The Montgomery Murder (4 page)

Alfie counted the rent money and then paced restlessly up and down the cellar. He wished that Jack would come back with the beer. It was poor stuff, this small beer that they
bought – no alcohol left in it really, but it had a sharp, clean flavour and it would go well with the sausages. He felt that he needed to clear his mouth of the taste of that police station
and of the room where the dead bodies lay. He could still see the purple, swollen face of Mr Montgomery. Was it Betty who twisted that wire around his throat? Or did the Indian kill him? He gave
Mutsy another hug and sat down beside his brother again.

‘Likely the Indian meant you no harm,’ said Sammy after a minute. ‘Likely he wondered what you were doing in the police station. You’d be the same if you was
him.’

‘True enough.’ A great weight was suddenly lifted off Alfie. He had not thought of the matter like that. ‘There might be a reward,’ he said. ‘I got a shilling
already.’

‘Worth thinking about, ain’t it?’ Sammy’s voice conveyed something to Mutsy, who gave a quick, sharp bark and then wagged his tail.

‘Worth thinking about,’ echoed Alfie. He looked at Sammy carefully. Although he was two years older, it was sometimes hard for Alfie to persuade Sammy to follow some of his plans.
Sammy had to think it was a good idea. So when Alfie spoke, he was careful to keep his voice casual.

‘I was thinking that if only Sarah could get me into the house, then I might find out something about them. Find out what’s going on. She told me that they are looking for a knife
boy for a week or so – seems their knife boy got badly burned when a pot of boiling fat tipped over on him. He landed himself in hospital. All I’d have to do is sit and clean knives all
day, but I might pick up something.’

Sammy grinned. The smile lit up his face and almost sent a sparkle to his blind eyes.

‘You needn’t try to fool me,’ he said. ‘You were thinking that I might do it.’

Alfie chuckled. He couldn’t help being proud of his brother. He was a sparky fellow.

‘That’s right,’ he admitted. ‘I thought you might. Yo u’d get on well with Sarah’s missus, too. Remember the time that she had you sing for her? We got a
shilling out of that. And you’d get a good dinner in the middle of every day.’ He stopped, but this was such an essential part of his plan that he forced himself to say the words that
he would not normally have said. ‘And you’re a pretty spry fellow. You’ve got brains. You’ll pick up all sorts of things. You’ll hear what they sound like.
You’ll know if one of them sounds a bit uneasy.’

‘And they won’t be worried about what they say in front of me,’ mused Sammy. ‘People don’t when you’re blind. They think it means that you’re daft, as
well.’ He stretched out his hand. Mutsy came over to him and Sammy brushed the dog’s fringe from the soft brown eyes.

Alfie watched. Sometimes he felt very bad about Sammy.

‘Tom, them sausages are done,’ he said decisively, looking away from Sammy and Mutsy and at the crisp brown sausages. ‘Put the pan to one side. That’s Jack coming
now.’

And then Mutsy gave a quick, short bark and stood up, his furry tail very straight and one large paw lifted, every fibre in his body stiff and aggressive.

The door opened and in came Jack, carefully carrying the beer in a large jug.

But he wasn’t alone.

Behind him was someone else.

Someone dark-skinned, hair covered in a white turban. He was tall and straight, but his hand trembled and the light flashed on something in that hand.

The Indian had come to meet them.

And he had a knife in his hand.

CHAPTER 7

Alfie got to his feet quickly. His mouth was very dry. He could hear Jack gulp, and, as he approached the fire, his cousin’s face showed white, with every freckle
standing out sharply.

Of course, the Indian was probably a lascar, and those sailors always had a knife. But why had Jack allowed him in? He must have threatened him. Jack was as brave as a lion; in fact, sometimes
Alfie thought that Jack was, by nature, much braver than he himself was, but Jack wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t bring a stranger in unless he had been forced, and he wouldn’t argue
with a knife.

‘Give us the beer, Jack.’ Forcing himself to sound natural, Alfie kept a sharp eye on the Indian as he stretched out a hand for the beer. Carefully, though without looking at it, he
set the jug on the box that they used as a table. Mutsy, he noticed, had gone over to Sammy and was standing beside him. He did not growl, but he was alert.

‘Care for a sausage?’ Alfie addressed the stranger in a casual way, but was disconcerted when a shake of the head refused the offer.

‘What were you doing in the police station?’ The Indian watched Alfie carefully. The fellow’s English was good compared to other Indians that Alfie had known. Most of them
worked on the boats that traded between London and India and they spoke only to their fellow lascars. This boy probably learned English when he and his father worked on Mr Montgomery’s tea
plantations.

‘What’s your name?’ Alfie was pleased with the sound of his voice. Only Sammy would guess that he was frightened.

The Indian paused. ‘Mallesh.’ He slid the knife up into his sleeve. Mutsy stretched out on the floor beside Alfie’s cushion.

‘Sit here next to my brother.’ Alfie pulled out an old tattered cushion and placed it between Sammy and the fire. Now he could see Mallesh’s face and Sammy could listen to his
voice.

‘You . . . you are blind.’ Mallesh was looking at Sammy. His voice was hesitant, but Alfie could see a look of pity on his face.

‘Yes,’ agreed Sammy. He always preferred people to mention this straight away and not to be embarrassed. ‘What do you want with Alfie?’

Only Sammy would have asked that question straight out, thought Alfie, and he could see how startled Mallesh was. For a moment the knife slid down, but then Mallesh looked into the milky-blue
eyes, the white skin and the blond hair of the blind boy beside him, and pushed it back up his sleeve again. There was a long pause before he spoke.

