The Phantom

by Jack Murray

  ‘He says it was your idea,’ continued Johnny Mac.

  Ryan’s face betrayed his immediate reaction to this blatant lie from Abbott. He couldn’t bring himself to reply and instead gazed back at the grinning Ulsterman.

  ‘Did you steal snout?’

  Ryan exhaled slowly. He could deny everything, but they wouldn’t believe him. He could admit it and give them grounds to fire him. His mind was a blur of weighing the options.

  ‘Yes I stole some snout, but it wasn’t my idea. I went along with it.’

  There, he’d admitted it. If they fired him, so be it. Lesson learned. An expensive lesson. If they tried it on with him, he’d give some back. He tensed his muscles waiting for the physical intimidation to begin.

  It didn’t.

  Johnny Mac was silent for a few moments.

  ‘Get back to work,’ said Johnny Mac finally, ‘Rusk will show you what.’ He turned to Rusk and with a slight nod of his head dismissed both of them.

  -

  Jellicoe and Ryan exited Scotland Yard ten minutes apart so as not to arouse the suspicion of their colleagues. Jellicoe left first. He walked out of Scotland Yard but saw no car. This made sense as Kit’s Rolls might attract attention. Pushing on ahead, he walked around the corner from the police headquarters.

  Ryan followed a similar route and caught sight of Jellicoe standing at the roadside. Almost on the dot of seven, a taxi appeared. Kit caught sight of the two policemen and ordered the taxi to execute a U-turn. The road was quiet, and the driver negotiated this without any difficulty.

  Jellicoe and Ryan jumped in and they set off to the Sloane Gardens address given by Kit to the taxi driver. Beside Kit was Harry Miller and introductions were made. After these had been completed, Ryan looked expectantly at Kit but a shake of the head and a glance towards the taxi driver indicated any further discussion would have to wait.

  A few minutes later the cab pulled up alongside Kit’s Rolls Royce situated outside the Rosling household. The four men disembarked from the taxi and went to the Rolls. Inside Jellicoe saw a rather pudgy young man finishing a sandwich. The young man looked up a little guiltily at Jellicoe and Ryan. Despite their plain clothes, there was no mistaking them for any other than policemen.

  Further introductions were made. Then Kit asked Alfred, ‘Are the three Roslings there?’

  ‘No, young Mr Rosling hasn’t returned, but his aunt and uncle are there and the two ladies. They also had a visitor, but I couldn’t see him. I’m not sure if he’s gone yet.’

  Kit nodded and then thanked Alfred for his help. As this was the handover with Harry Miller, Alfred was supposed to take the taxi just vacated by Kit and the men. However, prompted by the arrival of the policemen and the prospect of something happening, he asked to stay.

  Kit looked at the rotund young man and smiled, saying, ‘Of course, Alfred. The more the merrier.’ Perhaps there was more to Alfred than met the eye, and there was certainly a lot of him for the eye to meet. Kit explained the situation to the policemen.

  ‘I’ve brought you here because I’ve reason to believe it may be the target for the next robbery.’

  ‘How did you arrive at this conclusion, Lord Aston?’ asked Jellicoe.

  ‘It’s a long story and frankly I can scarcely believe it myself. Suffice to say there are two young women in the house at the moment. Both recently employed. One is my fiancée. She’s working undercover to keep an eye on the second who we believe, might be the young woman you are looking for.’

  ‘What is her name, sir?’ asked Ryan.

  ‘Caroline Hadleigh, sergeant,’ replied Kit. As he said this he saw the colour drain from the young sergeant’s face.

  Jellicoe looked astonished also and asked, ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Quite sure,’ replied Kit.

  ‘If you don’t mind me asking, how?’

  It was Kit’s turn to look uncomfortable. The question was, entirely reasonable, the answer, scarcely rational.

  ‘My fiancée and two of her,’ Kit hesitated for a moment as an image of Aunt Agatha and Betty Simpson hove into view, ‘collaborators, suspected Miss Hadleigh.’

