Terror by Gaslight (5 page)

‘We certainly do,’ Steele echoed. And then he reverted to business. ‘Now, may I ask you about your own mother? What are her circumstances?’

Clare paused, sad to leave the brief literary diversion. Then, for the first time, she showed signs of emotion. There was a slight tremor in her voice as she answered.

‘My mother lies in Highgate Cemetery. She drowned when I was five years old.’

This reply was so unexpected that the men reacted with surprise rather than sympathy. ‘Drowned?’ said Steele.

‘An accident. While boating with my father on the Thames.’

Clare was wiping moist eyes with a tiny handkerchief, and now Steele’s voice was full of compassion. ‘I am very sorry, Miss Austin. I regret arousing unhappy memories.’ He took a large, spotless white handkerchief from his breast pocket and handed it to her. ‘Perhaps you would do better with this,’ he said. Clare took it with a murmur of thanks.

Mason went and put a fatherly hand on the young woman’s shoulder. ‘The major didn’t mean to upset you, miss,’ he said.
Then he turned a critical eye on Steele. ‘Excuse me, sir, but do these questions help us find the Heath Maniac?’

‘I think they might do,’ said Steele. ‘I think they might do.’

Silence was hanging heavy in the air as the door opened and Harriet came in, speaking as she did so.

‘Clare, have you seen – oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had company.’

Her sister had regained her composure. ‘It’s all right, Harriet. These gentlemen were hoping to speak to you. They are engaged by the Heath Dwellers’ Association.’

The two men rose. ‘How do you do, Miss Harriet. I am Henry Steele and this is John Mason. We are hoping to shed some light on the recent outrages on the Heath. May I offer you our condolences? I understand that last night’s crime was a personal tragedy for you.’

Harriet did not advance her hand, and stood looking perplexed. Then she managed a nervous, ‘Oh. Thank you.’

‘The Association has asked everyone to give these gentlemen all possible assistance,’ said Clare.

Steele spoke gently. ‘Our first task is to learn all we can about local residents, in case some vendetta or grudge is involved. We would welcome your observations.’

Harriet seemed unsure how to reply. So Clare put it more directly.

‘They need to ask us some questions, Harriet. It is our duty to give them answers.’

Now Harriet found her voice. ‘I don’t think our father would approve of that,’ she said firmly.

‘I’m quite sure he wouldn’t,’ Clare responded. ‘But he’s gone to his office, hasn’t he, to make himself more filthy lucre. So he won’t know.’

‘I am not willing to deceive him.’ Harriet turned to the visitors. ‘I’m sorry, but recent events have been too painful to discuss. I must ask you to spare me.’ And with that she
changed the subject. ‘Clare, I came in to ask if you had seen Ella.’

Clare sighed. ‘She was sleeping on the landing an hour ago.’ She turned to Steele. ‘Ella is my sister’s cat.’

‘She was in my room when I went for my bath. Now she’s nowhere to be seen. I get so worried when she strays, after Freddie going.’

‘Freddie was Harriet’s guinea pig,’ said Clare patiently. ‘He disappeared from his hutch last month.’

‘If I lost Ella as well, I don’t know what I’d do.’

‘You would still have your rabbit to console you.’ Clare’s manner was friendly but firm. ‘Now calm yourself, Harriet. Ella may have gone to find her basket. I think Mrs Butters was going to clean it. She may have put it in the scullery. Or the cellar.’

‘Oh. Yes. I’ll go and see.’ Harriet turned to leave, but not without a nervous warning to her sister. ‘Do be careful, Clare. We mustn’t do anything to upset Father.’ And then she was gone.

‘Please forgive Harriet,’ said Clare. ‘She has had a terrible shock. And her nerves are not good at the best of times.’

‘Of course, Miss Austin. I was foolish to think of questioning her today.’

Then John Mason spoke up. ‘Your sister doesn’t look well, miss. I think she may have a temperature.’

‘Mr Mason has some experience in these matters,’ said Steele. ‘During his army career, he was at one stage a medical orderly.’

‘Perhaps she should see a doctor,’ Mason added.

‘Harriet is in the care of our family physician, Dr Frankel,’ said Clare.

