The Montgomery Murder (11 page)

‘Could I help? Do something?’ Mallesh looked anxious as the boy and the dog retreated silently.

‘No, you stay put. It’s not going to help having you in jail. Stay put and think hard about why someone should murder Mr Montgomery. Who knows, it might be something to do with India
after all. I’m going to look for Jack at Leicester Square.’

This time he did not bother following Tom, who had turned down Drury Lane, but struck out towards Leicester Square. He was anxious about Jack. Jack was a good fellow, but he was useless at
telling lies. Alfie was worried in case Jack had got into trouble in the betting clubs.

There was no sign of Jack in Leicester Square. Alfie patiently went from club to club, and then up a couple of the side streets.

Alfie was almost going to give up the hunt when he spotted Jack coming out from the cellar of one of the most low-down clubs in Leicester Square. Not the sort of place that Denis Montgomery
would have gone to, thought Alfie.

Jack was white-faced and stank of beer and spirits. He shook his head as Alfie approached.

‘Afraid I haven’t found anything out,’ he said in a low voice. ‘The fellows that gave me jobs taking out bottles didn’t know anything much about the toffs that go
to the clubs. I got seven pence, though.’

‘Great,’ said Alfie. ‘That will do for supper.’ He always liked to have something for his gang every night. It kept the spirits high. ‘You go home; you look a bit
done in. I’ll just have a poke around and then I’ll follow you.’

Jack hesitated. ‘Be careful,’ he said after a minute. ‘There’s some queer people around these clubs. Chances are I’ve done enough questioning. They might turn
nasty.’

‘Tell you what,’ said Alfie. ‘I’ll leave these ones in Leicester Square. I’ll just go on down to Piccadilly Circus and look for one called The Royal Saloon. The
fellow who works with the Montgomery horses told me about that one.’

Jack nodded and went off, walking wearily, his head hanging and his shoulders slumped.

‘What’s that noise?’ A man appeared through the baize-lined door, shutting it carefully after him.

‘Oh my God, that’s the steward. Now we’re in trouble,’ whispered the porter. Quickly he grabbed the crate of bottles from Alfie and disappeared on down to the cellar.

‘Nothing broken, just one unlucky fellow.’ Alfie dragged himself to his feet and stretched his arms and legs, patting himself all over as if to check for damage. Luckily there had
been a carpet – probably to prevent noise – and he didn’t think that he was too badly hurt. He managed a jolly expression.

The steward gave a grin. ‘Well, you’re a plucky youngster,’ he said. ‘Good job nobody from up there saw you fall. They’d all have been putting bets on whether you
would be killed or not.’

‘You’re joking me!’ Alfie could tell that this was a bored man who liked to chat. He saw his chance to get some useful information.

‘I’m not! Do you know, about a year ago, a man who came in here and gambled every night of the year with his friends fell down on the doorstep when he was going home, and guess what
his friends did?’

‘Called a cab?’ asked Alfie with his most innocent expression.

‘Nah, they all started to bet on whether he was dead or just had a fit! I got the porter to run and get a surgeon and you’ll never guess what happened when the surgeon arrived . .
.’

‘What?’ asked Alfie, all eager attention.

‘They told me to send him away – that it would spoil the bet.’ The steward laughed heartily and Alfie joined in.

‘Well, I bet they are a crowd of freaks! I suppose you know them all,’ Alfie said after a few seconds. ‘There was a gent who got himself garrotted up near where I live. A Mr
Montgomery from India. Someone said that he was a great one for gaming houses.’

‘Didn’t come here.’ The steward was quite definite. ‘I know who you mean, though. Read about it in today’s paper. I’ll tell you something, though – his
son was here that night.’

‘Not with his father, then – on his own?’

‘I think that he brought a guest with him – can’t remember too well, but I have that impression. Yes, he did. I
remember now. He said that this fellow was visiting from India. They didn’t take too many chips, though, so one or other of them were not planning to stay too long.’ The steward paused.
‘Come on, do you want to have a look inside? You can see them all – mad they are, every one of them! Just put on this apron – it will cover your clothes. Take this crate in your
hands and you can take out some of the empty bottles for me.’

Alfie slid in cautiously and had a quick look around. To his immense astonishment, over half of the gentlemen seemed to be wearing masks – so that no one could tell from their expressions
if they were betting on a certainty or a wild card, according to a whisper from the steward. Was the Monmouth Street strangler sitting there, playing cards, and watching Alfie from behind his mask
with cold, cruel eyes? He was glad to get out – he didn’t like the thought of being watched by a possible murderer, when he himself could see very few faces at all.

He went on down to the cellar with the bottles, received a grudging two pence from the porter and then, saying he was too sore and stiff to do any more, he slipped out of the back door to the
club house.

Well, he thought as he went on his way, Denis Montgomery and Mr Scott did go to the Royal Saloon that night, and one of them probably left early – the gatekeeper had said that Mr Scott
was late home, so he probably went to some other place in the West End. But Mr Montgomery was murdered early in the evening – about nine o’clock if Betty was right. The chances were
that the murderer would have gone straight back to Bedford Square, rather than hang around the streets to be arrested by the police . . .

Alfie was halfway up a small deserted lane leading out of Leicester Square, deep in thought, when he heard a shrill cry of, ‘Alfie, look behind you!’ He wheeled around. The lane was
dimly lit and the fog was very thick, but some lights spilled out of a shop window and on to the road.

And there, just behind him, he saw an immense black shadow: a shadow of a man, whose top hat and raised cudgel were outlined on the cobbled street.

