The Deadly Fire (17 page)

Sarah nodded, moving the torch so that the light shone more clearly on the footprints.

The prints next to the scaffolding showed exactly the same slightly worn heel with the heavy ridges, whorls and nail marks as the baked clay impression from the Ragged School fire.

The second man's print was a smooth leather sole with a perfect heel, showing no sign of wear.

Sarah raised the torch and looked at Alfie's face. He was nodding.

‘That's right,' he said. ‘It wasn't Mr Daniel Elmore. It was Mr Lambert whose boot made that mark in the cupboard. Mr Lambert was the one who set fire to the Ragged School!'

Alfie and Sarah stared at each other across the narrow pathway and then looked down again at the prints. There was no doubt that the print of the man who walked by the scaffolding matched the print from the burned-down school.

‘But why?' said Alfie eventually. ‘That's what I keep saying to myself. Why murder a man just because he won't sell a house to you? Surely Mr Lambert would think that he might be able to persuade him to do it at some stage. Offer him enough money, offer to build him a new school somewhere else, something like that. Murder seems a bit much.'

‘Perhaps he didn't mean to murder him,' said Sarah shrewdly. ‘Perhaps he just meant to burn down the school. He waited till all of the kids were well gone – perhaps he never dreamed that Mr Elmore would stay on, preparing his lessons.'

Alfie's mouth tightened. ‘He's responsible for Mr Elmore's death all the same and I want to see him behind bars.'

‘Can you move those footprints?' asked Sarah. ‘We need to have evidence.'

Alfie shook his head. ‘I've tried, but they just start to crumble. What will we do? We must do something now – tomorrow may be too late.'

‘Go and see the inspector,' suggested Sarah and then bit her lip, remembering the story of Inspector Bagshott and his threat to Alfie. ‘No, you can't. He might put you in jail – in any case he will probably not believe you. Let me do it. I owe a lot to Mr Elmore. I'm like you – I want the man who killed him to be punished.'

‘No need for you to get involved,' said Alfie gruffly. ‘You might get the sack from your job. Anyway, you can't swear to which man made which print – only I can do that.' He frowned. ‘Let's go back to Bow Street.'

‘Why don't you take Jack with you? Or even let him go on his own?' Sarah made the suggestion just as they turned into Bow Street. She hesitated for a moment, but then said bravely, ‘I'm not saying anything against you, Alfie, but some people find you a bit cheeky. Lots of men like Inspector Bagshott would be more ready to listen to someone like Jack who is quiet and shy and very respectful. Jack was there as well as you. He can swear to it.'

Alfie shrugged his shoulders. He felt a bit annoyed, but tried to hide it. ‘All right, then,' he said, ‘I don't care. I'll take Jack along. He can be a second witness anyway.'

‘I'd just send Jack by himself,' said Sarah stubbornly. ‘I don't see why not, and then you won't run the risk of being clapped in prison by Inspector Bagshott.'

‘ . . . so Sarah thinks that you should do the talking.' Alfie was beginning to feel a bit exasperated with Jack. He had explained everything very clearly, had even told him what to say, but Jack just kept saying that he couldn't do it.

‘Think of it like an act on the street,' said Alfie with a sudden inspiration. ‘Hang on here for a moment, let's
just practise. Don't forget to keep calling him “sir”. And you can pretend that you were the one that Mr Elmore sent for the clay. And that you were the one that just spotted the footprints in the plaster being the same as the footprint burned into the clay.'

‘I'll give it a try,' said Jack in a resigned manner.

‘And I'll tell you what, don't ask to see the inspector. Just talk to the constable. Now let's practise all that again.'

‘Then I put the wet clay on the floor of the cupboard, sir.' Jack was still very hesitant, but Alfie, listening intently from outside the badly fitting window of the Bow Street police station, felt heartened. Sarah was right. Jack did sound very respectful. When he risked a quick glance into the well-lit room, he could see PC 22 was looking at Jack in a tolerant way.

‘And the next morning when we were picking up some pieces of timber for our own fire, I found this.'

Alfie kept crouching down, but he knew that Jack had produced the block of clay, with its clear imprint of a boot.

‘Well, that might be useful.' The constable didn't sound too interested. ‘I'll talk to the inspector in the morning before I go off duty.'

Alfie breathed a silent prayer of thanks that Inspector Bagshott was not around. Perhaps Jack wouldn't have to see him.

‘That's not all, sir.' Jack's voice actually trembled now, but that did no harm.

‘Take your time, son, no need to worry.' The constable's voice was kind and soothing.

‘I was working at the demolition site opposite today. I was loading the old timbers and plaster into a cart and two men walked across the road and . . . and . . .'

‘Go on.' The constable sounded interested now.

‘And, sir, the plaster dust was damp and this fellow that owns the property walked on it and . . . and . . .' Jack's words died away. Alfie even heard him gulp noisily before his voice returned to him, ‘and he left a print of his boot on the dust . . .' Alfie could not see Jack's face, but he had a horrible feeling that his cousin had forgotten his lines.

‘And what?' The constable had a threatening note in his voice.

