The Scuttlers

PRELUDE DUNDEE, SCOTLAND FEBRUARY 1864 Walter Abernethy turned the false key in the keyhole and gently pushed the door. When the hinges squealed, Abernethy paused for a moment and hugged the shadows, feeling the rapid patter of his heart. Only when nobody appeared did he step inside the room, with his distrustful companion a few feet behind. Without a word, Abernethy moved to the back wall with the thin beam of light from his bull’s eye lantern bouncing in front of him. The room was devoid of personality, characterless as if waiting for human occupancy to give it a soul. The furniture attempted to make up for the lack of life by providing bulk: a heavy oaken four-poster bed, clumsy wooden chairs, and a Jacobean-style table that seemed to be carved from a single block of wood. “Door,” Abernethy said, and the second man closed the door and pulled the bolt across. “Here,” Abernethy handed over the lamp and began to roll back the carpet. The second man helped until they had cleared a third of the floor, exposing the wooden floorboards beneath. Abernethy held out his hand, and the second man produced a chisel, which Abernethy used to lever up four floorboards. The first made a slight noise that caused him to stop, while the next three were silent. He laid them at his side and examined the floor beneath the boards. “Lathe and plaster,” Abernethy said softly, “Pass me an auger.” The second man produced an auger from the bag he carried. Very carefully, Abernethy drilled holes in the floor, forming an eighteen-inch square and brushing away the dust with a gloved hand. “Ready?” Abernethy asked. When the second man nodded, Abernethy put pressure on the square within the holes, pushing until the entire section gave way, to fall into the room below with a crash like the end of the world. “Jesus!” The second man blasphemed as Abernethy waited for the dust to settle. Reaching inside the bag, he produced a knotted rope, tied one end to the closest leg of the four-poster and climbed hand-over-hand into the darkness below. “Light!” Abernethy breathed, and the second man shone the lantern, so a pencil-thin beam of light illuminated the room. “Over here!” The room was empty except for a desk and a large green safe. A pile of blank notepaper on the desk bore the heading Royal Hotel, Dundee. Ignoring the desk, Abernethy crouched at the front of the safe, tested the mechanism with a series of keys, and then set to work. “Hurry,” the second man glanced behind him, starting at non-existent sounds. “Quiet!” Abernethy hissed. He placed his ear to the safe. “These things need time.” As Abernethy worked, the second man watched, hoping to pick up some tricks of the trade. He grunted in satisfaction as Abernethy gave a slight nod, turned both his keys, and opened the door. “Here we are,” Abernethy said, looking at the contents. A small cashbox stood next to a larger canvas bag, with a thin pile of banknotes at the side. Abernethy scooped everything into a soft leather case that the second man produced from his bag. “I’m watching you, remember,” the second man warned. “If you try to gull me, I’ll tell Himself.” “I know what you’re doing,” Abernethy sounded bitter. On the second shelf, a diamond necklace wore a small label, which Abernethy read. Mrs Annabelle Gordon, Room 16. “Sorry, Mrs Gordon,” he said, “you’ve lost your prize jewels.” He showed the label to the second man. “What do you think?” “I’m no scholar,” the second man said, indicating his inability to read. “Of course not,” Abernethy said. “Come on, let’s get out before somebody hears us.” Reaching into his pocket, he produced a plain biscuit and crushed it, sending a cascade of crumbs onto the floor. “My calling card,” he said. “You’re a b****y i***t,” the second man commented. “Maybe, but at least I can read.” They left the same way they had entered, closing the door behind them, and climbing out a back window before clambering down a waterspout. When they reached the back of the hotel, they walked through a dark close to Union Street, where streetlights forced caution upon them. “This way.” A smirr of rain carried the salt air of the German Ocean as the second man led them to Mint Close. “One more to rob, and we’re finished,” Abernethy reminded. “No, wait!” The second man pointed to a draper’s shop in Reform Street. “We’ll do that as well.” “It’s not on the list, James,” Abernethy hissed. “I can feel the bluebottles are close.” He looked around, listening for the portentous tread of polished boots. “Himself gave us the beat times,” James said. “We’ve plenty of time for an extra. Follow me!” Climbing up a lamppost, he stretched across to the flat roof of Spence and Company, one of Dundee’s leading drapers. A cupola graced the roof, and James scraped away the putty from a pane of glass and looked down. “I don’t do petty theft,” Abernethy said. “I’m a professional.” “You do as I say.” James relished his temporary authority, “or I’ll tell Himself you refused to co-operate. How’d you like that, eh? An old Demon like you?” “You’re a bastard,” Abernethy said. “Come on!” taking a length of rope from his bag, James secured it on the roof and dropped it into the darkness below. “You first!” Abernethy looked around the shop in contempt as James forced open the office door and peered inside. “Here’s the desk,” James said. “There’s nae safe for you.” Forcing open the drawer, he swore. “Maistly just browns - copper coins - but I dinnae care a boddle. We can spend them, tae,” he scooped the cash into the leather bag, laughing. With a glance over his shoulder at Abernethy, he pocketed a pound in silver. “Come on, Abernethy, help yourself.” “We’re wasting time,” Abernethy said. “We have a timetable.” “Your timetable can go to the devil!” As Abernethy watched, James lifted half a dozen items of clothing, helping himself to a coat and waistcoat. “Here,” James opened a box and hauled out a dozen pairs of men’s underwear. “I could do with new drawers,” he laughed high-pitched and stripped off his clothes there and then. “Oh, for God’s sake,” Abernethy said as the second man dropped his stained and threadbare underwear on the floor, stood n***d for a moment with the lamplight playing on his pale, thin body, and pulled on a new pair of drawers. “Come on,” Abernethy urged as the second man fastened his trousers with clumsy fingers. “We have one more job.” He did not crumble a biscuit here, for petty theft was beyond him. Still laughing, James grabbed the bag, swarmed up the rope, waited for Abernethy to follow, untied the knot, and returned to Reform Street. “Lead on Abernethy, and I’ve got my eye on you, remember.”