‘Dr Frankel?’ Steele mused for a moment. ‘Another member of the Heath Association, I think.’

‘Yes, he’s one of our neighbours. A rather disagreeable
person, as you might expect, since he’s our father’s best friend. In fact, probably his only friend. Dr Frankel is always giving Harriet tablets and telling her to rest.’

There was a small pause; Steele was hoping Clare might say more on the subject. But she didn’t. It was Mason who broke the silence.

‘Your sister is very fond of her cat.’

‘Yes. Ella is her special companion.’

‘Really?’ said Steele. ‘More so than you, Miss Austin?’

‘I’m afraid so. Over the years I’ve tried to establish a bond between us. But I cannot say we are really close.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Steele had now decided on his next line of inquiry. ‘Miss Austin, another personal question if I may. You’ve told us frankly of your lack of funds. Did your unfortunate mother not leave any money?’

‘Whatever she left went to my father. I believe he used it to start his insurance business.’

‘I see. Now, as to the boating accident. You would have been too young to take in details at the time. But did you later find out any information?’

‘As far as I could, Major. Father would never speak of it. But there were two newspaper accounts, plus a report of the inquest. A lady at our church had cut them out, and she gave them to me when I was older.’

‘Ah. Good.’

‘I also have my mother’s diary, which records events in preceding days.’

‘Excellent. I wonder if I might borrow those items and study them at leisure.’

‘By all means. But I’m afraid it will take me some time to find them. I have not seen those things for years. All my shelves and drawers are taken up with my scribblings: notes, pieces abandoned halfway, rejected manuscripts and so on. I find it hard to keep track of personal documents.’

‘We plan to call here again, if we can come to terms with your father. Or even if we can’t. Our next visit will be soon enough. Now another matter, Miss Austin. Do you recall a man called Scully, who worked here briefly as a gardener?’

For a moment, something seemed to startle the young woman. Was it just the abrupt change of topic? Steele wondered. Then she quickly regained her composure.

‘Scully? Yes. Yes, I do. Luke Scully. A rather wild-looking man, with a mass of red hair. And very piercing eyes, I remember.’

Mason looked up thoughtfully. He recalled a mention in the Heath Maniac file of a man with long red hair, seen at the pub on the night James Tate died.

Steele continued. ‘I believe he left here on bad terms?’

‘Yes,’ said Clare. ‘Father never liked him. Finally, he dismissed him for stealing vegetables, which he probably didn’t do.’

As Steele digested her words, there came from somewhere upstairs a piercing scream, a single, shrill shriek of terror. All three reacted with shock. ‘What was that?’ said Mason.

Clare rose swiftly. ‘It sounded like Harriet. I must go to her.’ She hurried to the door.

‘Can we assist?’ said Steele.

‘No. No. She sometimes has hysterics, and does not welcome witnesses. I’ll call if your help is needed.’ And with that she was gone.

Steele went to the open door. ‘That didn’t sound like hysterics. It was too sharp and sudden. Something bad has happened.’

‘It won’t be the Heath Manic,’ said Mason. ‘He’s never struck in daylight.’

‘And never indoors,’ said Steele, ‘as far as we know. But there’s always a first time. Anyway, the young woman’s obviously in distress. You have the smelling salts?’

Carrying the phial of reviving chemical was one of Mason’s tasks, a throwback to his medical orderly days. The salts had often proved valuable to witnesses at crime scenes. He patted his waistcoat pocket. ‘Yes, guv’nor. They’re here.’

From the hall came the sound of female voices, one sobbing, the other attempting to give comfort. ‘Have them ready,’ said Steele. ‘I think they will be needed.’

Then, through the door came the two sisters. Clare had her arm round Harriet’s shoulders. Harriet, with tears flooding down her cheeks, was carrying a pet’s basket, from which protruded pieces of bloody fur and mangled flesh.

‘Ella!’ she cried. ‘Somebody’s butchered my Ella!’

T
HE NEXT HOUSE
along the Highgate Road, fifty yards to the west of the Austin home, was Dunblane. A grey building, slightly more austere and sombre than its neighbour, it had been built eighty years earlier for a wealthy Scottish entrepreneur, and reflected a lingering puritan streak which he had never quite managed to shed. By the same token, though he kept a succession of mistresses, he always insisted they go to church regularly. Not with him, of course.

