SV - 05 - Sergeant Verity and the Swell Mob. (36 page)

'I got hands!'
roared Stringfellow.

'All right,' said Verity more gently,
"but you ain't small enough to be put through windows like her. Go on,
Stringfellow! Fetch her for Miss Bella's sake.'

With
consternation still visible in his face, the old man rattled the harness and
Lightning ambled off down the elegant Georgian vista. Verity marched
determinedly towards his colleague, Sergeant Samson, and stood glowering before
him. Under the tall private-clothes hat, Samson's face reddened beneath its
luxuriant ginger whiskers.

'Go away,
Verity!' he said indignantly. 'You got no business to speak to me on duty! Go
away 'fore bloody Croaker comes round!'

'Mrs Verity and a young person
is held prisoner in that house, Mr Samson. Jack Strap's been left to murder 'em
both!' In his fear for Bella, Verity's voice rose to a shrill plea for help.

'Look,'
said Samson reasonably. 'I was happy in London, what with Croaker and your mob
in Brighton. Things was easy and peaceful. Me and Fat Maudie was having a bit
of a time. Then you have to get yerself suspended and I’mm sent for to stand
like a bloody Haymarket doxy outside someone's front door. You done enough
damage, my son. Go away!'

Verity
was appalled to realise that Samson had not the least idea of what had been
going on.

'Listen,' he said. 'Mrs Verity
been taken away by Sealskin Kite's men. Kite's dead an hour since. So's Old
Mole. And so's Stunning Joe O'Meara what was s'posed to be buried off Portland
but been walking round alive for a month since.'

Samson's
eyes scanned Verity's face, as if for some sign of lunacy or deep deception.

'With his dying words O'Meara
swore that his young person, Jane Midge, and Mrs Verity is prisoner here in
Brunswick Square. Jack Strap was left behind by Kite to murder 'em both. And
in case you don't believe me even now, Joe O'Meara give this to me!'

From
the capacious pocket of his frock-coat, Verity drew the jewelled length of the
Shah Jehan clasp. Samson looked at it, stupified for a moment, and then
recovered his wits.

'Gimme that!' he squealed
indignantly. 'That's stolen property!'

Verity took a step or two
backward, dangling the green and crimson stones tantalisingly before his
colleague.

'Not without I see
the inside of that house!'

He
expected Samson to lunge after him. Instead Samson stepped up to the front door
of the house where Cosima Bremer had been found dead. He knocked loudly.
Presently the door opened and Constable Meiklejohn's face appeared.

'Who's
in there, Meiklejohn?' Samson asked loudly, for Verity's benefit.

'Me and Constable
Betteridge,' said Meiklejohn. 'Why?'

'You been in every room and cellar today, same as
usual?'

'Course we have, Mr Samson. Why?'

'You seen Jack Strap murdering
a pair o' young persons?' Meikiejohn's face creased with incomprehension.
Samson turned to Verity.

'See? And don't tell me now it
was some other house in the square after all, 'cos the rest is all occupied by
persons of the first quality that's lived here for years. Now, give me that
jool and then go away!'

Verity continued to glower.

'What's
all this, then, Mr Samson?' said Meiklejohn peevishly from the doorway.

'Nothing,' said Samson
sharply. 'Go back inside.'

The door closed and Samson
turned again to Verity.

'Happy now, are yer? Let's
have that jool!'

'When I seen the drains,' said
Verity defiantly.

'Drains?'
Samson looked at him dumbfounded. 'This bleeding sea air done something to your
head, my son! When you seen the drains? Why?'

'Stunning Joe swore as he died
that Jack Strap and the two young persons was down in the drains.'

'And you believed 'im?' Samson
assumed the sympathy of a visitor towards a patient in an insane asylum, 'Jack
Strap ain't in any drain. Come to that, Jack Strap ain't in Brunswick Square.
Me and Meiklejohn been watching, turn and turn about. Two suffering days and
nights. Let's have that jool off yer. Then go 'ome and see if Mrs V. don't come
back of her own sweet accord. All right?'

'No,'
said Verity stubbornly. 'I see down the drain first. Then you get the jool.'

Sergeant
Samson sighed. In common with Constable Meiklejohn he sought only the simple
things of life: a snug billet; Mr Croaker off his back; a bit of a time with
Fat Maudie. The flushed stalwart figure of Verity now stood between.him and
all these things.

'All right,' he said, 'suit
yerself then. See the beastly drains.'

He glanced down into the
basement area and led the way

there.
A little distance beyond the kitchen door there was an iron manhole cover about
twelve inches across. He got his fingers under the edge and heaved it back with
a heavy clang.

'The drains,' he said. 'All
right? I couldn't get down there. You couldn't get down there. Let alone a
hulking bully like Jack Strap.'

Verity peered into the
darkness. But Samson was right. He doubted if the opening would even admit
Bella, however willingly she had submitted to the indignity. Samson let the
round iron cover fall back into place.

'You
ain't half a caution, old chum. Now, let's 'ave that jool safe and snug.'

Verity
handed over the glowing gems of the clasp. The two men went up to the pavement
again. He turned to Samson, as if for a last word. But Samson had drawn
himself up piously to attention. He spoke from the corner of his mouth.

'Watch yerself, Verity!'

Verity
turned, almost expecting to see Inspector Croaker behind him. It was only
Madame Rosa, the tall imperious figure in black, thrusting towards the steps of
the Brunswick Academy next door. Verity waited until she had gone inside.

'Stunning
Joe never lied to me, Mr Samson. I know what a liar is!'

'Verity!' Samson pleaded. 'Go
away! Bloody Croaker's due on his rounds any time now.'

