Death of a Chimney Sweep (13 page)

‘So what’s the solution?’ Sammy turned his face towards his brother. In the dim light Alfie could see his teeth gleam in an amused grin.

Alfie jumped to his feet, burning with excitement. ‘Come on, Sam,’ he said. ‘You and me are going for a little walk.’

CHAPTER 23

W
HO
I
S
G
UILTY
?

A few rays of watery sunlight had come through the clouds by the time that Alfie and Sammy reached Goodwin’s Court. They shone down the narrow alley, lighting up the
rose-coloured brick paving, the shining, many-paned windows, the rich glow of the brass knockers and the glossy sheen of well-painted doors. There was no one about. Alfie stood at the entrance, but
did not go down. He clicked his tongue with annoyance. Goodwin’s Court was far too narrow for anyone to see the chimneys.

‘Let’s go to the other side of St Martin’s Lane, Sam,’ he said.

Once safely across the road and standing on the pavement, Alfie tilted his head back and surveyed the roofs of the little row of houses. His eyesight was keen and he could plainly see the
chimneys. He went along the line of them, counting aloud and then nodded.

He had found out what he had come to see. ‘Five chimney stacks for ten houses,’ he murmured, annoyed with himself that he hadn’t guessed sooner.

‘You get it?’ enquired Sammy. ‘I guessed as soon as you told me about the four different passageways leading from the main chimney, and that no one had found the skeleton
sooner.’

‘I get it,’ replied Alfie, and he punched Sammy on the arm to show that he had no hard feelings about Sammy working it out first.

‘Let’s go down and see how the ladies of Number Four are faring after their exciting morning,’ he said with a chuckle.

‘I won’t come in, haven’t had time to have a wash – been too busy with the police. Just wanted to ask how you all were, after the shock, you
know?’ said Alfie, all in one breath, as soon as Ellen opened the door.

‘Is that Alfie? Come on in.’ Mrs Bailey appeared. ‘Come and have something to eat, the two of you, and tell us what’s been happening. The missus is out. Gone to see her
daughter. Never mind the dirt. That floor is marble – it wipes up easily. Come into the kitchen. We have a great fire going there. You can warm yourselves by it. And not a trace of smoke.
Lucky we don’t need that Mr Grimston back again in a hurry – he went off in a great rush after you left, said he was feeling very ill. Even the mistress didn’t believe him.
“Stands to reason that man knows something about the skeleton,” she said. “I never did trust him,” that’s what I said to her and that’s the truth, isn’t
it, Ellen?’

The kitchen fire was burning brightly. Certainly there was no trace of smoke around, but that was not surprising. Poor little Isaac’s body had been mainly in the unused chimney passage,
but a foot had been in the main chimney. Perhaps he had dived down the unused chimney to get away from the smoke and heat when a fire had been lit below in order to make him get out quickly. The
soot had piled up around the body and that and the foot had prevented the smoke from escaping freely. Alfie was quietly confident that the solution was correct. Still, he needed a little more
information before he could set a trap.

‘Where’s the other lady? The parlour maid?’ he asked, looking around.

‘Lady!’ snorted the cook. ‘Fine lady that one! She’s taken herself off. Good riddance to bad rubbish! Didn’t sleep in her bed last night. I’ve had my
suspicions of her for many a long month. Kept bad company, Mavis, she did – her and her fancy man.’

‘You don’t tell me!’ marvelled Alfie. ‘Responsible job and all that. I suppose she had the keys to everything. Someone was telling me that she even had the keys to the
empty house next door.’

‘Well, I don’t know who’s been telling you she had keys to next door,’ said the cook. ‘That she certainly did not! I know where the rumour might have started,
though. When the couple next door first started talking about going off to Italy for a year, they wanted Mrs Leamington to have the keys, really pressed her. But my mistress said no.
“You’ve got all those valuable paintings in there – I wouldn’t sleep at night worrying about them – ask the police to keep an eye on the place.” That’s
what she said. Mr Arthur, her son, well, he thought she was being very disobliging to old friends, but she wouldn’t budge. Ever so upset he was! Lost his temper with his poor old mother. I
think that he had a mind to do it himself. I heard him knock on their door, anyway, just afterwards.’

‘Tell us what the police said when you brought them bones along,’ said Ellen eagerly. ‘I nearly had a heart attack when you came out of the chimney with that skull!’

‘Give the lad a chance, Ellen,’ said the cook, but her own eyes were bright with curiosity. ‘Here, have a piece of my fruit cake, and one for your brother. Here you are, Sammy,
it’s just there, just by your hand. So, Alfie, when you got to the police station . . . ?’

On the way back towards Covent Garden, nicely warmed through with hot milk and fruit cake, Alfie speculated about about what he had heard. Since she never had the keys, Mavis
and her cracksman had nothing to do with it. Arthur Leamington, though . . . Alfie could just picture the scene. The polite knock on the door next door. What would he have said? ‘Apologise
for my mother – getting very old – worries, you know – happy to oblige – no trouble.’ And how had the couple in Number Five replied?

Perhaps they said yes. Perhaps Arthur Leamington had the keys to the house and was able to go in and out as he pleased. And perhaps come out the back door to the mews with a parcel carefully
wrapped in brown paper under his arm, and climb into his gig . . .

But then one day he was seen by a chimney sweep . . .

Alfie’s mind darted through the possibilities. Only one of them really made sense to him. But first of all he had to get evidence.

‘Sam,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I have a plan and I need your help.’

