The Lost Inheritance Mystery Page 5

Furtive snorted. "Like heck he did. He sees this hunchback armed with a tiny blade, which by the look of its dull edge won't pierce the skin of a tomato, his men fully armed; some with more than one weapon, no way is he gonna back down. He tells Crakett exactly that and orders his men to kill the intruder." Furtive paused to sip his drink and puff on the cigar.

  Butler, keen to hear the outcome, bade Furtive to continue.

  "What happened next still remains a bit of a mystery. Crakett is attacked by thirty men and when the clash of steel, gunshots and screams of mortal agony fall to silence, the boss stares at the cloud of dust raised by the fight. When it clears, the only two men alive in the room are the boss and Crakett."

  "He killed them all!"

  "He sure did and only with his little fruit-knife. Anyway, Finnigan is shocked, anyone would be who had just witnessed such a devastating event. He stares at Crakett holding that tiny knife, now stained with the blood of his dead men, and Crakett standing there casually with his foot on the head of the Finnigan's second in command. Beside him is a neat pyramid formed out of the heads cut from his men, but it don't end in a point, there's one head missing and it ain't been left for the one Crakett has his foot on. If Finnigan weren't happy before, he's damn livid now. His gang of murderous cutthroats took a long time to assemble and he knows he can't just go and pick such fine men off the street. So, as to be expected, he rises from his throne― actually a moldy old armchair with a grandiose name― pulls out a pistol with one hand and a pirate sword believed to have once belonged to Blackbeard, and slowly like, he climbs down the steps towards the man responsible for killing his men…" Furtive suddenly stopped.

  "Go on, don't stop now. What happened next?"

  "Sorry, I told yer there was a mystery attached, that be all I know. I was in an inn at the time listening to the story, but had to scarper when someone, a vicious sort mind yer, make no mistake about that, who had a grudge against yours truly, entered. As soon as he laid eyes on me he drew a knife, a lot, lot, bigger than Crakett's fruit cutting utensil. In fact, it was so big the long shadow it cast enabled me to creep away and out the door unseen. The result is I never did hear the end of that tale."

  Butler was more than a little dismayed. "The only mystery I can see is why you would start a story you don't know the finish of?"

  Furtive shrugged. "Even lacking an ending it's still a great story. Crakett obviously survived, equally obvious is that he killed the boss, cut off his head and stuck it on top of the gruesome pyramid."

  "No! You can't assume that. Maybe the boss escaped or they came to some sort of arrangement?"

  "Unlikely. From what I've heard…"

  "…Which again probably isn't the full story."

  Furtive ignored the interruption. "From what I've heard, Crakett Murdersin ain't the arrangement making type when it comes ter anyone he has a grievance against."

  The two men sat in silence for a few moments.

  Butler broke the pause in conversation. "Even though you are aware of how dangerous Crakett is, and his unforgiving revengeful nature, you have no concerns about impersonating him?"

  "I wouldn't say I am concern free, but I assume yer have a plan ter handle the situation, because if I am in danger then so is yerself and the old man."

  "The plan I have devised, though not risk free, is rather a good one," Butler stated proudly.

  Furtive grinned. "Cunning plan, is it?"

  "So cunning you could stick a tail on it and call it a weasel. Do you want to hear it?"

  "It's probably important to a successful outcome that I do."

  "Sebastian has been in contact with Crakett Murdersin, who's currently lodged in The Beggar's Arms hotel in Whitechapel. I have a man watching him and have bribed the inn-keeper to intercept all correspondence he receives. What we have learnt so far is that Sebastian plans to steal Ebenezer's painting in five days time on the night of the Christmas Eve annual ball, which is held a couple of miles away at Havasham Manor. Both Sebastian and Ebenezer will be attending; it's a traditional event they cannot break. Sebastian also suspects we will attempt to steal his painting on the very same night, which we do. He has men even at this very moment watching the house. They also followed you here, something which we were well aware of and used to our advantage. Crakett is, or so Sebastian believes, his secret weapon to safeguard his painting, whereas he will actually be our secret weapon, because it will be you. Though the man's acute distrust of everyone will prevent him from disclosing the exact location of his hidden painting, he will install Crakett, you, in close proximity to keep it safe. When you are left alone, you will use your burglary skills to seek out its hiding place, steal it and stash the painting, which should be rolled up and not in a frame, in the secret compartment cunningly fashioned in your hump. As a surprise for his brother, Ebenezer also wants you to replace the painting with another that I strongly suggest, if you value your sanity, you avoid looking at." Butler shivered in revulsion at an image that leapt into his thoughts. "You then use your uncanny ability to move about unseen to leave the castle and return here. You get paid, leave and we never set eyes on each other again." Butler studied Furtive's face for signs of approval. "Well, what do you think?"

