Whitechapel (54 page)

“Thanks, Boss.” Robert grabbed his top coat and left the office.

“He’s a good lad that one, Fred,” said Godley looking on.

“Yeah, he is and like I said reckon he’s only one we can trust totally.”

“Yes, mate, he has but we need to keep an eye on him. He’s tough but he’s also vulnerable.” Added a concerned Godley. They both got back to examining the Tumblety documents that day before they would be taken on the next to be copied by the photographer. It would be the last time either of them would have hands on them.

***

Tuesday 27
th
November 6.a.m; with a sizable cardboard box under his arm Robert Ford left the front steps of The Street into the cold morning darkness and had to wait several minutes to hail a cab to take him south in Commercial Street and on to Stratford. He didn’t know the easily corruptible John Netley who was driving the cab and neither did he know, nor Abberline and Godley for that matter, that the conversation with Robert’s directions for this morning had been deliberately overheard at The Street. Parish had been coerced by Sir Robert Anderson’s office to inform on developments regarding Tumblety. Promised a promotion, he had been stood the other side of a door in the office that had been blocked off from inside by the need for additional desk in the room.

“Where can I take you to, guv’nor,” asked a jovial Netley.

“Just head towards Stratford for now, mate,” replied a cautious Robert Ford as he climbed into the cab. Netley had been contacted the previous night and bribed by Parish and already knew the destination anyway. Parish was not foolish enough to be involved in the interception of the material that Robert was carrying and neither were his masters who had already warned him off. Two local thugs had been paid by Parish to ensure the material didn’t make it by whatever means necessary.

The cab carrying Robert trundled across the cobbles of Commercial Street southbound towards Whitechapel immediately followed by another at a discreet distance containing the two thugs and a third man. Robert would have expected the journey to progress along Whitechapel High Street, Whitechapel Road, Mile End Road and onto the Bow Road eventually to the outskirts of Stratford. So when Netley turned from Whitechapel High Street to Commercial Road Robert was a little confused. He leaned forward and spoke to the driver.

“Why are you going this way, mate?”

“Oh, er, been a crash with an omnibus outside the hospital. Thought this way would be quicker.” Robert was instantly suspicious. He looked around in the darkness and could see the light of a cab behind them. He decided to keep quiet and watch it to see if it maintained pursuit of his cab. Sure enough over the next few minutes the same light stayed with them as they reached the junction with Yorkshire Street and the edge of the Regents Canal Dock. He was not happy and felt vulnerable; he pulled out his police whistle ready.

“Stop the cab now, mate.” He said with menace to Netley. He also had his truncheon with him in the outer pocket of his top coat.

“Sorry, what Guv’nor?” Netley replied trying act in a confused and innocent state.

“You fucking heard, cabbie. Stop the cab now!” Looking round Netley found himself staring at Robert who was brandishing the truncheon with some purpose. Netley was a natural coward so he did what Robert said and pulled over by the north kerb facing to the east opposite the Canal Dock. Before Robert could alight the other cab had pulled up next to them with the two local thugs onboard. Robert looked across to see them just beginning to alight. Without hesitation Robert reached up and gave Netley the hardest blow he could with his truncheon knocking him off the drivers perch. He made no sound as he hit the pavement as he was completely unconscious; the injury would play havoc with him in years to come and ultimately lead to his death under the wheels of a coach as he was taken by a grand mal seizure whilst at the reigns.

The horse reared up and began galloping off in Commercial Road towards its change to East India Dock Road. Taken completely by surprise the thugs jumped back aboard their cab which lurched off in pursuit. Robert had been thrown into the seat and lost the grip of his truncheon but not possession of it as the wrist strap slide up his forearm. “Fuck!” he shouted following a sharp pain in his elbow as the flailing weapon struck him on the elbow. He regained his balance and struggled onto the perch as the horse still continued with fright along Commercial Road. Looking over his right shoulder taking control of the reigns he could see the other cab in pursuit. The streets were still relatively quiet and empty as it was only just approaching 6.15.a.m. The pursuing cab was closing on him driven by an experienced cabbie so Robert was forced to consider what he could do to get away. A quick plan came into his head; he would turn right into West India Dock Road and head towards Blackwall Police Station on the edge of the Isle of Dogs.

