India Black and the Gentleman Thief

FOURTEEN


I felt a bit ragged the next morning. The sofa was not comfortable and I’d spent a sleepless night. My nerves had been further aggravated by Maggie, who’d been given a box in the corner (filled with a blanket from my bed, mind you) for her pups. Every time I’d rolled over, she’d lifted her head and growled at me. If I was going to occupy the sofa for the foreseeable future, we’d have to come to some sort of arrangement.

Vincent had stumped downstairs in a new pair of trousers run up by one of the girls, and eaten a massive breakfast. The marchioness had demanded her breakfast in bed, and I watched despairingly as Fergus heaped a tray with toast, boiled eggs, several rashers of bacon, porridge, deviled kidneys and a small beefsteak. At this rate, the coffers of Lotus House would be empty soon.

French arrived and he and Vincent and I climbed into the hansom French had left waiting at the curb. The ride to the War Office took some time as the streets were choked with omnibuses, cabs and carriages as the populace of the Big Smoke headed off to work. After a good half hour we were set down at the entrance and Vincent immediately sauntered off to prowl around the edges of the building, hoping to find a few common soldiers to share a smoke and a gossip.

French and I stopped first at the records office. The same six myopic clerks were bent over their desks, shuffling documents with alacrity. Six heads looked up at our entrance. French beckoned to the fellow who’d answered our previous enquiries.

“Good morning, Major. How may I be of service?” he asked.

French produced a folded sheet of paper from his breast pocket. “I have here a letter from the prime minister, authorizing me and Miss Black to make a full investigation of the late Colonel Mayhew’s death. I should like to see the colonel’s service record, please.”

The clerk read through the letter slowly. He inspected the seal at the bottom of the letter and rubbed a thumb over the wafer of sealing wax. He contrived to appear casual, though I doubt he was accustomed to reviewing correspondence from the prime minister. The clerk handed the letter back to French.

“It will be just a moment, sir,” he said, and scurried off to dig through a filing cabinet.

“Still flaunting that bogus letter?” I asked.

“On the contrary, this letter is real. I asked the prime minister to provide it when I saw him yesterday.”

The clerk returned with a thin folder of heavy paper stock. The flap was secured by a string looped through a metal tab attached to the folder.

“You shall have to sign for it, sir. There’s a room next door where you may review it. When you’re finished, please return it to me.”

The room to which we were directed was windowless and completely utilitarian, containing only a scarred oak desk, two chairs and a gaslight on the wall that flickered annoyingly. French hefted the folder as we sat down.

“There’s not much here.”

“Good. I can think of nothing more dull than reading someone’s service record.”


For the next several minutes we occupied ourselves turning over the thin sheets of paper in Colonel Mayhew’s file, reviewing the meticulous notes and copperplate writing of a generation of army clerks. It was riveting stuff. There were details of the colonel’s postings beginning from the date he’d graduated from Sandhurst, which had been approximately concurrent with the time Noah had commenced building the ark. There were itemized descriptions of the provisions issued to the colonel during his career, including the fascinating information that he’d once been trusted with a box of quill pens with steel nibs. He’d advanced steadily, but slowly, up the ranks, and his entire career had been spent making sure that our brave lads had salt beef and cartridges when they needed them. A model of rectitude, Colonel Mayhew. He’d never put a foot wrong in his army career.

“What a tedious life the man had,” I observed. “Trundling about from one drab army depot to another, all over Scotland, England and Wales. No wonder he turned to theft.”

French turned over the last sheet. “I didn’t expect to find anything here, but we needed to be thorough and go through his record. Let’s return this file and pay a visit to Mayhew’s second in command.”

Captain Welch was not pleased to see us, which was understandable given that his desk had disappeared under a mountain of paperwork, and several clerks and a few junior officers hovered anxiously in the background waiting for his signature. His pale blue eyes were red with exhaustion. His expression of exasperation turned sour when he saw us, but he composed himself and said he was very pleased to see the major and nodded briefly in my direction.

“You look very busy, Captain,” French said. “I take it Colonel Mayhew’s replacement has not been named yet?”

