‘What time would you like me to start, sir?’ asked Ruth.
‘As soon as we quit the building,’ he replied. ‘There’s a lot to do, I fear.’
‘I’m not afraid of hard work, sir.’
‘Then I suggest that you start here in my office.’
She gave a pale smile. ‘I was about to say the same thing, sir.’
When he called at her lodging, Peter Skillen was quick to realise that there were two Anne Horners. The woman’s landlady described her in a way that was markedly at variance with the account given by Esther Ricks. Peter had been led to believe that the necessary woman spent most of her time alone in her rented room. Joan Claydon, the landlady, told a different story. To begin with, it transpired that Anne had disappeared for days before – though always after forewarning Joan. Where her lodger went, the landlady didn’t know but she explained that Anne always fulfilled her duties at the Home Office during her periods away from the house.
‘There is another thing, Mr Skillen,’ added Joan.
‘What was that?’
‘She usually brought a small gift for me.’
‘That was kind of her.’
‘Anne is more of a friend than a lodger.’
‘What of Mrs Ricks?’ asked Peter.
‘She and her sister hardly ever see each other.’
‘That’s not what I was told.’
‘Then you was told wrong, sir,’ said Joan, wagging a finger. ‘Anne never really got on with her sister. When they were younger, Mrs Ricks used to bully her a lot. She was always trying to tell Anne what to do.’
‘Is that why Mrs Horner refused to move in with her sister?’
‘That was one of them.’
Joan Claydon was a large, expressive, motherly woman in her early fifties, surprisingly well groomed in view of her limited resources. As well as coping with two female lodgers in the modest dwelling, she had to nurse a sick husband and look after a medley of pet dogs and cats, yet she did it all without complaint. Even in repose, she seemed to be smiling and positively exuded amiability. Having met her sister, Peter could see why Anne Horner had chosen the companionship of the landlady before that of Esther Ricks. While the sister would have exerted a measure of control over Anne’s life, Joan was much more understanding and tolerant. She simply wanted everyone under her roof to be contented.
‘I suppose that I shouldn’t say this, Mr Skillen,’ she began, lowering her voice to impart a secret, ‘but you might as well know the truth. When Mrs Ricks invited her sister to live there, it wasn’t as a favour.’
‘Why was that, Mrs Claydon?’
‘She expected Anne to pay twice what I ask in rent.’
‘Ah,’ said Peter, ‘so it wasn’t simply a question of filial loyalty.’
Joan blinked. ‘What does that mean, sir?’
‘She wasn’t merely acting out of sisterly love.’
‘Oh, I think that dried up years ago.’
‘Did anyone – apart from Mrs Ricks, that is – call here for Mrs Horner?’
‘No, they didn’t.’
‘So you saw no sign of any … admirers?’
‘I never pried into her private life, Mr Skillen. It’s not my place to do that. On the other hand,’ she said with a confiding glint, ‘you were bound to wonder. I mean, Anne is still a lovely woman and she’s kept her figure – not like Mrs Ricks, for instance. Men would look at her in a way they wouldn’t look at her sister, if you follow
me and I’m sure you do. But – hand on heart – I can’t honestly tell you that any of them did more than look.’
After talking to her for several minutes to win her confidence, Peter asked if he might see the missing woman’s room. The landlady became very protective, saying that it would be wrong for anyone – especially a stranger – to conduct a search.
‘It’s something I’d never dream of doing myself,’ she affirmed.
‘My position is somewhat different, Mrs Claydon. My appointed task is to track down Mrs Horner and I need any assistance that I can get. It may be – and this is conjectural, of course – that there is something in her room that might give me a clue as to her whereabouts. Surely, you’d raise no objection if that clue led indirectly to her safe return.’ He could see her resolve weakening. ‘You’re welcome to be present. I’ll touch nothing that you feel is sacrosanct.’
Joan blinked again. ‘That’s another word I don’t know, sir.’
‘You can tell me where it’s indelicate of me to look.’
