The Montgomery Murder by Cora Harrison Page A

murderer probably lurked. Had he done the right thing in allowing Sammy to go there? There were times when Alfie wished he could just be a child
and not have to keep deciding everything, but he pushed the thought away. It was stupid to look back – he was the oldest, and he had to take the responsibility.
    Once he was through the gate, he lingered for a moment and then slipped back. The butler had not stopped to talk to the gatekeeper. He was making his way towards Bloomsbury Street. So why had he
come up to the gate?
    Strange place to live, thought Alfie looking through the tall, black railings at the square: those solid blocks of houses ranged around three sides, all with windows heavily screened with lace
curtains, the small garden in the middle, those heavy iron gates blocking out the ordinary people, a place where no one would commit a crime for fear of the unseen eyes watching through those
windows.
    But, of course, there were Monmouth Street and St Giles, both so near, and yet so far . . .
    Was the criminal hiding there?
    Or sitting at ease in this place that smelled of money, power and privilege?
    Alfie went on his way thoughtfully, his mind churning with the information that he had uncovered.
    Where did Denis Montgomery go on the night that his father was murdered?
    Why did Mr Scott come back before him? And what did Mr Scott, a stranger to London, find to do until midnight that night?
    What did the butler have to hide?
    And why did he find a boy talking to the gatekeeper so threatening?

 
    CHAPTER 17
T HE M ASKED G AMBLERS

    The cellar seemed warm and almost bright when Alfie came in from the cold, damp fog. The fire was glowing – thanks to Jack they always had plenty of coal, as he scoured
the river’s edge every morning and often dragged home a sackful when the bargemen had been extra careless in loading the carts.
    Mallesh was sitting by the fire and beside him was Tom. While Mutsy was greeting Alfie with his usual tail-wagging excitement, Mallesh went on telling Tom about the Grand Trunk Road in India. It
had four lines of shade-giving trees, he was saying. The English officers in scarlet coats rode their horses down the central strip, the Indians walked or travelled in heavy carts along the side
strips and there were caravanserais where travellers could sleep overnight.
    ‘You must have done well, Tom. You’re back early. Got the money for supper, have you? And something for the extra rent?’ Alfie tried to keep his temper down until he heard the
facts.
    ‘What, in weather like this?’ Tom made the mistake of sniggering. It was to impress Mallesh, Alfie knew, but he was in no mood to be indulgent to Tom. It was essential that this
murder were solved quickly, and solved by Alfie. Otherwise, if this fog and bad weather went on for months and the begging money dried up, they would be thrown out of their cellar, and then what
would happen?
    ‘How much?’ The tone of Alfie’s voice warned Tom, who mutely emptied his pockets, scattering the coins on the box that they used as a table.
    ‘Three pence halfpenny! And you came home with that!’
    ‘I was wet and cold,’ said Tom sullenly.
    ‘And the rest of us go dry and warm, I suppose.’ Alfie stuck his fists in his pockets and did his best to keep his temper.
    ‘Sammy is. It’s not fair. He gets all the best jobs – just because he’s your brother. Why do we all have to work to keep him?’
    ‘Get out! Go on, get out!’ Alfie’s patience broke and he gave Tom a box on the ear. ‘Get out there and try at least to get another few pence. Don’t forget to go for
Sammy at four. Mutsy, go with Tom, good boy, Mutsy.’
    ‘Could I help? Do something?’ Mallesh looked anxious as the boy and the dog retreated silently.
    ‘No, you stay put. It’s not going to help having you in jail. Stay put and think hard about why someone should murder Mr Montgomery. Who knows, it might be something to do with India
after all. I’m going to look for