Page 79 of A Murder in Mayfair
I turned?—
Too late.
The blow came from behind, sharp and fast. My shoulder slammed against the brick wall, pain jolting through my arm. I twisted, ducked another swing, and caught a glimpse of him in the gaslight.
O'Donnell. Exactly as Benny described: tall, broad, thick-necked, and built like a butcher.
“Should’ve minded your business,” he growled, raising what looked like a length of lead pipe.
“I’m terribly bad at that,” I muttered, drawing the pistol hidden beneath my coat.
He lunged.
The gun fired.
O'Donnell let out a roar of pain and crumpled, clutching his thigh where the bullet had torn through flesh. Just a graze—enough to drop him, not kill him.
Before I could say a word, a whistle shrieked from the end of the alley. A pair of boots pounded closer. A constable rounded the corner, truncheon drawn, eyes wide.
“What’s this then?” he barked.
I stepped forward, breath even, pistol lowered but still in hand. “The man you see before you,” I said coolly, “is named O'Donnell. He was trying to kill me. He already murdered Lord Walsh. I suggest you place him under arrest—now.”
The constable blinked. “And you are?”
I pulled off the cap and stepped into the light. “The Duke of Steele.”
That did it.
The constable barked for his partner, who rushed forward. Together they hauled O'Donnell to his feet—bloody, cursing, but alive.
Scotland Yard– Two Hours Later
The room was cramped, the walls scuffed, the gaslight flickering overhead. A constable stood near the door. I stood behind Dodson, arms folded.
O'Donnell slouched in the chair, shirt torn, thigh bandaged, face slack with pain and fatigue.
But his mouth still worked.
“Fine,” he growled. “I did it.”
Dodson straightened. “You murdered Lord Percival Walsh?”
O'Donnell didn’t even blink. “Aye. That’s what I was paid to do. The bloke who hired me gave me all the details. Visited his mistress on Princelet Street Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
“Who hired you?”
He hesitated, then sneered. “Edwin bloody Heller. Said it was family business. Said he’d make it worth my while.”
I stepped forward, voice quiet and razor-sharp. “And was it?”
O'Donnell looked up at me. “No.”
“Why are you confessing?”
“Got the clap, Guv’nr. Ain’t got long to live.”
The silence that followed was heavy.
