Read Online A Donation of Murder by Felicity Young - Free Book Online

recognise you in that get-up, what a swell, eh?’
    Last time Tommy had seen Mr James they were in the tenement and Mr James had been dressed in an ill-fitting suit, hob-nailed boots and a cloth cap. Now he was done up like a tailor’s dummy, right down to his shiny black shoes.
    Tommy was even more impressed when Mr James stood up and shook his hand, saying, ‘This is the young man I was telling you about, Mr Giblett.’ Mr James smiled, showing the points of his filed eyeteeth.
    Tommy was struck dumb when Mr Giblett himself stood and shook his hand.
    â€˜Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr Beauchamp,’ the great man said. ‘Mr James here says you have promise.’ Tommy flushed to the roots of his hair. ‘I heard you handled yourself well during some fairly distressing circumstances.’
    Tommy looked to Mr James who gave him an encouraging nod.
    â€˜Not ’alf. I mean, yes, sir, very distressin’,’ Tommy said, finding his voice.
    â€˜And the others are dead?’
    â€˜Yessir, shot by the rozzers through the winder.’
    â€˜You sure?’
    â€˜Dead as mutton. I saw ’em lyin’ on the floor.’
    â€˜It must have been awful,’ Giblett smiled sympathetically.
    â€˜It was an’ all. I collected one in the leg too, but I’m all right.’ Could use a slug of brandy though, mate, Tommy thought to himself.
    As if reading his mind, Giblett reached over to a decanter on the table beside him, poured a snifter and handed it to him. Both men looked at each other, then at him and raised their glasses.
    The grog tasted like liquid fire and it did the trick, filling Tommy with warmth and renewed confidence.
    â€˜I got the stuff, like you asked me, Mr James,’ Tommy said, patting the bulge in his shirt.
    â€˜Well, done, son. Lets ’ave a look-see.’ Mr James didn’t speak as posh as Mr Giblett.
    Tommy reached into his shirt and pulled out the package Mr James had plucked from beneath the body of Archie Slade, seconds before the bonfire they’d put together in the tenement flamed up. It was funny, that, Tommy reflected for the first time since he’d fled the scene. One minute Archie was alive and the next he was dead, and Mr James was standing there in Archie’s place, giving him the package and a load of instructions.
    â€˜We trust you, Tommy, if anyone can get out of this alive, you can. You gotta take the goods to Mr Giblett, do ya hear me, son?’
    â€˜Hand it over to Mr Giblett, lad,’ Mr James’s voice snapped Tommy back.
    He did as he was told. Giblett peeled off the paper wrapping and tossed it into the fire, then opened the flat, blue velvet jewellery box. Tommy took a step closer and squinted at the necklace resting there, the sparkler for which three of his friends had died. The necklace was said to be worth over thirty thousand quid but it looked kind of ordinary to Tommy — no accounting for taste. The pearl was a whopper, though.
    Giblett drew the big pearl to his mouth and curled his tongue around it in a way that sent a shiver down Tommy’s spine. When he scraped it across his tooth, Tommy wanted to yelp with pain. Blimey, the thing would crack! But the man must know what he’s doing, Tommy reasoned. Blokes said Mr Giblett knew more about jewels and gems than all the Jews in Hatton Gardens put together.
    Apparently satisfied, Giblett tossed the necklace onto an occasional table near the fire, setting agleam the tiny diamonds, sprinkled all over the necklace’s clasp like sugar. Tommy was impressed. He supposed the man could afford to be careless. Maybe Giblett lit his cigars with five-pound notes too.
    â€˜Take Mr Beauchamp down to the kitchen, Mr James, and tell Cook to feed him well.’ Then Giblett glanced down at the carpet. Tommy followed his eyes and, to his horror, noticed the bloodstain. ‘And I’ll call the doctor to have that wound tended