Mangle Street Murders by M. R. C. Kasasian

Author:M. R. C. Kasasian [Kasasian, M. R. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4804-4782-0
Publisher: Pegasus Books
Published: 2014-01-06T20:02:00+00:00

SIDNEY GRICE WAS out when I got home. He had left early, Molly told me, following some information about a stolen racehorse. Her apron was smudged with blacking.

Would I like breakfast? I would not.

I had a cup of tea and went into the small courtyard garden and sat for my first cigarette under the cherry tree. I put on my cloak and walked to Tavistock Square and smoked another cigarette there, until a scandalized gentleman in a tall top hat told me not to. I wandered to Brown and Sons and bought a packet of Willet’s Empires.

‘’Orrible ’angin’,’ the news vendor called. ‘’Orrible ’angin’. Get all the gruesome details. See the artist’s pictures. ’Orrible ’angin’.’

I had not a penny on me for the paper but if I had a hundred sovereigns in my purse, I should not have bought it. I hurried up Torrington Place and back along Gower Street, just in time to catch a glimpse of my guardian climbing out of a cab and walking briskly up the steps.

Molly was still taking his coat when I went into the house. ‘Bring me a pot of tea,’ he told her, ‘and make it a strong one.’ And, tossing his cane into the stand, he marched straight into his study.

The doorbell rang.

‘What a waste,’ he said. ‘The bunglers who stole Nightjar broke his leg and he had to be destroyed.’

He flipped through a pile of letters on his desk but did not open any. Two were tossed straight into the bin.

‘You worry about the life of an animal on such a day as this?’

‘There were fifty guineas in it for me if he had been alive. ‘

‘And one hundred and twenty-five pounds to send William

Ashby to his death,’ I told him, and swept out of the room.

I was halfway up the stairs when I heard a voice and turned to see Inspector Pound coming into the hallway. His face was grey as Molly took his things, and he did not even glance up as he went into the study.

The door was closed, but I was down and into the room just as the inspector slumped into an armchair. He stood and greeted me.

‘You look rather pale, Inspector,’ I said.

‘He was just about to tell me about the fuss at the hanging,’ my guardian said.

‘Why? What happened?’

‘A botched job.’ The inspector tugged at his moustaches. ‘The worst I have ever witnessed and I have seen a few poor ones. To give Ashby his due, he stepped on to that trap with as much quiet dignity as any man could muster. He was much the worse for his gaol fever but he walked and stood unaided to the spot. All the usual stuff about being innocent of the crime, of course, but you expect that. The Chaplain said his prayers. The sentence was read out. Everybody stood back and the hangman pulled the lever but nothing happened. The trap would not open. The hangman stamped on it. They even made Ashby jump up and down, but it was well and truly jammed.

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