almost overwhelming as he thought of his boy. His mind began to wander to those dark places where hope was extinguished, and anxiety grew; he felt a nudge from Abbott.

  A lorry pulled in to the cigarette factory. Abbott pulled Ryan in a different direction and they walked towards a different part of the road to get a better view of what was happening at the back gate of the factory.

  Looking through the fence, they had a clear view of the lorry backing onto the dispatch doors. Both doors were open. Johnny Mac and Rusk loaded a dozen boxes containing forty boxes of cigarettes onto the lorry. They closed the doors of the lorry and banged the side. A moment later the lorry took off. The whole process had taken less than a couple of minutes.

  Abbott looked at Ryan with a grin as unattractive as it was wily.

  ‘Well, if I didn’t know better, I’d say our bosses have their own little racket going on.’

  Chapter 16

  February 16th, 1920: London

  Kit woke a little later the next morning. The feeling of emptiness hit him immediately and was almost palpable. When Mary returned, he resolved that they should fix a date for the wedding as soon as possible. He would suggest it take place at Little Gloston, the village near Cavendish Hall, with Reverend Simmons presiding. This would have the dual profit of making Mary happy and irritating his own family. He realised, he had never personally told them he was engaged. Perhaps he would just let them find out from The Times. Another task for when Mary returned. Any sense of contriteness was momentary as Miller brought in his tea.

  ‘Plans for today, sir?’

  ‘Pining, I think, with a dash of self-pity,’ said Kit.

  ‘Very good, sir. Shall I bring you a revolver?

  ‘Yes, nice and quick, that’s the trick.’

  Miller smiled sympathetically and asked, ‘Have you thought about going down to Sussex, yourself? It wouldn’t take long. You could be there in two to three hours.’

  ‘I’ve already suggested this,’ said Kit glumly. ‘I mentioned it to Lady Mary on the phone last night, but she said she’d be back very soon.’

  In fact the phone call in question had been as brief as it had been, on reflection, perturbing. It was clear she did not want him to speak with either Richard or Esther. She was also a little too quick in moving the conversation on to the case and away from discussion on Esther. Although it was only a minor niggle, it was not something he disregarded altogether. Kit had relied on these spider senses to save his life on many occasions. He decided he would press her on this later.

  All of which still left him somewhat at a looser end than he would have liked. If he was not exactly disgruntled, he was hardly very gruntled either. He had always hated inactivity. The spate of cases over the last two months had fed his need for excitement and mental stimulation. In fact the last year had hardly allowed him to draw breath.

  This time last year he’d been in France, averting a potential assassination attempt on the British Prime Minister, from there he went to India, once more at Spunky’s request which meant yet more exposure to murder and the dangers facing the empire.

  Mary’s recovery potentially pointed Kit in a new direction in life. However, he suspected his fiancée was going to prove every bit as immune to inactivity as he was. There would be no respite with this young lady around. This presented a happy dilemma for him. He recognised that his desire to protect Mary from danger would go down like champagne at a funeral. These thoughts were broken by Miller asking him of his plans for today.

  Without thinking he replied, ‘Probably Sheldon’s for lunch.’

  -

  Mary woke to the sound of Caroline Hadleigh’s alarm clock. The previous evening, Mary had fallen asleep before Caroline had returned from attending Mrs Rosling, meaning she hadn’t had time to get to make any conversation with her new roommate.

  ‘Hello,’ said Mary brightly, sitting up from the bed, ‘I’m glad you’ve an alarm clock, I left mine behind.’

  Caroline laughed. It was an agreeable sound.

  ‘It would wake up the dead. Sorry if you found the ticking too loud. I’m usually so zonked from the day I’m out for the count pretty quickly.’

  ‘Same here,’ replied Mary rising from the bed, ‘I was zedding the night away as soon as I lay down.’

  Caroline grinned, ‘Well first day behind you. What did you make of them?’

  Mary frowned a little before replying, ‘They seem very serious, the elder Rosling’s, that is. Young Mr Rosling looks like he could be a little too much the other way. Perhaps I’m being unfair, but I think he could be a handful.’

  Caroline shook her head and smiled, ‘No, I think you’re being entirely fair. Look Miss Tanner, I must tell you something in confidence.’

  This was interesting. Mary wondered if she would admit who she was. She leaned forward and said, ‘Mary, please call me Mary.’

  ‘Mary be careful with the two men. They both,’ Caroline hesitated for a moment.

  ‘Take liberties?’ suggested Mary with a smile.

  ‘Yes,’ said Caroline, not sure of how to interpret Mary’s light tone.

  ‘Thanks, Miss Hannah,’ replied Mary.

  ‘Charlotte,’ interjected Caroline.

  ‘I’ll be fine, Charlotte,’ continued Mary. ‘I don’t like it if men think they can do as they please with me just by grinning inanely and uttering ridiculous flattery. I can be polite but firm when I need to be.’