“He has been, sir. But he’s not due to arrive until tomorrow.”

“I’ve no doubt he’ll find everything to his satisfaction. You seem to have things well in hand.”

Captain Welch spared a small, gratified smile. “I do my duty, sir.”

“That is all any of us can do. I have my own duty, and I am sorry to tell you that I shall need a few minutes of your time.” French unfolded Dizzy’s letter and held it out to Welch.

The captain’s pink cheeks grew darker as he read. “Begging your pardon, sir, but I don’t understand. I thought you said that Scotland Yard was looking into the colonel’s death.”

“Inspector Allen was, but the investigation has uncovered some unpleasant facts about the colonel’s activities.”

Welch’s forehead wrinkled. “Unpleasant facts?”

French lowered his voice. “A large number of Martini-Henry rifles and a sizeable quantity of ammunition have been stolen from British armouries.”

“Good God!” Welch spluttered. He looked nervously at the chaps milling about the office and barked an order at them. “Come back in an hour’s time.”

I say, I’m going to have to send my tarts over to the War Office and let these military chaps instill a bit of discipline in them. I’d have given up a night’s earnings to have my bints display the unquestioning compliance of the poor sods who’d been waiting for Welch and now marched out without a word of complaint.

Welch swiped a hand across his forehead, removing the beads of sweat that had accumulated there. “I confess you have me at a disadvantage, Major. I’ve heard nothing of these thefts. Why haven’t I been notified by my superiors?”

French can be deuced tactful when he wants to be (that is to say, he can be tactful with everyone but yours truly) and he was courtesy itself as he explained how the thefts had come to light and how we had been deputed to get to the bottom of the whole sorry mess.

“When we spoke to you on the morning after the colonel’s murder, you told us that you had not noticed any sort of change in the colonel’s demeanour recently.”

“I had not. He seemed much the same as usual to me.”

“You’re quite certain of that?”

Welch put a hand to his face and stroked his chin, his eyes on the wall behind us while he thought the matter over. “Well,” he said, “It may not mean much, but there was something.”

“Yes?”

He hesitated. “I feel ridiculous mentioning this. It was only a small thing.”

“Go on.”

“The colonel did seem a bit secretive about something, almost furtive. It wasn’t much, really. I just walked into the office once or twice and he put whatever he was reading into the drawer and shut it. I didn’t think much of it at the time. There might have been money problems, or perhaps an issue with the family.” Welch glanced obliquely at me. “The colonel, er, might well have been involved with a woman.”

“I can see that you did not feel comfortable confronting him about his behaviour.”

“Good Lord, no. I shouldn’t have dreamed of intruding into the man’s personal life. And I had no reason at all to think that his actions were related to his duties.”

“Quite.” French changed tack. “Did he appear to have come into money recently? Did he gamble or indulge himself with whisky or cigars?” French was careful, I noted, to exclude whores from that list of vices.

“He always seemed an upright gentleman to me, save for the incidents I just described to you.” Welch mopped his brow again. “Can you tell me how the guns were stolen? We have procedures, you see, and they’re rigorous. I don’t understand how this could have happened.”

“It appears that Colonel Mayhew complied with the procedures. He had the authority to sign any orders transferring the weapons, and that is what he did. What was irregular was the destination of the weapons. They were removed from the armouries and delivered to a private company, which was nothing more than a front for criminals.”

“Captain,” I said, “you told us that you handled the colonel’s correspondence and draughted orders for his signature.”

Welch bristled. His face flushed a rich crimson. “I hope you’re not implying that I assisted the colonel in these thefts. I am appalled at the suggestion.”

“My dear fellow, she is suggesting nothing of the sort.” French poured a bit of oil on troubled waters. “We are merely pursuing an investigation, and it is necessary to ask some unpleasant questions.”

Much as it chaps me to have to cater to the sensitivities of others, I assumed an emollient manner. “You are obviously a very busy man, Captain. I was simply trying to ascertain whether the colonel had asked you to prepare an order authorizing the delivery of weapons to this private company. You might have noticed such instructions among the dozens of orders you must see each day.”

