Death in Bayswater Read online

The cab was hurrying on now, weaving its way rapidly through traffic, and even if she could have somehow escaped she would have found herself trampled by horses and crushed by heavy carriages. ‘Let go of me,’ she demanded.

  ‘I will, when we’ve had our little conversation.’

  She paused, not sure what to say. His accusation, that she had been expressing the opinion that he might be responsible for the Bayswater murders, was quite correct, and it would be useless to deny it. ‘I stand by what I have said. There have been knife murders in this vicinity, and you are known to carry a knife and to be willing to use it. Of course you are suspected. I suppose you will tell me now that you are no killer.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve killed,’ he said nonchalantly, ‘I’ve done that all right, more than once; men who were best off dead. Men you would have wanted dead. And I’ll probably kill again. Never killed a woman, though. Don’t plan to. Not unless it has to be done.’ His grip on her arm never faltered and she shuddered.

  ‘Are you saying that you did not commit the recent murders?’

  He looked up and grinned, revealing foul teeth and she turned her head from the horrid sight. ‘Innocent as the new-born.’

  ‘Do you know who did?’

  ‘No, or I’d put a stop to him. Bad for my business having him about. Now you take my advice Miss Doughty. Don’t dabble in things that don’t concern you, or it could be you next, lying in an alley with your throat cut.’

  ‘I suppose that would suit you,’ she said, but he let go of her arm and in a trice he had manoeuvred nimbly over the folding doors and disappeared into the surge of traffic. Frances was left trembling and dry-mouthed with fear. When she was able to speak she ordered the driver straight to Paddington Green police station and reported what had occurred to the desk sergeant. It was rare that she was listened to with such keen and respectful attention, and once she had given her information an Inspector was summoned to hear her story, and three constables were swiftly dispatched. This was no comfort to Frances, since she knew that their quarry would be long gone.

  While she was there Sharrock arrived and, seeing her, swiftly beckoned her into his office. ‘Causing a stir again, Miss Doughty?’ he said, moving some boxes from a chair so she could sit.

  ‘It would seem so. Not by choice, I can assure you.’

  ‘My sergeant tells me you have had a dangerous encounter.’ He poked an angry finger at her. ‘This is just the sort of thing I have been warning you about. It doesn’t do for young women to be running about after criminals, that’s men’s work, I’ve told you often enough.’ Frances decided not to reply. ‘At least we might get that man behind bars and keep him there this time.’

  ‘I hope so. I can’t imagine what is keeping him in Bayswater since he knows he is wanted here. Some horrid business of his own, I suppose. He must have some secret lair where he can hide, perhaps with associates who are as bad as he is. And he keeps to the shadows or mingles in crowds where he cannot easily be seen.’

  ‘I suppose it would be useless for me to warn you not to seek him out again?’

  ‘I have never tried to seek him out, I can assure you, I hardly need to, he seems to be everywhere.’ There were too many occasions in the past when she had encountered him unexpectedly; outside her own home, in Chas and Barstie’s office, near Paddington Station, and times when he had been no more than a black shadow at the edge of her vision, a repellent shape that had filled her with dread, and she had turned to look and seen nothing. Had there been other times when he had been lurking nearby and she had not seen him at all? She began to tremble.

  Sharrock looked at her sympathetically and sent a constable to fetch a glass of water. He watched warily as she sipped, in case she should suddenly feel faint. ‘Thank you, Inspector, I feel very much refreshed,’ she said gratefully. ‘I was wondering if you have managed to find any witnesses who saw this man in the vicinity of Celbridge Mews on the night of the two murders.’

  ‘Not as yet, unfortunately. The police have spoken to everyone residing and working in that area, as well as passers-by, carriers and coachmen, but no one saw anything suspicious. In fact no one seems to have entered or left Celbridge Mews at all between seven and half past eight o’clock. And we’ve got nothing on the other murder either.’

  ‘You believe that the man who killed Mr Ibbitson was startled by someone and had to make his escape before he could continue his foul work. So if no one left or entered the mews then the only possible witness would have been a passer-by. But if the murderer was in the Mews, lurking unseen in the passageway and someone walked past on Porchester Road, then he would simply have stayed hidden in the dark, and waited for them to go past. Could he have escaped from within the Mews?’

