The Thief of Hearts Read online

  She ignored Margaret’s call and let the cafe door slam closed behind her while she buttoned her slate grey coat. She followed Black from a discreet distance, training her eyes on him. He wore a dusky blue greatcoat and a bright chartreuse scarf, making him easy to spot in the crowd.

  Wherever he was going, he was focused about it. Not once did he look back, nor did he look about. He was a man with a purpose. He did not linger to look in the shops. He ignored the Christmas displays and the carollers on the corner.

  Once in royal David’s city,

  Stood a lowly cattle shed,

  Where a mother laid her Baby,

  In a manger for His bed:

  Mary was that mother mild,

  Jesus Christ, her little Child.

  The second verse of the carol was snatched by the wind as she followed him through St James Park and past Buckingham Palace.

  So far they had walked a mile west of Westminster. Her shoes were comfortable enough for the job but the pace he set was making her insteps ache. She gritted her teeth against the discomfort and continued on Buckingham Palace Road, tucking her violet coloured scarf around her neck to stop the blasts of cold air running down the back of her collar.

  The grand Grosvenor Hotel emerged from the fog in front of her. The imposing gothic architecture rose high. The dozens of chimneys spanning its roof top belched smoke in the mission to keep the hotel’s occupants warm. As she glanced up, the clock on the central pediment rang out the third hour of the afternoon.

  Caro’s heart pounded in her chest, and it wasn’t all from the exertion.

  That’s where he must be meeting his contact, his – what’s the word? – his fence. It was perfectly logical, she reasoned. With Victoria Station below the hotel, all the thief had to do was deliver the diamonds. His contact could pick a ticket from any one of the railway companies there, and be away back to the continent before Scotland Yard could act.

  Caro glanced up. It was starting to snow again. She pressed on through the crowd, catching a flash of Black’s brightly coloured scarf as he entered the station portico. A moment later she welcomed the embrace of the wide expanse of awning that sheltered passengers from the increasingly inclement weather.

  She paused to see which of the entrances he favoured.

  Black wasn’t heading for the hotel. He veered right to enter the terminus hall.

  He was heading for one of the ticket counters, but which one? She would have to get closer if she was going to follow him. Caro gathered up her courage like a hen with her wayward chicks and held it close.

  She was so near! If she reached out her hand she could touch his back. The temptation to do so was enormous. But what if he were to turn around and see her? What excuse could she offer except her suspicion that he really was The Phantom?

  How far should she follow him? He proved himself to be charming and helpful this afternoon, but she knew nothing of him except the certainty he could be dangerous too. What if he was meeting with his gang? What should she do then?

  “First class single to Brighton,” she heard him say. That was miles away! How on earth did he expect to get there, conduct his business and then get back for his performance?

  Caro watched the yellow slip of paper pass through the ticket window. Black turned left. Caro’s heart pounded.

  I’m losing him!

  There, the bright green scarf! She saw him descending the stairs down to the platform.

  “One platform ticket please, the Brighton line,” she said without looking at the man in the booth.

  Caro passed over a halfpenny, grabbed the ticket and hurried after him.

  The sounds were loud here, with passengers embarking and disembarking, the chuffing plumes of smoke and vapour, the piercing sound of the whistle as boilers on the monstrous locomotives built up a head of steam. A train had just arrived on the platform. She was pressed against a tide of humanity ascending the stairs. Between shoulders and hats she could see he was already on the platform. She had to reach him.

  Caro finally obtained the last step and pushed her way through. Equal numbers of people were now embarking on to the train bound for Brighton. Caro stood on tip toes, looking for the distinctive scarf.

  A loud sharp whistle sounded to her left. Caro winced, putting a hand to her ear. The ringing stopped, replaced by the sound of the train screeching and huffing its way from the station. As it picked up speed, Caro wondered whether she’d caught a flash of green on one of the passengers on board or whether it was simply the light from the signal box reflected in the carriage window.

  She walked from one end of the platform to the other and felt the crushing disappointment of defeat. She had lost him. The one clue she had, and she lost it. Her sympathy with her uncle grew exponentially. Sleuthing was a lot more exhausting than the detective novels made it out to be.

  By now, the platform was nearly deserted. Porters rested against their trolleys, smoking cigarettes and enjoying a few minutes respite before the madness started all over again with the arrival of the next train.

  There was nothing more for it. Caro would have to go back home and explain her strange behaviour to Margaret -- and potentially worse still, her parents. The clock on the platform showed twenty minutes to four and Caro had the niggling feeling there was somewhere she had to be at that hour but for the life of her she couldn’t remember what it was.

  Rather than trudging the two miles back in dark, dank conditions on the street, she decided the wisest thing to do would be to take the train back to Charing Cross. Feeling somewhat dispirited after her adventure, she turned to trudge up the stairs when something at the foot of the stairs beside a rubbish bin caught her eye.

  She looked about to ensure she was unobserved before dipping down and picking it up.

  It was a chartreuse coloured scarf.

  ***

  The day had turned to black by the time she reached New Scotland Yard located on the Victoria Embankment. The lamp lighters had done their work and the dirty yellow streetlamps glowed valiantly against the gloom. It was enough to illuminate the banded red brick and white Portland stone building ahead.