Welch drew himself up to his full height, which was not impressive. His voice was firm, however. “Certainly I would have noticed. That is such an egregious breach of policy that it would have leapt out at me.”

“The colonel had the final authority to sign off on all transfers of munitions? Was his signature subject to review by a superior?” French asked.

“Indeed it would be.” Welch grinned humourlessly at French. “This is the army, after all. Of course the colonel’s superiors in the department could have looked at any of the correspondence from this office, but they would not have done so as a matter of routine. The department is audited annually, and any questionable issues would be resolved at that time.”


“When was the last audit?”

“Nearly a year ago.”

“A review would have turned up nothing,” I said. “I can hardly imagine that Mayhew left a copy of these suspicious orders lying about for anyone to find.”

French asked to look at the colonel’s desk, and the long-suffering Captain Welch stood aside while French pawed through the contents. French established himself in the chair just vacated by the captain and took his time going through the drawers. Welch paced fitfully during this procedure, and I gazed out the window and indulged in some serious rumination. At last, French was satisfied that he’d examined every nook and cranny. I tilted my head and he shook his and I knew he hadn’t found a thing of interest.

“We need a sample of the colonel’s handwriting,” I said. “Can you provide us one, Captain Welch?”

The beleaguered fellow rooted around until he produced a piece of paper that he deemed appropriate for us to remove from the office. It was a scrawled note from the colonel to the captain, reminding him that the garrison at Shorncliffe was running low on tinned sardines and asking if the captain would take care of the matter immediately. I thanked him prettily and we strode out into the fresh air. Vincent was waiting for us on the pavement.

“Any joy?” he asked.

I looked round for a cab. “The captain thought the colonel was furtive.”

“Does that mean the colonel was worried ’bout something?”

“No, it means the colonel was acting as if he had something to hide.”

“Oh.” Vincent chewed his lip.

“What is it?”

“I ’ad a word wif a guard—”

“How did you manage that?”

“’E was off duty, ’avin’ a smoke round back.” Vincent waved a hand impatiently. “Anyway, I was tellin’ you wot this bloke tole me and ’e says the colonel had worked ’imself into a lather of late. Somethin’ was worryin’ the colonel dreadful-like.”

“That doesn’t jibe with what Captain Welch had to say,” French mused.

“Do we believe an officer of the army or a chap who stands in a sentry box and has a smoke with Vincent?” I asked.

“’Ere, now. There’s no cause for that,” said Vincent.

“I didn’t mean to be impolite. I’ve had a lot of experience with military gents, and they’re just as likely to lie as the average costermonger. My money’s on the guard. Something about Welch rubbed me the wrong way.”

“What?” asked French.

“He only remembered the colonel’s shifty ways when you pressed him. He didn’t mention that the first time we talked to him. And he also said that he draughted all the colonel’s correspondence and so forth. You saw the amount of paper on the captain’s desk. The colonel must have been just as busy.”

“You appear to be trying to make a point and taking a deuced long time to do it.”

“My point is this: Do you think the colonel signed every bit of paper that left that office? I’d wager that the captain signed a few orders himself, only he didn’t sign his own name. He signed Mayhew’s.”

“You think Welch may be involved?”

“It might explain why Mayhew was killed. He might have stumbled onto Welch’s perfidy and was trying to collect the evidence to nab the captain. That could be the reason Mayhew sent the bill of lading to Lotus House for safekeeping.”

“Surely Welch wouldn’t have been so careless as to leave the bill lying about for Colonel Mayhew to find.”

“Probably not, but if the colonel was suspicious he might have gone through Welch’s desk or his case and found the bill.”

French reached up and tapped on the roof of the cab. The driver pulled to the side. French lowered the window and stuck out his head.

“Back to the War Office,” he said. He settled back into his seat. “Vincent, have another word with your friend the guard and see what he can tell us about Welch.”