  ‘No, the courtyard is enclosed, there’s no way out. He didn’t go that way.’ Sharrock shook his head. ‘Young Mr Ibbitson was playing a very dangerous game. I only hope other young men take note and don’t try the same thing. I expect he strolled about the street hoping to catch the killer. The man was lying in wait, took him from behind and dragged him into the dark.’

  ‘His poor family. And Miss Whitaker’s also.’

  ‘I know. At least Ibbitson’s parents were able to see him made tidy and clean to say their goodbyes, and his mother gave him her last kiss. That’s more than we can say of the others.’

  ‘Do you know if Miss Whitaker was killed before or after Mr Ibbitson?’

  ‘She was last seen alive at about half past seven. Dr Collin, judging from the freshness of the bloodstains, thinks she was killed afterwards.’

  ‘And you are sure that she was killed by the man they call the Bayswater Face-slasher?’

  ‘No doubt about it.’ He gave her a hard stare. ‘I know that look. You’re thinking, and you know where that leads.’

  ‘It leads to criminals being punished.’ Frances handed the water glass to Sharrock. ‘I shall go home and think further.’

  ‘And you be careful. Celbridge Mews is hardly a stone’s throw from where you live.’

  She took a cab home, and all the way she looked about her very carefully, but if the Filleter was nearby he did not show himself. Two murders on the same night, she thought, and the police were assuming that both were committed by the same man, who having killed poor Ibbitson, was interrupted before he could take his time to make the cuts that were his signature, and, frustrated by this, had moved on to kill again. But no one had come forward to say they might have interrupted the killer. What if there was another reason why the boy’s face was not cut? Supposing there had not been one murderer but two, and Ibbitson’s killer was not the Face-slasher at all?

  Frances would not dispute that Miss Whitaker was murdered by the Face-slasher, but began to wonder if Ibbitson had been killed by someone who had made him a deliberate target. Supposing, during Ibbitson’s diligent enquiries in his efforts to help the Price family or perhaps in another of his endeavours, he had unsuspectingly made a dangerous enemy, who saw him as a threat. This enemy had followed him to the Price cottage, lain in wait, and then seen him emerge, perhaps overheard him speaking to Effie at the door, and realised from the conversation that the gowned figure was actually the young newsman in disguise. The recent murders provided the perfect cover for another crime. The killer had followed Ibbitson, and as soon as the opportunity arose, seized him from behind and dragged him into the mews. One swift cut with a sharp knife and the threat was gone. There was only one dangerous man whose name had been publicly mentioned in connection with the murders, and that was the Filleter. Only that very day he had told Frances that he had never killed a woman but he had killed men. One of those men, she now suspected, was George Ibbitson.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Sarah had not yet returned from the inquest and how Frances ached to have that solid and sympathetic presence home again. There was a caller to distract her, however, Tom Smith, to report on his observation of Miss Digby. Frances was glad of the company, and went down to the kitchen to make a pot of tea so he would
remain there longer. He followed her, and went hunting around until he uncovered some scraps of bacon which he tossed into a hot pan with a lump of lard, an egg and crusts of bread. ‘The friend called for ’er an’ they went to a confectioner’s an’ would you believe it, they just ’appened to meet Mr Pargeter there, an’ ’e bought ’er a little sweetmeat all tied up in a fancy ribbon, an’ she went red in the face.’ He looked thoughtful, as if assessing this as a suitable means of wooing a lady that he might undertake when the maiden he had been admiring from afar, Mr Jacobs’ dainty niece, Pearl Montague, was of an age to have gentlemen admirers.

  ‘What did they talk about?’