Dunblane was a little larger than Hillside. In fact, it seemed a little too large for its four permanent occupants: Dr Otto Frankel, his secretary, and two servants.

But the doctor had made good use of at least one of the extra rooms, turning the one at the rear of the first floor into a laboratory. Here he had installed enough equipment and resources to carry out the research which appeared to be his main preoccupation.

He was in there now; a tall, powerful man, with a face like a medieval gargoyle, he was pounding at some hard matter with pestle and mortar. The substance was reluctant to crumble and he paused, from time to time, to relax and look out of the window. This, like the Austins’ south-facing windows, enjoyed a panoramic vista of Hampstead Heath. Dr Frankel’s window also offered a good view of his neighbour’s
house and garden. Standing on a footstool, he could even see into Clare Austin’s bedroom, if she forgot to draw her curtains.

He had just resumed his work when there was a knock at the laboratory door. ‘Come in!’ barked Frankel, and his secretary entered. Charles Stone was a thin man of medium height, forty-five years of age. But he was made to look older by his grey complexion and thinning hair. His lean body was held stiff and upright and his thin lips were clearly not much accustomed to smiling. His words came quickly but precisely.

‘I’m sorry to interrupt you, Doctor. But I wonder if you know where the boy is. Prosser needs his help in the kitchen.’

‘I sent the boy on an errand to the City,’ said Frankel. ‘Prosser will have to manage on his own for once.’

‘Very good, sir,’ said Stone. ‘I’ll tell him.’

‘You can also tell him that if he serves up any more meat as tough as last night’s, I’ll rub it in his face.’

‘I will inform him, sir.’ Stone turned to go, but Frankel stopped him.

‘Another thing, Stone.’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘The incident that took place next door last night. You’ll have noticed that police have been at Hillside all morning.’

‘Yes, sir. They seem to have left now. But there are several still busy just out on the Heath.’

‘They will undoubtedly be back at Hillside shortly. And, in due course, they will be here, pestering us.’

‘No one’s called yet, sir.’

‘But they soon will, you may be sure. And, when they do, remember this. And tell Prosser and the boy. No one is to talk to those interfering busybodies without my prior permission. And I must be present at any interview with any officers of the law. I shall tell you in advance what to say. Is that understood?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘In that case, you can go. Tell Prosser I wish to eat at two o’clock sharp.’

As Stone left, Frankel gave the stuff in the bowl an extra strong blow with his pestle, and the lump finally shattered into fragments.

Dark clouds had now obscured London’s morning sunshine, and the light that had flooded into the Hillside windows was beginning to turn somewhat grey.

Left alone in the big room, Steele was taking the opportunity to examine the items in and on top of Austin’s desk. He was thwarted by the drawers on the left-hand side, which were locked, but the drawers on the right opened easily, and some of the contents were interesting. He had just extracted a small green notebook, and was turning the pages as Mason returned.

‘How is the girl?’ asked Steele.

‘She was very emotional, obviously. But Clare’s given her a strong sedative, and she’s sleeping now.’

‘A strong sedative? Where did she acquire that?’

‘Harriet has a substantial supply, prescribed by Dr Frankel.’

‘Good heavens! A ready supply of strong sedatives? At the disposal of a girl of eighteen?’

‘Frankel’s ordered small regular doses, apparently, with a reserve of tablets for bigger doses in emergency. According to Clare, the doctor thinks her sister’s on the verge of a nervous collapse.’

‘Considering the tension in this house, it’s hardly surprising.’

‘She seems to be living in a state of suppressed hysteria. Incredible that she should mistake a butcher’s hare for her pet cat!’

‘Not that incredible, surely, since the hare had been put in her cat’s basket and was mangled beyond recognition. Same colour fur, I imagine. It was a fiendish trick.’

‘Was it a trick, guv’nor? The housekeeper thinks it may have been an accident. She told me she was busy when the hare was delivered and she left it on the kitchen table. The cat could have dragged it to her basket and tried to eat it.’

‘Unlikely. You saw for yourself, the head had been removed, and the carcase violently mutilated. All to blur the picture.’