CHAPTER 18

A brick hurtled through the air and crashed down to the ground. The man wheeled around; Jack shouted again, and Alfie ran for it. He knew these alleyways like the back of his
hand. He turned off to the left and ran as fast as he could, trying to ignore the fierce pain across his lower ribs. There was a thundering noise in his ears as he tried to gulp in more air. He had
a strong urge to keep running all the way back to the cellar, but he had to see that Jack was safe, so he turned again until he was in a narrow alley leading back towards the lane – and then
there was Jack, running towards him.

‘Did you see his face?’ Alfie just managed to gulp out the words.

Jack shook his head. ‘Nah, his back was to me. Didn’t half give me a fright, though. I thought you was a goner for a minute.’

‘Good thing you’re handy with a brick.’ To his horror Alfie felt a rush of sour liquid fill his mouth. He felt himself start to heave, and drew in a long breath. He
didn’t want to stand vomiting in the street here if the strangler was after him.

‘Let’s scarper!’ Jack was practical as ever. He put an arm around his cousin’s shoulders and steered him back into the alleyway. ‘We’ll just go nice and
quietly along here,’ he said. ‘We’ll keep our eyes peeled and walk near the doorways. If he comes back we’ll see him before he sees us.’

Alfie nodded silently. For once Jack was taking the lead, but he was happy to say nothing. He still felt sick and his legs were unsteady.

‘We’ll be home before you know it,’ said Jack after a few minutes, and Alfie nodded again.

Up to this hour it had been almost a game, but now Alfie was frightened. Why, he asked himself again, had he allowed his blind brother to go into a house where a murderer might live?

‘Where’s Sammy?’ As soon as Alfie opened the door to the underground cellar he knew that something was wrong. Tom was there, chatting to Mallesh, but there was no Mutsy to come
bounding up to greet them and Sammy’s fireside chair was empty.

‘We were wondering that ourselves,’ said Tom. He sounded a little guilty. ‘Mutsy took off. He went too fast for me to follow, but I reckoned he had gone to Bedford Square. We
reckoned that Sammy must have waited for Sarah. Here she comes now. That’s her on the stairs, I reckon.’

Alfie dashed back to the door and threw it open.

‘Sarah, where’s Sammy?’ He could hear the terror in his voice.

‘What?’ Sarah’s voice rose high with alarm. ‘He’s not home yet? But he must be! He left ages ago. He and Mutsy together!’

‘Why didn’t you go for Sammy, Tom?’ Alfie tried hard to keep his temper – more for Jack’s sake than for Tom’s. Jack had saved his life.

‘Like I said, Mutsy took off.’ Tom gave a careless shrug of his shoulders. ‘I reckoned that he would go to Bedford Square and fetch Sammy home.’

‘Mutsy came to the house all right.’ Sarah was almost breathless. ‘He burst in when Sammy was singing and the missus said that Sammy could go an hour early. They went off
together more than an hour ago.’

‘More than an hour ago,’ breathed Jack. His voice had a frightened sound in it and Alfie felt his heart thumping with quick beats. Bedford Square was only about half a mile away.
Sammy should only have taken a quarter of that time to walk it with Mutsy to guide him. He turned to Sarah.

‘Where was Sammy all day?’

‘In the butler’s pantry.’

‘And the butler saw him, did he?

‘No,’ said Sarah. ‘The butler was out all morning.’

‘That’s a lie,’ snapped Alfie. His voice was sharp and rough, but Sarah understood the terrible fear that was gripping him and she said nothing. After a moment, he said,
‘I saw him – the butler, I mean – near the house. He was there about two o’clock. He was suspicious of me – I could tell by the way that he ordered me away from the
gatekeeper. Chances are he might be even more suspicious of Sammy there in the house.’

‘We’d better go and look for Sammy.’ Jack turned back to the door again.

‘I will come with you,’ said Mallesh. ‘No one will see me in this fog.’

‘But what happened to — Sarah stopped. She had heard something – something on the steps leading down to the cellar.

Something was coming down those steps – not walking, not running, but lurching down, crashing against the walls, something that seemed blind, or drunk, or out of its mind. Something with
no eyes, no balance, no brain . . .

And it was coming towards their door.

Alfie snatched up a torch, thrust it into the fire and carried it to the door. Jack was after him in a second. Tom clutched Sarah’s hand and Mallesh slid his knife out and brandished
it.

And then Alfie flung open the door and cried, ‘Mutsy!’ and when the dog heard that voice, he made a great effort and staggered on shaking legs down the last two steps, and then he
stood trembling violently with his head hanging almost to his knees.

‘He’s been in the river. He’s soaking,’ said Jack.

‘We can see that, blockhead.’ Alfie did not often snap at Jack, but the sight of Mutsy was terrifying him. He was still shaking after his own ordeal and now he seemed plunged into a
nightmare where Sammy had disappeared and Mutsy was no longer the protector and guardian of the blind boy.

‘He’s dripping on to the floor.’ Tom’s voice was shaking.

‘He’s injured.’ Mallesh put his knife away and looked at the dog with concern. ‘That is a very bad cut he has on his head.’

‘Bring him over to the fire, Alfie, and let’s see what’s wrong with him.’ Sarah stuck the poker in the fire and stirred it so that a bright flame lit the room.

‘Come on, boy,’ said Alfie, snapping his fingers.

For a moment it seemed as if Mutsy could not even hear that simple command. Alfie took hold of the rough rope collar around the dog’s neck and tried to drag him, but for the first time in
Mutsy’s life he defied his master and a long low growl came from him.