  ‘Oh, the lady complained about ’er father and ’ow ’e was tryin’ to keep them apart. But this Pargeter is very clever an’ said ’ow ’e respected Mr Digby very much and would win ’im over. Then ’e said he ’ad just ’ad a stroke of good luck, an’ would be comin’ into some money very soon, and once ’e ’ad it in ’is ’ands they would announce the engagement. She were very ’appy about that. Then they made an appointment to meet again.’ Frances poured the tea and Tom stirred the contents of the sizzling pan with a wooden spoon, inhaled the aroma and licked his lips in anticipation. ‘An’ there’s another thing. This is the best bit.’ He drew a slip of paper from his pocket and laid it on the table. ‘This is the address of an ’ouse Pargeter visits. Young woman lives there. Very good-lookin’, an’ in the family way. Goes by the name of Mrs Jones, only I don’t reckon she is a Jones nor a Mrs neither.’

  The address was of a common lodging house in Porchester Road. Tom settled himself at the kitchen table and began to eat his supper from the frying pan, sopping up the grease with extra bread.

  ‘I don’t suppose you have seen any more of the Filleter?’ asked Frances, sipping her tea.

  Tom wiped a hand across his mouth. ‘No. Slippery one, that. Can pop up an’ then disappear quick as a wink.’

  Frances took a deep breath and told Tom about her frightening encounter earlier that day. He listened to her quietly with a very serious expression, then polished off his meal and licked the spoon. ‘So ’e didn’t try an’ ’urt you, it was more like a warning?’

  ‘A warning and a threat.’

  He leaned back thoughtfully in his chair. ‘Bit strange weren’t it, ’im just seein’ you pass by. Like a lucky chance. Or was it? Sounds to me like ’e was lying in wait, just ’oping the cab would slow down enough for ’im to ’op on.’

  Frances felt cold all over. ‘You think he’s been following me? Watching me?’ She had almost persuaded herself that those dark indeterminate glimpses had been no more than imagination born of fear, a shadow assuming a form she dreaded like a mist becoming the shape of a ghost. Now she was not so sure.

  ‘P’raps. But, now ’e’s said what ’e ’as to say then maybe that’s the end of it.’

  ‘I hope so. Please do be very careful. I fear he will not hesitate to dispatch anyone he suspects of following him, even someone as young as yourself.’

  Tom grinned. ‘Don’t you worry. My men know ’ow to go about an’ not be seen.’

  When Tom had departed Frances was left alone, and the house seemed strangely quiet. She tidied the kitchen and returned upstairs to her apartment, but found herself glancing behind doors and into corners, and starting at every shadow. It was an immense relief when Sarah arrived and she was able to tell her the whole story.

  Frances realised that she was shaken in a way she had not been even after the terrible attack on her person earlier that year, when she had fought off an attempt to subdue her with chloroform. Then there had been an obvious and very physical assault but this was far more subtle, and in some ways worse. The Filleter’s grasp on her arm had not been a violent one, and had left no mark, but it had prevented her from escaping him. He had not threatened her directly; in fact he had said he had no intention of killing a woman, although he revealed that it was not an action wholly against his nature; only insinuated that if she continued to pry into the murders then she might become a victim. More worrying was his casual admission of what she had always suspected, that he was a cold-blooded killer.

  Sarah took in this news with a thunderous expression, her fists clenching and kneading as if she had the Filleter before her and was slowly and very determinedly strangling him. ‘He didn’t hurt you?’ she asked, worried that Frances was hiding something in order to prevent her going out and committing a justifiable murder straightaway.

  ‘No, it was just meant as a warning, I think.’

  ‘I’ll warn him alright!’ said Sarah, promising that if she was ever to get hold of the Filleter then knife or no knife she would introduce him to all the tortures of the Tower of London and a few more besides that no one had ever thought of.

  ‘At least leave him able to answer Inspector Swanson’s questions,’ advised Frances. ‘Then we may get to the truth of the murders.’

  ‘No going out on your own after dark!’ ordered Sarah waving a stern finger.

  ‘I wouldn’t do so in any case.’

  ‘No going out on your own at all, I’d say. Not any time of day.’

  ‘That will make my work very hard, I fear. I need to go to Lambeth tomorrow morning, and I know you have a client coming then. Maybe I should hire one of Mr Candy’s respectable gentlemen. Or perhaps Mr Garton might enjoy a drive.’

