Gaslight in Page Street (57 page)

‘’E still is,’ George answered. ‘Oxford’s employed as a yard man. ’E does all the odd jobs an’ keeps the yard clean.’

‘Well, we can soon eliminate Mr Oxford from our enquiries,’ the detective said brightly. ‘Can we have his address?’

George stroked his chin. ‘The man sleeps in a lodgin”ouse, as far as I know. D’yer know which one, Will?’

The foreman shook his head. ‘’E moves about a lot. Last time I ’eard ’e was kippin’ in Tooley Street.’

The detective sergeant was pinching his lower lip. Suddenly he looked up at the inspector. ‘Oxford . . . that name rings a bell,’ he said. ‘I remember interviewing a Mr Oxford when we called at the lodging-houses over that railway death a few years back.’

‘You’d better follow that up, Sergeant,’ the inspector said quickly, then turned to George Galloway. ‘Incidentally, is Mr Oxford a tall man, and is he in the habit of wearing a watch-and-chain at work?’

‘’E’s over six foot I should say, although ’e’s got a stoop,’ George replied. ‘But ’e don’t wear a watch-an’-chain, at least I’ve never seen ’im wearin’ one. I don’t fink the silly ole sod can tell the time.’

William gave his employer a hard look and turned to the inspector. ‘Was there a watch-an’-chain on the body?’ he asked.

‘If there was it would have melted with the heat,’ the inspector answered, fishing into his pocket. ‘We found this in the yard though,’ he added, taking out an envelope and turning it out on the desk beside George.

The firm owner suddenly sat up straight in the chair, his eyes bulging. ‘That’s my watch-an’-chain! I’d know it anywhere. It was stolen from this office a few years ago. That ole bastard did take it after all,’ he growled, turning to William.

‘Yer don’t know fer sure,’ the foreman said quickly.

‘It all points to it,’ George said emphatically. ‘That was Jack Oxford’s body yer found an’ ’e was wearin’ my bloody watch.’

The inspector sighed. ‘As I said, Mr Galloway, the victim couldn’t have been wearing it. It would have melted. That watch was found beneath a charred timber. As you can see the glass is broken and the hands are damaged but it hasn’t actually been in the flames. As a matter of fact it was still attached to a nail in the timber by the chain. In other words, we suspect that the victim took it off and hung it on the nail before getting his head down for the night, and from what you’ve told us, Mr Tanner, the horse must have kicked out that piece of timber in its fright. You said the side of the stable crashed out into the yard, didn’t you?’

William nodded and turned to George. ‘I still don’t fink that body is Jack Oxford’s, an’ I don’t fink ’e took yer watch in the first place,’ he said firmly.

‘Tell me, did you report the theft of that watch, Mr Galloway?’

George shook his head. ‘I didn’t bovver. I thought it might turn up again.’

‘Well, it certainly did,’ the inspector said with a smile.

George stared down at the damaged timepiece and the little fob medallion. He could see it clearly: the old toff lying on the ground in that alley off the Old Kent Road and the two of them rifling through his pockets. William was gazing down at the watch too. The medallion had brought its original owner bad luck, and it had certainly not been lucky for the man who was wearing it in the yard last night.

‘Crawford, will you pop back to Dockhead and check up on Mr Oxford?’ the inspector asked. ‘I’ll wait here for you. I need to go over a few things with these gentlemen.’

The detective scooped up the watch-and-chain and placed it back in the envelope. ‘I’d like to check this out,’ he said, slipping the envelope into his coat pocket.

William left the office to check on the horses. The upper stable still smelt of smoke although it had been cleaned and fresh straw had been laid in the stalls. The animals seemed a little jumpy to William and he talked quietly to them and patted their manes reassuringly as he walked in and out of the stalls. The horse which had been trapped by its foreleg looked none the worse. William had bandaged its cuts and bruises, and all the horses had been brushed and curry-combed. The gelding was stabled along with the rest. It munched away at its hay unconcernedly as the foreman gently stroked its singed mane. He had been so lucky, he told himself again. Carrie’s quick thinking had most probably saved his life. Joe Maitland too had been a hero. He was obviously used to handling horses.