We wound our way back through the traffic and lurched to a stop outside the War Office. I was getting heartily sick of the place by now and prayed that we wouldn’t have to paw through any more dusty files today. I prefer action. I’ll take a sword fight or a bit of gunplay any day of the week over reading spidery handwriting. Vincent tumbled out of the hansom and disappeared around the corner of the building.

French and I sat for several minutes while he drummed his fingers on his knee. I was about to inform him that this behaviour was highly annoying and should be stopped immediately when Vincent yanked open the door of the cab. He climbed inside with a smug expression on his face.

“I fink you’re goin’ to like this,” he said. “My friend says Captain Welch is a nasty little bastard. ’E says ’e wouldn’t piss on ’im if ’e was on fire and most everybody feels the same.”

“That doesn’t make him a criminal,” I said.

“No,” conceded Vincent. “But the guard says the captain ’as started to strut around like a rooster. ’E bought himself a gold watch that ’e flashes about, and ’e’s ’avin’ ’is uniforms custom-made.”

“How does the guard know that?”

“’Cause ’e was on duty the day they was delivered.”

“That’s not unusual,” I said. “Just ask French. He has a closet full of tailored uniforms.”

“Yeah, but the captain ain’t got a rich family. The guard reckons ’e’s come into some money lately.”

I was skeptical. “That’s weak, Vincent.”

“But it’s suggestive.” French leaned out and gave the driver the address of Lotus House. “And we haven’t many leads to follow.”

“Any leads,” I corrected him.

“Then we’ll chase Captain Welch for a while and see what we can learn about the man.”

Upon our return to Lotus House, Vincent said he felt peckish and shot off to the kitchen to see if there were any sides of beef left lying about. French and I adjourned to the study for a discussion, which was not going to be a private one as the marchioness was lounging on the sofa, sipping a whisky and going through my accounts.

I whisked the ledger from her hands as I stalked past.

“That belongs to me, and I do not remember giving you permission to look at it.”

“Weel, now. Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this mornin’.”

“Correction. I got up on the wrong side of the sofa. And since there’s only one side of the sofa from which to rise, I expect I’ll be in a foul mood until a certain someone vacates my bed and leaves me in peace. When are you returning to Scotland? Doesn’t the present Marquess of Tullibardine need you there to chivvy him along? Aren’t the deerhounds pining away for you?”

The marchioness ignored my questions. “Pass me my snuff box, dear.”

I summoned Fergus to minister to Her Ladyship’s needs.

Vincent wandered in, brushing crumbs from his coat, and went immediately to check on the litter of pups. “Oi! Their eyes are open.”

The marchioness beamed proudly. “Indeed they are. They’ll be up soon and scamperin’ about.”

“When they walk, they travel.” I was going to have to be firm about that. I couldn’t have a passel of pups underfoot. As it was, my first-class brothel seemed to have metamorphosed into a combination of boarding house, hospital and kennel.


It was time for a council of war among French, Vincent, me and, since she showed no signs of stirring from her seat, the marchioness.

“Let us review what we know,” said French. I only stayed in my seat because I knew it would be a short recitation, as we knew very little indeed.

“We haven’t much to go on,” French said.

“Only the word of a guard who thinks the colonel was a deuced fine fellow, if a trifle distracted, and that Captain Welch is a bastard of the first water who’s recently acquired a few coins to rub together.”

“The latter is at least subject to verification.” French lit a cheroot and lay back in his chair. “I will make some discreet enquiries into the fellow’s background and finances. I’m reluctant to go through the usual channels at the War Office, for fear he might find out that we’re checking up on him. The records office is right below his office, and it would take only one slip from one of the clerks there to alert Welch.”

I was not sanguine about French’s enquiries. If Welch was a wrong ’un, he’d probably have been drummed out of the service long ago. I said as much to French.

“Agreed,” said French. “I doubt that I’ll find anything that implicates Welch, but I may find some connections.”

Vincent had been listening closely to the conversation. “Wot do you want me to do?”

“I’ve an important job for you, providing you’re feeling well enough to do it.”

“’Course I am.” Vincent bounded up and dropped the puppy he’d been holding into my lap. Then he engaged in a heated round of athletic maneuvers, hurdling chairs and hopping on his injured leg. “See?”

