Page 67 of Evil at the Essex House
“Could be the kidnappers,” I said, breathing again, “making sure that there aren’t coppers crawling all over the ransom drop.”
Crispin nodded. At least I think he did. I could hear movement from the opposite corner, and then a scrape as he moved forward, far enough to see the time.
“Fifteen minutes to go.”
ChapterFifteen
Hiram Schlomsky’scab rattled up in front of the church tower at eleven on the nose. I could hear church bells tolling from all over London as the Hackney turned the corner from the bridge. The racket was loud enough to drown out the sound of the tires on the cobblestones, and practically everything else, as well. We did hear the door of the cab open and then Hiram’s voice—with his very American accent—tell the driver to wait.
I leaned out and peered over the parapet far enough to see that Hiram had left the Hackney door open while he ducked into the church, valise in hand. It was a smart move, at least if he were afraid that the cab would leave without him. The driver would have to take the time to close the door before he could take off, and that would give Hiram time to come out of the tower again before the cab vanished.
Not that it tried. There was the sound of the door opening downstairs, a few scuffing steps across the stone, and then something soft hitting the floor. A moment’s silence, possibly Hiram sending a prayer aloft that he would get his daughter back in one piece, and then he withdrew, back out the door, which he closed carefully behind him—and no wonder, if close to fifty thousand American dollars in cash was sitting below—and into the waiting cab. The Hackney’s door slammed shut behind him, and they were off, across the cobbles and under the bridge.
I turned to the other corner, where I knew Crispin was. “There’s fifty thousand dollars in a valise below our feet.”
“I have fifty thousand dollars of my own,” Crispin retorted, “and no desire to spend the next ten to fifteen years in Wormwood Scrubs.”
Well, when he put it that way…
“What do we do now?”
“I suppose we wait for someone to come and pick it up?” Crispin said. “It shouldn’t take long, I don’t think.”
Probably not. If I had fifty thousand dollars waiting for me, especially in a place where anyone could wander in and pick it up, I wouldn’t tarry, either.
Nor did the kidnappers. They must have been waiting and watching, because no sooner had the Hackney disappeared—no more than two or three minutes; just long enough for someone to get down here from on top of the bridge, say—another motorcar approached, this one from the direction of the bridge.
It was another Hackney, or looked like one. Another Austin Heavy Twelve-Four, anyway, and these days, those aren’t used for much beyond cars for hire.
The headlamps lit up the area inside the clocktower again as the car came around the bend—lit up Crispin in his corner, so his hair shone like moonlight against the shadowy brick and his shirt-breast gleamed a bright white—before it passed out of sight below the tower.
“It stopped,” Crispin murmured.
I nodded, although I didn’t think he could actually see me. Below, there were sounds to indicate that someone had opened the car door, and then there were quick steps across the cobblestones and the door opening again. A movement towards where the valise was waiting, and then the retreat. The door shut downstairs in the tower, and almost simultaneously, the Austin’s door did, as well. Crispin darted forwards, and so did I. We met at the parapet, in time to lean out and watch the top of the motorcar move away down the street towards Emblem House. As it disappeared out of sight, the nose of the Hispano-Suiza emerged from behind Denmark House, headlamps dark, and took off in pursuit.
“We might have almost made it,” Crispin muttered, watching it go and clearly wishing he was inside it along with Christopher.
“Not without being seen bursting through the door downstairs,” I told him. “Hopefully he won’t be long.”
“What if they’re driving to Surrey or Kent? We didn’t discuss what we’d do if they keep going for a while.”
No, we hadn’t. “If Christopher isn’t back in a timely manner, I suppose we could walk to the train station and take the train back across the river and go home and wait for him.”
“Not that Kit can’t think for himself,” Crispin said, “because of course he can. But if they do keep going for miles and miles, will he keep going too, or will he think of us and come back?”
I had no idea. “I don’t know that I’d want him to stop and come back for us, to be honest. It’s more important for him to figure out where the kidnappers are holed up than to rescue us, don’t you agree? We’re perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves, and while it would be uncomfortable to spend the night here, I don’t think we’d be in any danger. We can hear anyone coming up the stairs, and honestly, who would bother?”
“I usually attempt a better showing than this,” Crispin said, looking around, “when I spend the night with a girl.”
I rolled my eyes. “Let’s just sit down and wait. If he’s not back in thirty minutes, we can reassess the situation and decide whether to head to the train station. Cigarette?”
“Of course, Darling.” He fished his case out of his pocket and opened it. “Shall we perch on the balustrade on the romantic side of the tower?”
“We might as well,” I told him, as I picked a cigarette out of the case and waited for him to light it for me.
It was lessthan thirty minutes, but not by much, by the time we heard a motorcar pull up to the bottom of the tower again. By then, we had smoked a number of cigarettes, bickered a lot, watched the moonlight on the water, bickered and smoked some more, and checked Crispin’s pocket watch roughly every five minutes. It was almost time to do it again when the car arrived. Crispin looked at me as I looked at him.
“Kit?” he asked.
