‘Let’s look outside the music halls then,’ said Cribb. ‘Who do you meet in your spare time? Is there some acquaintance who might have turned sour on you?’
Albert laughed. ‘Spare time? But there isn’t any! From Monday morning’s band-call to Sunday night’s training with the bells my life is wholly given over to the music hall. Why, even my mother and my donah are part of it.’
‘Miss Blake?’
‘Ellen. She’s a real beauty, you must admit. When her singing is in the same class as her face and figure she’ll be the rage of the halls.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’ Miss Blake’s voice required a miracle, but Cribb spoke with conviction. ‘She has other admirers, I expect.’
‘Scores, I’m sure. Every night there are bunches of flowers and chocolate boxes delivered to her dressing-room.’ Albert seemed naively proud of it.
‘Then you have rivals.’
‘Ah, but she gives them no encouragement. She doesn’t even eat the chocolates. The other girls share them out after Ellen has gone home. She is entirely loyal to me, Sergeant . . . Yes, smile to yourself if you like, but I know Ellen. She is singularly strong-willed. I shouldn’t want to be the masher who tried forcing his attentions on her.’
‘Perhaps just such a gent arranged your downfall tonight,’ suggested Cribb.
‘I’m doubtful of that. Whoever took Beaconsfield out of his basket knows a rare amount about my act. Anyone knowing so much must also know that making overtures to Ellen is a waste of time.’
Cribb paused in his questioning, scratching speculatively at his side-whiskers. Thackeray, who disliked silences, lowered his eyes and slowly rotated the brim of the silk hat in his lap. He had a strong intuition that Cribb was about to move into a sensitive area of questioning.
‘Then we seem to have eliminated everyone but your mother, Albert. I can’t believe she would play a trick like this.’
There was a guffaw from the bed. ‘Mama? There’s not much she hasn’t stooped to in her time, Sergeant, believe me! But I can’t think why she would want to ruin the act. Besides, she wouldn’t do anything to upset Beaconsfield. She dotes on that animal.’
‘Has she always been a part of your act? I wouldn’t think her contribution is indispensable.’
Albert laughed again. ‘She’s left four or five times to get her hooks into some unfortunate fellow with tin to spare, but she always comes back. I’m too soft-hearted to turn her away. It’s the blood-tie, I suppose. She was once quite a celebrated figure in the halls—you won’t believe this—as a coryphee in the ballet. That was how Papa met her. He was the chairman at Moy’s Music Hall in Pimlico, right back in the fifties before it became the Royal Standard. He gave dramatic monologues on occasions, too. Oh, the hours he devoted to teaching me the vowel sounds—perhaps he knew I might need to follow in his footsteps some day. Well, about fifteen years ago he told Mama she ought to give up her dancing because she was already overweight and past forty. She took offence, there was a terrible argument, Papa walked out of our lives and Mama bought Beaconsfield. Oddly enough, she gave up ballet and took to singing, with me in a sailor-suit and Beaconsfield walking on to distract the audience a bit. She isn’t a bad singer, you know. I tried to persuade her to pass on some hints to Ellen, but she wouldn’t. Unless you’ve got bow legs and a wet, black nose, Mama isn’t interested in the way you do anything.’
‘But you’re quite certain that she isn’t responsible for what happened tonight?’
‘Well, you saw the state she was in after she had rescued Beaconsfield, Sergeant.’
‘Quite so.’ Cribb got to his feet. ‘We’ll leave you to get some rest now. You’ll be feeling the effects of tonight’s experience. There’s nothing we can do for you before we go? Very good. There’s just one thing I want you to do for me, then. Whatever happens in the next day or two—and I suspect that something may—avoid violence. Scotland Yard won’t be far behind you.’
With that, Cribb picked up his hat and cane and quit the room. Thackeray hauled himself out of his comfortable chair, mystified by the sergeant’s last remark. Violence? He looked hard at Albert; what kind of violence was a bed-ridden man capable of, even if he was the Hercules of Rotherhithe? He followed, shaking his head.
THERE WAS A TAP at the door of the interview room at Kennington Road Police Station. Sergeant Cribb rubbed his hands in anticipation. ‘It had better be Cadbury’s,’ he told Thackeray. ‘Come in!’
A bright-eyed constable in full uniform with helmet, greatcoat and armlet, made his entrance.
‘Lord, they get younger and younger,’ muttered Cribb. ‘You can put the tray down here, lad. What’s your name?’
‘Oliver, Sergeant.’
‘And how long have you been in the Force?’
‘Four months, Sergeant.’
‘Is that so? That’s a fine new uniform you’re wearing, Oliver, but there’s no need to dress up to bring us a cup of cocoa, you know.’
‘I’m on night duty, Sergeant, and Sergeant Flaxman insists—’
‘Does he now? It’s not for me to interfere, then. You’re on till six tomorrow morning, are you?’
‘Yes, Sergeant.’
‘And you’re the man whose beat takes in Little Moors Place?’
‘Yes, Sergeant.’
‘Then listen to me, young Oliver. I want you to keep a special watch on that road tonight—number nine in particular. You may know it—theatrical lodging-house. Just as soon as anyone enters there, it’s your job to hare back here and let Constable Thackeray know. You can stand at the end of the road: it’s a one-ender, you know, so you should be able to keep out of sight. Pity you’re not a plain-clothes man, but we’ll have to make do with you. Keep your lantern out; there’s nothing like a bull’s-eye for giving a bobby away. And take that armlet off when you get there.’
‘But Sergeant—’
Cribb put up his hand. ‘I’ll square it with Harry Flaxman. This is a chance for you to make a name for yourself, lad, so don’t disappoint me. Here, let’s have a look at that armlet of yours. See that, Thackeray. What do you make of that?’
‘Soda, Sarge, without a doubt.’
‘Unmistakable. Never wash your armlet in soda, young Oliver. Makes the colour run like you’re going to run back here from Little Moors Place as soon as you’ve got any news for us. That’ll do, then. Fine cup of cocoa!’ He turned back to Thackeray, as P.C. Oliver left to begin his vigil. ‘You can relieve him at six. I don’t think anything’ll happen before then, but I can’t take the chance. Well, Thackeray, I know the symptoms. Your face has been as long as Big Ben all evening. You want to speak your mind to me. Very well. Now’s the time. Just wipe the cocoa-skin off your moustache and I’ll give you my complete attention.’
‘Well, Sarge,’ said Thackeray a moment later, ‘I suppose it’s just that I can’t take all this music hall stuff seriously. It don’t seem nothing like your class of investigation to me. It’s not really worthy of you, Sarge. A blooming bogus bulldog in a basket and a strong man with a twisted ankle—that don’t seem worth losing a night’s sleep over. We’ve taken on some odd cases, I know, but there’s always been a corpse to make the whole thing worth while.’
‘You might have got one tonight if that dog had rabies,’ said Cribb. ‘I understand you, though. On the face of it, tonight’s affair at the Grampian seems pretty small beer. But look at it as the latest episode in this string of accidents on the stage—and remember we had a warning that something would happen tonight—and it becomes a deal more sinister. What we saw at the Grampian certainly wasn’t murder, Thackeray, but from Albert’s viewpoint it was professional assassination. You heard him yourself saying he was finished as a strong man. We heard Woolston saying something similar in Newgate. That’s serious enough for me, Constable.’