The Montgomery Murder (19 page)

But no new shot came. Alfie peeped down. There was no sign of Mr Scott on the balcony. Perhaps the revolver only held six shots. He had probably gone back into the bedroom to reload. Was there
any way to escape? Alfie looked in despair at the tightly closed windows of the servants’ bedrooms.

But then he suddenly realised that a window was open in the roof of the next-door house. The lightning began to flash again and the thunder crashed at almost the same moment, but Alfie welcomed
it. No man would be able to fire accurately into that blazing sheet of light.

‘Quick, Sarah!’ he yelled. ‘Get along the roof. Get in through the window!’ He began to break off pieces of the damaged parapet tiles and stack them beside him
rapidly.

The lightning continued to flash, but there were longer intervals between its flares and the crash of thunder. Soon the storm would die out. They had to escape within the next few minutes, he
knew, as he watched Mr Scott come out on to the balcony again, pistol in hand.

But Sarah was in through the window. Now for his plan.

For a second, he revealed himself deliberately, hurling a piece of parapet tile to distract the man’s aim. The shot went wide, hitting the wall, well over to the left of Alfie. Once again
he rose up and hurled another piece of tile, and once again a shot rang out.

Two
, thought Alfie, and then
three
,
four
. ‘Come on, come on,’ he said aloud, and then shot a lump of cement over to the left of him. It worked. Mr Scott sent
two shots one after the other in that direction, and then there was a silence. The man must be reloading! Another flash, another explosion, but this time it was the roar of thunder and Alfie jumped
to his feet and ran quickly along inside the parapet, scrambled up the roof and dived head first through the window.

Sarah was still there, shivering and dripping on the bare wooden floor of a small sparsely furnished servant’s bedroom.

‘Come on,’ he said. He was past caring. He grabbed her hand, twisted open the handle of the door and then they were both running at full speed down the stairs.

On the landing he hesitated. Another flight of servants’ stairs was in front of them, but there were sounds of voices coming from it and the noise of someone scrubbing the floor. They
would not get far.

‘This way,’ he said, and raced over towards the ornate coloured glass window.

And he was right. As in the Montgomery household, the main staircase led down from this window, its gorgeous carpet glowing, its banisters cleaned to snowy whiteness. Large portraits of stately
ladies and gentlemen stared down at the two ragged youngsters rushing by.

Suddenly the hall doorbell pinged. Alfie seized Sarah’s hand and quickly pulled her behind a velvet curtain in the hallway. Now they were jammed between a door and the curtain.
Alfie’s heart hammered at his ribs.

‘Cab ordered.’ Surely that hoarse voice was familiar.

‘Not by us. You’ve come to the wrong house, my man.’ The maid’s voice was pert, reminding Alfie of Nora’s. ‘Try next door.’ And then she shut the door.
Alfie could hear her footsteps going rapidly past.

Still clutching Sarah’s hand, he shot out, pulled open the hall door and tumbled down the steps.

The cab driver had climbed back on to his cab seat and had raised the reins to urge the horse to go on. The lightning flashed again, illuminating his tall figure, the broken top hat with its
pale green rim framing the small, turnip-shaped face. Alfie stared. Only one cab driver in London could have a hat like that.

With the strength of despair, Alfie dropped Sarah’s hand, shot across the pavement and made a wild leap for the door.

‘Bow Street Police Station,’ he said as Sarah scrambled in after him.

‘And be quick, please,’ added Sarah. ‘The Monmouth Street strangler is after us!’

CHAPTER 30

‘And Inspector Denham believed
you
?’ Tom sounded sceptical. Jack gave him an uneasy glance as he leaned across Sammy and threw some more coal on to the fire.
Mutsy put a paw on Alfie’s knee.

‘Of course he did,’ said Alfie. ‘I proved it to him. He sent six policemen with revolvers off in cabs and they arrested Mr Scott.’

‘I think the inspector might have had suspicions,’ said Sarah quietly, ‘but we brought him proof with that letter we stole.’

‘It was so funny, but it was Mr Scott who called the cab. He was still waiting for it when the coppers arrived!’ Alfie was laughing so much he couldn’t go on.

‘And our nice cabman had only just realised that he had gone to number two instead of number one when we jumped into his cab. He believed our story straight away, and he went flying down
Bloomsbury and through St Giles and never stopped until he was outside Bow Street Police Station,’ said Sarah excitedly.

‘And when he got the policemen to Bedford Square, Mr Scott was out at the gatekeeper’s lodge. He was trying to send him to get another cab, because there were no servants in the
house,’ explained Alfie.

‘Of course when he saw our cabman arriving with policemen, he thought that was the cab he had ordered earlier that morning,’ Sarah continued. ‘He had begun to climb the steps
into it, before he saw the policemen! The constable couldn’t stop laughing when he was whispering about it to the inspector.’

