A Thief in the Night (23 page)

They tried to kill me in India, Sir. Came at me from behind. But them Ghurkas saved me … fine men them Ghurkas, Sir. But let me stay with him, this man is bleeding and he needs me …

His head spun. He felt that he needed to rest, to sit down somewhere. Sachs could wait. Gaggles of city folk came past, smirking and ridiculing, higher-than-thou gents, young bloods ready to flutter away fortunes, or pick a fight with any stray, homeless drifting piece of human flotsam. No, he had to rest for a minute. Then a sign cleared in his view. There were the words The White Lion, a supper club. Yes, he knew right away that Molly McCardle would be there, and she would sing that song just for him. He started to sing it, ‘
My heart began to fly … and
I’m so happy I could cry …
’ The Lord’s best gift to frail humanity was a good drink, and Molly would be there too. He took some steps towards the door and was soon inside, on the edge of a crowd. He laid an arm across the back of a fat man in front, then applied some pressure. There was a cry as the man fell forward.

‘Hey! Who are you pushing?’

‘I wanna see Molly … she’s singing, I can hear her singing.’ Garvey forced his way through the crowd towards a large back room where there were broad tables, people seated, and on a low stage that ran along the length of the room, there was Molly McCardle. She was sitting on a swing, the ropes covered with paper roses, wound around. From her arm there hung a lace-topped reticule and on her head a little girl’s folded hat with a band around it.

He sat at a long table, again pushing in. A man grabbed hold of his collar and then, seeing his ribboned chest exclaimed, ‘My Gawd … a Victoria Cross!’

Jack looked up at Molly and called out her name. She swung gently on the flowery swing and came to a stop as her song ended. There was loud applause and a host of cat-calls and whistles. Then she heard one voice calling to her: ‘Molly … Molly my dear, sing “My Heart Began to Fly”.’

She knew the voice. Standing up and stepping forward, a smile to melt the toughest heart, she said, ‘One of my regulars hey! I hear you, mister, I hear you. Here’s a song requested by this Tommy … he’s got a VC on his chest and love in his heart, folks!’

From the far door, Harry, who had been keeping watch on the pub for three days, heard her words. He had Leo with him; it was too exposed a place to be on your own, and Leo had offered. They knew at once that they had their man. Harry’s first response was to rush the crowd and get to the man, but he soon realised that Garvey would not be going anywhere until Molly finished the song. He dashed out into the street to find any constables who might be around. Of course, Harry knew that Jack had not broken the law – he had not hurt anyone and had been nowhere near Sachs – but they had to stop him before he did. Leo was moving in his wake, but Harry called, ‘Stay there, in case he runs!’

Molly McCardle was stepping this way and that, in a little dance, entrancing the crowd with
‘All he did was kiss me, but my heart began to fly’
. She cupped a hand to one ear, encouraging them to sing along, and the crowd responded, well trained. The loudest voice belonged to Jack Garvey and he boomed out the last verse,

‘I’m so happy I could cry,

And I don’t want to wonder why,

There’s a warm tear in my eye,

And all that he did was to kiss
me …’

Jack tried to scramble up onto the stage, and as Molly stepped back, Leo and two burly men came from the side, towards him. He saw them and rushed instead towards the back door, blowing a last kiss to Molly, who blew a kiss back to him.

He was soon out in the cold air, sweat running down his face and his heart beating so powerfully that it thumped in his throat. For some time he closed his eyes and all he could see was Molly McCardle’s face.
I never had no chance of a good woman … never had a chance,
Captain!

His breathing gradually slowed and he felt for the bayonet, still held firmly inside his coat in a deep pocket, in its metal case. Touching it brought back his sense of duty, and he reminded himself what he must do. The night was closing in now. Not far away, he heard a whistle blow and voices were calling out his name. ‘This is the police, Jack Garvey … give yourself up!’

He knew where he was going now – just two corners away was the man he had to see out of the world. Yes, this Sachs, who was threatening a good man. He turned towards his destination, driven by the kind of instinct that guides a hunter to his prey.

Eddie and a detective sergeant strode from inn to inn, questioning the loafers and the drifters. From a throng of drunks singing an old ballad, a constable came towards them. ‘No use, Guv. This Tommy … not a soul seems to know him, or if they do, they’re keeping quiet about it.’

‘Right, give it up for tonight constable, get the men back to the station. We’ve wasted enough time on this,’ Eddie said. It was the constable who first heard Harry shouting for assistance. When they met, Harry explained that Jack Garvey was inside the supper club and they rushed back, hoping to find their man still admiring the singer, but the bird had flown, and Harry joined the police and Eddie for a trawl of the surrounding streets.

