Black-Eyed Nick: An Historical Murder Mystery (Agatha Aston Book 1) by Jack Murray

Author:Jack Murray [Murray, Jack]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-09-09T16:00:00+00:00

17

Alexander Rifkind banged his cane on the roof of the cab. He was a young man in a hurry. Longish fair hair fell onto pleasingly wide shoulders. Clear blue eyes stared impatiently out at the road traffic. Beads of perspiration formed on the forehead of a face that many ladies would have considered altogether more than good-looking.

‘I say, can’t you hurry, man?’

The cab driver responded with the crack of the whip although it was two pounds to a penny it was not the horse he would like to have struck. The young man in the carriage seemed most… what was the word? Frantic. Yes, that was it. Frantic.

The young man in question was, indeed, frantic. In fact, to all the world he looked both frightened and frantic. He drummed his fingers on the window. The cab pulled up outside the police station on Piccadilly. He was already dashing into the police station before the cab had drawn to a halt. This left a rather irate cabbie shouting for him to pay for the ride.

The duty constable, Cedric Seeton, sized up young Mr Rifkind in the blink of an eye. Here was a gentleman. A very worried gentleman. Perhaps he’d been robbed. He looked a little too tall and well made to have been easily overcome physically. Yes, robbery. That was it. Perhaps armed robbery.

‘Constable, my sister is missing.’

So much for a career in the Detective Branch thought Seeton. He took up his pen and prepared to write the details. Moments later he heard the sound of shouting.

‘Arrest that man,’ shouted the cab driver, bursting into the police station.

Well, the man had certainly come to the right place if he wanted that to happen. Constable Seeton looked at Rifkind for an explanation. Rifkind’s eyes widened in horror.

‘I’m most awfully sorry, my fellow. I completely forgot,’ said Rifkind, turning around to the cab driver.

The cab driver’s anger was mollified slightly by the tone of Rifkind’s voice. It mollified further as he saw the young gentleman, for this he unquestionably was, fish into his pocket and remove a wallet.

‘And an extra shilling for your trouble,’ said Rifkind apologetically.

This left the cab driver well-rewarded for his high-speed drive through the streets of London. He doffed his hat and left the station. The whole episode had taken barely a minute to play out.

‘Where were we, sir? Your sister, you say, is missing.’

-

Jack Whicher looked at the young man in front of him. He was in an agitated state and with good reason. Two hours had passed since Alexander Rifkind had burst through the doors of the police station on Piccadilly. He was now in Scotland Yard speaking to the Assistant Superintendent. This was a sign of the seriousness with which they were treating the disappearance. Rifkind wondered idly if such treatment would have been conferred on someone from a less well-to-do background.

‘What is the name of your sister?’

‘Helen Rifkind, although she has always been known as Nell.’

Simpson, who was sitting with Whicher, took notes. Rifkind provided his address which was in St.

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