  A large blue lamp glowed showing the entrance to the police station. Caro patted the scarf which she had stuffed into the long pocket of her coat and entered. She drew near to the counter and an expression of caution crossed the face of the sergeant on duty. The middle-aged man looked her up and down. Caro supposed he was deciding whether she was villain or victim.

  “My name is Caroline Addison. I’d like to see Detective Inspector Walter Addison, please.”

  The man frowned and rubbed his whiskers.

  “I’m his niece,” she prompted.

  That elicited a reaction. The sergeant turned to a bank of speaking tubes on the wall behind. He picked up one of the black hoses and blew a whistle attached to the brass trumpet at the end of the hose. A few moments later, a muffled voice emerged from the contraption.

  The sergeant threw a glance over his shoulder before speaking into the device. Then he put it to his ear to it and listened, and nodded before hanging up the tube on its brass hook.

  “Wait here,” he said to Caro. He turned his attention to a large ledger and proceeded to completely ignore her presence.

  A few moments later she heard the sound of booted feet descending two at a time on a staircase hidden behind two large oak doors.

  When they opened, Caro was not at all surprised to see a young, fresh faced constable.

  The sergeant didn’t bother to look up.

  “Take the young miss here up to see Chief Inspector Addison, Jenkins.”

  “Follow me, Miss,” the young man instructed.

  And she duly did, to the first floor and then along a corridor with offices either side. In each door was a glass panel painted with the name of its occupant. Some of these rooms were dark, their doors closed, the staff out for the afternoon.

  She followed Constable Jenkins to an office where the light shone brightly. The door
was ajar. She waited to one side as the constable knocked on the door and announced her presence from the doorway.

  He stood aside and Caro took that as an invitation to enter.

  “Uncle, thank you for seeing me,” she said, even as she passed through the doorway and strode up to his desk. “I know this is highly unusual, but I need to tell you something; something about The Phantom case.”

  Uncle Walter sat behind his desk, but he had an odd expression on his face. She was about to ask him about it when she observed he was not alone.

  Lounging rather comfortably on an upholstered chair to one side of the office was Tobias Black.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Caro looked at her uncle who frowned and then back at Tobias Black who did not – instead the man gave her a Cheshire cat grin.

  “It seems introductions are superfluous,” Uncle Walter observed.

  “Yes, we have met,” she said before her voice trailed off.

  She watched him and waited. Waited for him to tell her uncle about her questions at the theatre... waited for him to say she had accused him of being The Phantom. Her throat dried up.

  Instead, he stood, stepped forward and clasped her hand for a moment.

  “Miss Addison and I first met at the Gilfroy's ball, Inspector.”

  “Ah, yes.” Uncle Walter nodded absently, now turning his attention back to Caro.

  “Now what's this about important information about The Phantom?”

  Caro watched Tobias's reaction carefully. He didn't seem to be nervous. Instead, his attention to her was openly curious.

  What could she say? That she was about to accuse the man of being The Phantom himself?

  Her theory had seemed sound enough. If it takes a magician to rob a locked jewellery shop and leave no trace, then she'd present Scotland Yard with a magician.

  Here was a man with the means – Tobias Black was a master of sleight of hand. The motive was perfectly self-evident – those diamonds were worth a king's ransom. And the opportunity? The Barrington Arcade robbery took place overnight. The only people who could be around that late at night and not arouse suspicion were the performers at the Palladian Theatre across the road from the arcade.

  It made sense. Perfect sense. She had spent a great deal of time formulating her theory. But now that the prime suspect was before her...

  She prised her tongue from the arid roof of her mouth before answering.

  “Sawdust.”

  She nearly laughed to see the comical astonishment on both men's faces. If the thought and the word had not struck her like a bolt from the blue a split second before it leapt from her mouth, she might have seen the funny side herself.

  “It's been bothering me ever since we looked in the jeweller's workshop, uncle,” she said.

  “The apprentice claimed he swept the floor before leaving that night and yet when we were there in the morning, there was a sprinkling of sawdust all over the workroom floor.

  “I've been wondering where it might have come from and I can only think of one place–”

  “–The ceiling.”

  Caro turned to Tobias and nodded. “Yes, the ceiling. But...” She paused, frowning.

  “But what?”

  “I can’t imagine how they did it.”

  “Did you look at the ceiling?”

  “Umm...” Caro suddenly realised she hadn’t given it a glance. The connection with the sawdust had only just come to her; how could she admit she hadn’t even looked up once?

  Tobias released her from her dilemma by turning immediately to Uncle Walter.

  “Did you examine it, Inspector?”

  “Examine it? No. It’s a high ceiling. It would take a tall man on top of a six foot stepladder just to touch it. But I did look up at it. There were no holes cut through it.”

  “Can you describe it to me, Inspector?”

  Walter leaned back in his chair and looked up at the plaster ceiling of his office. “A bit nicer than mine,” he said. “It matched the ceiling in the shop – wooden beams and panels. What’s that type called?”

  “Coffered?” suggested Caro.