  ‘I’m glad you said that Mary,’ nodded Caroline, ‘Believe me, you’d come off worst. Miss Carlisle won’t have it and nor will Mrs Rosling.’

  ‘I don’t blame her. Actually, for all her grandiose manner, I found myself quite impressed with her, she is quite formidable.

  Caroline nodded her head, ‘Yes, formidable is the word. But in a good way also. She’s very smart.’

  Mary had a feeling that she was going to like Caroline more than her role might allow. She moved on to more practical matters.

  ‘Do you need to go to the bathroom first or shall I?’

  ‘Do you mind if I go first? Her highness will be expecting me in about fifteen minutes. The servant bells aren’t working well so I like to make sure she doesn’t have to ring for me.

  Mary give a flamboyant wave of her hand which made Caroline laugh as she left the room. Good start thought Mary . Unquestionably, if Caroline Hadleigh really was the new Phantom, bringing her to justice might not be much fun.

  It was with such unhappy thoughts that Mary spent the morning helping serve breakfast to the elder Rosling’s and then tidying their rooms. After finishing
Mr Rosling’s room Mary stepped outside and ran, once again, into the younger Rosling. Mary doubted this was pure chance. The young man used the opportunity to put his arms around Mary’s waist, before quickly releasing her with a sheepish smile.

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ said Mary, in an effort to remain neutral when her instinct ran more towards moderate violence bordering on actual bloodshed..

  ‘No my fault entirely,’ laughed Rosling. ‘It’s Tanner, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes sir,’ said Mary.

  ‘Is there a first name to go with Tanner?’

  ‘Yes sir,’ replied Mary, then after some hesitation, she added, ‘Mary.’

  ‘Well, I don’t quite go in for the formality of my aunt and uncle so if it’s alright with you I’ll stick with Mary. I must say, I think you’re a swell addition to the staff.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ responded Mary, turning to walk away. As she did so she was aware of the young man lightly brushing his hand against her the base of her back. She ignored it and walked ahead without breaking her stride. This undercover business was proving more difficult than she had imagined.

  -

  The morning for Sir Nevil Macready had started off with an argument with a senior level mandarin, was followed by spilling tea on his trousers, just missing the old horsebox. He felt sure things were unlikely to improve anytime soon. The principal evidence for this was the upcoming meeting.

  In the normal course of events, raking a subordinate over the coals was one of the perks of the job. After all, what would be the point of being the top man if you couldn’t enjoy a good bawling out on occasion? This was all fine if the object of your righteous indignation was a fatheaded ass. Unfortunately, for once, the object of ire for the Commissioner of the Police for the Metropolis, was very far from being either fatheaded or any other ‘headed, for that matter: he was one of Macready’s best men. Worse, for the Commissioner, he entirely sympathised with the problems his Chief Inspector was facing.

  He thought about his own upcoming posting to Ireland. Dealing with a bunch of Irish rebels seemed a more enticing task than facing a combination of the British press and the aristocracy up in arms over the theft of a few trinkets. Expensive trinkets, admittedly.

  There was a brief knock at the door. Macready looked up as Jellicoe entered his office. With some embarrassment they went through the usual formal greetings before Macready got down to business.

  ‘Any good news Jellicoe? I could really do with some. I think you could also.’

  Even if Jellicoe had good news, it wouldn’t have been evident from the mournful expression on the Chief Inspector’s face. However, even by Jellicoe’s exceptional standards of solemnity, Macready could see that little or no progress had been made. Jellicoe made his report, which was as succinct as it was bereft of new news.

  Macready nodded wearily. Then he shook his head. Jellicoe had done, or was doing, everything humanly possible. But it was clear the current state of affairs was untenable.

  ‘Look Jellicoe, you know that I trust you and I, more importantly, have confidence in you. But we need to shake things up a little. This stasis can’t continue. The wolves are howling. At me I might add. That means either we change our approach or, regrettably, our personnel.’

  Jellicoe was surprised that matters had moved to this point and said as much. It would be professionally embarrassing to be removed from such a high profile case.

  ‘I need a little more time, sir. The few leads we have we’ve followed up. We are literally treading sand.’

  ‘We no longer have time. I’ve a few angry ‘nobs raising merry hell in the chamber, they want action.’

  ‘I wouldn’t advise mentioning the Phantom, sir. That would make things worse.’ This applied as much to the Commissioner as it did for him. Both knew any revelation about the calling cards would exacerbate the situation further without any material gain.

  ‘You have forty eight hours, but in the meantime I’m briefing a backup team.’

  ‘Not Bulstrode, sir.’

  ‘Bulstrode.’

  ‘You know my views on Bulstrode, sir,’ said Jellicoe. His face took on, if possible, an even an even more dejected mien.

  In fact, Jellicoe had never actually stated any view on the subject of the Detective Inspector, but Macready didn’t need to be a psychic to know what his opinion would be.

  ‘You probably deplore his methods,’ responded Macready.

  ‘He’s a thug, sir.’