“That grimace when you put your weight on your bad leg?” I asked. “Yes, I saw that.”

Vincent shot me a dark look and then turned a pleading face to French. “I’m alright, guv. Really I am.”

“I doubt the work will be that strenuous. In fact, it may involve a good deal of sitting around and waiting.”

“You want me to follow this Welch chap?” Vincent practically quivered with delight.

“I do. And if you have to enlist a few of your friends to help you, I’ll pay the usual rate.”

I hate surveillance as it is almost as dull as listening to a parliamentary debate on agricultural policy, and I was therefore glad to hear this plan.

“India and I have spent too much time with Welch. It would be difficult for us to follow him without being spotted. I think it’s best if we leave this to you, Vincent.”

“And what shall I do?” I asked.

“For the moment, nothing at all. I’ll get in touch with my contacts and Vincent can follow Welch when he leaves the office tonight.”

I know what you’re thinking—that I should kick and scream and throw a royal tantrum at being left out of the picture. I’ve asserted on many occasions that women are just as, if not more, capable than men at this government agent business and to be told to stay home by French while the boys handled matters should have resulted in at least a tongue-lashing for the poncy bastard, if not outright violence to his person. But (and follow this bit closely now) my willingness to let French have a yammer with his old army buddies and some bank managers and to allow Vincent to stay up all night trailing Welch around London is direct proof of female superiority. While they were running around the filthy streets of the city I’d be tucked up at Lotus House, albeit with several unwanted guests (I include the dogs in this category), and that suited me fine. I needed to pay some attention to my business for if I was not careful I’d come back one day from playing spy and find the marchioness had pitched up in London for good, the collies had popped out more litters and the whores had eschewed their regular duties and were camped out in the study, inhaling snuff with the old bag. Consequently, I was more than happy to let the blokes do the heavy lifting for a bit. I’d weigh in with strategic insights and tactical suggestions as needed. In the meantime, I needed to wrest control of my kingdom from some liver-spotted, blue-veined hands.

? ? ?

It was a deuced fine plan, but after several days of living cheek by jowl with the marchioness, Fergus, four dogs and a litter of pups whose number I never did ascertain, my nerves were stretched as tight as a Mongol’s bow. I had some small successes, notably in rescuing my ledger from the marchioness and stowing it away in my desk under lock and key. The key I strung on a gold chain and wore around my neck. I reckoned that I had flummoxed the old crone until I found her using a hairpin to probe the lock on the drawer. I banished Maggie and the pups to the kitchen and told the marchioness that if any dogs were seen in any part of the house frequented by customers, she’d have to collect the animal from the nearest taxidermist. I had a devil of a time whipping the tarts back into shape. They’d developed some very bad habits under the marchioness, sashaying into my study and plopping down on the furniture for a natter. I set that to rights, but not without some complaints from the girls. That’s what comes of being lenient with employees. Pretty soon they start to think they have the right to lounge around drinking tea instead of lying on their backs and before you know it, they’ll have formed a union   and demanded a reduction of hours and an increase in pay. It’s shocking, the things business owners have to put up with these days.

It did not help that French and Vincent blew in at odd hours of the day and night to discuss Welch’s latest movements, looking self-important and chattering at each other like two parrots while they absentmindedly thanked me for the sandwiches and brandy I handed to them. After a week with the marchioness and the canines, the prospect of slogging about the city while keeping an eye on Captain Welch was beginning to sound attractive.

The captain was a very busy man. Vincent had been forced to enlist a few of his friends to help keep track of Welch as he flitted from brothel to gaming house to theatre. Or so he said; knowing Vincent as I do I reckoned that the little heathen had just invented a few foot soldiers and was collecting a healthy sum from Her Majesty’s government. In any event, every minute that Welch was off duty he was gallivanting about, playing cards and watching cockfights, dropping in at various music halls and visiting the city’s best establishments.

