Sebastian Gloom

The Net Closes

     Father Anthony and Father May watched as Gloom's steam wheelchair puffed and chuffed its way back towards the museum in which he lived. “There's no easier man in the world to follow,” said Father Anthony, smiling.

     “If we'd known of his connection just an hour or two earlier, we could have followed him as he left his home, not just as he returns to it,” said May. “He may have been meeting with his collaborators.”

     “It should be easy enough to backtrack his trail,” said Anthony. “Find out where he’s been for the past couple of hours, who was there with him. I'll get some of our people on it. From now on we keep eyes on him every hour of every day. He goes nowhere, meets with no-one without our knowing of it. We may have lost the soul of Philip Cranston, but Gloom may be just as valuable a replacement.”

     “How much does he know about us, do you think?”

     Anthony thought for a moment. “He must suspect that it was the church who commissioned the theft of the bottle, but that’s not the same as knowing for sure. Neither Gloom nor his manservant ever spoke to Gideon. We send Gideon to the Judgement of God tonight, to make sure that meeting never takes place. The Almighty will make sure that his soul goes to the Oubliette. We don't want Gloom hiring a clairvoyant to speak to him. His two accomplices are already dead. We don't need to worry about them.”

     “What about Gideon's sister? He may have said something to her.”

     Anthony frowned. “We may have to silence her as well. A pity. She may have been an associate of criminals but I sense she's not a bad person. Ah well, that is the reason we are granted Benefit of Clergy, to allow us to do such things. God will understand the necessity. A man died during the theft of the bottle, Damn that fool Gideon. We cannot allow the church to fall into disrepute by being linked to that murder.” He stood in thought for a few moments longer, turning possibilities over in his head. “I'll talk to her, see if she knows anything. If she doesn't, there's no reason to harm her. She can live the rest of her life in peace.”

     “Killing is really not such a serious crime if you think about it,” said the other priest. “If you kill a bad person they go to their rightful punishment, while good people are sent to paradise. Do not feel bad about killing the girl if it turns out to be necessary, therefore. Hopefully she is a good Catholic and confesses regularly.”

     “I shall pray that it be so. I must go now. Gloom knows me. He may grow suspicious if he sees me loitering around outside his museum. You must remain here, though, to make sure neither Gloom nor his manservant make any more forays tonight. Stay until your relief arrives.” He turned to go.

     “You're going to see Doris Kettle now? Yourself?”

     “Yes. Opening a safe is a specialist skill for which we had to hire an expert, but you need no special skill to send a soul to God. I will make it quick and painless. She deserves that much.”

   ☆☆☆

     Doris Kettle was scrubbing pots in the kitchen when she heard the knock on the back door; the door to which the food and the charcoal for the ovens was delivered. She frowned to herself. It was past sunset and the last of the day's tradesmen had long since been and gone. Who could it be at this time of night?

     Probably that policeman, she thought as she put the cooking pot aside, still half covered with soot underneath and boiled-on cabbage on the inside. This was the part of the job that she hated the most. The preparing and cooking of the day’s meals wasn't too bad, even when cook was in one of her moods and shouting at her, but cook got to go to bed at the same time as the rest of the staff, leaving her alone, often until midnight, cleaning up and getting everything ready for the next day. If cook came down in the morning and found pots, cutlery, floor and work surfaces anything less than gleaming like new there would be hell to pay and she'd threaten to sack her again.