‘It's Mr Lambert!' blurted out Jack. ‘He's the one that burned the teacher to death in the Ragged School. My cousin —'

‘Get out of here,' shouted the constable. ‘Don't you come in here making accusations against a
respectable businessman! I'll have you know that Mr Lambert is a personal friend of Inspector Bagshott. Get out immediately, before I change my mind and clap you into a cell.'

Then there was noise of a door opening. Alfie could see Jack's shadow on the pavement. He moved forward and then instantly turned to dart into the shelter of the doorway as another shadow followed.

It was too late, though. He had been seen.

‘So that's your cousin, that lying beggar brat, putting you up to tell more lies!' roared the constable. He charged through the door and pounded up the street.

Without Jack, Alfie could not have saved himself. In a moment his cousin was beside him and had gripped his arm, half dragging, half carrying him.

‘And you're for the cells, too!' The constable was getting dangerously near when there was a sound of a window being opened.

‘Shut your noise,' screamed a voice from overhead. Alfie knew the old woman who lived there. Her temper was bad at the best of times, and now was obviously not the best of times.

Looking over his shoulder, Alfie saw the contents of a chamber pot being emptied from the window. There was a string of curses from the constable and a spatter
of something unmentionable on the pavement.

Weak with laughter, Alfie thundered on the cellar door and Jack bolted it shut once Tom had opened it and they were both safely inside.

‘That was a lucky escape!' Jack blew out a long breath of relief and then said shamefacedly, ‘Sorry, Alfie, I messed it up a bit.'

‘Not your fault,' said Alfie. ‘Who would have guessed it?' He turned to Sarah. ‘Mr Lambert is a great friend of Inspector Bagshott.'

‘We'll have to leave it,' said Jack. ‘No point in risking our skins again.'

‘What do you think, Alfie?' asked Sarah, her eyes on him.

‘I'm not giving up,' said Alfie stubbornly. He chewed his lip. If only he could get Inspector Denham out of bed and to the building site first thing in the morning, before anyone started work – but even Alfie realised that was impossible.

It looked as though the man who set fire to the Ragged School was going to go scot free.

The next morning, Alfie and Jack reached the building site just as dawn was breaking. The fog still hung around and soft black smuts drifted through the air, landing in greasy smudges on their faces and hands. Alfie carried a sack slung over his shoulder holding the baked clay footprint. Once again Alfie compared the two footprints and showed them to Jack.

‘Ain't no good me saying they are the same,' said Jack in his practical way. ‘Who's going to believe me, or you either, for that matter? Best forget it, Alfie. Hide that sack over there by the scaffolding. They're coming. I can hear the noise of the horse's hoofs.'

‘I'll want you to drive the cart today, lad,' said Mr Shawcross to Jack. ‘I've sacked the other fellow – no good with a horse, anyway.'

As Alfie watched Jack leave with his first cartload, Mr Lambert, accompanied by Daniel Elmore, arrived in a smart chaise, closely followed by a hackney cab, filled with policemen. Immediately he crouched down beneath the scaffolding.

Inspector Bagshott was first out and he strode up to the foreman.

‘Have you got a couple of boys working for you?' he demanded.

‘That's right,' said Mr Shawcross. ‘One's gone with the cart. The other was here just now. Where's he gone? What's the trouble, anyway?'

‘A pair of young criminals, apparently, according to the inspector here.' Mr Lambert seemed quite his usual jolly self.

‘And I have a suspicion, from the inspector's description, that one of them might be the boy who caused my poor father's death by trying to rob him,' added Daniel Elmore.

‘So we'd be obliged if you would get some of your men to help my constables find the young villains. They can't have gone far if they were here a few
minutes ago,' said Inspector Bagshott.

Both men, Daniel Elmore matching his pace to the slightly limping gait of Mr Lambert, walked towards a large pile of broken timber, followed by the inspector, while Mr Shawcross called a few men down from the scaffolding, telling them to help the constables.

Alfie's heart beat rapidly. Almost all of the men, glad of a rest from their hard work, had now joined the constables in the hunt. Sooner or later he would be discovered.

And then there was a neigh and Jack drove the horse and the empty cart on to the building site.

In a second, Alfie was out from under the scaffolding. Clutching the sack, he climbed on to the cart. ‘Quick, Jack!' he hissed. ‘Get out of here, quick! Up that way!'

‘Go on, boy!' shouted Jack.

The lively horse responded instantly to the flick of the reins and the sound of Jack's voice and began to trot. When the animal suddenly realised that, instead of a cartful of heavy timber and plaster, he now just had two skinny boys behind him, the trot lengthened into a gallop and he went thundering up the road.

‘Stop them! Stop, thief!' went up the cry. Alfie
looked over his shoulder and saw that Mr Lambert and Daniel Elmore had climbed into the chaise. Moments later, the whip descended on the horse's back and the chaise leapt forward. Alfie looked ahead – the street was fairly empty and they were making good progress – and then he looked back again at the sound of more voices. The three policemen were shouting to a cabman. They were climbing in and the cab set off, rocking violently as it gathered speed.

Streatham Street was full of the clatter of horse hoofs and the roaring of angry voices.

The chase was on.