The Montgomery Murder Read online

  ‘In view of the number of diamonds which are now being found on a daily basis, I’m sure that you will have no problem in giving me a draft for two thousand pounds which I will need for covering my expenses in developing the mines on my return to India.

  ‘Please reply to my address in India, as I am leaving London this evening.

  ‘Yours faithfully, R. Scott.’

  Alfie stared at Sarah. ‘Sammy was right. So that’s why he murdered Mr Montgomery. Now he can have the diamond mines to himself, instead of just half of them. Quick, give me the letter. This is better than any betel leaves. Let’s go.’

  ‘Hush,’ said Sarah. ‘Listen!’

  There was the sound of the big mahogany front door downstairs being opened with a key and then slammed closed again. Heavy footsteps sounded in the hall. Heavy footsteps clumped up the stairs, getting nearer and nearer . . .

  Alfie and Sarah looked at each other in horror. They were trapped!

  CHAPTER 29

  THE MAN WITH THE GUN

  ‘Quick,’ whispered Sarah. ‘We’ll hide in one of the cupboards.’

  ‘No, he’ll miss the letter, and then he’ll come looking for us.’

  ‘Well, leave the letter then!’

  ‘Not on your life! Come on!’ Alfie seized Sarah by the hand and dragged her through the French window leading on to the balcony. Carefully he inched the window shut after them and then looked around. Yes, he had remembered correctly.

  Some tall tree-like creeper grew up the wall from the ground, stretching its way right up to the roof. Now, in November, it was blackened and dead, but the strong trunk and side branches still remained, and that should be easy enough to climb. Luckily they both had bare feet. Alfie made a quick decision. To go down would be fatal – if Mr Scott came to the window, he was bound to look down first of all and then shout to the gatekeeper to stop them. No, the only safe thing would be to go up and hide on the roof for a while.

  ‘Go on,’ Alfie said, giving Sarah a push towards it with one hand while with the other he rolled up the letter to Coutts Bank and shoved it deep into his pocket.

  And then he almost lost his grip as another flash of lightning came, followed instantly by a terrible crash, and then a heavy silence.

  Sarah was a good climber, quick and neat and he was on her heels immediately, listening all the time for sounds from within the house. Yes, Mr Scott had discovered the missing letter. Alfie could hear the exclamation when he clicked open the bag. He grinned to himself, picturing Mr Scott wondering whether he had put the letter in the bag after all. Then another faint click. The trunk was being opened.

  Alfie was suddenly worried that he could hear all the sounds from the bedroom so clearly – perhaps the window wasn’t quite shut. He daren’t tell Sarah to hurry, as his own voice might carry to the man in the bedroom.

  Now they were passing the small windows at the top of the house. These would be more bedrooms. If one had been left open it would have been tempting to go in and then creep down the back stairs, but they were firmly closed.

  There was a violent crash as the French window was flung open and slammed against the wall, followed by the sound of a heavy footstep.

  And then the rain began, long lines of it slanting down from the sky and soaking them through in less than a minute. Both of them stopped, clinging desperately to the thinner stems of the top of the creeper, trying not to be swept off by the terrible cloud burst.

  Alfie risked a quick glance down. Mr Scott was on the balcony, but he was not looking up. He was looking down, leaning over the rail and scrutinising the pavement below.

  Only two more minutes and they would be safe. Sarah was now quite near to the roof. He could see her hand reach up and clutch on to the white-tiled parapet which reared up like a tiny wall to hide the gutter pipe.

  But just as Alfie had begun to take the final few steps to safety, one of the white tiles broke off and fell down to the iron railings of the balcony with a crash. Alfie heard a sudden curse. He looked down and straight into Mr Scott’s eyes. For a moment, Alfie froze, but then Mr Scott dived back into the bedroom.

  ‘Quick, Sarah, quick!’ Alfie hissed. ‘Get over the parapet, get up to the chimney. Get behind it! I’m just behind you.’

  It was too late, though, for him to follow her. In two seconds, Mr Scott was back out on the balcony.

  There was another explosion. No lightning, though. Nor thunder, either. Alfie risked another glance and saw a gleam of light from something round and metallic clutched in Mr Scott’s big fist.

  Mr Scott was pointing a small revolver straight at him. The explosion had been a shot.

  ‘Murderer!’ yelled Alfie. ‘Murderer, murderer, murderer!’ he continued to yell as he dropped over the parapet and sank to his knees. He had little hope of anyone hearing him, though, as the thunderstorm still continued. A shot whizzed past him, striking the edge of the parapet, then another shot and another. Four, five shots. Although he was soaked to the skin Alfie felt hot sweat flood his armpits. The terrible sour taste of vomit filled his mouth.

  And then there was another flash of lightning and a crack of thunder. Or was it thunder? No, it must have been a bullet. A small piece of tile fell down past his eyes. Desperately he tried to flatten himself against the roof edge. Sarah had managed to wedge herself behind the chimney, but Alfie didn’t dare to move or else he would risk a bullet in the spine.

