A Date with the Executioner Read online

  ‘We are charged with policing London, not them. We have the legal right and the proper experience. The Skillen brothers have neither of those things.’

  ‘Yet they do have an amazing record of success, Micah.’

  ‘They’ve been lucky, that’s all.’

  ‘And clever, let’s be honest.’

  ‘Paul Skillen won’t be feeling very clever after being arrested today. We taught him a lesson,’ said Yeomans, complacently. ‘As a result, he and that odious brother of his will steer well clear of us. From now on, we won’t even get a glimpse of them.’

  When the gardener arrived early that morning, he sensed that something was wrong. Though nothing was visible to the naked eye, his curiosity was aroused. He began a systematic search of the whole area, looking at flower beds, shrubs, bushes and trees, and even peering behind the statuary. His instinct was finally rewarded when he reached the arbour. Seated on the wooden bench was a stranger, a gentleman of middle years, apparently asleep. His hat lay on the ground as if tossed there uncaringly. The gardener cleared his throat noisily but it produced no reaction at all. Trying to wake him up, he shook the man vigorously but all that he succeeded in doing was to make him roll off the bench completely. Only then did the dagger embedded in his back come into view. It was surrounded by a large bloodstain.

  Mark Bowerman had warned that the dispute could only be resolved by a death. His words had been prophetic.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Eldon Kirkwood was a small man who wielded a large amount of power. As the chief magistrate at Bow Street, he was an expert on the nature and extent of crime in London. Those who cowered before him in court braced themselves for the tartness of his strictures and the severity of his punishments. He could be neither bribed nor deceived. Anyone who tried to intimidate him got especially short shrift; Kirkwood used the extremity of the law to pound them into submission. Yet it was not only the criminal fraternity who feared him. The Runners were equally afraid of the peppery magistrate. When his summons reached Micah Yeomans, therefore, he responded at once and took Alfred Hale speedily along to Bow Street. Still panting from the race to get there, the two men stood before his desk to await orders.

  ‘Foul murder has been committed,’ he told them.

  ‘That’s nothing new,’ muttered Hale.

  ‘Be quiet!’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Don’t speak until you have something worthwhile to say.’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘And the same goes for you,’ said Kirkwood, flicking his gaze to Yeomans. ‘I have important details to impart. Listen to them very carefully.’

  ‘We will, sir,’ said Yeomans.

  The chief magistrate was crisp and concise. He explained that the murder victim had been found in the garden of someone else’s house. A dagger had pierced his heart. The name of the dead man was Mark Bowerman.

  ‘We arrested him only yesterday,’ said Hale.

  ‘You also arrested the person he was about to face in a duel, one Stephen Hamer. He must be your prime suspect. Unable to kill his enemy on Putney Heath, he obviously resorted to another method of attack. Captain Hamer needs to be arrested and interrogated.’ He held out a sheet of paper. ‘Thanks to the fact that he came before me yesterday, we have his address. Hunt him down.’

  ‘We’ll do so immediately,’ said Yeomans, taking the paper from him.

  ‘What if it’s not him, sir?’ asked Hale.

  ‘Then it will be someone set on by him,’ insisted Kirkwood, ‘and that makes him culpable of homicide. It’s as plain as the nose on your face, Hale. By some means or other, Hamer was determined to murder Bowerman. Instead of being shot in the chest, the victim was stabbed in the back.’

  ‘I agree with your deductions, sir,’ said Yeomans, obsequiously. ‘It has to be Hamer. He was furious when we robbed him of the chance to shoot Mr Bowerman in that duel. It took two men to hold him.’

  ‘I was one of them,’ said Hale. ‘He’s a strong man.’

  Yeomans straightened his back. ‘I’m stronger.’

  ‘There’s no question about that, Micah.’

  ‘Use that strength of yours to overpower the fellow and bring him to justice,’ said Kirkwood. ‘We must act swiftly before he has the chance to go to ground.’

  ‘Leave it to us, sir,’ said Yeomans, leading Hale out.

  ‘I’m right behind you, Micah,’ said the other, trotting after him.