  This had Jellicoe looking querulous, which Kit had some sympathy with. Ryan remained grim-faced as Kit continued in a manner that would later have him shaking his head in embarrassment, ‘My fiancée has suffragist sympathies.’ He wisely decided to quit on this train of thought while he still had some credibility left.

  ‘So, if I can summarise,’ said Jellicoe, ‘this is a surveillance operation. The house belongs to a Mr Rosling, is that correct?’

  The plain fact was that the surveillance operation was for Mary’s protection. however, Kit felt it best not to add this ingredient into an, already, spicy dish.

  ‘Yes it’s a gentleman named Herbert Rosling, not sure if you know him he heads up the London office of the Anglo American Bank.’

  Jellicoe shook his head for a moment, searching his memory. Finally, he looked at Kit and said, ‘There was an American called Rosling at the London Conference on the Middle East.’

  ‘Same one I believe, according to Mary. Not sure if that makes any difference, mind as the thief may be after Mrs Rosling’s rather large diamond necklace.’

  Ryan seemed to wake up from a daze at this point and asked Kit, ‘You say, “thief”, do you mean Miss Hadleigh, sir?’

  ‘I don’t think we can be sure, sergeant. There may be innocent reasons why she has taken a position in this house, although her motives for doing so in disguise are, to say the least, unclear. It certainly looks suspicious.’

  Ryan nodded in agreement. It was damned suspicious, he thought. His mind burned with possibilities: fear and, no little, anger making an unpleasant prism with which to refract the evidence.

  Jellicoe quizzed Kit a little more on Rosling but it was clear there was not much more to add to the story. Kit decided to avoid mention of his earlier encounter with the younger American. It was clear to Kit while he was talking to the two policemen that each seemed troubled by the revelations. There could be any number of explanations and Kit felt sure it was beyond merely professional embarrassment at missing a potential lead. Finally Jellicoe appeared to reach a decision which served to explain the sense of foreboding on his face.

  ‘I think we must share this with Bulstrode and Wellbeloved. Without wishing to offend, sir, this requires a proper surveillance of this house.’

  ‘Sir,’ replied Ryan, clearly agitated, ‘They’ll just bring her in and you know their methods.’

  ‘I’m all too aware of their methods, sergeant,’ said Jellicoe resignedly, ‘But for better, or probably worse, they are working with us now.

  Kit looked at both policemen. He wasn’t sure if he should feel relieved that the matter would be taken out of Mary’s hands, worried that she would be angry at such an event or, more obliquely, a concern about the arrival of the two new policemen, who were clearly disliked, and how they would progress matters. His thoughts were broken by Jellicoe who looked at Ryan and suggested, ‘I think you should stay here, and I will return to Scotland Yard.’

  Ryan was more than happy to stay there but the could not hide his displeasure at the steps proposed by the Chief Inspector. After Jellicoe had left to find a taxi, Kit looked at the young sergeant.

  ‘I’m curious, but was Miss Hadleigh questioned before?’

  ‘Yes sir,’ replied Ryan. Kit said nothing, so Ryan continued, ‘I questioned her after the first jewel robbery when it was apparent the thief was using the Phantom’s calling card.’

  ‘Was this to find out if some cards had not been found from the original investigation?’

  ‘Exactly, sir,’ responded Ryan, ‘The original printer of the cards is dead now, as you know, and the business was closed down. I think there is a haberdasher there now. According to the Chief Inspector, no other cards were found when the premises were searched after the first investigation.’

  ‘When did the printer die?’

  ‘In 1915, sir
. Cancer apparently.’

  Kit mused on this for a moment and said, ‘Still, there was time after the investigation finished to print new cards, if someone required them.’

  ‘Indeed sir, but why would someone do that? And why wait five years? We have the Phantom locked up.’

  ‘Unless it really is his daughter, sergeant. I have the sense you don’t think so.’

  Kit’s intuition, unlike his nine iron, rarely missed the target. Right now, Sergeant Ryan was all too convinced that his girl was the Phantom. His heart began to thump against his chest like a drum. The car was cold, but he felt sweat tickle his forehead as he became gripped by a mixture of fear and disappointment. He had to fight back an overpowering urge: the desire to run into the house and warn Caroline.