There was a long pause, as she pursed her lips and weighed everything up in her mind.
‘Are you married, Mr Skillen?’ she asked at length.
‘I’m very happily married, Mrs Claydon, so a lady’s bedchamber is not exactly a novelty to me. I’ll accord Mrs Horner’s belongings the same respect that I show to those of my wife.’
Folding her arms, she studied him shrewdly. Reluctant to let anyone into rooms occupied by her lodgers, she saw that she might have to break her rule. Anne’s safety was paramount and – if there was anything upstairs that might indicate where she’d gone – it ought to be available to the man searching for her. Having seen enough of Peter to gauge his sincerity, she capitulated.
‘I’ll show you where it is,’ she said, ‘but you’ll have to be quiet.
My husband will probably be asleep in the next room.’
‘I’ll tread carefully,’ he promised.
She led him up the stairs, took him along the landing then opened the door of the front bedroom. Since it was the largest in the house, Peter could see that Anne Horner was the favoured lodger. As befitted a woman who worked as a cleaner, the place was spick and span. The few garments she owned were carefully hung in the wardrobe, the surface of the dressing table was glistening, the mirror shone and the whole room had a feeling of spotlessness. Snug and organised, it spoke of the quiet self-reliance of someone in straitened circumstances.
Peter felt slightly embarrassed to be intruding but necessity soon eclipsed his discomfort. Under the watchful eye of the landlady, he looked in the wardrobe and in the chest of drawers but found nothing of interest. When he lifted the cushion on the little armchair, all that appeared were a pile of out-of-date newspapers. Since Anne was highly unlikely to have bought them, he surmised that they’d been discarded by someone at the Home Office and rescued from the wastepaper basket. If she could read
The Times
and
The Morning Post
, then she obviously had an enquiring mind. What surprised Peter was that any of the clerks at the Home Office should be readers of the monthly periodical,
Lady’s Magazine or Entertaining Companion for the Fair Sex.
Joan Claydon, too, was startled by the discovery that her lodger owned something so unlikely for a person of her means.
It was when Peter got down on his hands and knees that she raised a protest.
‘There’s no need to look under the bed, sir.’
‘It will only take a second.’
‘I can tell you what you’ll find there.’
Before she could stop him, Peter lifted the valance and found himself staring at a mottled chamber pot. Tucked away behind it was a wooden box. He had to stretch an arm to retrieve it.
‘Have you ever seen this before, Mrs Claydon?’ he asked, getting up.
‘No,’ she replied, ‘and I don’t think I should be looking at it now. It belongs to Anne. We’ve no right to open it.’
‘But it may contain letters or something else that could give the search for her some direction. I can’t just leave a possible clue unexplored.’
It took time to persuade her, but eventually she consented. Peter lifted the lid and peered into the box. There were a couple of letters inside, written in a spidery hand by her late husband, but it was the rest of the contents that intrigued him. What they were both staring at was a small pile of banknotes.
He turned inquisitively to the landlady.
‘How much do they pay her at the Home Office?’ he wondered.
Whenever she stepped out onstage, Hannah Granville had an astonishing presence. It lifted her effortlessly above any of the other actors in the play. Offstage, however, she was a different person, subdued, languid and capricious. As she reclined on the bed in a flamboyant gown of Japanese silk, she snapped her fingers and pouted.
‘I need you again tonight, Paul,’ she said, peevishly.
‘You shall have me at your command, my darling,’ he assured her, ‘but I’ll be unable to meet you after the performance this evening.’
‘Oh?’
‘I have a commitment I must honour.’
‘What about your commitment to
me
?’
‘That’s as deep and unswerving as it’s been since we first met.’
‘Then you must prove it. What kind of a gentleman leaves a lady at the mercy of that bellowing herd of suitors, some of whom are old enough to be my father?’
Paul laughed. ‘You love every moment of their attentions, Hannah. Indeed, you float upon it like a bird on the wing. Adoration is your natural habitat.’