‘The police are looking for me,’ he said in a hesitant voice. ‘They have asked your brother, Alfie, to find me.’

So this
was
the Indian boy the inspector had spoken of.

‘How do you know?’ Alfie could hear the note of panic in his own voice. Instinctively he put one hand on Mutsy’s neck, kneading the powerful muscles under the loose, hairy
skin.

‘I listened outside the window. Outside the window of the police station. I heard everything.’

‘Cor,’ said Alfie with a nervous laugh, ‘you must have a great pair of ears. You’re as good as old Sammy here.’

‘What were you doing listening at the police station?’ Sammy stretched out until his hand met Mutsy’s back and he, too, stroked the big dog. He turned his alert ear towards
their visitor.

Mallesh hesitated. ‘I wanted . . . to ask that man . . . that policeman . . . the one in charge. I wanted to ask him something . . .’

‘Ask the inspector something? What?’ queried Alfie.

There was a long silence. Mallesh seemed as if he were trying to make up his mind about something. ‘Are you going to do what the inspector demanded?’ he asked eventually. ‘Help him find me?’

‘Dunno.’ Alfie leaned forward and tried staring at the visitor. This sort of stare usually worked well with local tough boys and it hid his nervousness.

‘What’s all this about?’ asked Jack, always the peacemaker. He took down the pewter mugs from the shelf and put the frying pan on the floor by the fire. He skewered one of the
sausages on the tip of a knife and handed it to Sammy, then took another one himself.

‘Have one.’ He pushed the pan a little towards Mallesh. ‘And some bread.’

Mallesh shook his head again at the sausages, but readily cut a chunk from the loaf of bread, muttering ‘
Shukriya
’.

That must mean
thanks
, thought Alfie, listening with interest to the strange sound of this new language.

Mallesh thrust his knife into the crust and held it to the fire, moving it around so that it browned evenly. Jack’s friendliness seemed to make him more relaxed.

‘The inspector at Bow Street wants me to help him solve the killing of that Mr Montgomery from Bedford Square,’ said Alfie casually, biting into his own sausage. He ignored Mallesh
and addressed his remark to Jack.

‘You!’ Tom took a sausage.

Alfie carefully shared the beer out between the four mugs, leaving some in the jug, which he offered to the visitor.

‘He knows that your father was hanged by Mr Montgomery, ’ he said eventually, looking directly at Mallesh, who now seemed nervous and unsure. Quietly Alfie took the knife from
Mallesh and placed another chunk of bread on it, and then put another sausage on Sammy’s knife. He didn’t go back to his own cushion, but sat on the floor, just beside his brother, with
his knee touching Sammy’s.

‘He thinks that I murdered that man.’ Mallesh’s voice was calm and flat – just stating a fact.

Alfie took a deep breath. ‘Did you murder Mr Montgomery?’ he asked in an offhand tone.

Mallesh shook his head. ‘
Nahin
,’ he said emphatically. ‘I did not know that he was dead – not until I listened at the window. I just wanted the . . .’ He
paused for a moment, hunting for the word, and then said, ‘diamond’.

‘From his ring? He had a diamond ring.’

‘That’s right – it was not his diamond.’ Mallesh suddenly stopped. ‘What’s that?’

Footsteps were coming rapidly down the stairs, footsteps of someone running. Instantly, Mallesh was on his feet, his knife gleaming in his hand.

CHAPTER 8

There was a moment’s uneasy silence and then Sammy laughed. ‘That’s just Sarah,’ he said. ‘She needs to get her shoe mended. You can hear that one
shoe is worn at the heel.’

Mutsy hadn’t waited for Sammy’s explanation. He was already by the door; there wasn’t much light over there, but Alfie could hear the thumping of the tail on the old
floorboards.

‘Sarah’s a friend,’ he said reassuringly to Mallesh. He didn’t think that he would mention that she was the scullery maid at Mr Montgomery’s house.

Tom was already lifting the latch. Sarah came in, and stopped. Alfie could not see her face, but he guessed that she’d had a shock. It was not like Sarah to hang around near the door;
normally she would come straight over to them. From where she stood, she would be able to see Mallesh very clearly by the light of the fire.

‘Shut the door, Tom,’ he said in what he hoped was a cheerful, reassuring tone. ‘Come on in, Sarah. Have a sausage.’

Sarah didn’t look very alarming, thought Alfie, though he kept an eye on Mallesh. She was small for twelve, wearing a cloak too big for her and a battered old bonnet that covered her brown
hair. Her green eyes were huge in her thin face. The food was reasonable at the Montgomery house so Alfie guessed that she was just worked too hard. She had courage, though. Now, she ignored
Mallesh and was shaking Mutsy by the paw and chatting cheerfully to him.

‘How many rats today, old boy?’ she asked. Mutsy whined softly, then dashed over to the corner of the room and had a quick sniff before returning to her. He loved Sarah, but the word
‘rats’ was always enough to get him excited.

‘Sit there.’ Alfie nodded towards his cushion. ‘Have a swig of my beer. Not too much – the sausages make me thirsty.’

‘I brought a few handfuls of chestnuts,’ said Sarah. ‘They were left over and Cook said that I could have them.’ Her eyes were still on Mallesh as she sat by the
fire.

‘You roast them, Tom,’ said Alfie. ‘You’d have some of these, Mallesh, wouldn’t you?’

Mallesh nodded and once again muttered, ‘
Shukriya.
’ His eyes were still on Sarah, but he had slipped his knife on to his belt.

‘I saw you before,’ he said hesitantly. ‘At the Montgomery house, was that it? In the yard at the back . . .’

‘That’s right.’ Sarah looked back at him directly.