  "You are right, it's a very good plan, except you failed to mention how I swap places with the hunchback without anyone knowing, and what will the real Crakett be doing while I'm impersonating him."

  "The reason I left this detail until last is because it is so cunning I was worried you might faint when you discover how ingenious it is. As soon as Crakett receives word to travel to Castle Drooge, we will set a trap under the railway bridge situated a little way down the road and that his carriage will have to pass under. On his approach we will release two jets of chloroform from concealed tubes, one at the driver and the other into the carriage. Both men will succumb quickly to the gas and fall asleep. Lurch, a short distance away, will stop the horses. We substitute you for Crakett and temporarily hide them in the bushes with Lurch guarding them. I'll be disguised as a carriage driver and will take you to the castle and drop you off so you can pretend to be the man Sebastian expects. Though like us he may have seen a photograph of the hunchback, the two have never met so there's no fear of him suspecting you are not the real Crakett by your voice, though I do suggest you make it sound a bit hunchbacky.

  "And what does a hunchback's talk sound like?"

  Butler shrugged. "Use your imagination. Haven't you read The Hunchback of Notre Dame by Victor Hugo?"

  "Read! What, like one of them book thingys."

  "Yes."

  "Does it have pictures?"

  "Some editions have a few."

  "So it ain't like one of your Busty Maids books then and is mostly words?

  "No and yes, words, lots of words like a normal book is filled with."

  Furtive snorted. "What would I do a thing like that for?"

  Butler sighed. "Forget I ever mentioned it."

  "Mentioned what?"

  "To get back to the plan I have devised. When I have dropped you off at the castle, I return to pick up Crakett, the driver and Lurch and drive the carriage to a small abandoned cottage on the moors. Both men will be given a sleeping potion so they remain oblivious to what is happening until our mission has been completed. After you have stolen the painting, the carriage will be brought back to the road with the driver and Crakett onboard, revived and sent on their way to the Castle. Yes, obviously they will arrive late and for them it will suddenly be night or early morning, but all will be confused by the event and they won't have any idea what really took place."

  "Except Sebastian will have his suspicions and check his painting as soon as he returns home. He'll realize it's stolen and perhaps piece some of the puzzle together."

  "Of course he will, but the two brothers are playing a game. It's like chess, each make their move until the winner is decided and tonight that will be Ebenezer. Yes, Sebastian will be annoyed, but he plays by their strange rules and will accept his d
efeat ungraciously. Ebenezer would do the same if Sebastian won."

  "I'll never understand the likes of people like them two. So, Ebenezer don't want his grandpappy's treasure, he just wants to beat his brother?"

  "Oh, he wants it, badly. But defeating his brother is also just as important to him."

  "Wow! There's no mistake, it's a cunning scheme right enough. I tell yer Butler, if yer ever turned criminal full time, the world could be yours."

  "I'm hoping circumstances never become that dire. No, after this job and when Jacobus Drooge's hidden wealth is found, I'll have enough to live as I would like too, though I'm still not certain what that entails yet."

  "And I'm guessing waiting on the old geezer ain't part of any particular future of yours yer decide on?"

  "It most certainly is not. Ebenezer will be able to hire all the staff he needs to take care of his whims, if, that is, he can bear to part with the money it would cost."

  Furtive stubbed out the cigar and both men sipped their drinks.

  "Do you want to take a look at Castle Drooge? There's a telescope upstairs trained on it. Lurch is keeping a lookout lest Sebastian tries something unexpected."

