“Are you leaving already?” she said. “Mr Hammersmith hasn’t come back yet.”
The policeman jumped, clearly startled. He turned, staggering under the weight of the huge bundle on his shoulder.
“Ah, ma’am, you oughtn’t to come up on me like that.”
“Dreadfully sorry, sir.”
“Not at all. Just worried my police training might kick in and I’d do you harm. Wouldn’t want that, would we?”
He smiled and winked at her. Despite his rough appearance, Mrs Flanders found him utterly charming. She smiled back at him.
“No, we wouldn’t want that,” she said. “Where is the other policeman? The one dressed as a chimney sweep?”
“He left already.”
“I didn’t hear him on the stair.”
“He’s very sneaky. Got to be when you’re in disguise as a dipper like he is.”
“Do you mean to say that he picks pockets?”
“Aye, he does.”
“But he’s dressed as a sweep.”
“That’s a disguise on his disguise. Makes him double good at it.”
“Well, if he steals wallets, doesn’t that make him as much a criminal as the real criminals?”
“He’s got to blend in, you see, but then he always goes and gives people their things back, he does.”
“Oh, well, that makes perfect sense then. He returns what he steals.”
“Aye, that’s exactly what he does. Very sneaky one, that.”
“I don’t mean to seem curious, but may I ask what’s in the blanket?”
“Blanket?”
“The one you’ve got over your shoulder.”
“Oh, you mean this blanket?”
“Yes.”
“It’s police supplies in here, ma’am. Constable Hammersmith was savin’ ’em fer me. Gotta get ’em down to headquarters.”
“It looks very heavy.”
“Well, they’re not lightweight supplies, I’ll tell you that, ma’am. Not the easiest thing to have slung on me whilst I stand about in the street.”
“I’m sorry. I’m keeping you.”
“Not at all. It’s a sheer pleasure talkin’ with you, and that’s for sure. Did I mention you remind me of me mum?”
“That’s very dear of you to say.”
“’Tis the God’s truth, ma’am. But now I’d better get this over to Scotland Yard afore it’s too late.”
“Too late?”
“Yes, ma’am. Big rush on it from the commissioner of police hisself.”
“Then I mustn’t keep you any longer. Only…”
“Yes?”
“Do promise you’ll come back for a visit.”
The rough-looking policeman grinned at Mrs Flanders and bowed slightly at the waist, keeping the bundle on his shoulders carefully balanced as he did so.
“I guarantee that I will, missus.”
And with that he tottered off down the road with his heavy burden and turned the corner into an alley halfway along the block.
Mrs Flanders put a hand on her heart and stepped back into the building. She closed the door to the street and went back up to her own cozy flat. Strange, she thought, that she hadn’t heard the second policeman leave. They were obviously very good at their jobs. She had not bought into all the recent condemnation of the police. It made her feel safe knowing that she had them as tenants in her own building.
She sat down with her novel and found her place again. She had read only two sentences when it occurred to her that the nice policeman had never actually told her what was in the bundle he was carrying. She made up her mind to ask him about it the next time he paid a visit to Mr Hammersmith.
101
Day looked over at Hammersmith, took a deep breath, and swung the carriage house door open. Something hot whistled past Day’s right ear and there was the sudden crack of a gunshot. He fell backward and waited for another shot, but none came. He crawled to the side, away from the entrance so that the building’s wall would block any more bullets that were fired his way. Hammersmith was already on the other side of the door, against the wall there.
“Cinderhouse?” Day said. “Stop shooting.”
He waited for a response. He was about to call again when the tailor answered.
“Have you been to my shop?”
“I have.”
“Did you find the boy?”
“Yes.”
“Is he all right? He was under that counter for quite some time. Longer than I intended.”
“He’s fine.”
“Good.”
There was another long silence.
“Who am I talking to out there?” Cinderhouse said. “Is that Inspector Day?”
“Yes.”
“Are you alone?”
Day shook his head at Hammersmith. He put a finger to his lips.
“I’m alone,” Day said.
“Good. It should be the two of us at the end. Cat and mouse. But which is the cat and which is the mouse?”
“I don’t take your meaning, sir.”
“Which of us,” Cinderhouse said, “I mean, which of us will come out of this. We won’t both live through this day, you know.”
“Why do you say that?”
“If I let you live, you’ll keep the boy from me. I can’t let that happen.”
“You plan to kill me, then?”
“I don’t think I have a choice.”
“But I have you trapped.”
“True.”
“So perhaps you should lay the gun down and come out where we can talk, face-to-face.”
“That won’t do, Detective.”
“Why not?”
“I told you. The only way I’ll get to keep the boy is if you die here.”
“Have you killed before?”
“No.”
“What about Inspector Little?”
“Who?”
“Or Constable Pringle?”
Day saw Hammersmith shudder and he shook his head again. He didn’t want Hammersmith’s emotions to get the better of him. Day still hoped that the situation might end without further deaths.
“It’s sad about Pringle,” Cinderhouse said. “I rather liked him. He was an excellent customer.”
“Then why kill him?”
“I didn’t. He was going to take the boy and so he had to go away.”
“Go away?”
“Yes. He disappeared. A shame, really. I had a new pair of trousers ready for him.”
“He didn’t go away, Mr Cinderhouse. You murdered him.”
“Certainly not. I did have to discipline him, of course. He was out of line. I only did what I needed to do to keep him from talking about the boy. He would have told everyone.”
“So he disappeared?”
“I haven’t seen him since.”
“Who else has disappeared, Mr Cinderhouse?”
“Oh, now … now, I don’t want to…”
Cinderhouse stopped talking and Day could hear a choking sound deep inside the carriage house. He wished he had a lamp, anything that might allow him to see farther than four feet into the building.
Quietly, he slipped his boots off and edged around the back of the carriage house. The building had no windows. The only way in or out was through the big door. When he got to the other side, he drew Hammersmith close and whispered in his ear. He handed Hammersmith his gun. The constable nodded and hurried, quickly and quietly, back around the way that Day had come. He appeared momentarily on the other side where Day had been. They’d switched places.
Day got down on his stomach in the short brown grass and crept forward until the top of his head was even with the edge of the doorway. A few feet away, Hammersmith cleared his throat.
“Mr Cinderhouse, are you all right?” Hammersmith said.
The choking noise inside the carriage house tapered off. Cinderhouse sniffed.
“Detective?” Cinderhouse said.
“It’s me,” Hammersmith said.
Day winced. Hammersmith’s voice was huskier and more nasal than his own. Day didn’t have a broken nose. Fortunately, the tailor didn’t notice. The big empty horse stalls and vaulted ceiling served to flatten and amplify every sound.
“You don’t know what it is,” Cinderhouse said, “to have people disappear. People you care about.”
“I don’t know about that,” Hammersmith said. “I’ve known people who have disappeared.”
“Who?”
“My friend Pringle, for one.”
“That’s not the same. Mr Pringle was a grown man. They disappear all the time. But the children … That’s not fair, is it? My boys keep disappearing.”