‘Then why do you not lavish it upon me?’
‘I will do so when I return.’
‘From
where
?’ she snapped, petulantly. ‘Or should it be from
whom
?’ Her voice became a growl. ‘I’ll not take second place to another woman.’
‘None could hold a candle to you,’ he said, caressing her thigh as he sat on the bed. ‘All women are invisible beside you. It was the first thing I noticed at the theatre. You were the unrivalled cynosure. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.’
‘Yet you will happily do so this evening.’
‘I do it with the utmost reluctance, my darling. And once my business has been discharged, I will get here as soon as is humanly possible.’
‘How do you know I will let you in?’
‘Keep me outside and I’ll howl like a dog all night. Is that what you would prefer?’ he teased, nestling against her. ‘Would you rather have me out there in the dark or in here beside you?’
She allowed him to kiss her hand. ‘I’ll think about it.’
They were in the house that had been rented for her during the period when she was engaged to perform at the theatre. Hannah Granville had conquered London. Audiences had been overwhelmed by her beauty and by the irresistible talent that accompanied it. Those who’d seen her shine as Belvidera realised that any of the great female roles were within her scope. She was seen as having taken up the mantle that Sarah Siddons had put aside a few years earlier and was expected to enjoy an equally illustrious career. Paul Skillen was no mean actor himself and he’d employed his talents judiciously. Having contrived an introduction to her, he’d used his charm to secure Hannah’s interest, his declaration of love to bring her within reach and his patent virility to excite her.
There was also a sense of danger about him that none of her other admirers could offer.
‘Where are you going this evening?’ she demanded.
‘I told you – I have duties to perform.’
‘What kind of duties?’
He waved a hand. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘It does to me, Paul. I want to know where you’re going and who you are intending to see in place of me.’
‘It’s not in place of you, Hannah. Work, however, must come before pleasure.’
‘What sort of work?’
‘We have to protect a property in Mayfair.’
‘We?’ she echoed, sitting up. ‘Who is this “we” you talk about?’
‘I was referring to my brother and myself.’
‘You never told me that you had a brother.’
‘Well, I do,’ he said. ‘His name is Peter.’
‘Am I to meet him?’
‘There’s no need for that.’
‘Why not – are you ashamed of me? Are you afraid that your brother will look askance at me?’
He grinned. ‘No man would ever look askance at
you
, Hannah.’
‘What sort of a person is Peter?’
‘He’s very similar to me in some ways and the complete opposite in others. On balance, I’m not at all sure that you’d like my brother.’
‘Is he handsome?’
‘Peter’s as handsome as me, certainly.’
‘Is he tall, manly and courteous?’
‘He’s all of those things, my love.’
‘Then I should meet him. He sounds like a paragon of virtue.’
‘That’s his weakness,’ said Paul with a smile. ‘He’s brimming with
virtue. It glows inside him. He’d never meet your requirements, my darling. For a lady like you, he has one glaring defect.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘He’s irrecoverably married.’
Charlotte Skillen had seen her husband leave on a number of perilous assignments and, even though he’d always returned safely, she’d never learnt to control her fears. In the course of his work, he’d picked up a succession of cuts, gashes, bruises, grazes, sprains, dislocations and black eyes, as well as a few more serious wounds. Charlotte worried that he and his brother took unnecessary risks. Sooner or later, she felt, one or both of them would be killed. As she saw him off, she put her arms around him.
‘You will be careful this evening, won’t you?’ she implored.
‘I’m always careful.’
‘That’s not true, Peter. You have a rash streak in you sometimes.’
He laughed. ‘I think you’re confusing me with Paul.’
‘I’m the one person who’d
never
make that mistake.’
‘Take that worried look off your face,’ he said, pulling her close. ‘We’ll be in no jeopardy this time. I won’t even need to go armed.’
‘All I want is for my husband to come home to me in one piece.’