  As soon as they got outside, they paused to exchange a few unflattering remarks about Kirkwood. Much as they loathed him, they had to respect his authority. They were grateful to be given the opportunity to impress him for once. No difficulties could be foreseen by Yeomans. The main suspect in a murder case had just been served up to them on a plate.

  ‘I wish that all crimes were so easily solved,’ he said, airily. ‘It would make our job a lot less problematical. The beauty of this one is that we won’t have the Skillen brothers getting under our feet.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  ‘They’ll see what real policing can achieve.’

  ‘Suppose they get to hear what’s afoot?’

  Yeomans was dismissive. ‘There’s no chance of that happening,’ he said, curling a lip. ‘We’ll have Captain Hamer in custody before word even reaches them that Mr Bowerman is dead.’

  It was a hollow boast. Peter and Paul Skillen had already been told of the murder and were hearing the salient details. Seated in the back room at the shooting gallery, they listened intently to Silas Roe, the victim’s butler. Deeply upset by the fate of his master, Roe was on the verge of tears throughout. He was a gaunt, grey-haired old man who’d been with Bowerman for many years and been fiercely loyal to him and to his late wife. Holding his hat in both hands, Roe bent his head and accepted what he saw as his share of the guilt.

  ‘I should have insisted,’ he said, apologetically. ‘When the message came yesterday evening, Mr Bowerman was so pleased that he left the house at once. It wouldn’t have taken long to send for a carriage but he was too eager to be off. He didn’t tell me where he was going but I could guess who’d sent the letter.’

  ‘Was it Miss Somerville, by any chance?’ asked Paul.

  ‘It was, sir. The paper had her fragrance. He was at her beck and call.’

  ‘You sound as if you were very unhappy about that.’

  ‘It’s not my place to be happy or unhappy, sir. I was there to do anything I was asked and to … keep a watchful eye on my master.’

  ‘How did you first hear of the murder?’ said Peter.

  ‘The gardener who discovered the body came knocking on our door. He’d found Mr Bowerman’s visiting card in his pocket so he ran straight to the house to break the terrible news. It hit me like a thunderbolt, sirs, I don’t mind admitting it.’

  ‘What was your master doing in that garden in the first place?’

  ‘That’s the mystery, sir. To my knowledge, he’d never been anywhere near that house. As it happens, the property was empty, awaiting the arrival of new tenants. The gardener had been asked to carry out his duties as usual.’

  ‘We’ll need to speak to him,’ decided Paul.

  ‘I thought you might,’ said Roe. ‘I got his name and address for you.’

  ‘Who reported the crime?’

  ‘I did, sir. I went to Bow Street in person. That was after I’d been to the garden to verify what had happened, of course. I wouldn’t believe that the master was dead until I’d seen proof with my own eyes.’

  ‘Did you search him?’ asked Peter.

  Roe became defensive. ‘I felt it was my duty.’

  ‘That wasn’t a criticism. I just wondered if you found the letter that had summoned him there in the first place.’

  ‘It’s exactly what I was looking for, sir, but it wasn’t there. That was the strange thing. I knew he took it with him because I saw him put it in his pocket. The killer must have removed it.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘I do
n’t know.’

  ‘Was anything else missing from Mr Bowerman’s pockets?’ said Paul.

  ‘No, sir, there wasn’t. Nothing else had been touched – including his purse.’

  ‘Theft was not the motive, then.’

  ‘Something else impelled the killer to strike,’ said Peter. ‘He could have been exacting revenge, for instance, or settling an old score.’ He turned to Roe. ‘It was very sensible of you to come to us.’

  ‘Mr Bowerman spoke so highly of you,’ said the old man, addressing Paul, ‘that I felt obliged to come here. He had great faith in you, sir.’

  Paul shrugged. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect him.’

  ‘I feel the same. I’ll never forgive myself.’

  ‘The obvious suspect is his opponent in the duel,’ suggested Peter.

  ‘I agree, sir.’

  ‘I fancy that you’re both mistaken there,’ said Paul.

  ‘Are we?’ said Peter.

  ‘Stephen Hamer had his faults, I daresay, but he’s no back-stabber. He was an army man. He’d want the satisfaction of looking Mr Bowerman in the eyes before shooting him.’