  Aware that Kit was looking at him strangely he answered, ‘No, Lord Aston, I don’t think Caroline’s a thief but, I agree, it’s very strange.’ Regaining his composure, somewhat, he added, ‘Perhaps we need to go back to the original Phantom investigation. Who else might have seen the calling cards?’

  Ryan’s words seemed to startle Kit, but the highly unusual detective nodded in agreement after a few moments, ‘It’s a good point, sergeant. The Chief Inspector says they were never made public. However, this doesn’t mean the designs couldn’t have leaked for a whole host of reasons. The question is, who would have access to see the cards, the wherewithal to organise these robberies and the capability to execute them?’

  In the front seat, Harry Miller and Alfred sat listening in fascination for entirely different reasons. The idea of a female thief seemed extraordinary to Miller but then, as he reflected on the War, women had proven themselves to be every bit as good as men in filling in for those who had gone off to fight.

  Alfred, meanwhile, was desperate on three fronts. Firstly he regretted not bringing his notebook so that he could jot down his ideas as he listened to the three men in the back. He was also beginning to feel a little peckish, again. By now, in any normal circumstances, he should have been home, feet up, enjoying his supper. More pertinently, it would have allowed him the opportunity to pay a visit. Right now he was at bursting point.

  As Kit and Ryan were chatting, a taxi pulled up outside the Rosling household. Ryan alerted Kit to the arrival, ‘I wonder what’s going on here?’

  The question was answered a few minutes later when the front door opened, and a couple descended the steps.

  ‘Looks like the Rosling’s are having a night out,’ commented Ryan.

  Kit nodded. He was looking closely at Mrs Rosling and what she was wearing.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ asked Ryan, noting the how Kit was staring at the couple as they climbed into the taxi.

  ‘I’m not sure, sergeant,’ replied Kit. Then more to himself, ‘This might be a good night for a robbery.’

  Chapter 22

  This day was proving to be one major hassle after another for Wag McDonald. He looked down at the man who, it seemed, was chiefly responsible for introducing so many complications into his life. On the ground Abbott lay a whimpering mess. McDonald was almost tempted to whimper also, because things were certainly a mess.

  The cigarette operation was a nice earner for very little effort and could, if managed properly, run for years. The key was to avoid being greedy and nicking just enough to avoid suspicion. Young men were always wanting to get rich quick. Slow and steady. That was your man.

  Now there was a strong possibility that the police were aware of this activity and he had a problem on what to do with Abbott. Lurking at the back of his mind like a flasher in a park at midnight was the thought that Johnny Mac was either losing it or, worse, no longer to be trusted. The Ulsterman would be a very big problem, literally. And all because of some idiot getting greedy and selling some snout in a pub. Yes, Wag McDonald felt like whimpering. A criminal empire pieced together from the factions of south London was potentially at risk.

  Rage boiled within him and he walked over to the prone Abbott and snarled, ‘You’ve really messed up my day, son.’

  Abbott groaned. McDonald wasn’t sure if this was in sympathy, sorrow or that he was sore from the various broken ribs and cuts. On reflection he felt it was the latter. Without thinking, he kicked Abbott causing further moans from the injured man. McDonald had never been one who subscribed to the view that it was bad form to kick an injured man when he was down. He nodded to his brother, Wal, to come over.

  ‘We need to tidy this up a bit. Get rid of him.’ Wal looked surprised by this. His brother shook his head, ‘I don’t mean that. Can’t we give him something to do down at the track. Keep him out of trouble for the moment. Tell the boys to keep an eye on him, mind.’

  -

  Johnny Mac sat in his office. He was also unhappy about the situation. Ryan was a problem. Continuing to use him was a dangerous game but the alternative was worse. His brother would know where he was working. The prospect that he knew of the other operation did not bear thinking about. This would have to be confronted sooner or later.

  From time to time Rusk made his presence known to Ryan, without saying anything. The objective was intimidation. To be fair it was working quite well but not through any lack of physical courage on Ryan’s part. It was clear to Ryan they knew that he knew about the other operation. The question Ryan was weighing up was whether to come clean on this or to play stupid. In a list with very few limited options, this was distinctly unappealing. For the moment, it would be better to keep things close to his chest.