  Sarah scowled because the woman visiting next day had lived for years in terror of her husband, and it had taken the unhappy creature all her courage and resolve just to make the appointment. She dared not put this client off. Fortunately the difficulty was settled when Cedric, on being sent a note, at once cancelled an urgent meeting he had arranged to discuss the engraving on a new cravat pin, and agreed to accompany Frances.

  Sarah’s report on the two inquests told Frances that the victims had probably died within half an hour of each other. The last person known to have seen George Ibbitson alive was Effie Price as he left her house in disguise, at about seven o’clock. They had paused on the doorstep to talk, and she had thanked him shyly for all he was doing for her and her mother, and then she had kissed him. She had not seen anyone lurking nearby, but then she hadn’t been paying very much attention to anyone except George. Depending on how fast he had been walking, the journey from there to Celbridge Mews would have taken about ten minutes, and judging by the drying of the blood, it was thought that he had been killed not long afterwards. George Ibbitson’s body had been found at about half past eight by a youth going into the Mews on his way home from a public house in order to answer a call of nature. Miss Whitaker had last been seen by her sweetheart between half past seven and eight o’clock, and her body had been found in Hereford Mews at about nine. In both cases the cause of death had been blood loss and shock due to severed arteries of the throat. Both had been attacked from behind by a right-handed assailant. While George Ibbitson’s body had not suffered any additional injuries, Miss Whitaker’s face had been cut in a manner very like that of the other victims of the Bayswater Face-slasher. The jurors had wanted to know how long it took to walk from the first murder site to the second, and traced a possible route that led past Frances’ front door, then south down Hereford Road towards the Grove. It was certainly possible, based on the times and locations of the deaths, for the same person to have committed both murders. The murderer, who had taken both victims from behind, could have had little or no blood on his person, but in the dark he might not have noticed splashes on his sleeves or cuffs. The coroner asked all Bayswater citizens to report to the police anyone who had come home that night with blood on his clothing, however small the amount.

  Sarah, with a surly look, revealed that Professor Pounder and some of his pugilistic friends had all volunteered for the Guardians of Virtue, but none of them being gentlemen, Mr Candy had rejected their applications. They had decided instead to make their own nightly patrols around Bayswater. Frances had a new task for Sarah. She was to befriend and gain the confidence of ‘Mrs Jones’, the young
woman in the family way being visited by Mr Pargeter, and discover as much as she could about her.

  When the early evening newspapers arrived, they showed that the panic over the murders was not only firmly established in Bayswater but was spreading east to cover the whole of London. What particularly exercised the populace was that such bloodthirsty savagery, previously thought to be confined to the slums and alleys of the ragged and drunken poor, where it might be deplored from a safe distance, could also exist in a respectable district, where even ladies of the carriage class could feel under threat.

  There was a lengthy article about the fate of Mr Ibbitson, and tributes paid to his hard work, intelligence and bravery in trying to catch the killer. Crowds of the curious had been gathering about the sites of the murders, exchanging opinions on what should be done to the perpetrator, and spreading fresh rumours about his identity. Such was the interest that the police had been called out a number of times to disperse these assemblies, which were becoming large enough to impede traffic.

  Reporters sent from all the major London newspapers had carefully recorded the popular theories, which they promised to hand over to the police. Three ideas were gaining considerable credence. According to some, the killer was a man who prided himself on being very moral and imagined that he was ridding Bayswater of bad women. It was thought that he particularly objected to female vanity which explained the cutting of faces, and a clergyman who had recently preached a sermon on that very subject had to his great bewilderment unexpectedly found his home surrounded by an accusing crowd. Others pointed out that there was a group of lawless young men who met at the Piccadilly Club, and egged each other on to commit ever fouler crimes. Now, it was suggested, they were committing murder for wagers. The police had recently paid a visit to the Piccadilly Club and arrested a number of youths, all of whom were drunk. The unruly reprobates had been closely interviewed and, as a result, several would soon appear before local magistrates on a variety of charges that ranged from obstructing a public highway all the way up to leaving a railway carriage while it was in motion.