  ‘You met the fellow, Paul. I didn’t. I accept your judgement.’

  ‘My master said he was a fiend in human form,’ said Roe, bitterly.

  ‘That would be going too far,’ said Paul. ‘What I saw during my brief acquaintance with him was an arrogant dandy who’d brush people brutally aside if they stood between him and his ambitions. Hamer would have welcomed a second duel and ensured that it was decisive.’

  ‘Did you ever meet the man, Mr Roe?’ asked Peter.

  ‘No, sir, and I had no wish to do so. What he did to my master was nothing short of torture. It was painful to watch.’

  Peter had heard most of the details from his brother. In the wake of his wife’s death, Mark Bowerman had largely withdrawn from society. The couple had been childless so he had no other family members living in the house. Fearing that he might turn into a hermit, a friend had invited him to a dinner at which he’d first met a young woman named Laetitia Somerville. In spite of the age gap, there’d been an instant attraction between them. It was not long before Bowerman formed a real attachment to her. He’d confided to Paul that he intended to propose marriage and that she’d already given him indications that she’d willingly accept the offer. Before the relationship could develop to that point, however, another admirer suddenly appeared and – with no encouragement at all from Miss Somerville – began to make overtures towards her. It was too much for Bowerman to bear. Haunted by the prospect that his happiness would be snatched away from him, he’d challenged the interloper to a duel. It was a matter of honour.

  Silas Roe added some information that was new to the brothers.

  ‘There were things I kept from Mr Bowerman,’ he confided. ‘He had enough preying on his mind as it was. So I dealt with the other matters and told the rest of the staff to say nothing to the master.’

  ‘What sort of things are you talking about?’ asked Paul.

  ‘It started with trespass. I heard someone walking in the garden at night. I frightened him away but he was back after a few days. This time he pushed a bench into the pond. I kept vigil after that and there was no trouble for a week. Then a trellis was pushed over and flower beds were trampled. I must have dozed off,’ said Roe, ‘because I didn’t hear a sound.’

  ‘They sound like acts of provocation,’ said Peter.

  ‘Yes, sir, they were, and Captain Hamer was behind them.’

  ‘Do you have any proof of that?’

  ‘No,’ admitted the other, ‘but I’ll wager anything that it was his doing.’

  ‘It was kind of you to protect your master like that.’

  ‘As it was,’ said Paul, ‘he didn’t need any more provocation. Hamer’s arrival was sufficiently aggravating in itself. When he saw how distressed Miss Somerville was by the man’s pursuit of her, Mr Bowerman confronted him.’

  The brothers were grateful that Roe had come to the gallery. Sad to hear of his master’s death, they were at the same time intrigued by the mystery surrounding it. Having been so closely involved with the man, Paul felt that he had a responsibility to look more closely into the circumstances of his murder. He thanked the old man for coming and assured him that he’d take on the investigation. Relieved to hear it, Roe gave him the name of the gardener who had found Bowerman’s corpse and the address of the house where he stumbled upon it. The butler then took his leave.

  Something puzzled Peter. He scratched his head.

  ‘You never actually met Miss Somerville, did you?’

  ‘No,’ replied Paul, ‘but I saw her clearly through Mr Bowerman’s eyes.’

  ‘They were somewhat blinkered by desire, I suspect.’

  ‘She is, reportedly, a very beautiful woman.’

  ‘That’s what interests me,’ said Peter, thoughtfully. ‘On one side, we have a jaded widower of middle years with – according to you – little physical appeal; on the other, there is a handsome former soldier who could cut a dash in any hostess’s ballroom. In every way, the two men are unequal. Why did this fabled beauty favour Mr Bowerman when a much younger suitor was at hand?’

  Bond Street was a fashionable promenade for the beau monde, a long strip of exclusive shops known for the quality of their stock and the steepness of their prices. The Runners had no time to stare in the windows or to mingle with the throng. Their destination was a neat double-fronted house in a side street off the main thoroughfare. Stephen Hamer’s house suggested money and good taste. Having come with the prospect of arresting a murderer, Yeomans and Hale were dismayed to discover that Hamer was not only absent but that, according to the servant who answered the door, he had spent the night in St Albans. Since he was due back later that morning, the Runners decided to wait. They were conducted into the butler’s pantry and asked to make themselves comfortable.