However, as he made the turn the other cab pulled along his outside and began to force him wide towards the pavement and the buildings. Robert pulled hard on the reigns to try to slow the horse or even, he hoped, stop it completely before running off the road and potentially killed. As he did he was aware of the box containing the Tumblety papers make a loud banging sound as it hit one side of the cab. In the chaos of the chase he had almost forgotten about it. He got a chance to see his potential assailants again as the pursuing cab overshot him as he managed to pull his cab to a halt and could see they were both very heavy set but slightly over weight East End men. There was also the third much more slight figure in the cab that he couldn’t make out properly. A fight even with his truncheon didn’t look like a good option but running away, despite the handicap of the precious box, might be. He jumped down from his perch the instant the cab stopped and reached in to the passenger section and pulled out the box. With the box under his left arm, now only strapped with a bandage for support and the bones feeling significantly stronger, and the truncheon still in his right he ran for his life back towards the main junction from which he had just turned. He ran across it into Burdett Road and it was then he heard the first shouts. One of the thugs was on foot trying to give chase but struggling to keep up; but where was the other? As he made the first fifty yards of Burdett Road he could hear a horse pulling a wheeled unit behind it on the gallop; it was the cab with the other thug on board was his guess as the sound came nearer. Just as the sound was on him he had Farrance Street on his right and he darted across the road in front of the pursuing cab missing it by a whisker as it shot straight ahead. He could hear it pulling up hard to come back. He kept up his pace knowing that the other foot borne thug was still plodding along behind him.

Robert made a wrong assumption at this point. He had imagined that the cab would have tried to turn around and come back to Farrance Street as he turned left still running into Calcutta Street which led to the next road parallel; Dod Street. As he came into Dod Street he could see the cab to his left only yards away still at almost full pelt. He turned immediately right and crossed on to the other pavement now running along by the wharf warehouses which sat on the banks of the Limehouse Cut waterway. At last a chance to outsmart the cab too as he ran down an alley way between buildings barely five feet wide. He was breathing hard and despite the cold sweating profusely from the exertion of making his escape with the precious documents; he assumed that this whole incident was about the box. Robert could hear the cab pull up for sure this time and knew that there would be a fresh set of legs behind him now as he came to the water front. With arms full he had not been able to get to his whistle and now looked for somewhere to hide as he was momentarily out of sight to all three of the men in pursuit of him.

Ahead was another alley way but it wasn’t an option in case they decided to come up from the other end of it too. He had one choice; most of the filthy stinking canals were no more than five feet deep so he could climb in and wade across. They would see him but may be slow to follow giving him a little edge on the other side to blow his whistle to try to summon help. Placing the box on the waters edge momentarily he then jumped in from the side managing to avoid getting his head under as he did so. He was right the water was only just over five feet deep, but that was enough to force him to wade across holding the box above his head. The shock of the entry into the icy cold water drew the breath from his lungs momentarily, but he calmed himself and began to breathe normally. He was about half way across the canal when he could see both thugs on the south bank he had just left now trotting towards him.

“Stop there, you stupid fucking copper, or else you’ll not only get beaten but fucking drowned too,” said one of them with genuine malice. He ignored him and silently continued wading. He was about twenty feet from the other side. He had his back to them now as he slowly made progress aware of the fact that there could be an unexpected deeper section or dumped items on which he could loose his footing. Behind him he heard a massive splash; one of them had dived in and if he was swimming he could be on him before he got to the other bank. He looked round to see one man still on the bank looking as if he was trying to find missiles to throw at him whilst the other one was swimming surprisingly briskly towards him. ‘These bastards must be getting well paid’ Robert thought as he tried to up his pace.