'Brunswick Square, he said, Mr
Samson. Not an hour since.'

'Go away!'

He
left Samson to his guard and walked away towards the sea, puzzling out the
design of sewers. All the houses had the same iron drain-cover in their
basement areas. Evidendy they ran into a common culvert somewhere under the
pavement. And where would that go? From the slight incline, he guessed that it
must run down towards the sea. Probably into the sea. He walked to the
promenade, leant over the rails, and saw an iron pipe about eighteen inches
across. It ran low beside a wooden groin to an outfall at the level of low
tide. The outfall was covered by water just then.

So
there was a sewer and storm-drain running under Brunswick Square. It must be
one of the main arteries of the Brighton sewer system by the time that it came
this close to the sea. It would be properly lined with brick and that meant
that it had to be maintained. A man would hardly crawl up the outlet pipe from
the mark of low tide. There was another opening. There had to be.

Verity
crossed back to the square and found it easily enough. It was a large round of
iron set into the pavement at the corner of the houses and Brunswick Lawns.
Although the iron was heavy he succeeded in lifting it and laying it back on
the stone. A small crowd gathered.

'Crack
in the wall of the drain,' he said hopefully. 'Nothing to concern yerselves
about. Company business. That's all.'

He
swung down into the blackness and found the iron staples which offered a rough
ladder. A stream of water rippled a dozen feet below. He lowered himself until
he was standing in it, darkness everywhere except from the shaft overhead. It
was just possible to make out the brickwork arch of the drain, about four foot
high and wide enough for a man to make his way through so long as he could go
forward at a stoop. In his pocket there was a box of lucifers. He struck the
first and felt for the other tool which he had snatched up in Tidy Street: a
candle-end from beside his bed.

It was
like an obscene parody of the ordeal in Clayton tunnel. As the candle cast its
uncertain light on the low brick curve of the drain, he sloshed his way through
the evil stench of the stream running round his boots. On his left, at regular
intervals, were the twelve-inch outlet pipes from the individual houses. He
tried to count them, as if to determine when he reached the corner at which
Samson stood. But it hardly seemed to matter. No one in his senses could
believe that Jack Strap was down here with a pair of captive girls.

And at that moment he saw her
body. The shape was indistinct at first, something long and dark floating half
above the stream. By accident, it seemed, the corpse was wedged across the
drain, as if destined to remain there until it had decomposed and the bones had
fallen into dust. Verity gave a hopeless cry and floundered on. Presently he
stood over her and the anguish gave way to nausea. He turned back and stumbled
towards the manhole through which he had dropped down ten minutes before. The
candle fluttered and went out but that was unimportant now. He could see the
grey gleam of light and he was there in a few moments more. Pulling himself up
he stood blinded for an instant in the glare of sunlight. Then, his boots wet
and his clothes soiled, he strode up the square to Sergeant Samson.

'You
gotta lantern, Mr Samson?'

There was a new determination
in Verity's features which caused visible unease to his colleague.

'Meiklejohn
got one inside I daresay. Why?'

'Cos there's a body under your feet, Mr Samson. That's
why.'

Samson looked aghast. 'Never Mrs Verity?'

'No, Mr Samson, but it might well be for all the
notice you took.' 'Who, then?'

'The late Madame Rosa of the
Brunswick Academy,' said Verity grandly. Samson's face relaxed.

'Thank Gawd for that!' he said
sincerely. 'I thought you was serious for a moment.'

Then he looked at Verity's
face again and his tone changed.

'Now
you see here, Verity. I had about enough of all this. Joe O'Meara what's been
buried a month is walking the streets and catching trains to London. Madame
Rosa what passed you and me a few minutes since has actually been dead in the
drain for the last week. Anything else?'

'Yes,' said Verity quietly.
'You ever seen Madame Rosa's face, with her veil lifted?'

'No,'
said Samson defensively. ' 'ow should I?'

'I
once had occasion to see her unveiled, Mr Samson. And I just seen her again.
Down there. Now, get a lantern.'

Self-consciously,
Samson knocked on the door and spoke to Meiklejohn. The constable went in and
reappeared pres-endy with a bull's-eye lantern.

'Right,' said Samson.
'Meiklejohn, you stand guard outside this door and don't flutter a bleeding
eyelid till I get back. See?'

'
'ere, sarge! I was on all last night, 's me turn for kip now!' 'Stand 'ere!'

Samson
removed his hat and his dark frock-coat. Then the two sergeants set off down
Brunswick Square towards the open cover of the main sewer. Verity led the way
down, taking the lantern and shining its yellow oil-light along the wet
brickwork ahead of them.

'Now,'
he said at last. 'Take a good look.'

'How
can I say?' pleaded Samson. '
^T
never saw her face before.'

'But
you have seen a dead body, I s'pose?' Verity snapped. 'And you got sufficient
acquaintance with the law to know that murder ain't encouraged by the
authorities?'

But even in the thin light of
the lantern, Samson's face was radiant with optimism.

''s all right!' he gasped.
'Can't be Madame Rosa. Can't be anyone from round here! Look at them pipes from
the houses! You'd never get a body through one of those. She's been swept down
by storm water from miles away.'

Verity
snorted derisively. He beckoned Samson onward. They stepped over the body of
the old woman and Verity played the lantern on the brickwork of the wall ahead
of them. Something was visibly wrong. At first it seemed that part of the roof
of the low tunnel had fallen in. Then, as they approached it was clear that
several of the bricks round one of the pipes leading from a house drain had
been knocked out. The resulting breach in the wall was about two feet across,
quite enough to launch the woman's body on its last journey.