by Jack Murray
He opened the gate just as the first figure landed on the ground, lightly and with perfect balance. The figure was disguised under a black balaclava. Two eyes glanced at Alfred before disappearing into the night.
Moments later Miller hit the ground. A loud groan followed. It was clear in his haste to make up ground, Miller had elected to jump from a greater height than, in other less urgent circumstances, he normally would. The result was a heavy fall. Miller rolled around the ground in agony, clutching his right ankle.
Alfred hurried over to the stricken man.
‘Catch her,’ ordered Miller through gritted teeth.
But she had vanished, and Alfred was under no illusion as to who would have been the winner of any race between them.
‘It’s too late,’ said Alfred.
Moments later the policemen arrived along with Kit and Lady Mary. Alfred looked up and said, ‘I think she got away. Mr Miller has hurt his ankle.’
This much was obvious and Kit along with Mary immediately made their way forward to Miller. Mary immediately cradled Miller’s head in her lap. Alfred looked at Miller, whose face was a picture of agony because of an ankle that was, in all probability broken, and thought: you lucky sod.
Chapter 24
Kit and Ryan helped Miller back to the Rolls. Alfred agreed to drive Miller to a nearby hospital. The policemen, Kit and Mary returned to the Rosling household. Standing at the door was the younger Rosling. He looked in a foul mood. Beside him was Miss Carlisle with Grantham lurking inside.
‘What on earth is the meaning of this?’ demanded Rosling.
Jellicoe noticed with some amusement that Bulstrode slowed his stride imperceptibly, leaving Jellicoe to face the first fusillade from the young man. He found this oddly reassuring. It proved to his satisfaction that Bulstrode was either a coward or lacked the seniority and gravitas to deal with the upper classes on a rant.
By this stage Rosling was in full flow demanding to know who was in charge. Jellicoe presented himself.
‘Mr Rosling, my name is Chief Inspector Jellicoe, these are my colleagues, Detective Inspector Bulstrode, and sergeants Ryan and Wellbeloved.’ Then with added emphasis he said, ‘I’m in charge.’
‘Well you better explain to me what in the hell is going on,’ responded Rosling, some of the fire dying in the presence of Jellicoe’s seriousness.
‘Yes sir, may we step inside?’
As this made eminent sense, even to the indignant young man, the group went inside to the entrance hall. As they did so, Rosling’s highly attuned eye for an attractive ankle and more found itself slowly moving upwards to be met by the blue and highly amused eyes of Mary Tanner looking back at him. Only it wasn’t Mary Tanner. Gone was the blonde hair, but the maid’s uniform remained. Then he noticed Kit.
‘Have we met before?’ asked Rosling, eyeing Kit closely, desperately searching his memory for where and when.
‘Sheldon’s, I believe. I think I’ve seen you in the dining room there. My name is Aston. Lord Aston.’
The scepticism in the stare that Rosling gave Kit was positively surgical. However, as his memory had been somewhat dulled by the several bottles of champagne he’d consumed over the course of a convivial evening in town, he was in no position to debate the point. He returned his focus to Jellicoe and tried to ignore the mocking smile of Mary, who he noted, with dismay, was holding the hand of the Kit.
Jellicoe, addressed Rosling, ‘Mr Rosling we came by some information that your aunt might be the target of a robbery. Specifically a diamond necklace.’ He then held his hand up to silence Rosling who was about to interject.
‘The first thing we must do is establish if the thief has stolen the necklace.
-
Rosling led the four policemen upstairs to his aunt’s room. He marched straight over to a dresser and opened the top drawer. Inside was a metal box. The key was in the box. Rosling looked up at the policemen. Before he could open the box, Jellicoe touched his arm and shook his head. Removing a pen from an inside pocket he hooked it under the lid and raised it up.
Rosling stared at the empty box. With a voice trembling in anger her turned to the policemen and said, ‘The diamonds are gone. And you let the thief escape. You’ll regret this.’
Jellicoe had no doubt he would. This was serious. He turned to Kit and Mary. The look on his face was neutral but Kit guessed he was angry. This was a police matter and Kit should have drawn the attention of the Chief Inspector earlier. Kit knew this and immediately felt a profound regret. He’d let Jellicoe down. Now the Chief Inspector would be thrown to the wolves.