  But no new shot came. Alfie peeped down. There was no sign of Mr Scott on the balcony. Perhaps the revolver only held six shots. He had probably gone back into the bedroom to reload. Was there any way to escape? Alfie looked in despair at the tightly closed windows of the servants’ bedrooms.

  But then he suddenly realised that a window was open in the roof of the next-door house. The lightning began to flash again and the thunder crashed at almost the same moment, but Alfie welcomed it. No man would be able to fire accurately into that blazing sheet of light.

  ‘Quick, Sarah!’ he yelled. ‘Get along the roof. Get in through the window!’ He began to break off pieces of the damaged parapet tiles and stack them beside him rapidly.

  The lightning continued to flash, but there were longer intervals between its flares and the crash of thunder. Soon the storm would die out. They had to escape within the next few minutes, he knew, as he watched Mr Scott come out on to the balcony again, pistol in hand.

  But Sarah was in through the window. Now for his plan.

  For a second, he revealed himself deliberately, hurling a piece of parapet tile to distract the man’s aim. The shot went wide, hitting the wall, well over to the left of Alfie. Once again he rose up and hurled another piece of tile, and once again a shot rang out.

  Two, thought Alfie, and then three, four. ‘Come on, come on,’ he said aloud, and then shot a lump of cement over to the left of him. It worked. Mr Scott sent two shots one after the other in that direction, and then there was a silence. The man must be reloading! Another flash, another explosion, but this time it was the roar of thunder and Alfie jumped to his feet and ran quickly along inside the parapet, scrambled up the roof and dived head first through the window.

  Sarah was still there, shivering and dripping on the bare wooden floor of a small sparsely furnished servant’s bedroom.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. He was past caring. He grabbed her hand, twisted open the handle of the door and then they were both running at full speed down the stairs.

  On the landing he hesitated. Another flight of servants’ stairs was in front of them, but there were sounds of voices coming from it and the noise of someone scrubbing the floor. They would not get far.

  ‘This way,’ he said, and raced over towards the ornate coloured glass window.

  And he was right. As in the Montgomery household, the main staircase led down from this window, its gorgeous carpet glowing, its banisters cleaned to snowy whiteness. Large portraits of stately ladies and gentlemen stared down at the two ragged youngsters rushing by.

  Suddenly the
hall doorbell pinged. Alfie seized Sarah’s hand and quickly pulled her behind a velvet curtain in the hallway. Now they were jammed between a door and the curtain. Alfie’s heart hammered at his ribs.

  ‘Cab ordered.’ Surely that hoarse voice was familiar.

  ‘Not by us. You’ve come to the wrong house, my man.’ The maid’s voice was pert, reminding Alfie of Nora’s. ‘Try next door.’ And then she shut the door. Alfie could hear her footsteps going rapidly past.

  Still clutching Sarah’s hand, he shot out, pulled open the hall door and tumbled down the steps.

  The cab driver had climbed back on to his cab seat and had raised the reins to urge the horse to go on. The lightning flashed again, illuminating his tall figure, the broken top hat with its pale green rim framing the small, turnip-shaped face. Alfie stared. Only one cab driver in London could have a hat like that.

  With the strength of despair, Alfie dropped Sarah’s hand, shot across the pavement and made a wild leap for the door.

  ‘Bow Street Police Station,’ he said as Sarah scrambled in after him.

  ‘And be quick, please,’ added Sarah. ‘The Monmouth Street strangler is after us!’

  CHAPTER 30

  VICTORY!

  ‘And Inspector Denham believed you?’ Tom sounded sceptical. Jack gave him an uneasy glance as he leaned across Sammy and threw some more coal on to the fire. Mutsy put a paw on Alfie’s knee.

  ‘Of course he did,’ said Alfie. ‘I proved it to him. He sent six policemen with revolvers off in cabs and they arrested Mr Scott.’

  ‘I think the inspector might have had suspicions,’ said Sarah quietly, ‘but we brought him proof with that letter we stole.’

  ‘It was so funny, but it was Mr Scott who called the cab. He was still waiting for it when the coppers arrived!’ Alfie was laughing so much he couldn’t go on.

  ‘And our nice cabman had only just realised that he had gone to number two instead of number one when we jumped into his cab. He believed our story straight away, and he went flying down Bloomsbury and through St Giles and never stopped until he was outside Bow Street Police Station,’ said Sarah excitedly.

  ‘And when he got the policemen to Bedford Square, Mr Scott was out at the gatekeeper’s lodge. He was trying to send him to get another cab, because there were no servants in the house,’ explained Alfie.

  ‘Of course when he saw our cabman arriving with policemen, he thought that was the cab he had ordered earlier that morning,’ Sarah continued. ‘He had begun to climb the steps into it, before he saw the policemen! The constable couldn’t stop laughing when he was whispering about it to the inspector.’

