'It is indeed. What's the man's name?'
'Hetherington – Sir Marcus Hetherington.'
The publicity in the newspapers had given him a real fright. Before his landlady or his neighbours could report his whereabouts to the police, Luke Rogan gathered up everything of value and stuffed it into a bag. Then he changed out of the slightly garish attire he usually wore and put on a pair of dungarees, a moth-eaten old coat and a floppy hat. It was a disguise he often used in the course of his work as a private detective and it was so nondescript as to render him almost invisible. After checking his appearance in the mirror, he fled from his house in Bayswater without leaving behind the unpaid rent.
He left his belongings at the house in Paddington of a woman he had befriended during his days as a policeman. He gave her a plausible explanation about why he was dressed as a workman but she needed no convincing. She was a lonely widow who was so pleased to see him that she offered him accommodation for as long as he wished. As she never read a newspaper, there was no possibility that she would link her former lover with a series of horrific crimes. In the short term at least, Rogan had somewhere to hide.
Sir Marcus Hetherington had ordered him to kill Colbeck in order that the murder investigation would lose the man who directed it and make it founder. In view of what the inspector had done, Rogan was now fired by revenge as well. He was anxious to strike back at the person who had exposed him in the newspapers as a wanted felon and spread his name across the whole of London. He knew that he could never return to his old life again. Colbeck had robbed him of his occupation. In recompense, he would deprive the detective of his life.
Rogan had been patient. He knew what his intended victim looked like and where to find him. Lurking outside Scotland Yard until the inspector had emerged, he waited until Colbeck had summoned a cab then flagged down one of his own and ordered it to follow the first vehicle. What he learned was that Colbeck lived in John Islip Street and that, very soon after his arrival, he had a visitor. While the two men were inside the house, Rogan loitered in a doorway on the other side of the street and bided his time. He felt under his coat for the knife that was thrust into his belt. Having already killed Gaston Chabal, it could now be used to dispatch another man.
Inside the house, the detectives came to the end of their conversation.
'I'll be on my way, Inspector,' said Victor Leeming, rising slowly to his feet. 'Thank you for the tea and cake.'
'When this is all over, we'll celebrate with something a little stronger,' promised Colbeck. 'Before that, I'll want to know how you fared this afternoon.'
'Where will I meet you?'
'At the Lamb and Flag.'
'What time?'
'Shall we say six o'clock?'
'I'll be there, sir.'
'Good.' Colbeck got to his feet and led the way into the hall. 'I'll go back to Scotland Yard to see if anyone has come forward as a result of that notice in the newspapers.'
'And I'll ring some more doorbells.'
'Are you glad to be back in harness again, Victor?'
'Yes, sir – even if I can only manage a trot.' They put on their respective hats and left the house together. Leeming looked up and down the street. 'Not long to go now.'
'I hope not.'
'We'll soon catch Luke Rogan.'
'Yes,' said Colbeck. 'We're getting close. I can feel it.'
They exchanged farewells then parted company. Leeming walked at a gentle pace towards Vauxhall Bridge Road while Colbeck went off in the opposite direction, intending to stop the first empty hansom cab. As none was in view, he continued to stroll briskly along the pavement. He reviewed all the evidence they had so far gathered and it left him with a feeling of guarded optimism. His only worry was that Rogan might leave London to avoid arrest and, possibly, flee the country altogether. If necessary, Colbeck was more than ready to pursue him abroad.
It was minutes before he realised that he was being followed. He did not remember seeing anyone when they came out of the house but he sensed a distinct presence now. When an empty cab came towards him, therefore, he let it pass. Colbeck wanted to know who was on his tail. Moving to the kerb, he glanced back down the street then crossed diagonally to the other side. Out of the corner of his eye, he had seen him. The man had pretended to tie up his bootlace so that he could keep his head down but Colbeck knew at once that it was a ruse. He was being shadowed.
As he walked on, he maintained the same pace, giving no indication that he was aware of someone behind him. They were now on the same side of the street. The gap between them slowly closed until Colbeck could hear the tramp of hobnail boots behind him. That was the danger signal. If he was simply being followed, he knew that the man would stay well back to avoid being seen. The fact that he was moving steadily closer meant that he was going to attack.
Colbeck did not know if the man was a thief or someone with a personal grudge against him. Police work had made him many enemies and he had often received threats from convicted criminals as they were hauled out of the dock to begin a prison sentence. It did not matter who the stalker was. The way to deal with him, he believed, was to invite the attack. When he reached a corner, he turned sharply and went down a narrow lane. He heard footsteps quicken behind him. After a few more yards, Colbeck swung round to confront the man. The sun forewarned him. It glinted on the knife that had suddenly appeared in the stalker's hand. The man lunged forward and thrust hard with his weapon but he could not sink it into the back of an unsuspecting victim this time. Colbeck was ready for him.
Jumping quickly back out of the way, he whisked off his top hat and flung it hard into the man's face to confuse him for an split-second. He grabbed the hand that was holding the knife and turned the point away. They grappled fiercely and it was clear that the man was used to a brawl. Strong and wily, he did everything he could to overpower Colbeck, punching, gouging, spitting into his face, biting his hand and trying to stamp on his toes with his boot. Colbeck responded by tightening his grip. When he managed to manoeuvre the man off balance, he swung him hard against the brick wall. Shaken by the impact, his attacker dropped the knife. Colbeck used a foot to kick it away.
As they grappled once more, Colbeck realised that he was not ideally dressed for a fight. His tight-fitting frock coat did not allow him much flexibility. His adversary, by contrast, had much more freedom of movement. He used it to push Colbeck against the wall then hit him with a relay of punches. Before the detective could fight back, he was kicked in the shin then tripped up. As he fell to the ground, Colbeck heard the ominous sound of torn cloth but he had no time to worry about his coat. The man dived on him and went for his throat, getting both thumbs on his windpipe and pressing hard.
It was the first moment when Colbeck had a proper look at his face. Breathing heavily, the man bared his teeth in a grin of triumph and applied more pressure. Colbeck knew that it must be Luke Rogan. The man was intent on murder. Desperation gave him an extra surge of strength and he rolled suddenly to the left, toppling Rogan and weakening his grip. Colbeck punched him hard in the face until he put up both hands to defend himself. The searing pain in Colbeck's throat had gone but he still had to contend with a powerful adversary. What brought the fight to an end was the arrival of several onlookers. Hearing the commotion, a small crowd began to gather around them. They were witnesses. Rogan had to get away.
Smashing a fist into Colbeck's face, he struggled to his feet and pushed his way past the spectators before running off down the lane. Colbeck was still dazed. By the time he was helped to his feet by two men, he saw that Luke Rogan had vanished. One of the bystanders looked at his torn coat and blood-covered face.