‘Anyway, that’s enough of that,’ said Alfie. ‘Come on, everyone, let’s go and have something to eat.’

‘Did you get any money from the inspector?’ asked Jack eagerly.

‘Some,’ said Alfie in a casual manner. He had been waiting for this moment. He picked up an old rusty beer tray and went over and placed it on Sammy’s lap. ‘Count us out
that, Sammy, old son,’ he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

And then he spilled the coins from his pocket on to the tray and watched his brother pick one up and run his finger around the rim and across the face of the coin.

‘Shillings!’ exclaimed Sammy.

And then he sorted them – almost as though he instantly knew how many there were – into four piles with five coins in each pile.

‘Twenty!’ he exclaimed. ‘A whole sovereign’s worth of them!’

‘That’s right,’ grinned Alfie. In fact, the inspector had tried to give Alfie a gold sovereign, but he had preferred the rich feeling of twenty shillings. ‘No worries
about the rent money now,’ he continued. ‘The inspector says that Mr Denis Montgomery has put an extra twenty pounds on to the reward. I heard the constable whisper something about Denis being so relieved that he was not accused
of the murder – “with all his debts” – that’s what the constable said.’ Alfie looked triumphantly at his gang and then had a quick boxing match with Mutsy to
celebrate. The dog was back to his usual lively self. The cut on his head was healing beautifully.

‘Tell them what the inspector said to you, Sarah,’ said Alfie.

‘He said that the scullery maid of the house next door to him had run away with a pastry cook,’ said Sarah happily. ‘Inspector Denham is going to mention my name. He thinks I
will get the job. He gave me five shillings to buy myself some new clothes and a pair of shoes so that I look respectable when I go there tomorrow morning. Mind you,’ she went on, ‘he
did say that the butler has now been arrested for stealing the silver, so I might get my job back at the Montgomery place, but I wouldn’t want that even if the inspector would put in a good
word for me. I’d prefer somewhere new.’

‘Come on, everyone, we’re going out for a meal.’ Alfie let go of Mutsy and took Sammy’s arm, leading him towards the door, and when they were all in the street, Sammy
holding on to Mutsy’s collar, he turned down Long Acre and then into Drury Lane. The thunderstorm had moved away, the air felt fresh and clear and the rain had washed the streets.

‘Six plates of roast beef,’ he said, placing two shillings with a flourish on the counter of the beef-house while the others sat at a table by the window.

‘Six,’ exclaimed the man. ‘There are only five of you.’

Alfie glanced casually over his shoulder. Mutsy had discreetly disappeared under the table. ‘Oh, the other fellow will be along in a moment,’ he said carelessly.

‘Eat two yourself,’ said the man with a shrug. ‘I don’t care so long as I get paid.’

Jack helped to bring the plates over. The smell was delicious. Mutsy drooled a little on to Alfie’s bare foot, but as soon as the man behind the counter turned his back, Alfie scraped a
whole plateful of beef on the floor next to Mutsy’s mouth. Two seconds later the floor was cleaner than it had been for months and Mutsy was sitting beside Alfie, looking every inch a
well-behaved and patient dog.

Alfie returned to the counter. ‘Six mugs of beer and a bowl of water for my dog.’

Mutsy was thirsty and drank the water down, but he didn’t enjoy it as much as he enjoyed the beer that followed. Alfie watched him with satisfaction.

‘Lady and gents,’ he said, lifting his mug. ‘Here’s to our two heroes, Sammy and Mutsy!’

Sammy grinned in an embarrassed way and patted Mutsy.

‘Take a bow, Mutsy,’ said Jack and Mutsy sat on his back legs and lowered his head politely. Even the man behind the counter laughed.

And then there was a cosy silence. Outside the rain began to fall again and the evening turned dark. The lamplighter came with his ladder and lit the gas lamp on the edge of the pavement. The
shop across the road switched on its lights and a wonderland of children’s toys shone out through the small thick panes of glass. Inside the beef-house everything was warm and smelled good.
The man came out from behind the counter, put more wood on the fire and then set a second piece of beef to roast over the flames. Alfie slipped another piece of his meat down to Mutsy and took a
last swallow of his beer.

Tom belched contentedly. Sarah glared at him, but Tom just gave her a cheeky grin. He held up his mug.

‘Here’s to Alfie, best cop in the whole of Bow Street.’

A
CKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thanks are due to my husband who patiently
walked around the London districts of St Giles and

Bloomsbury and waited at cold street corners while I
made notes of distances and soaked up atmosphere,
to my son William who helps with computer crises,
and my daughter Ruth who is usually the first to
read any of my books.

Peter Buckman who shares all my joys and sorrows
in this writing game and gives me the benefit
of his wisdom and experience.