Mary glanced up at Kit and saw the troubled look on his face. She, too, understood the import of what had happened. A wave of anger and something approaching grief gripped her. The excitement she’d felt at getting involved in this affair had gradually begun to pale as she had grown to like Caroline Hadleigh better. The folly of this was all too apparent. She had let her own feelings and emotions cloud her judgement. She knew Kit would try to make her feel better. He wouldn’t blame her. But Mary knew she had only herself to blame.
Rosling glared frantically at the policemen.
‘Are you just going to stand there? Why aren’t you out catching this criminal.?
Given the circumstances, Jellicoe remained calm and looked at Rosling directly in the eye. This seemed to throw the young American who stopped for a moment and looked at the Chief Inspector.
‘Mr Rosling, I think we should retire to the drawing room. Detective Inspector Bulstrode and I will question the staff, Lady Cavendish and Lord Aston.’
Rosling glanced at Mary with something approaching disbelief. Mary looked back at him coolly. However bad she felt about the theft and her role in it, she felt little for Rosling. The loss was not his, but Mrs Rosling’s.
‘Sergeant Ryan and Wellbeloved will go back to Scotland Yard and set up a search for Caroline Hadleigh or Charlotte Hannah as you know her. Sergeant Ryan questioned her in connection with previous robberies and we will circulate a description to the newspapers tonight.’ Turning to Ryan he added, ‘I want you with a police artist immediately, sergeant. I want her picture in every newspaper by tomorrow afternoon. Wellbeloved, I want you to get a team down here immediately to look for fingerprints.’
Kit listened to Jellicoe give commands and found himself impressed with what he saw. The clear-headedness and the calm authority would have made him a leader in any circumstances. The aura around Jellicoe seemed to spike the anger of Rosling for the moment and both Bulstrode and Wellbeloved were clearly happy for Jellicoe to take a lead here, knowing that when the blame began to be apportioned, they would be safe.
One thing perturbed Kit, however. Risking a glance at the two other policemen he could see Bulstrode whispering in Wellbeloved’s ear and then both of them looking towards Ryan. Unfortunately, Kit wasn’t near enough to hear what was being said. When Jellicoe finished, Kit immediately went over to him.
‘Chief Inspector I recognise I’m probably the last person you want to get advice from now, but may I have a word with you?’ Kit indicated with his eyes that they go outside the room.
Jellicoe nodded and they both went outside. Kit put his hands up and said, ‘First of all an apology. I should have involved you the second I heard what Mary was doing.’ The look on Jellicoe’s face confirmed this but the Chief Inspector remained silent, so Kit continued, ‘I think that those two men are planning something. I would tell Sergeant Ryan to be on his guard.’
Jellicoe nodded but there was an even more sombre aspect to his face when he said, ‘I think, sir, it will be academic. After this fiasco I will be taken off the case and Bulstrode will be given free rein.’
This news made Kit feel even more downhearted. He knew he had let the Chief Inspector down and now, to make matter even worse, this would unleash two unscrupulous detectives on the case.
‘Chief Inspector, I feel responsible for what has happened. Please let me speak to Commissioner Macready. I’m sure
he’ll listen to what I have to say.’
Jellicoe gave a slight shake of the head. This mission was his to bear and his alone. Kit knew there was no value in arguing with the Jellicoe on this point and respected him even more for his integrity. At this moment, Rosling began to complain again. This forced Jellicoe to leave Kit and mollify the young American. Bulstrode stayed out of the line of fire and went in search of the remaining staff to question them.
It was clear Rosling was complaining about the presence of Mary. He appeared to be blaming the police for not keeping the family informed of the work Mary was doing undercover. Mary, hearing this, moved to go over to Rosling but felt her arm being held by Kit. He shook his head and Mary stopped, her brow furrowing, in place of a question.