The great thing about Sammy, he thought, as he explained his plan, was that he had such a quick mind. He never needed lengthy explanations. Now he listened carefully, nodded his head from time
to time, and made a few useful suggestions of his own.

The plan was made. The trap would be sprung before another hour was over.

Tom was still outside St Paul’s, the church on the piazza at Covent Garden. The crowd was dispersing and the Punch and Judy show puppets were being packed away in boxes
ready for the next day’s performances.

‘Tom, would you take Sammy down to Bow Street police station? He has a message to deliver from me to Inspector Denham.’ Alfie stroked Mutsy. He wished that he could take the big dog
with him, but no dog could go where he was going this afternoon. ‘Oh, and thanks for that turnip, Tom,’ he added. ‘You saved me! I bet old Grimston had a sore face after
that.’

‘He’s in there with the police at the station, you know,’ said Tom, chuckling. ‘I saw the horse and cart tied up in that yard of theirs, just next to the police gig. They
must be still asking him questions. I suppose he was the one that murdered Joe.’

‘Nice collection.’ Alfie was looking down at Tom’s cap. It would take too long to bring Tom up to date, he decided. He was on fire to get on with his plan. ‘You could get
some sausages with that after Sammy has given his message,’ he said. ‘Wait for me, though, before you put them on the pan. I’ll be back in about a couple of hours.’ I hope,
he added silently.

Pity about that fire that they had lit in the kitchen – and probably in the other rooms, also – of Number Four, he thought as he walked back towards St Martin’s Lane. How hot
would they make the chimney, he wondered? Still he would just have to manage. Luckily the few gleams of sun had gone and the fog was starting to come back again. Normally Alfie hated fog, but today
he thought he would really welcome a good old ‘London Particular’, a real peasouper where the people on foot groped around as if they were blind, and a man took his life in his hands
when he crossed the road.

The fog was beginning to come down quite thickly by the time that Alfie climbed the handy downpipe on St Martin’s Lane. The roofs were wet and slippery, but he edged his way carefully
across. He could not afford to slip and break his neck now. As he went, he repeated to himself Joe’s last words – broken phrases that would stay with him for the rest of his life: a
bend . . . something about going the wrong way or into the wrong room . . . something about being scared . . . Poor Joe!

Justice for Joe – wasn’t that what Inspector Denham had said? Perhaps today was going to be the day when Joe got justice.

When he reached the chimney, he heard the bell from St Martin’s Church ring out the hour. Four o’clock. Not enough time for Sammy to have done his errand, he told himself. Half past
four would be more like it. He squatted down beside the smoky warmth and prepared to wait.

And then, he thought, he would find out for certain what Joe’s last words meant.

And who had killed the poor little chimney sweep.

CHAPTER 24

S
AMMY
D
ELIVERS
A
M
ESSAGE

Bow Street police station was noisy when Tom, leaving Mutsy outside, escorted Sammy into its coal-smelling interior. PC Fairley was writing at a desk, PC 22 was looking through
some papers, PC 31 was making tea, pouring the water from a blackened kettle into an almost as black teapot, and PC 35 was polishing his boots.

From one of the cells came the sound of someone kicking the wall and then of an angry voice shouting, ‘Let me out of here! You’ve no right to keep me here. I know nothing about any
boys. It’s nothing to do with me if some bones turn up in a chimney. Birds bring things and drop them down. Everyone knows that. Let me out!’

Tom grinned. He recognised Grimston’s voice, and Sammy had just told him the story of the bones in the chimney. It was nice to hear a bully getting his come-uppance.

‘Could I speak to Inspector Denham, please?’ Sammy turned his face from one side of the room to the other, calmly waiting to face the answerer.

There was a moment’s silence. Sammy waited. The men would be looking uncomfortably at one another, he guessed. People were always embarrassed when a blind person addressed them. Never
bothered him, but it bothered them.

And then the inner door opened. ‘Is that Alfie’s brother? Come in, Sammy. And Tom, isn’t it? I remember you.’

‘We can’t come in, sir.’ Tom had been well rehearsed by Alfie.
Don’t go into the inner office
, his cousin had said.
Make sure that you stay in the outer
office
. ‘We’ve got our dog waiting outside,’ he continued, ‘and he’s all wet and muddy.’

‘We just brought you a message from Alfie,’ said Sammy calmly and clearly. ‘He wants to see you. He wanted to know if he could see you in about an hour’s time – if
you won’t mind waiting until then, sir. First of all he has to check out something back at Goodwin’s Court. He thinks he’s found some evidence to show who murdered Joe.’

‘I hope he’s not getting himself into trouble.’ The inspector frowned and Tom thought he looked angry, but Sammy heard the anxiety in the man’s voice. The inspector
seemed to care about poor people like himself and his brother – and about a chimney sweep boy called Joe.

‘Oh no, sir,’ said Sammy. ‘Alfie is clever. He didn’t have time to tell us exactly what he had found or what it means. Just to say he’d be over to see you
shortly.’

Someone had been stirring water vigorously, but at those words they stopped and the scratch of a quill pen ceased. Sammy fumbled for Tom’s arm and gripped it tightly, turning his cousin
towards the doorway. He had one more sentence to deliver but he would wait until Tom had opened the door. When the rush of the damp, cold air hit his face, he turned back and spoke again, loud and
clear.

‘Alfie said to remind you about what you said. He said to tell you that today will be the day when you can get justice for Joe.’

And then, Tom, half choking with giggles, steered Sammy towards the market.

Their work was not yet done. Wait for ten minutes before you go back in again, Alfie had ordered.