‘The cat could have done that.’

There was no doubt in Steele’s mind. ‘I think not. I’m sure someone intended Miss Harriet to assume her cat had been murdered, in order to drive her further out of her wits.’

Mason blew out air through pursed lips. ‘Well, that would certainly be a vile trick,’ he conceded. He watched Steele turn the pages of the green notebook. The point he’d made in the cafe continued to nag at him. ‘Still, it’s not a criminal offence, is it? Not like stabbing four men to death.’

Steele raised his eyebrows. ‘What are you saying, Jack?’

‘I don’t see why we’re spending so much time on the Austins. We’re supposed to be catching the Heath Maniac, aren’t we? There are a lot of other people we have to visit.’

‘I understand your concern.’ Steele closed the notebook and returned it to the drawer. ‘You’ll have to trust my intuition, old chap. There’s something wrong in this house. It may have a bearing on the Heath Maniac, or it may not. But I sense evil here. Bad things could be about to happen, and I think we should try to stop them.’

Mason sighed; nothing was going to change the major’s mind. But there were still practical matters to raise. ‘You haven’t forgotten we’re due at the Gilberts’ house at 3.30?’

‘We have plenty of time. While we’re in this house I must find out all I can. I have more questions for Clare Austin. And
she might provide me with a key to these locked drawers.’

‘What about lunch?’ Mason had a big frame to nourish.

‘I noticed a fine side of cold beef at the Hill Top Cafe, which I would guess they use for their sandwiches. It is on the way to the Gilberts.’ Having explored all the unlocked drawers, Steele was now sifting through Austin’s wastepaper basket. The search quickly produced an exclamation of triumph. ‘Ah!’

‘You’ve found something, guv’nor?’

‘A lawyer’s change-of-address card!’

‘Is that important?’

‘Yes it is, because it tells us who Austin’s solicitor is. Would you like to guess?’

‘No, thanks. I’ll save my brain for finding the meat in the sandwiches.’

‘Austin’s business affairs are in the hands of none other than Cedric Jamieson!’

‘That rogue! Is he still in business?’

‘Not only in business, but apparently prospering. He’s gone up in the world, moved into Chancery Lane.’

Steele put the card in his pocket. ‘Well, Mr Austin has thrown this away so we are entitled to keep it. We shall call on Master Jamieson at his new premises.’

‘Not before lunch, I hope.’

Steele smiled. ‘No, not before lunch, Jack. Not even today. But soon. These matters need thinking about.’ Steele rooted about in the wastepaper basket for a few moments more, inspecting papers and discarding them. Then he straightened up.

‘I think I have garnered all the information that’s freely available,’ he said. ‘We must wait and see if Miss Austin can supply keys to these other drawers. And that bureau over there.’ With that, he sat down in an armchair and stroked his chin thoughtfully.

Mason was not letting go of the main issue. ‘If you’re
laying off Austin for a minute,’ he said, ‘can we talk about the Heath murders?’

‘By all means. I haven’t lost sight of our basic purpose.’

‘I mean, they make no sense to me. Four random killings. Four fit young men, unable to defend themselves. No connection between them.’

Steele corrected him. ‘No apparent connection.’

‘All right, no apparent connection. Have you got any ideas yet?’

‘I have a few,’ said Steele. ‘For one thing, I find myself recalling the case of Arthur Nesbitt.’

‘Nesbitt.’ Mason thought for a moment and then remembered. ‘Nesbitt! The Bristol Monster!’

‘Precisely. The young man who slaughtered five strangers before killing the man he needed to be rid of.’

‘A rich uncle, wasn’t it?’

‘A very rich uncle.’

They were recollecting an investigation they’d worked on four years ago. Arthur Nesbitt, a dissolute young gambler, was sole heir to Alexander Nesbitt, the cotton millionaire. Had Alexander been a single murder victim, Arthur’s lifestyle and his prospects of inheritance would have made him the obvious, probably the only, suspect. By bludgeoning to death five other men, by night in the streets of Bristol, Arthur hoped to obscure his motive. He might have succeeded had Alexander’s friends not called in Steele and Mason.

‘A very nasty young man,’ said Mason. ‘But clever. He’d have got away with that but for you.’