  Hale was worried. ‘If he’s been away from London all night,’ he said, ‘he couldn’t possibly have carried out the murder.’

  ‘Yes, he could,’ said Yeomans. ‘To begin with, we only have the word of his servant that he went to St Albans. That could well be an alibi devised by Hamer to throw us off the scent. And even if he did go there last night, he could have stabbed Mr Bowerman before he left. I think we’re sitting in the home of a killer, Alfred.’

  ‘That’s only supposition.’

  ‘It’s common sense. He wanted the man dead.’

  ‘Then why bother to go to all the trouble of a duel?’

  ‘It was a more formal way of committing murder.’

  ‘I’m not convinced, Micah.’

  ‘Well, I am and – more to the point – so is the chief magistrate.’

  ‘It won’t be the first time we’ve arrested the wrong man.’

  ‘Rely on my instinct. Has it ever let us down before?’

  The truthful answer was that it had but Hale lacked the courage to say so. Yeomans had a scorching temper when roused. It was safer to pretend to agree with him. The other Runner therefore kept his doubts to himself.

  ‘What about the lady in the case?’ he asked.

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘She may well be unaware of the murder of Mr Bowerman. I think that she has a right to be told at the earliest opportunity.’

  ‘We’ll call on her when we have Captain Hamer in custody.’

  ‘Suppose that he resists arrest?’

  Yeomans smirked. ‘One punch will take all the fight out of him.’

  The wait gave them time to slip out of the pantry and take a peep at the drawing room. It was high-ceilinged, well proportioned and filled with exquisite furniture. What commanded their attention was the portrait of Hamer above the fireplace. Dressed in the uniform of the Royal Horse Guards, he looked proud, haughty and resolute. When they eventually heard the clatter of hooves outside the window, they went quickly back to the pantry. It was not long before Hamer was admitted to the house by his servant.
Dressed in his riding attire, he sailed into the room, whip in hand. It was clear that he’d ridden some distance. There was thick dust on his boots and coat, and perspiration on his face. He looked from one to the other with contempt.

  ‘There’s no duel to prevent this time,’ he said, pointedly.

  ‘We’re here on a related matter,’ explained Yeomans. ‘Sometime yesterday evening, Mr Bowerman was murdered. We have reason to believe that you were responsible for his death.’

  ‘That’s a monstrous allegation!’

  ‘We must ask you to accompany us, sir.’

  ‘The pair of you can go to the Devil!’

  ‘Now, now,’ cautioned Hale, ‘respect our position. As Runners, we have a legal right to make an arrest.’

  ‘On what possible evidence are you making it?’

  ‘You had good reason to kill Mr Bowerman,’ said Yeomans.

  ‘I had an excellent reason but I would only have considered taking his life in the course of a duel. I’d never shoot him otherwise.’

  ‘He was stabbed to death, sir.’

  ‘There you are, then. Isn’t that irrefutable proof that I’m innocent of the charge? I didn’t even know how he died. Can you really imagine someone like me resorting to a dagger? It’s unthinkable. When he challenged me to a duel,’ said Hamer, ‘I gave him the choice of weapons – pistols or swords. Those are the weapons of a gentleman. Since neither of you will ever aspire to that status in society, you won’t understand the rules by which we operate.’

  ‘Our rules are much simpler,’ said Yeomans, stung by the insult. ‘When a crime is committed, we arrest the culprit.’

  ‘Then go off and find him, you oaf.’

  ‘We already have, Captain Hamer.’

  The Runner glared meaningfully at him. His companion, however, was already wavering. Hamer’s indignant denial had the ring of truth. Having arrested many villains in the course of his work, Alfred Hale had seen how they usually reacted. Most of them protested their innocence but few had ever done so with such blazing sincerity. He remembered the portrait above the fireplace. Could such a heroic individual stoop to a callous act of murder? It seemed impossible.