As Johnny Bassett was approaching the police station with Stephen, who had fallen asleep on the constable’s shoulders, Bartlett, Boase, Penhaligon and two other policemen walked across the Moor. It was twenty minutes to eleven. Bartlett had left instructions to send extra backup if he asked for it. The five of them should be enough, surely? As they entered Market Street, they took a sharp right turn up the steps onto Smithick Hill. This would bring them out just at the entrance to the old Snow’s Passage. Bartlett was aware that he was supposed to be alone but he hadn’t come just for Stephen, no, he wanted Bull too. With this in mind, he stopped his four companions, motioning to the two policemen and Penhaligon to cover both entrances to the hill. Penhaligon retraced his steps and the other two waited at the bottom where the hill met Market Street. Bartlett turned to Boase and whispered.
‘I want you to wait here.’
‘No, sir. I can’t let you go up there on your own. It’s too dangerous.’
‘If you’d seen some of the things I’ve done, Boase, your hair would curl.’
‘But, sir …’
‘Wait here. I can’t risk losing the boy.’
‘If you need me, just whistle, sir. I’ll be right here – I’ll hear you.’
Boase, dissatisfied with this arrangement, stepped back into the shadows and watched as Bartlett made his way up Smithick Hill towards the small courts of which Snow’s Passage was one. He turned as he reached the top and went down the steps to the meeting place.
Bartlett could see the derelict cottage in front of him. Feeling in his pocket, he checked that the ring was safe. He looked about him, there was no one there but him. A large cat ran across the court behind him, causing him to turn quickly. There were lights across the bay but this part of the town was quite dark. A little moonlight shone through but not enough to see anything by. Bartlett found the hole in the side of the old cottage, more through fumbling his way, and there he placed the ring. He turned, hoping to see the boy. As he waited the Parish Church bell indicated eleven o’clock. At the last strike, silence fell. Bartlett heard only one sound. Footsteps. He didn’t dare to move. He knew the others were nearby and had every entrance covered. Bull mustn’t get away but he had to have the boy with him. He stared into the darkness and waited as the footsteps got nearer to the location of the ring. He saw the shadow of a man revealed by the pale moonlight and moved a step nearer. He squinted through the darkness. As he watched, he plainly heard scrabbling in the side of the cottage wall. He knew the ring was taken and, so, he turned to find Stephen. There was no one there. He had been conned! Bartlett spun round and ran back up the court. The shadowy figure ran faster, up the steps and over the wall onto Vernon Place. As Bartlett stopped by the wall, he saw Bull running at top speed along the road. Turning to go back to Snow’s Passage to look for the boy, he saw Boase running after the man. There wasn’t much between them. Penhaligon, hearing Boase shout, had come along the road. He stopped by Bartlett.
‘Penhaligon, quick. Boase needs help. They went up there. Run, man.’
Penhaligon followed on, along Vernon Place. He stopped opposite the public house on the corner. Boase and his quarry were nowhere to be seen. How had they just disappeared? Penhaligon, thinking he had missed the pair, retraced his steps. Before the pub, the road forked and ran along in front of the Vernon Place dwellings. Penhaligon guessed they must have gone that way and walked back down the hill.
Boase had also reached the pub on the corner, but on the other side from where Penhaligon had been standing. He stopped and leaned against the wall. He could hear music and laughter coming from inside the pub. It was over time but Boase had more important things to think about at the moment. Slowly he peered around the side of the pub from where he could see a railing and steps leading down, he guessed, to the pub cellar. He waited. He could clearly see a man’s hat now, underneath the railings. Boase sprang forward, vaulted over the rail and landed on top of the man below. Both men collapsed to the floor. The other man was up again quickly and caught Boase with a blow to the cheek. Boase fell again. The man was facing him now and had picked up a large piece of wood. Both men waited. As the man ran forwards, wood aloft, Boase hurled a beer barrel towards him and the man, losing his footing, fell, face forwards onto the flagstones. Boase was on top of him and the man shouted out.
‘All right. All right. I can’t breathe. Let me up.’