‘You flatter me, Jack,’ said Steele, not displeased. ‘It was the police who found the hair on Nesbitt’s golf club.’

‘Only because you told them where to look.’ Having softened up the senior man, Mason ventured further. ‘You think this may be the same thing? Someone’s doing random murders before he kills his real target?’

‘It’s possible.’

‘So there may be more deaths?’

After brief consideration, Steele’s reply was measured. ‘Perhaps not. I hope not. My instinct suggests that Robert Kemp may have been the assassin’s ultimate target.’

‘Any reason, apart from intuition?’

‘Consider the difference between the previous crimes and this last one. The first three were casual killings, in remote parts of the Heath. Pitch darkness, deserted areas, no police patrols, at least in the first two cases. Easy crimes for a ruthless killer who knows how to use a knife and has the advantage of surprise. Am I correct?’

‘Yes, guv’nor. You’re always correct.’ Mason allowed himself a slight smile. ‘But how was last night different?’

‘Kemp’s murder was scarcely on the Heath at all. It was behind a house, facing the main road. Street lamps. The possibility of passers-by, even at night. If this was another random killing, the villain could have found an easier victim in a quiet place. But he was determined to kill Kemp, and did so at some risk to himself.’

‘You mean, risk of retaliation?’

‘Risk of being observed. Someone looking through the window of one of the houses. Someone taking a short cut. Such was the risk that he dared not stay to finish the job. He left his victim dying, instead of already dead, as on all previous occasions.’

‘Right.’ It all seemed obvious, now that Steele had pointed it out. ‘So we’re looking for someone who wanted Robert Kemp dead.’

‘That is my present feeling. Of course, we mustn’t close our minds to other possibilities. Kemp’s killer may have wanted to strike a blow at the Austin household.’ Steele paused. ‘I am interested in this man Scully.’

‘The gardener who was sacked.’

‘Precisely. A man with long red hair and piercing eyes.’

‘You may recall a man with long red hair was near the scene of the Tate murder?’

‘Indeed. I also recall that Clare Austin seemed a little startled when Scully was mentioned. What was his first name, Jack?’

Mason consulted his notes. ‘Luke. Luke Scully.’

‘We must find Luke Scully as soon as possible.’

‘I’ll ask around the Hampstead pubs.’

‘That shouldn’t be too onerous for you. We’ll talk to friend Willoughby, and enlist the help of the constabulary.’

When the two had made their discreet exit from the army, there had been some quiet liaison between Military Intelligence and senior figures in the Metropolitan Police. Officially, of course, the latter had to disapprove of the duo’s unorthodox methods as strongly as the army had done. But Scotland Yard recognized the value of two astute investigators who were not bound by the same rules as the police were, and a senior policeman, Chief Inspector George Willoughby, had been appointed to maintain an unofficial link with Steele and Mason, with a view to mutual assistance.

The alliance had already borne fruit, when Steele and Mason had helped Scotland Yard solve the murder of a Russian diplomat. The police would never have been able to penetrate the ambassador’s study and examine his papers, something which, of course, never happened. So Anglo-Russian relations remained unruffled.

The hall door opened, and Clare Austin came in. The men rose to their feet.

‘Please be seated, gentlemen,’ said Clare. ‘Forgive me for leaving you. You’ll understand my concern for Harriet.’

‘Of course,’ said Steele. ‘How is she now?’

‘She’s still sleeping. It took a while to convince her that what she saw in the basket was a hare from the butcher’s.
But I succeeded in the end.’

‘Poor girl,’ said Mason.

‘Poor girl indeed,’ echoed Clare. ‘Ella is still missing, and Harriet fears she’ll come to harm, if she hasn’t already.’

‘Small wonder,’ Steele observed. ‘The evil mind behind that trick may have other unpleasant plans.’

‘Let us not beat about the bush, Major. The evil mind we are talking about is that of my father.’

Steele sighed. ‘Yes. It does appear so.’

‘There can be no doubt of it. He told Mrs Butters that Harriet was to be punished. And he had time to do it before he left the house.’

Mason shook his head sadly. ‘Extraordinary! For a man to do that to his child.’

‘I do believe he hates her,’ said Clare. ‘I fear for her safety.’