  ‘Anyway, that’s enough of that,’ said Alfie. ‘Come on, everyone, let’s go and have something to eat.’

  ‘Did you get any money from the inspector?’ asked Jack eagerly.

  ‘Some,’ said Alfie in a casual manner. He had been waiting for this moment. He picked up an old rusty beer tray and went over and placed it on Sammy’s lap. ‘Count us out that, Sammy, old son,’ he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

  And then he spilled the coins from his pocket on to the tray and watched his brother pick one up and run his finger around the rim and across the face of the coin.

  ‘Shillings!’ exclaimed Sammy.

  And then he sorted them – almost as though he instantly knew how many there were – into four piles with five coins in each pile.

  ‘Twenty!’ he exclaimed. ‘A whole sovereign’s worth of them!’

  ‘That’s right,’ grinned Alfie. In fact, the inspector had tried to give Alfie a gold sovereign, but he had preferred the rich feeling of twenty shillings. ‘No worries about the rent money now,’ he continued. ‘The inspector says that Mr Denis Montgomery has put an extra twenty pounds on to the reward. I heard the constable whisper something about Denis being so relieved that he was not accused of the murder – “with all his debts” – that’s what the constable said.’ Alfie looked triumphantly at his gang and then had a quick boxing match with Mutsy to celebrate. The dog was back to his usual lively self. The cut on his head was healing beautifully.

  ‘Tell them what the inspector said to you, Sarah,’ said Alfie.

  ‘He said that the scullery maid of the house next door to him had run away with a pastry cook,’ said Sarah happily. ‘Inspector Denham is going to mention my name. He thinks I will get the job. He gave me five shillings to buy myself some new clothes and a pair of shoes so that I look respectable when I go there tomorrow morning. Mind you,’ she went on, ‘he did say that the butler has now been arrested for stealing the silver, so I might get my job back at the Montgomery place, but I wouldn’t want that even if the inspector would put in a good word for me. I’d prefer somewhere new.’

  ‘Come on, everyone, we’re going out for a meal.’ Alfie let go of Mutsy and took Sammy’s arm, leading him towards the door, and when they were all in the street, Sammy holding on to Mutsy’s collar, he turned down Long Acre and then into Drury Lane. The thunderstorm had moved away, the air felt fresh and clear and the rain had washed the streets.

  ‘Six plates of roast beef,’ he said, placing two shillings with a flourish on the counter of the beef-house while the others sat at a table by the window.

  ‘Six,’ exclaimed the man. ‘There are only five of you.’

  Alfie glanced casually over his shoulder. Mutsy had discreetly disappeared under the table. ‘Oh, the other fellow will be along in a moment,’ he said carelessly.

  ‘Eat two yourself,’ said the man with a shrug. ‘I don’t care so long as I get paid.’

  Jack helped to bring the plates over. The smell was delicious. Mutsy drooled a little on to Alfie’s bare foot, but as soon as the man behind the counter turned his back, Alfie scraped a whole plateful of beef on the floor next to Mutsy’s mouth. Two seconds later the floor was cleaner than it had been for months and Mutsy was sitting beside Alfie, looking every inch a well-behaved and patient dog.

  Alfie returned to the counter. ‘Six mugs of beer and a bowl of water for my dog.’

  Mutsy was thirsty and drank the water down, but he didn’t enjoy it as much as he enjoyed the beer that followed. Alfie watched him with satisfaction.

  ‘Lady and gents,’ he said, lifting his mug. ‘Here’s to our two heroes, Sammy and Mutsy!’

  Sammy grinned in an embarrassed way and patted Mutsy.

  ‘Take a bow, Mutsy,’ said Jack and Mutsy sat on his back legs and lowered his head politely. Even the man behind the counter laughed.

  And then there was a cosy silence. Outside the rain began to fall again and the evening turned dark. The lamplighter came with his ladder and lit the gas lamp on the edge of the pavement. The shop across the road switched on its lights and a wonderland of children’s toys shone out through the small thick panes of glass. Inside the beef-house everything was warm and smelled good. The man came out from behind the counter, put more wood on the fire and then set a second piece of beef to roast over the flames. Alfie slipped another piece of his meat down to Mutsy and took a last swallow of his beer.

  Tom belched contentedly. Sarah glared at him, but Tom just gave her a cheeky grin. He held up his mug.

  ‘Here’s to Alfie, best cop in the whole of Bow Street.’

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Thanks are due to my husband who patiently

  walked around the London districts of St Giles and

  Bloomsbury and waited at cold street corners while I

  made notes of distances and soaked up atmosphere,

  to my son William who helps with computer crises,

  and my daughter Ruth who is usually the first to

  read any of my books.

  As always, much gratitude to my agent

  Peter Buckman who shares all my joys and sorrows

  in this writing game and gives me the benefit

  of his wisdom and experience.

  Many thanks, also, to my editor Anne Clark

  who has been as committed and involved as myse
lf

  in the anxieties, terrors and excitements

  of Alfie and his gang.