  Furtive placed his empty glass on the table and stood. "Yeah, don't mind if I do. I didn't realize it was so close."

  Butler climbed to his feet. "It's only about half a mile away."

  Furtive followed Butler from the room and up the grand staircase. When they reached the top a scream rang out.

  With a concerned expression, Butler faced the bathroom door. "That was Ebenezer!"

  Furtive giggled. "I guess he just found the surprise I left for him in his toilet."

  Butler faced the burglar with a disgusted expression. "You didn't… you know… in his personal toilet?"

  Furtive grinned and shook his head. "No nothing like that. I just relocated that surprise he left for me in the safe."

  "You put the jack in the box in his toilet."

  "I guess I kinda did and by his scream I assume he found it."

  "BUTLER!"

  Butler sighed. "I assume you can find your own way to the telescope room while I sort this out."

  "Not a problem." Humming a cheerful tune, Furtive walked away.

  Butler approached the bathroom door and knocked. "It's Butler, Sir. Are you dressed? I'm not coming in if you are naked." He shivered with revulsion at the thought.

  "No, I am not damn well dressed; I just got out of the bath."

  "Please, Sir, at least cover those bits of yours with a towel or something."

  A scuffling sound and then Ebenezer's voice, "Okay, it's covered."

  Butler entered and quickly averted his eyes. "Oh my god! Couldn't you have found something a little larger, Sir, that face flannel barely covers half of it!"

  "Just get in here and help me to my feet, this floor's freezing my arse off; its already gone so numb I think you'll have to rub both cheeks to bring the circulation back. And shut that damn door, you're letting in a draft."

  Butler sighed and shut the door.

  CRAKETT MURDERSIN

  The room, lit by a single candle on the mantle above the hearth, was mostly shadow. The hunched silhouette form of Crakett Murdersin stood at the window, peering out at the rooftops and gas lit streets of grimy Whitechapel. An occasional scream pierced the cool night air as someone was robbed, beaten, murdered or all three. Running feet on cobbles, barking dogs, screeching cats, tuneless drunkards singing, prostitutes calling out to passing men their specialties and the cost of those services, but when the perspective customer declined and walked on, previously declared prices dropped as rapidly as their knickers would have if the man had taken advantage of the services on offer, and music from the inn's bar on the ground floor, were the comforting night sounds of Whitechapel's crime-choked streets.

  Footsteps closer than those in the street below made by the robber rapidly fleeing from a man shouting for the thief to stop, which obviously he had no intent of doing, approached Crakett's room and paused outside the door.

  Two raps of the visitor's knuckles upon the timber door were quickly followed by the innkeeper's voice, "Mr. Murdersin, Sir, another telegram for you has arrived."

  Crakett ignored the man and continued to stare out of the window.

  "I'll just slide it under the door, shall I?"

  A few moments later an envelope was thrust under the door and the innkeeper's footsteps faded down the hall.

  A turn of his head brought the envelope under his scrutiny. Even from this distance and in the dim light he could detect the dampness staining the paper. He shook his head in dismay and went to retrieve the message. It was, as he expected, from Sebastian. He turned it over. The knife the innkeeper had used to peel back the gummed edge he had steamed must have been blunter than his fruit knife. Normally anyone tampering with anything of his would be killed, but in this instance Crakett was unconcerned his messages were read by another who should not. When he had first realised his correspondence was being intercepted―which, due to the innkeeper's inadequacy in such matters, made it as obvious as an elephant in a flock of sheep―he knew only one man could have bribed the innkeeper to do so, Ebenezer Drooge. Though Crakett had played a few scenarios in his head, only one stood out, that it was important for Ebenezer to discover when he would travel to Sebastian's castle. Though without further information he was unable to fathom the full details of Ebenezer's scheme, he had taken certain precautions to guard against one he thought most likely. He pulled back the damp flap and slipped the telegram from inside. Ignoring the innkeeper's dirty thumb print, he read the message.