He did manage to make the other side before the swimmer caught up with him so he was able to put the box down on the canal bank. As he did so the swimmer came to his feet and got hold of Robert in a headlock and pulled him under the water. The shock made him draw in some of the cold, filthy water into his lungs and momentarily his mind went blank as he sensed he could die. Then he jabbed the truncheon below the surface as hard as he could into the swimmers slightly portly stomach. In the silence of the water he didn’t hear the swimmer groan but the brief release of grip it caused was enough for him to struggle free and resurface coughing and gasping for air as he ejected the rancid water he had swallowed. He quickly re-focused on the swimmer who lunged for him but Robert himself jumped out of the way and then swam to the middle of the canal to draw his assailant away from the box. The swimmer now prone in the water from the failed lunge saw where Robert had gone and swam round to get to him stopping short to avoid getting in truncheon striking distance.

Robert sensed he was dealing with a seasoned fighter and got ready to strike as the swimmer squared up to him. He then heard a quieter splash than the first he had heard from the swimmer now engaging him and quickly glanced behind to see the other thug had lowered himself from the bank into the water and was about to begin to wade towards him. Looking back the swimmer lunged at him but Robert was equal to this swinging hard and fast with his truncheon and striking him a glancing blow on the left side of his head.

“You scrawny little bastard! You’re fucking dead, mate!” shouted the swimmer stepping back and rubbing his head. He was initially looking Robert in the face but then momentarily appeared to look beyond him and then he suddenly turned and began wading quickly away towards the box. ‘Fuck!’ thought Robert, he knew what was happening; the other thug must be feet away from him freeing the first one up. Robert turned quickly to see the second thug about to swing with a large piece of wood at him. Robert raised his truncheon to meet it in a kind of sword parry. They exchanged several blows each in an almost fencing type fashion both keen to defend themselves and try to inflict injury as soon as possible. The thug wasn’t equal to Robert’s speed and stamina being much older and a little overweight from alcohol abuse. He became slow to defend a blow to his ribs from Robert who connected with his left side forcing him to bend over clutching his ribs in pain. Robert took further immediate advantage of this placing a well aimed and fearsome blow to the thug’s skull sending him then underwater.

He turned towards the north bank to where he had placed the box after neutralising this first immediate threat to see the second thug about to lift it from the bank side.

“Put the fucking box down now if you know what’s good for you!” shouted Robert with real aggression but doing little to dissuade him. The second thug, a broad but squat man with a mutton chop beard and hands like a navvy’s shovel, ignored the threat and placed his enormous hands on the box lifting it from the bank then turning to look at Robert with a toothless smile on his face.

“Bring it back over here,” called out a slightly muffled but well spoken voice, unusual for the company that he was obviously with. The voice was coming from the south bank of the canal and it seemed somehow familiar to Robert. He turned to look in its direction to see a well dressed gentleman in a deerstalker hat and heavy top coat pointing a revolver in Robert’s direction. His face was masked by a scarf that was up over his nose leaving only his eyes below his hat very narrowly exposed.

Robert knew that the salvage of the box and its safe transit was imperative so without thought he turned his back on the gun man and waded quickly towards the squat thug who was making his way across the canal carrying the box high out of the water. He looked fearful as Robert approached him; a shot rang out making Robert flinch autonomously as if he had been struck by a bullet. It took him a second to realise that he in fact had not been shot, a second that seemed to last a life time momentarily with the thought of facing death in the festering water. The fearful look from the thug had been due to the fact the revolver had been aimed higher and at him. Robert noticed the man stopped in his tracks and bloody began pouring down his forehead from under his flat cap. The gunman had shot him in the hairline at the top of his forehead covered by the hat. He seemed to freeze upright for a moment and as he did Robert moved forward with a dive to get close enough to rescue the box. Another shot rang out but it splashed harmlessly in the water next to him as he grabbed for the box now falling from the thug’s arms as he crumpled vertically into the water like a collapsing chimney stack. The box landed with a heavy splash and initially bobbed about on the surface momentarily. As it did so Robert made a grab for it to lift it out; another shot rang out and whizzed close by his right ear and splashed into the water sending up a small plume of spray. He now realised that the masked man whose voice struck such a chord with him was out to kill him or anyone that interfered with the box or more importantly what was inside.