  This was as precise as it was difficult to argue against. The high correlation between Bulstrode’s successful convictions and confessions obtained by vicious beatings, had anyone bothered to check, and Jellicoe had, was certainly not due to chance.

  ‘I’m afraid I’ve made my decision,’ said Macready. This was clearly not a happy choice for him, either.

  ‘Can we at least delay until the forty eight hours have elapsed?’

  ‘He started this morning. I suspect he’ll be in your office now.’

  -

  Kit took a seat at his usual dinner table by the window. He looked outside and thought of Olly Lake. The two of them had often lunched together at Sheldon’s. The gradual decline of Olly into alcoholism had been so cleverly staged, it had taken him in completely. His mood sank as he thought of his former friend. As wonderful as the last few weeks had been with Mary, his mind sometimes returned to his youth, school and his life before the War. He knew he and Olly would meet again. The prospect of this left a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  Rather than dwell on Olly, he thought about Mary. Her manner had been evasive, certainly, but was he being paranoid? Thinking along these lines was also dispiriting. He badly wanted her back. It had only been a day since her departure.

  His mood was lowered further by the arrival of the same loud group as yesterday. They set up camp near Kit’s table which meant he could enjoy the breadth of their erudition and repartee. It was going to be a long afternoon. He thought for a moment about getting up but was halted by the arrival of the waiter with one of Kit’s favourite dishes, asparagus soup. There was no choice but to endure, with fortitude, a situation that was, otherwise, unendurable: loud Americans eating nearby.

  Kit glanced at the four men. Two of the young men were English and were swivel-eyed bleaters of the first rank. One of them was familiar to Kit, the son of a Viscount, like himself. He was likely to be a member. It was possible the Americans were also members as Kit had noticed, recently, an increase in fellows from the new world amongst the hallowed ranks of Sheldon’s.

  The volume of their conversation was inversely related to its quality. Each of the group, intent in outdoing one another in their stories related to success with the opposite sex, succeeded only in proving how insubstantial they were. One member of the group caught Kit’s attention. He was the leader. Well made, clearly wealthy, he was as loud as the others but seemed less eager to please. Kit suspected an underlying contempt for the people he was with.

  At a certain point it was his turn to share with the party his tale of success in the mating game. He leaned forward, needlessly in fact as his voice carried across the dining room like a scream at midnight.

  ‘Guys, we have a new maid in the house.’

  This brought guffaws from the others. One of the Englishmen said, ‘Is the previous one off to have the sprog?’

  The American waved his hands downward, ‘Hear me out guys. Anyway, I think you’d have to ask my uncle about the other one, but anyway.’ This created more chortling from his listeners.

  ‘What’s she like?’ asked the other American.

  ‘Most gorgeous looking dame I’ve seen in England so far.’

  The party began to clap at this pronouncement. By this stage a few of the other diners were beginning to grow impatient with the young men. Finally a waiter came over to them and requested they lower their voices. Apologies, sincere or otherwise, followed.

  ‘Go on then,’ said the young lord, after the waiter had departed.


  ‘She’s young, very slim and so pretty she’d make one of these old generals in here turn German with the flutter of an eye. She’s pretending to play hard to get but I think she’s game.’

  ‘What’s her name?’

  It came out of the blue. As much as Kit did not want to listen to the conversation, it was unavoidable. And then he had heard the name.

  ‘Mary Tanner.’

  Three thoughts raced through Kit’s mind in an instant. The first one was that Mary Cavendish and Mary Tanner were two different people. This was discounted quickly as the second thought hit Kit: was this Mary and, if so, what was she playing at? A final thought followed. Why had she misled him?

  Reluctantly Kit listened to the rest of the American’s story. The maid had arrived the previous day. This tallied with Mary’s trip to Sussex. The description matched Mary, save for the blonde hair, which could easily be explained by a wig. The narration by Rosling veered off into territory that almost had Kit marching over to the table and handing out a thrashing to the young man there and then.

  Kit quickly finished his meal and went to the head waiter. Rather than complain directly, he asked for the names of the men at the table. The head waiter would draw his own conclusions from this. Next he went to the General Manager at Sheldon’s and obtained the address of the young man he now knew to be Rosling. He also found out a little bit more of the background of the young man following a few calls to friends in the civil service and commerce.

  An hour after overhearing the conversation between the young men, Kit and Harry Miller were sat in a car near the house in Sloane Gardens. Miller was apprised of the situation. It seemed to Kit this made sense practically as well as from the point of view of trust: they were potentially going to be embarking on a long watch. Over the next few hours, each took turns sitting in the car while the other took a break.

  Night fell like black ink on wet paper, seeping gradually downwards from a sad sky. The Rosling family returned at different times over the course of early evening. As yet there was no sign of Mary. If Mary was, indeed, acting in the capacity of a maid, she would most likely not be free until near ten o’clock. This would mark the end of dinner freeing servants either to relax, go to bed or, as Kit hoped, take a walk.