Murder Is Come Again Read Online Free PDF Page A

come in here.” He went and locked the front door while the Revenueman hastened to the kitchen. After a few scuffling sounds he was heard running upstairs to search the few bedrooms. Then he returned, read them all a stiff lecture about the dire consequences of aiding and abetting criminals. His departure was marred by having to struggle with the locked door as he left. Once he was gone, bedlam broke out louder than before.
    “The next pint is on the house, boys,” Catchpole called, to reward them for their temporary blindness. Those who could still walk surged to the bar.
    “What was that all about?” Black asked, when the bedlam had settled down.
    “That was Mr. Ellis, the second most incompetent constable in England.”
    “No, but the masked fellow in black.”
    “Oh that’s a great mystery, Mr. Smith. We have a ghost highwayman hereabouts, called Mad Jack. He can disappear at will.”
    “Out the back door?”
    “That’s part of the mystery. There is no back door. It fell off years ago and the opening was bricked up.”
    “Does this disappearing act usually occur here, at your tavern?”
    “Right under our noses, according to the constable! Comes in and vanishes into thin air.”
    Black gave an appreciative chuckle. “That’s quite a stunt. How does he work it?”
    Catchpole just smiled. “That’s the mystery of it. We don’t know. No one knows. He just vanishes — if he’s ever here at all, that is. As I said, I’ve never seen him.”
    “Why do they call him mad?”
    “It seems he has a fearful temper. A stranger here one night told the Revenueman he’d seen him, and was beat up some awful when he left. Most of what we know about him we get from his victims. One of them, it seems, was carrying a pair of swords and challenged Mad Jack to a duel. Guess who won? Even the victim admitted he was a wonder, fought like a man possessed. You don’t want to cross a fellow like that. If you should ever happen to see him, I mean. Myself, I never have.” He picked up a dirty rag and swiped it across the dirty counter.
    “Well,” Black said, laughing, “you’ve got the better of me there, Catchpole. I’ve never seen the likes of that in London.” He frowned, then said, “Is his mount a ghost as well? A highwayman don’t work on foot. What happens to his mount?”
    Catchpole just shrugged. “It must be a ghost. It vanishes as well. It’s an odd thing. It is.”
    “Does it happen often?”
    “No, not often. About once a month. You were just lucky to be here tonight.”
    “I’m half afraid to leave,” Black said. “He won’t kill me if I try to leave, will he?”
    “You didn’t tell the Constable you saw him. You should be safe. Come back, Mr. Smith. It’s been a pleasure talking to a fellow who can hold his pint.”
    “I will, and if any nosy Parker from London should come asking after me, you haven’t seen me. I’m a ghost, like Mad Jack.” With a nod and a wink, Black left, wondering about Mad Jack’s disappearing act and Catchpole’s part in it. He must be well paid to hand out free drinks to that crowd for keeping quiet.
    Black stopped for a look at Mr. Pattle’s house. It was all in darkness. He tried the door, it was still locked. Then he returned to the tavern, making a tour of the rear to see how Mad Jack had escaped. As Catchpole said, the back door was bricked in. The fellow must have gone upstairs and out a window. None of the windows were open now. Someone could have gone up and closed them, but surely not before the constable got there? Of course the tavern was ancient. They had priests’ holes and such things in some of the older buildings.
    A ramshackle stable stood behind the inn. Black walked along to it and peered in at the open door. One mount, a white one, was there. The only wheeled vehicle was a dogcart. No stable boy was in attendance. Pondering the mystery, he returned to the Royal Crescent, which did have a back door, and went upstairs. He tapped at Mr.