‘We’re near Sachs’s office … he’s got to be going there,’ Eddie said. ‘Harry, we’ll head straight there – sergeant, gather the two armed detectives and follow us … fourteen Bedford Street!’

Harry and Eddie moved as quickly as they could, but Harry could not keep up. ‘Damn, I’m too old for this, Carney!’ He had to stop and recover his breath. ‘We must press on Harry,’ urged Eddie, ‘it’s a matter of life and death!’

At the corner of St Paul’s Eddie called out, ‘Just around here … down Henrietta Street and there we are – come on!’ He was very much the younger and fitter man and he pushed on. At the end of Henrietta Street he looked right and he could hear a banging. He ran toward the sound, calling out behind, telling Harry to turn right.

Jack had kicked his way into the solicitor’s office. The door gave way to the sheer brutality of his attack, and as he stood in the room, there was Sachs, sitting at the desk. But as he saw the man before him, he yelled out, ‘Detective come!’ Sergeant Davis was shaving in the back room, but he ran in. His coat was over a chair, his gun in the pocket, and he dived for it, but Jack got to him first and swung his fist at the officer’s jaw, sending him onto the floor. Sachs jumped up and ran towards the back of the room in fear.

‘You must be the bag o’ bones I’m after – Mr Sachs, right? Well, I got this for you.’ Jack took out the bayonet from the case and held it high, moving forward and lunging at Sachs, who stood against the wall, paralysed with terror.

At that second a crack snapped out from the doorway and a bullet slammed into the soldier’s back, sending him crashing forward against the desk. He fell to the ground, rolling onto his side, and then onto his back. The bayonet fell away, clattering to the floor.

Davis had staggered back to his feet and Eddie Carney moved forward, still holding the pistol. They stood over the dying man, who had one hand over his chest, clutching the Victoria Cross. His head rocked as he said, ‘Nearly made it, Sir. Too many of the enemy … cowards came from behind me!’ He froze in death, his eyes like glass in a waxwork.

‘We killed a very dangerous man, Davis,’ said Eddie. Harry, who had now arrived, still fighting for breath, said, ‘Yes, but you also killed a very courageous man, one who loved his country,’ and he saluted the dead man.

‘We helped the Honourable Sir John Tardow, future Member of Parliament, Harry. But this was another honourable man – gone wrong.’

‘Indeed, and if I am not mistaken, had this killing taken place, Mr Tardow would be heading for some penal servitude in a convict prison.’

Eddie nodded. ‘Yes. In fact, I think we’re looking down at the honourable man.’

Molly McCardle had retreated from the stage and was in her makeshift dressing room, where Leo had used his charm to gain entrance. He looked every inch the aristocrat, and Molly was familiar with his type.

‘They let you in then … my strong-arms?’

‘Oh yes … but rest assured I’m here for entirely honourable purposes. I’m protecting you from that obnoxious man who was at the front of the crowd out there.’

‘I’ve got some very capable protectors thank you, Mr … ’ She looked him up and down and decided that he would have money to spend on her.

‘Aubrey Leo Antoine at your service!’ He tipped his head, taking off his brown bowler as he did so.

‘What? Not
the
Aubrey Antoine, the novelist?’

‘Yes, I am he. Would you care for dinner, my dear?’

She smiled and told him to wait while she took off her stage clothes. ‘Turn away, there’s a nice gentleman!’

Leo helped himself to a glass of brandy on her table and thought that, just for a change, when the next case came up he would insist on being the detective, with Harry as his assistant. On the other hand, he thought, as he caught a glimpse of a lovely ankle, there were compensations …

Sachs never learnt what Tardow had done. The story he heard was that a madman on the loose had been tracked down and stopped. But the libel case had to go on, and Floriana Dalia was told that she was Meg Caley of Spitalfields. She tried very hard to deny it, but she lived in a world in which fallen women stayed down in the dark where no one could be shamed by them, or so the press said.

One day, as the trial was in full flow, John Tardow came down to breakfast and was told that his wife had gone, her destination unknown and no letter of explanation left for her husband. He never stood for Parliament and spent most of his time and attention growing vegetables and dreaming of Paris.

Stephen Wade teaches creative writing part-time at the University of Hull. He is also a freelance writer and historian who specialises in crime and military history. He regularly writes for local and family history magazines and is involved with running oral history workshops. His previous non-fiction titles include
Lincolnshire Murders
,
Hanged at Lincoln
and
The A-Z of Curious Lincolnshire
. This is his first fiction title. He lives in Scunthorpe, Lincolnshire.

First published in 2014

The History Press

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This ebook edition first published in 2014

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