‘I can guarantee it.’ He planted a kiss on her lips before detaching himself from the embrace. ‘To be quite frank, what happens this evening concerns me far less than the inquiry in which I’m also engaged. It’s very puzzling. A woman who is content to do all the drudgery at the Home Office unaccountably disappears. Where on earth can she be?’
‘There’s one obvious explanation, Peter.’
‘I’ve discounted that one.’
‘Well, I haven’t,’ she said, seriously. ‘Mrs Horner does much of
her work at night then has to walk home unattended. London is full of hazards during the day. You, of all people, know how much worse it is after dark. Trouble lurks at every corner. Evidently, the poor woman has fallen prey to a footpad or been assaulted by some drunkard. I’d wager money on it.’
‘Then you must brace yourself to lose it, my sweet.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Mrs Horner has been doing this job for years,’ he pointed out. ‘That means she’s well acquainted with the dangers that abound at night. She
knows
them and has obviously learnt to avoid them. Her landlady told me that she was no shrinking violet. Anyone who tried to harass her would get a raw reception.’
‘What can a woman do when face-to-face with a desperate villain?’
‘She can do what
you
did, Charlotte – and marry him.’
She burst into laughter then followed him into the hall. When she had been wooed simultaneously by both brothers, it had been a strange and heady experience for a young woman. Yet it did not take her long to make her choice. Paul Skillen was exhilarating company but it was Peter who had the qualities and attitudes she sought in a husband. Charlotte had never regretted the decision she’d made.
‘I’m looking forward to meeting the mysterious Mrs Horner,’ he said.
‘Instinct tells me that she’s already dead.’
‘Then why has her body not been found?’
‘Perhaps she was killed beside the river then thrown into it.’
‘Corpses never stay beneath the water indefinitely. If she were hurled into the Thames, she’d have bobbed back up to the surface by now. No, she’s very much alive and I fancy that her disappearance is linked in some way to that money I discovered at her lodging. How
could a woman of slender means come by such an amount?’
‘She might have inherited it.’
‘From whom?’ he asked. ‘According to her sister, she had no wealthy relatives and her husband was in debt when he died.’
‘Then I have no idea how she acquired that little treasure trove,’ she admitted. ‘What about you, Peter?’
‘Oh, I can envisage three ways in which the money made its way to that box under the bed. The problem is that none of them reflects well on the character of Anne Horner.’ He heard the clock strike the hour. ‘I must away, my love.’ He kissed her before moving towards the front door. ‘Other business calls me now. The missing woman will have to take her turn in the queue.’
For a big man, Micah Yeomans had an amazing ability to shrink into insignificance in the dark. He could somehow melt into a doorway or ooze behind a pillar. The only way that Alfred Hale could detect his whereabouts was by looking for the faint glow of his pipe. When he reached the Runner, he was given a grunt of welcome.
‘Well?’
‘They’re both inside, Micah.’
‘Are you certain it was Peter
and
Paul?’
‘Yes,’ said Hale, ‘but don’t ask me which is which. They’re like two peas in a pod. All I know is that Paul is the worse of the pair.’
‘Peter’s the more cunning. He does the thinking for them.’
‘It’s a pity we haven’t got Gully Ackford in there as well.’
‘Don’t worry – he’ll be hauled before the magistrate to speak his piece.’ After drawing on his pipe for the last time, he tapped out the ash on the bottom of his boot. ‘We’ve set this up well, Alfred. They’ll think they’re alone in the house when, all the time, Simon Medlow is tucked away up in the attic. He’ll give the signal for us to
move in and arrest them.’ He spat into the road. ‘Is everyone ready?’
‘I’ve put men at either end of the street and others have been stationed in the adjoining streets. Quite honestly, Micah, we’ve got far too many people. When all is said and done,’ said Hale, ‘there are only two Skillens.’
‘Yes, but they’re like bars of soap. Just when you think you’ve caught one of them, he slips out of your fingers.’
‘Who will actually make the arrest?’
Yeomans inflated his chest. ‘
I
will. The snare is all my doing. I want to see them straining to escape from it.’