William frowned as he thought of Jack Oxford, wondering whether it really was his body in the stable. He had to admit to himself that it was quite likely. Jack was still in the habit of sneaking into the yard, although he rarely slept there in winter. Of course he had not been about to tell the police that, not in front of Galloway. He had known about the loose plank for a while now. This time it had been less obvious. He had discovered it quite by chance one day when he was replacing another plank that had been damaged by the wheel of a cart and the one next to it sprang out. William had seen that all the nails had been removed and only one shorter nail secured it. It would be easy for someone to give it a sharp kick from the outside and spring the plank from its fastening. Jack had never caused any problems by sleeping in the yard since the trouble over the theft, and was always careful not to be found out. The watch-and-chain was the real mystery. How could it have shown up after all this time? William wondered. It was inconceivable that Jack would wear it in the yard, even if he did take it originally. There must be another answer. Perhaps the police might be able to sort it out, he thought.

One hour later William was summoned back into the office. He noticed that the detective sergeant looked pleased with himself.

‘Well, I’ve some news,’ the subordinate said, looking at the inspector for permission to proceed. ‘Jack Oxford was staying at the lodging-house in Tooley Street. I spoke to the owner over the phone and he told me that Oxford has been lodging there regularly for the past year or so. Last night he didn’t book in. It seems he had a row the previous night with a man known as Fatty Arbuckle. The lodging-house owner told me he threw this Arbuckle character out on his ear as a troublemaker. Mr Oxford might have lodged somewhere else last night or he might have decided to sleep in the stable. I’ve also got a preliminary report from the pathologist. There’s no indication of foul play. They’ve ascertained however that the victim was around six feet tall, possibly six two. So at the moment it seems quite likely that the body is that of Jack Oxford, although we can’t be certain. We can be certain of one thing, though. That watch-and-chain was found on a body we scraped off the railway lines at South Bermondsey. Records show that the man was a tramp and his body was never formally identified, thus the watch-and-chain were not claimed. I don’t know if you’re aware, but all items not claimed after a certain length of time are sold and the proceeds go to the police widows’ and orphans’ fund. This watch was sold to a pawnbroker in Tower Bridge Road. Our station sergeant remembered it by the unusual fob-piece. He went through the records and came up with the information. One of us will be seeing the pawnbroker first thing tomorrow and he may have some record of who bought it, although it’s unlikely.’

George slumped back in his chair, contemplating his whisky-filled glass. ‘Jack Oxford could ’ave nicked the watch an’ sold it ter the tramp,’ he remarked.

William was beginning to feel irritated by Galloway’s insistence that Jack was the thief. ‘That watch was nicked by the tramp ’imself,’ he asserted. ‘If Oxford ’ad taken it in the first place ’e wouldn’t ’ave bought it back from the pawnbroker, surely? Anyway, ’e might be simple-minded but ’e’s not a thief.’

George looked hard at the yard foreman. ‘Yer’ve got to admit it’s possible Oxford jus’ decided ter do ’imself a favour. ’E must o’ known it was werf a few bob.’

William stood up quickly, his face flushing with anger. ‘Yer make me sick,’ he said in a loud voice. ‘The poor ole sod might be dead an’ already yer blackin’ ’is name. ’Ow long as ’e worked fer yer? An’ ’ow many times ’ave yer ’ad anyfing nicked from the office? Yer always on about loyalty. I reckon yer should start finkin’ about yer loyalty ter yer workers.’

George was about to respond as William stormed from the office but he checked himself. ‘Never mind,’ he said to the assembled company. ‘Will’s still a bit shook up from last night. ’E’ll calm down.’

The inspector nodded. ‘From what the fire people told us your foreman did a marvellous job saving those horses. There was another man too, Mr Maitland who lodges in the street. Apparently he helped too.’

George nodded and got up to see the policeman out. ‘Remind me ter see Will Tanner about that, Frank,’ he said quietly. ‘I fink the man deserves a reward.’

On Monday morning William Tanner opened up the yard at seven sharp and soon the carmen started to arrive. Horses were brought down from the upper stable and put in the carts, and sacks of chaff collected from the loft. Normally it was Jack Oxford who brought down the sacks but this morning the men did the chore without complaint. Word had got round the neighbourhood about the body found in the stable fire and the morning papers carried the full story. William had been constantly glancing along the street, hoping that he would see the familiar figure of Jack Oxford strolling along in his usual shuffling manner, but after ten minutes past seven he knew that the yard man would not show up. Jack was never late. By seven-thirty William sadly admitted to himself that it must have been the simpleton who had perished in the fire after all.