  “Yes, that’s it – it was a coffered ceiling. Oak perhaps. Dark, anyway, from the work lamps. Square panels.”

  Caro watched Tobias bridge his fingers together and touch his lips. His brow furrowed a moment before the expression turned to one of elation.

  “Now that makes perfect sense, Inspector! Our thief breaks into the office above the jewellery store, removes some floorboards, cuts out a ceiling panel from above and lowers himself down. He opens the safe, takes the diamond butterfly and closes the safe, hauls himself up to the office, replaces the panel and leaves.”

  Tobias smiled at Caro. “It’s a bit like a trapdoor trick, actually.”

  She blushed and was thankful her uncle was looking down as he packed his pipe. He nodded thoughtfully.

  “That's not something to be done in one night. We'll take a closer look at that ceiling and ask the beadles on watch if they noticed anything unusual in the days prior to the robbery, trespassers on the second floor – that type of thing.

  “Does that fit with the men you have under surveillance, Tobias?”

  Caro frowned. ”Surveillance?”

  Uncle Walter smiled at her.

  “I think you and Tobias need to be properly introduced.”

  “Caroline, this is Captain Tobias Black, formerly of the South Lancashire Regiment, First Battalion. He's been helping us narrow down the hunt for The Phantom for the past two weeks.”

  ***

  At the sound of the front door bell, Caro gulped down her cup of tea, nearly scalding her mouth. Considering she was far too excited to sleep last night, the pain at least ensured she was wide awake for the early morning caller.

  Her mother watched her most unladylike behaviour and set down the newspaper.

  “Caroline! Where are you going? You promised to help me plan the menu for Christmas dinner. And you missed a call from Albert yesterday. He is such a nice young man and he likes you enough to call. You need to pay attention to these things if you’re ever to attract a suitor. I don't know where your mind is, my girl!”

  Indeed, her mother was cross today and Caro supposed she could not blame her. There was family on Father's side coming from Wales to spend Christmas and Mother did not like them much.

  Caro remembered her grumbling about the very same topic last Christmas. “Singing, they're always singing,” she typically complained.

  At the sound of Uncle Walter’s voice in the hallway, Caro stepped around her mother's chair, placed her hands on the older woman’s shoulders and kissed her on the cheek.

  “I promise to call on Bertie this afternoon and apologise for missing our appointment,” she said.

  “Better,” the older woman said, somewhat mollified.

  “Ready?” asked Walter from the drawing room doorway.

  Caro’s mother turned to look up at her brother-in-law.

  “Really, Walter, is this type of thing suitable for a young girl? Running around with ruffians and miscreants...”

  “Caro is a responsible young woman and will be with me, Estelle. She’ll be perfectly safe,” he replied evenly. “Besides, with her law studies and keen eye for detail, I might recommend the Chief Constable makes her a special deputy.”

  Uncle Walter winked at Caro, who could barely cover her amusement. Her mother, on the other hand, was appalled.

  “Women as detectives? I never heard such a ridiculous thing in all my days. You’re filling her head with nonsense,” she said. “Between you and her father encouraging all sorts of strange notions, you’ll spoil her for a sensible life.”

  At that, Uncle Walter must have decided discretion was the better part of valour when it came to his sister-in-law and he wisely elected to say nothing more.

  Caro kissed her mother on the cheek once again.

  “A sensible life is overrated, maman.”

  Her mother squeezed her arm and retur
ned the gesture, whispering softly, “You know I only want the best for you, darling.”

  Caro gave her a small smile and left.

  Tobias Black was talking to one of the arcade’s beadles when they arrived. There was something mesmerising about Black and Caro wondered what it was. There was an air of authority he seemed to wear as comfortably as his smartly tailored coat for a start.

  That he had been an Army Captain should have come as no surprise. He must have gone to the academy at Woolwich or perhaps Sandhurst College. That meant he must come from a well-to-do family. Perhaps grandmother might know them?

  Caro stopped herself right there – she was beginning to sound like her mother.

  In the pocket of her grey-blue coat was Tobias’s scarf. She ran her fingers through it. She would return it to him when he explained how he managed to evade her at Victoria Station.

  The jeweller, Mr Hargreaves, was only too pleased to let the Inspector and his party into his workshop – anything to help the police with their enquiries, particularly if it meant his showpiece diamond butterfly brooch would be returned.

  Caro watched Tobias looking up at the coffered oak ceiling as a policeman stood by with the stepladder he had carried in. At length, Tobias directed the constable to stand the ladder in one spot. The constable steadied it as Tobias climbed to the top and stretched up, running a fingertip along the inside edge of the sunken panel within one coffer.

  Peering up to where he touched, Caro suddenly perceived a slight line of honey-coloured oak along one edge undarkened by the years of soot from the work lamps. Tobias pushed against the centre of the panel and it lifted slightly. He let it fall back into place.

  “This panel has been removed from above,” he said. “It’s only obvious when you’re up close to it. It seems Miss Addison’s theory is correct.”

  “But how did they do it?” Mr Hargreaves’s apprentice asked.

  “Good question,” Tobias responded, “We’re going to need access to the office upstairs to find out.”

  “That’s the solicitors office,” offered the beadle, “but they’re away.”