‘Let the Chief Inspector handle this his way. We’ve enough explaining to do anyway.’ Mary nodded and looked as crestfallen as Kit. She understood that the failure to capture Caroline would play badly for Jellicoe. As yet she was unaware of the consequences for him. Kit decided to refrain from saying anything. It was clear she felt bad enough anyway.
‘I’m sorry Kit. I’ve really made a hash of things, haven’t I?’
‘Stop, Mary. It’s not over yet. Remember, you’ve identified the robber. She won’t escape far. The police now know who to look for. This wouldn’t have been possible without you.’
Mary smiled up at Kit, but her heart wasn’t in it. She felt desperately sad on so many levels. Seeing the eyes of Rosling and Jellicoe on her, she took Kit’s hand and walked forward to face the wrath of the American. As much as she detested the man, she couldn’t really blame him for what he was about to say.
As Kit and Mary walked forward, the door of the drawing room opened and in walked Mr and Mrs Rosling. Everyone in the room turned to them. The elder American’s face was puce with anger.
‘What in tarnation is going on here? Grantham called the Archbishop’s palace. He said there’s been a robbery.’
Kit glanced at Jellicoe and his heart sank even further. The Chief Inspector’s evening was just about to get worse.
-
Your boss is for it, and no mistake,’ said Wellbeloved, by way of conversation. Ryan turned and looked at Wellbeloved but said nothing. He was in no mood to listen to anything from this man but, rather frustratingly, he was somewhat of a captive audience. Wellbeloved was sitting with him in the back of the police car being driven by a constable. They reached Scotland Yard in a manner of minutes.
Sensing that Ryan was already on edge, Wellbeloved decided to press ahead. This was too good an opportunity to pass on. From an early age, Wellbeloved had realised that real power over people came not through physical dominance, although that had its place. No, if you wanted to grind someone into the dust it required a more nuanced approach. It would also be a chance to check out if Bulstrode’s suspicions were correct.
‘Who’d have thought the girl was the thief? You interviewed her didn’t you?’
‘We don’t know if she’s the thief,’ replied Ryan sourly, as they climbed from the car.
‘Is she pretty?’ asked Wellbeloved. The look on his face suggested that any response would be greeted with a significantly cruder follow up inquiry. Ryan ignored him and fixed his eyes straight ahead. This served only to make Wellbeloved’s smile grow wider. ‘She won’t stay free long and then when we have her back at the nick. I’ll set to work on her. Should be fun.’
Ryan clenched his fists. His chest tightened as the rage grew within him. The thought of Caroline being interrogated by this animal was almost unendurable. Fear and frustration created a pressure inside his forehead that made him want to scream.
Inside the building, Wellbeloved, as the senior man ordered Ryan to go and see the police artist immediately so that they could get a description of the Caroline Hadleigh and circulate it to the police officers in town as well as the newspapers. Reading Ryan’s mind, he said, ‘Make sure you give a good description. You and your boss are in enough hot water. I’m going to make some calls and set up the search.’
Ryan did not attempt to hide his dislike of his fellow officer. However, he had no choice but to do as he was told. He made his way up the stairs to the office of the police artist, hoping he was not there, or busy. Unfortunately he was there and clearly at a loose end.
‘Come in Ryan,’ said Rufus Watts, happy to have some company, ‘How can I help you?’
Ryan slumped on the seat and looked at Watts.
‘You look like you’ve lost a shilling and found a sixpence,’ said Watts sympathetically. He was a smallish man nearer forty than thirty and dressed very neatly. By London police standards he was somewhat unusual.
He wore his hair slightly longer than was either fashionable for men or, indeed, acceptable for a member of His Majesty’s Inspectorate of Constabulary. From time to time when talking, he might brush an imaginary out of place lock back behind his ear. This wasn’t the only thing that might have been considered a quirk of character for the bachelor Watts.
However, his brilliance as a police artist was recognised by all and a blind eye cast by those around him to the hours he worked, his disregard for rank or authority and his generally artistic manner. Most of the detective-level members of the force had gladly called upon his services at one time or another. It was in no one’s interest to get on the wrong side of the little man. In fact, it was a well-established fact that he nourished a quarrel like plants in a garden, watering them daily with sharp words and, surprisingly, his fists.