The morning paper said that the police were anxious to trace Jack Oxford and the carmen were all convinced that he had indeed been the victim.

‘Poor bleeder. ’E never ’armed a fly. Fancy ’im goin’ like that,’ one said.

‘Fancy sleepin’ in the stable. Surely ’e could ’ave found a kip-’ouse or somefink,’ another piped in.

‘P’raps the police was after ’im. It said in the paper they wanted ter trace ’im,’ the third remarked.

One elderly carman took his clay pipe from his mouth and spat a jet of tobacco juice in the direction of the yard cat who had only just returned after the fire. ‘I reckon Oxford done away wiv ’imself,’ he began. ‘’E was always a bit funny, ever since ’e got that kick on the ’ead. Mind yer though, if I was gonna do away wiv meself I wouldn’t choose fire, nor poison. Gassin’ yerself’s best. I remember an ole boy down our turnin’. ’E done away wiv ’imself. Took rat poison ’e did. Terrible ter see ’im it was. Rollin’ aroun’ the floor an’ kickin’ ’is legs up in the air. It took ’im ages ter die. Then there was that ole Mrs Copperstone. She tried ter do away wiv ’erself. Drunk a tin o’ metal polish she did. They ’ad ter pump ’er out.’

‘Are yer gonna stand ’ere chewin’ the fat all day, or are yer gonna get out on the road? Jus’ let me know,’ William said sarcastically.

The elderly carman aimed another jet of tobacco juice at the cat as he climbed up into his seat, hitting it on the head. ‘Did Jack ’ave anybody, Will?’ he asked. ‘I expect the boys would wanna put a few coppers in the ’at.’

The foreman shook his head. ‘As far as I know, Jack was on ’is own. ’E never mentioned ’avin’ anybody ter me.’

‘Bloody shame,’ the carman said as he jerked on the reins.

William watched him drive out of the gate followed by the others, and when the last cart had left he picked up the broom and swept the yard. Inside he was still seething over George’s remarks about Jack Oxford, especially as they had been made in the presence of the police.

When he finished tidying the yard William went over to the store shed. This was Jack’s domain, he thought sadly as he looked around at the little bits and pieces. How many times had he caught him snoozing in the corner? There was the stained tea-can and the faded picture of Queen Victoria as a young woman hanging behind the door. Polishing rags, dubbin and a tin of metal polish were all strewn on the workbench and beside them there was a bridle that Jack had been mending, with a large needle still embedded in the leather. William sat down on the upturned crate and took the
Daily Mirror
out of his pocket. He had read the story twice already but he opened the paper again and looked down at the paragraph.

BODY FOUND IN BERMONDSEY FIRE

Firemen tackling a blaze at the Galloway cartage firm in Page Street, Bermondsey late on Saturday evening discovered a charred body in the fire. Police say that no formal identification was possible as yet but they are anxious to trace the whereabouts of Jack Oxford, an employee of the firm. Oxford went missing from his lodgings in Tooley Street on Saturday evening and police would like anyone with information on the missing man to contact them at Dockhead Police Station, Bermondsey.

William folded the newspaper and put it into his coat pocket. For a while he sat back with his head resting against the wooden slatting. It still seemed unreal that Jack was gone. He tried to understand why he should have gone to the stable in mid-winter. He could have found a different lodging-house, after all. There did not seem to be any sense to the whole affair, and the more he thought about the tragedy the more puzzled he became. With a sad shake of his head he stood up and made his way out of the yard for his breakfast.

Nellie was looking thoughtful as she scooped two rashers of streaky bacon and a fried egg on to his plate. ‘D’yer know, I still can’t believe that was Jack Oxford in the fire,’ she said with a frown. ‘Jack never wore a watch. An’ ain’t it strange that it was the one Galloway ’ad pinched?’

William nodded slowly as he dipped his bread into the soft egg. ‘I’d back me life on Jack not takin’ that watch, Nell, but s’posin’, jus’ s’posin’, ’e did take it. It could ’ave preyed on ’is mind an’ suddenly ’e sees it in the pawnbroker’s. ’E could ’ave bought it, an’ when ’e went ter the yard ter put it back, ’e some’ow started the fire.’