  The noise in the factory was close to deafening at times. Conversation was impossible, unless you were within a few feet. The new job assigned to Ryan was mostly solitary. Clearly trust had been broken. He was not to be allowed near anyone else until Johnny Mac and Rusk were sure of him. This was unlikely to be any time soon. It would have disappointed the two men to learn that Ryan actually enjoyed not having to interact with anyone. His own company was all he wanted for the moment. He would have thanked Johnny Mac in any other circumstance

  The workers around him, a bit like himself, lacked a certain refinement. However, most looked like they would break the law without batting so much as an eyelash. Ryan was obviously no blushing innocent on this score either, but he reconciled his conscience with an image of his young son. This resolved any moral ambiguity he unquestionably felt, or would feel, in the future. Quite literally, keeping his boy alive was the only thing that mattered.

  His eyes hardened as he thought of the child. Just at that moment Rusk was passing and saw the look on Ryan’s face.

  ‘What do you want?’ snarled Rusk.

  ‘What do you want?’ said Ryan glaring angrily back at Rusk. This caught the little man by surprise. A slow smile crossed his face.

  ‘Get back to work.’

  Ryan did so. He resolved to keep his head down and give them nothing more to complain about. The years in the army had taught him when to take orders, when and who to confront Johnny Mac was out of the question, but Rusk was another matter. He might even enjoy that.

  -

  ‘We’ll be late,’ said Rosling, entering his wife’s room after a brief knock. His tone was curt. Twenty years of marriage had reduced conversation between them to a combination of implicitly-barbed comments, mutual directives and, sometimes, impressively informed conversations about business or current affairs. To be fair, the latter formed the majority of their discourse, mostly to the benefit of the husband.

  Although any attraction he once had for his wife had died gradually in the icy tundra of her personality, he was never less than awestruck by her intellect. If he was not the most obvious candidate to support the aspirations of the suffragette movement, Rosling would happily have put his wife on the board of the bank, such was the respect he held for her acumen. The attraction may have died but mutual esteem was high. It even made those occasional moments of disagreement an interesting challenge for both rather than a manifestation of hostility.

  ‘They will expect us to be late. It’s courte
sy on our part,’ responded his wife fixing an earring. Beside her, Caroline Hadleigh, put a pin in her hair.

  Finally Mrs Rosling stood up and turned to face her husband. Duty called for Rosling to proclaim how beautiful she looked and to take her hands and demonstrate his undying affection. He did so with a practiced ease but also with enough sincerity to make it seem less like a ritual than a mark of respect between the two leaders.

  ‘Are you not wearing the diamonds tonight?’ asked Rosling, as he noticed a gold necklace around her neck: a crucifix.

  Mrs Rosling glanced at Caroline and then at her husband before saying, ‘I think such a show of wealth would be inappropriate given that we are with the Archbishop tonight.’

  Rosling laughed sardonically, ‘The church is never backward in showing off its wealth, my dear.’

  ‘My point exactly.’

  Rosling smiled and nodded. He looked at her again with a respect and affection that was undisguised. She was a formidable woman. A man such as he could have no better partner. As they walked out of the room together, they discussed what, if anything, Rosling could gain from the evening in return for what the Archbishop would, no doubt, be asking for the church.

  As they descended the stairs, Rosling spotted Mary waiting at the door with Grantham. As much as he tried, it was impossible not to allow his gaze to travel up the slim figure of the new maid. She helped him with his coat, as Caroline did the same with Mrs Rosling.

  ‘The cab is outside, sir,’ said Grantham.

  Neither spoke as they walked outside into the moon-cold night. Rosling took his wife’s hand and they descended the steps together slowly, fearful of making any slip that might cause them both to fall.

  -

  Mary glanced at Caroline as the door closed. Caroline’s face broke into a grin. They both moved towards the stairs leading to the servant’s quarters. As they descended the grins became a fit of giggles.