Free Steps to the Gallows by Edward Marston Page A

finished adjusting her hair in a mirror when she heard the rapping on the door. Since it was well before opening time, she was irritated by the disturbance. Cocking an ear from which a diamond earring dangled, she listened to the sound of the door being unlocked and to a muffled conversation. The voice of Benjamin Tite eventually came up the stairs.
    ‘You have a visitor, Mrs Mandrake,’ he called.
    ‘Who is it?’
    ‘His name is Mr Yeomans and he’s a Bow Street Runner.’
    ‘Has he brought a warrant with him?’
    ‘He merely wishes to ask you some questions.’
    ‘Show him into the back room and stay with him. I don’t want a Runner poking about among my treasures.’
    Diane deliberately kept her visitor waiting before she deigned to descend the stairs. She entered the room in a regal manner. Tite introduced Yeomans then, in response to a nod from his employer,he scuttled off into the shop. She peered at the Runner.
    ‘I’ve seen you before somewhere,’ she said.
    Yeomans was firm. ‘I think not.’
    ‘How can you be so sure?’
    ‘I’d never forget meeting a lady of distinction such as you,’ he said with a doomed attempt at gallantry. When she ignored the compliment, he surged on. ‘I’ve come to talk about Mr Paige. You’ll be aware of his death, I daresay.’
    ‘I am indeed, sir,’ she replied, plucking a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbing at her eyes. ‘It was a profound shock and I may never recover from it.’
    ‘I want you to help me find the killer.’
    ‘How can I do that, Mr Yeomans?’
    ‘Just answer my questions and all will become clear.’
    She studied him. ‘I do think I’ve seen your face before, you know.’
    ‘It must have been someone else, Mrs Mandrake.’
    Having arrived with the intention of grilling her, Yeomans was taken aback by her striking appearance and by the bewitching odour of her perfume. He’d raided many brothels in his time and arrested many a procuress. Although he’d used the word of her, Diane Mandrake could never be described as a whoremonger. Clearly, she was a gracious woman with a quality he found instantly alluring. Instead of berating her for selling satirical prints, he found himself apologetic and deferential.
    For her part, she’d taken an instant dislike to him. Peter Skillen had been kind, considerate and gentlemanly. Yeomans could not compare with him. While she was prepared to help Peter in every way, therefore, she saw no reason to give any practical assistance to a Runner. She had clashed with too many representatives of law and order in the past to have any respect for them. With hervisitor, therefore, she decided that her best plan was to act more like a grieving widow.
    ‘How well did you know Mr Paige?’ asked Yeomans.
    ‘I knew him very well, sir, and loved him dearly.’
    ‘You must have realised that his prints would upset certain people.’
    ‘They upset some and delighted others. I was one of the latter.’
    ‘The Parliament of Foibles caused untold dismay in certain quarters. To a man, politicians condemned the series for its cruelty.’
    ‘Nobody likes to have their faults pointed out, Mr Yeomans.’
    The handkerchief came into play again and she pretended to weep into it. When she’d dabbed at her eyes, she indicated that he should continue. He began his tentative interrogation. Yeomans asked many of the questions that Peter Skillen had first put to her. While she’d given straightforward replies to him, she was far more evasive with her visitor, either misleading him on purpose or simply pleading ignorance. Enthralled by her at the start, Yeomans became disconcerted that he was getting so little help. At the same time, however, he didn’t wish to upset someone who – to his eyes, at least – was so obviously in mourning. Having gathered all the information he felt he could, he glanced towards the shop.
    ‘Turning to another matter,’ he said, casually, ‘I couldn’t help noticing one of the prints in your