‘No chance, mate.’
At this the landlord of the pub came out of the cellar door and viewed the pair on the ground.
‘Is that you, young Archie?’
Boase looked up and saw John May, a man he knew well, peering at him.
‘Hello, John.’ Boase was still panting. ‘Sorry, I’ve made a bit of a mess of your yard.
‘Don’t you worry, Archie. I’ll fetch someone straight away. Looks like you’ve got your hands full.’
John May disappeared inside, leaving Boase and his prisoner, both still gasping, on the flagstones.
Hearing the police whistle, both policemen accompanying Bartlett and Boase earlier on that evening ran to the pub where they found Boase sitting on top of Bert Bull. A minute later, Penhaligon arrived and, finally, George Bartlett. The four stood peering over the railings down into the yard.
‘Well done, Boase. Ask him what he’s done with the boy – oh, and be sure to get that ring back off him … it’s not his.’
As Boase stood up, he dragged Bull by his collar and to his feet. As the two men looked at each other, Bull grinned and put his hand behind his back.
‘Archie – look out!’
Ernest Penhaligon had been the only one standing where he could see Bull’s back. Bull drew a large knife from behind him. The blade flashed in the light being sent out from the cellar window. Boase stepped back. The yard was small and with the only means of exit either the stone steps or the cellar door. He reached for the handle. John May had taken the precaution of locking it from the inside. Boase looked towards the steps. Bull stood between him and them.
‘Don’t be a fool, man. You’ll never get away with this.’
Bartlett began descending the stone steps.
‘Stay back, sir. Stay back.’
‘Hand it over, Bull.’
Bartlett was on the bottom step now, Bull between him and Boase. Bull held the knife in front of him. He stepped back and was now facing both men.
‘Step away and let me go.’
‘Where’s the boy?’
‘Gone. ʼE scarpered.’
‘Don’t believe you. What have you done with him?’
‘I told you. ʼE escaped. I dunno where ʼe is.’ Let me pass.’
Bull lunged at Bartlett who fell backwards over a beer barrel. The steps now unguarded, Bull ran up them. The three men at the top, seeing the blade flashing as it came towards them, parted and Bull was free. Boase ran up the steps behind him and followed him as he ran across the road.
‘Stop, Bull. You can’t get away with this.’
The others had followed and were now standing at the top of Jacob’s Ladder.
‘I’ve got the ring so just let me go. I don’t know where the boy is – I told you, ʼe ran away.’
Bull was backing away from the assembled group of policemen. Suddenly, he turned and ran down the first dozen or so steps of the ladder which had been behind him. He stooped and looked back up to where he could see Boase descending towards him. He held the knife in front of him.
‘Stand away – I’ve used this before and I’m not afraid to use it again. Stand away.’
Bull turned and ran down still further. Bartlett came down behind Boase.
‘Leave it, Boase, you’ll get yourself killed. He’s gone.’
Boase continued to descend. As Bull disappeared into the darkness and reached a small landing in the stairway no one above could see what happened next. Someone stepped out of the shadows and with one swoop, lunged forward towards Bull, sending him hurtling down the stone steps. The knife fell to the ground as the man plu
nged forwards. The men above heard a scream. And he was gone. Bartlett and Boase, followed by the others, came down to the landing. Bert Bull’s assailant came forward.
‘You!’
Both Bartlett and Boase stared hard at the person in front of them who had captured their man.
‘Good evening, gentlemen. Yes, it is I, Leon Romanov, at your service.’
At this, Romanov bowed very low as he was accustomed to do. Now all of the men were staring at him. They looked towards the bottom of the stone staircase but could see nothing in the darkness. Boase hurried away from the others and descended still more steps. As he reached the next landing, there was Bert Bull. The man was crumpled in a heap, a huge gash on the side of his head was bleeding profusely. Boase bent down to check for any signs of life but didn’t expect any. He was right. Bert Bull was dead.
Bartlett turned to Romanov, his eyes blazing.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, Romanov? You’ve just killed a man.’