  Crakett. Important you arrive here December 24th. E is planning something. He has services of burglar now. I have extra men in castle and watching E's house. S.D

  Crakett placed the message in the candle flame and dropped the burning paper into the fire grate. He had arrangements to make. He walked to the window and slid up the sash. A draft of air tainted with the foul stench of Whitechapel's inhabitants, and much more, entered, swirled round the room and with a gleeful howl extinguished the candle flame. Crakett leapt through the opening. A cat seeking refuge on a lower roof from a prowling pack of mangy street dogs, screeched in surprise when a slightly less dark shadow suddenly landed nearby and just as quickly disappeared across the rooftops.

  CUNNING PLAN GLITCH

  It had not been difficult to avoid Sebastian's guards to get away from the house to carry out the first stage of Butler's cunning plan. Dressed in the guise of a carriage driver, Butler stood on the railway track with a pair of binoculars aimed along the track that led beneath the bridge. He focused in on the approaching carriage. Though the passenger's identity was impossible to distinguish encased within the carriage's shadow, interior, Butler was confident it was Crakett Murdersin. The telegram he had received from the Whitechapel innkeeper had said Crakett would arrive today. The road only led to the Drooge estate and was so infrequently travelled it could be no one else. He slithered down the steep grassy embankment to where Furtive, disguised as the hunchback, crouched concealed in the bushes beside one of the two bellows filled with chloroform. Tubes fixed to the two nozzles led into the tunnel and had been fixed to the brick wall. To disguise them, Butler had painted the tubes to match the brickwork, making them almost indiscernible from their immediate surroundings.

  "He's coming," Butler informed Furtive. Again, he was impressed by the man's disguise. If Crakett hadn't changed significantly from his photograph no one would be able to tell he wasn't the man he impersonated. "Don't operate the bellow until the front two horses emerge from the tunnel."

  "Aye captain, I knows what ter do. Yer told me enough times. Arrr! That yer did."

  Butler looked at Furtive with a puzzled expression. "Why are you talking like that?"

  "Arrr! Talk like what, captain?"

  "Why are you talking like a pirate?"

  "It's not a pirate," replied Furtive in his normal voice. "I'm talking like a hunchback."

 
"If Crakett or any hunchback not aboard a ship flying a Jolly Rodger flag talks like that I'll clean your teeth with my tongue."

  "Oh, yer that certain are yer?"

  "I am."

  "Okay," mumbled Furtive a little sulkily, "I'll try somethink different."

  "I think that will be best." To let Lurch know the carriage was coming, Butler signaled with a wave of his arms. Lurch, who stood a short way along the track, waved a thick arm in reply and then did his best to hide his large form amongst the bushes beside the track far too small to conceal his bulk. Butler crouched and with his gaze joining Furtive's upon the tunnel exit, gripped the handles of the bellows and waited.

  It wasn't long before the pounding of hooves on the dusty track was heard and changed to an echoing tempo when they entered the short tunnel. The two lead horses snorted as they emerged once more into daylight.

  "Now!" said Butler in an urgent whisper.

  Together the men pressed the bellow handles together. At great speed chloroform fumes were forced along the tubes. Furtive's, having a slightly shorter journey and set at a greater height, was first to release its sleep-inducing gas. It burst from the nozzle to form a cloud of vapor that enveloped the driver.

  Butler's tube emitted its gas in a similar fashion a second later. The whoosh of fumes entered the carriage's passenger department.

  The hunchback was not enjoying the ride. The coach swayed with every bump the hard wheels rode over. Nausea had kept him company for a while now and he wasn't sure how long he could prevent his breakfast of ham, eggs and potatoes from making an unwelcome appearance.

  He poked his head out of the window, glad of the cool wind upon his hot face, and shouted at the driver. "Can't you avoid at least one bump or rut during this hellish journey?"

  The driver turned to look at his slightly green passenger. "Sorry, Mr. Murdersin, the track is nothing but bumps, so trying to avoid them is something impossible."

  A particularly large rut the driver failed to avoid bounced Crakett into the air. His head slammed against the door frame and his stomach lurched something awful. He forced the lumpy bile back down his throat and glared at the driver. "Damn you man! At least make an effort to try and avoid the worst of them."