French had shared with us the few scraps of information he’d discovered about Welch. The captain had had an undistinguished career in the army, due partly to the fact that he was not the most diligent of men in the service, and partly to the fact that he was loathed by his superiors.

“What’s wrong with the chap?” I asked.

“His fellow officers think he’s common.” French had the grace to look a trifle sheepish. “It’s hard for a fellow to fit in if he didn’t go to the right school or doesn’t come from a good family. Welch’s father was a schoolmaster and a lay preacher. Captain Welch found those origins difficult to overcome. And his own personality didn’t help matters any. He’s always been considered a dull dog by his fellow officers, though they all describe his rather desperate attempts to run with the rest of the pack. Unfortunately, he’s one of those unlucky chaps who gets bullied and ragged and develops a kind of servile, cringing attitude as a result. Of course that means the bullying just gets worse. The fellows in his regiment were glad to see him transferred into the quartermaster general’s office.”


“He didn’t cringe when we met him.”

“No, he did not. It appears that Captain Welch has adopted a new persona in the last few months. He’s become quite the lad. When he’s off duty he spends his time mingling with the fancy at prizefights and dining at the finest restaurants in the city. He’s developed a fondness for champagne and women, and he’s purchased a box at the opera. His transformation is the talk of the department.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s interesting. Would this transformation have begun at the same time as the theft of the rifles?”

“It did. The captain, being the sort of friendless chap who’s always the butt of every joke, couldn’t resist trying to ingratiate himself with his fellow officers. He’s been inviting them out to dinner and the theatre and footing the bill. I’ve learned where he banks and persuaded the manager there to let me see the captain’s account. Large amounts of money have been deposited into it over the last few months.”

“That explains where he got the dosh. No one thought to question how a captain from humble origins could afford to treat his fellow officers so well?”

“Captain Welch has frequently alluded to the generosity of a maiden aunt, recently deceased.”

“That old dodge. He really isn’t very bright, is he?”

“No. I think further proof of that, if we needed any, is that he’s going on about his business just as though Mayhew hadn’t been murdered and we hadn’t been round to his office asking questions. You’d have thought all the ruckus would have sent him scurrying for cover. Everyone else has.”

“You mean the three thugs who accosted us, and Philip.”

“It is odd that Welch has remained behind. With Mayhew dead and the government investigating, surely the scheme can’t be resurrected. Welch is a fool to stay at the department.”

“Agreed. Unless he’s been ordered to stay, by someone who wants to know how the investigation is proceeding.”

“Dear me, India. Sometimes the subtlety of your reasoning amazes me.”

“Do I detect sarcasm in your tone?”

“Only a smidgen. I think it obvious Welch has been ordered to remain at the War Office.”

“The question is, by whom?”

“If we find that man, we find the villain behind the whole scheme.”

Vincent had been listening to our conversation with an expression of perplexity. “’Anged if I ain’t lost. Was Mayhew stealin’ the rifles, or is Welch the one we’re after?”

“I don’t know about Mayhew,” said French. “Given what we’ve learned about Welch, I’m inclined to think that he’s been forging Mayhew’s signature and the colonel was innocent.”

“Then why don’t you ’ave Welch arrested?”

“The captain is bright enough to forge a signature, but I doubt that he put this scheme together himself. More likely he was approached by someone else, someone who has contacts in Ganipur and arranged the sale of the rifles to the rajah there. That’s the man we need to find. If Welch is arrested, the organizer will just find another means to acquire the weapons.”

“It seems a risk, leaving Welch at the office. If he’s threatened with arrest or court martial, he might reveal the names of the others who are involved.”

“He might not know their true names. And I expect that if the leader of this gang believes Welch is about to crumble and confess to his role in the thefts, then Welch will get the Mayhew treatment.”

I shivered, remembering the gore in Mayhew’s room. “If I were Welch I’d be quivering in my boots.”

“Welch seems singularly unimaginative to me. He may not feel himself in any danger. He certainly doesn’t appear to be afraid.”

“Then he’s a fool.”

“Money is a great solace. As long as it’s coming in, I doubt Welch permits himself to think that things could go wrong for him.”