‘What if they suspect a trap?’
‘If that were the case, they wouldn’t have gone so readily into Mr Hobday’s house. Have no fear, Alfred. They take their orders from Ackford and he was well and truly gulled by Medlow. So were a lot of other people, mind you,’ he added with a chuckle. ‘Did you know that Medlow once persuaded a wealthy simpleton to buy the River Thames?’ Hale cackled. ‘Then there was the time when he sold tickets to a banquet in Brighton Pavilion hosted by His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent. Those stupid enough to buy them – and there were more than a few – had a nasty shock when they turned up. Simon Medlow is a silver-tongued wizard. He cast his spell on Ackford.’
‘He’s a brave man to stay alone in the house with the two brothers.’
‘He’s perfectly safe,’ said Yeomans. ‘
We
know he’s there but they don’t.’
‘It’s just as well.’
There was a long wait ahead of them. While Yeomans refilled and lit his pipe, Hale slipped off into a corner to urinate against a wall. He then walked around the entire area and checked that the
men they’d recruited from the foot patrol were in position. Many of them were restive, wondering how long they’d have to hang about in the dark. When he suggested that they took their complaints directly to Yeomans, however, they fell silent. Nobody had the courage to tackle him.
A couple of hours drifted past before the lights in the windows of Hobday’s house were snuffed out. The brothers had clearly retired to bed. It was only a matter of time before a candle would appear in the attic window to confirm that Peter and Paul Skillen were asleep. Yeomans and Hale moved in and those at either end of Upper Brook Street instinctively did the same. The net tightened inexorably.
The delay, however, was longer than they’d anticipated.
‘Why doesn’t Medlow give the signal?’ asked Yeomans, impatiently.
‘Perhaps he’s trying to sell them tickets to a banquet in Brighton Pavilion,’ said Hale, collecting a contemptuous glare that made him apologise at once. ‘I’m sorry, Micah.’
‘Shut up!’
‘It was only a joke.’
‘Can you hear me laughing?’
‘I’m just trying to kill time,’ bleated Hale.
He gasped in pain as he was elbowed in the ribs. Yeomans was watching the attic window without blinking an eyelid. When the light finally appeared, he led the charge towards the house. Using a key to open the door, he went furtively inside with Hale at his heels. A cluster of men guarded the exit. Yeomans lifted the shutter on his lantern and created a pool of light. It enabled him and his companion to search the whole of the ground floor. Confident that their quarry were slumbering upstairs, they ascended the steps as
quietly as they could and went from bedroom to bedroom, opening each door wide in the hope of finding the two brothers.
But there wasn’t the slightest hint that they’d even been inside the property. Something had gone wrong and Yeomans was quick to apportion blame. He rounded on Hale and hissed a demand at him.
‘Are you
sure
they were here, Alfred?’
‘I’d swear it on the Good Book.’
‘Did you recognise the two of them?’
‘Yes, Micah – they were as large as life and no more than twenty yards away.’
‘That’s too far in the dark.’
‘I know their gait as well as my own. Peter is bolt upright when he marches along. Paul is more leisurely and has a shorter stride.’ He removed his hat to scratch his head. ‘Or maybe it’s the other way round.’
‘Be quiet.’
‘It was
them
, Micah. I’m certain of it.’
‘Hold your tongue, man,’ said Yeomans, grabbing him by the throat. ‘Just listen, will you?’
‘What am I supposed to hear?’ croaked Hale.
‘Listen!’
Cocking their heads, they strained their ears. The noise was faint but insistent. It was a regular knocking sound and they soon guessed that it came from above. Charging out of the bedroom, they rushed along a corridor to the staircase that led to the attic. With Hale in his wake, Yeomans thundered up it with the lantern held high. When he turned the knob, he pushed the door wide open and shuddered at the sight that greeted them. Simon Medlow had been stripped naked then bound and gagged before being strung up naked by his feet to a thick beam. By swinging to and fro, he’d been
able to hit a table with his head and summon help.