‘He killed himself, Inspector Bartlett. I was innocently standing here smoking when the madman rushed down the steps just as I emerged. I can hardly be held responsible if he tripped over my cane. My lovely cane – it belonged to my grandfather. It has a very interesting history.’
Bartlett couldn’t believe how calm this man was – he had the feeling that this wasn’t the first time he’d been involved in anything like this. Yes, this man was quite the expert.
‘You’d better come to the station with us, Romanov.’
Bartlett grabbed the man’s arm and the entire company descended Jacob’s Ladder. At the bottom, he turned to the two young constables.
‘Right, one of you stay here at the bottom, the other at the top – you don’t let anyone pass … do you hear? I’ll get someone to come along to take him immediately. Boase – who’s got the ring?’
‘Well, Bull, I suppose, sir.’
‘Never mind that now. We’ll get it later. Come on.’
Leon Romanov sat in the chair next to Bartlett’s desk.
‘Inspector Bartlett, I hope you will not be taking this any further. This man merely met with a terrible accident – anyone can see that. He was not a nice person. Did he not murder horribly the two lovely young men that were Cooks?’
Boase looked up at this peculiar man sitting opposite him.
‘Yes – but that didn’t mean you had to kill him.’
‘But he was getting away from you, was he not?’
Bartlett leaned across his desk, angry all over again.
‘We would have got him.’
‘Yes, I’m sure you would have. But, now – he has been got.’
Bartlett looked exasperated.
‘You realise that you’re not free to go, don’t you?’
‘But why not? I have done nothing wrong.’
‘Despite what you think, you will have a lot of questions to answer later on today. You’re going nowhere. Because of your actions, we might never locate a missing boy – Bull was probably the only person who could tell us the whereabouts of Stephen Penfold.’
Boase took Romanov out to Penhaligon who was in the lobby.
‘Inspector Bartlett says he’s to stay here tonight – sort him out will you, Penhaligon?’
‘Have you sent someone up to collect Bull?’
Bartlett had lit a pipe – something which he would never do at this hour. At three in the morning he should be in bed, asleep.
‘Yes, they’re going up there now, sir. I’ve sent Eddy and Rabone … they’re going to meet Dr Dancey on the Moor.’
‘Right, well we need to sort out Sheila Parsons in the morning, too. She’s safe from Bull – but not from the court. She’s led us a merry dance and no mistake. She’s by no means out of the woods.’
‘Well, yes, but she didn’t kill anyone, did she?’
‘No, but by deceiving us, she put the Penfolds in serious danger.’
As the two finished the conversation about Sheila Parsons, there was a knock on the door. Boase walked over and opened it. Constable Johnny Basset stood there.
‘I’ve brought someone to see you both.’
He stood aside and there was Stephen Penfold, tired and shabby after his ordeal.
‘I’ve given him a cup of tea and some biscuits but he’s extremely tired, sir.’
Bartlett walked over to the boy and placed his hand on his shoulder.
‘Well, you must be Stephen Penfold – I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you, young man. Come in. I want to hear all about your adventure. We’ll have a little chat and then I’ll take you to see your father and sister – then you can get some sleep. I hear you’re going to be staying with some relatives up at Penryn.’
Stephen yawned and shuffled from side to side.
‘You must be exhausted. I’ll soon have you back with your family. Sit down for a minute.’
Stephen sat on the chair next to the window and began to tell Bartlett what had happened to him and where he had been. It soon became apparent that Bull had actually been telling the truth when he said Stephen had escaped. Boase made notes and then prepared to take Stephen back to Jim Penfold who would be leaving hospital in the morning.
‘I think after we’ve taken Stephen to the hospital we could go home for a couple of hours, Boase. I’d like to see Caroline and get forty winks if I can. I’m getting far too old for all this.’
Bartlett yawned and stood up. As he reached for his coat on the peg there was urgent knocking on the door. Bartlett opened it.
‘What’s all this you two – bit frantic, aren’t you?’
Constables Eddy and Rabone stood in the doorway, agitated.