‘Long day,’ explained Ryan.
Watts looked at him shrewdly and said, ‘Looks like more than a long day to me.’
‘With Bulstrode and Wellbeloved?’ Ryan responded with a question that was its own answer.
Watts nodded slowly. He understood now. He smiled sympathetically again and said, ‘What can I do for you?’
Ryan told him. For the next half hour, Watts magically reconstructed the face of someone who might pass for Caroline Hadleigh or might not. Ryan felt there was just enough of Caroline in the drawing to protect him from any accusation of misleading his colleagues while ensuring it was far from being a perfect match. Just as Watts finished the drawing, the door burst open. Wellbeloved entered, grinning malevolently.
‘No need to knock old chap,’ said Watts sardonically. ‘Make yourself at home.’
Ryan looked up at Wellbeloved. The sergeant made straight for the drawing and took it from Watts.
‘Is this finished?’
But Ryan didn’t answer, he was looking at the woman who followed Wellbeloved into the artist’s office. Wellbeloved noted the surprise on Ryan’s face with amusement.
‘Another customer for you Watts. This is Miss Carlisle. She can help improve the drawing’s likeness. After all, it’s been a while since Ryan saw the young lady, isn’t it?’
Chapter 25
‘I’ve heard of blind leading the blind, but this is ridiculous,’ commented Mary as she looked at Kit, limping and holding a stick while his other arm was around Harry Miller, helping him down the hospital steps. Alfred manned the other side.
Miller, who had been diagnosed with a broken ankle from his fall, took Mary’s jest in good spirit.
‘His lordship will have to look after me now,’ said Miller.
‘Quite right too,’ agreed Mary, ‘Will do him good.’
They placed Miller gingerly into the back of the car and returned to Kit’s apartment. It was around ten in the evening. Having settled the injured Miller down, Alfred drove Kit and Mary to Grosvenor Square where Aunt Agatha was expecting them, having been tipped off by Mary in a phone call a little earlier.
Fish led the couple through to the drawing room to find Agatha waiting. She looked up eagerly.
‘How is your man, Christopher?’
‘They think it’s a crack. Nothing serious, just a little painful, the poor fellow’s fine otherwise.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ replied Agatha. ‘Now tell me what happened.’
&nbs
p; So they told her.
Each took turns to provide the elderly lady a fairly comprehensive summary of the night’s events. Agatha listened intently but said little. Kit looked at his aunt as he and Mary related their story. Her eyes glistened with intelligence, widening from time to time as the details of the rooftop chase were relayed; her skin had the colour and vitality of youth; her hands had a knuckle-white grip of the table as Kit contemplated the likely consequences facing Jellicoe and Ryan. The mention of Ryan’s name brought a gasp from Agatha.
‘Aunt Agatha is something wrong?’ asked Kit, when he saw his aunt’s reaction.
Agatha glanced at Mary and then at Kit. If anything, and to Kit’s wonderment, Agatha’s previously alert gaze had transformed into a look that didn’t so much suggest guilt as broadcast it. Kit glanced at Mary, who was trying to suppress a grin.
‘What’s going on?’ demanded Kit, not sure whether to laugh or to explode. He decided to keep his options open.
‘Well Christopher,’ replied Agatha, regaining some of her hauteur, ‘I’m not sure I like that tone of voice.’
‘I don’t care, Aunt Agatha. A good man is about to be pulled from a case and publicly humiliated which might have been avoided if you two and Betty bloody Simpson hadn’t decided to play at being detectives.’
Both Mary and Agatha looked at one another. There. It was out now. The cold, naked truth of their folly. Kit was quite right to feel upset. Both knew this, but the knowledge offered little comfort.
‘Of course, Christopher, you’re quite right,’ acknowledged Agatha humbly. She held her hand up as Mary was about to speak. ‘I take full responsibility for what has happened. We should have gone straight to the police with what we found. Mary…,’
‘Should have known better,’ interjected Mary, remorsefully. ‘I’m sorry Kit. Really. I’ve made a mess of things, haven’t I?’
‘We all have,’ said Kit grimly. ‘Now what’s this other thing you want to tell me?’