‘Where’s Bull now?’
‘Well, sir. We don’t know.’
‘What do you mean … you don’t know?’
Boase came across to the door.
‘Where is he?’
Eddy, the older man, spoke.
‘We went up Jacob’s Ladder with Dr Dancey, up to the landing as you directed. There was no one there.’
Bartlett put his coat back on the peg.
‘No one there? What are you talking about, man?’
Rabone came forward.
‘I’m sorry, sir. It’s true. We, all three, looked up and down with torches. There’s no one there. The two constables hadn’t left their stations either. We asked them. They’re still there now.’
Bartlett and Boase looked at each other aghast.
Bartlett pulled Stephen to him.
‘I want one of you to take this boy up to his father at the hospital. Tell Mr Penfold that we’ll speak to him tomorrow. The boy seems to be all right. Get an address of where he’ll be. The other, stay here and let me know straight away if anyone comes in here with news. Greet will be here at nine – he’s going to be livid. Boase, come with me.’
As Bartlett and Boase crossed the Moor towards Jacob’s Ladder, Bartlett spoke first.
‘Boase – what’s going on? You said he was dead.’
‘Sir, I couldn’t detect any signs of life. I know it was dark but I felt him all over – there was no pulse.’
‘Well, he’s either been moved – or he’s not dead at all and you’ve been mistaken.’
‘Sir, I’m so sorry.’
As they reached the bottom of Jacob’s Ladder, the young constable stepped forward.
‘Did you see anything?’
‘No sir. No one’s come past me. I haven’t moved since you were here.’
Bartlett and Boase went up and down the staircase. No one was there.
‘If he was just stunned, Boase, he might have got over the wall on that landing. But I can’t believe it.’
‘Sir, I feel terrible. I’m so sorry.’
Boase felt humiliated to have made such a stupid mistake.
‘Well, sorry’s no good now. We’ve got to find him. If he had such a bad head injury he can’t have gone far. He must be nearby.’
‘He must be strong as an ox, sir.’
&nbs
p; ‘I think we already know what he’s capable of.’
At twenty minutes past four, Bartlett turned his key in the lock at Penmere Hill. Topper heard the latch and came across the hall to meet his master.
‘Topper, old boy. I’m so glad to see you. You always wait for me, don’t you? You get back into bed – it’s very late, well, very early. I’m off upstairs. How’s your mother? Have you been looking after her?’
Topper sat in his bed, listening, with his head cocked on one side. On his master’s instruction, he lay down and closed his eyes, satisfied that his family were now all at home. Bartlett tiptoed upstairs and across the landing to his bedroom. The door was ajar. He went round to the side of the bed. Caroline turned.
‘George.’
‘I’m sorry to wake you, princess. I was trying to be quiet.’
‘I wasn’t asleep.’
‘Are you ill again?’
‘No. I’m quite well. I thought you’d be back before now. What time is it?’
‘About half past four.’
‘George, that’s very late. Come and lie down.’
Bartlett took off his jacket and shoes and lay on top of the eiderdown next to his wife. He leaned across and kissed her forehead.
‘I’ll have to get up again soon. I’ve got a lot to do. Oh my word. What a night!’
Chapter Fifteen
A weary duo sat in the office at Berkeley Vale the next morning at half past eight. Bartlett and Boase, bleary-eyed from the strain of earlier events, sat drinking tea to try to revive themselves for the day ahead. Bartlett lit his pipe and, perching on the corner of his desk, looked out of the window on to the street below. Boase sat behind his own desk and unwrapped a small parcel. He laid it open on the desk.
‘Hungry, sir?’
‘What have you got?’ I didn’t have time for breakfast. That’s not like me at all. Every man should eat breakfast.’
Archie Boase looked amazed. In all the time he had known George Bartlett, Boase had always offered a share of his food and, at every turn, had politely been declined. Bartlett wandered across to him.
‘Well, I’ve got two hard-boiled eggs, a mutton sandwich, and some chocolate.’
Bartlett dithered.
Too Many Cooks Page 17
