The house itself is situated on the corner of Buckingham Place. It is ordinary enough, built of stone coloured bricks in the Georgian style. After the ground floor there are three upper floors. Curiously the first floor windows each have a pair of black slatted shutters. There are black wrought iron railings along the front of the house and three steps lead up to a black door under a white porch.

The occupiers of No.1 Buckingham Place were John & Rose Blake. They had leased the house for twelve months, which came ready furnished. The majority of the furnishings and décor were a mixture of modern and Georgian which seemed to complement each other. Rose Blake was an interior designer who was working on a house in Borehamwood. John, her husband, was an up and coming barrister who had aspirations of becoming a partner in the law firm for which he worked so hard. It is true to say that the Blakes were a happy, normal couple with their feet firmly on the ground. Well, until one morning in September... 

At the sounding alarm clock a pair of sleepy eyes opened and wearily an arm stretched over to press the stop button - red numerals indicated 7:50. A slender arm snaked across his naked chest, ‘Rise and shine, Darling” whispered Rose. John folded his arms around his wife and kissed her gently. “Another ten minutes” he said. “Nice idea, but I have to be in Borehamwood for 10 o’clock, bags the bathroom first”. Jumping out of bed she slipped into a silk dressing gown before going to the bathroom. John hopped out of bed and put on his dressing gown. Drawing back the curtains, he looked out upon Buckingham Place. There were a few parked cars opposite but even on the busiest London day, Buckingham Place could be quiet. The sky was overcast,"Another grey day", he thought to himself. 

Rose returned from the bathroom. “I’ll dress and put some coffee on. I haven’t time for breakfast this morning!” John was about to come away from the window when he heard the roar of an engine then, a small green, yellow-nosed Caterham sports car pulled up outside. A tall man dressed in a dark suit and black shirt, stepped out of the car. As he did so, a shiny black hearse stopped at the kerbside, some little distance behind the sports car. The man stepped around the little car, crossed the pavement, mounted the step to the front door and let himself in. 

John stepped back from the window. His wife finished dressing. “What was that?” she asked, John looked at Rose in complete astonishment.  “The front door!” was all he could  say.  “The front door?” asked Rose. “A sports  car stopped outside and the driver got out and let himself in! Phone the police, I’m going downstairs”. John armed himself with an umbrella from the top of the wardrobe while his wife dialled  999 on her mobile phone, “Be careful John”.  

On the landing, John could see down into the hallway. He had heard the front door slam shut but now it stood wide open. He could see the street outside and the parked green sports car Slowly, John made his way down the stairs and, reaching the bottom step, he froze at the sight which met his eyes. Walking backwards out of the lounge was a tall gaunt man, dressed in a long black coat and a black hat, carrying one end of a long box. Then a second man appeared, also dressed all in black and top hat and between them they carried a coffin. Strangely, John was frozen to the spot as he watched the two undertakers carry the coffin out through the front door and down the steps. Placing the coffin on the pavement, the first undertaker mounted the steps to the front door and pulled it shut. At that moment John unfroze and found his voice. “Rose” he shouted. “Rose, get down here” and ran into the lounge. Rose rushed into the room to find John pouring himself what was now his second drink. “The police are on their way.  What happened! Where’s the intruder?” Probably in the coffin.” he replied, draining his glass. “Coffin? What coffin? “Please put that bottle down John,” his wife requested. “Two undertakers have just carried a coffin from this house!” he replied, pouring a third drink. Rose looked at her husband strangely. “Well if you will drink at this time!” “It’s perfectly true I tell you”. John grabbed his wife’s arm, leading her to the windows just in time to see a hearse drive by. In it, two undertakers with an oak coffin in the back. “You mean,” said his wife, “that a man let himself into our house, then two undertakers came in and carried him out in a coffin?” “That’s right.” he replied. “And you did and said nothing?” Rose asked. “I was frozen to the spot. I couldn’t talk or move” John explained. “I know it’s weird and I can’t explain what happened, but that’s his Caterham sports car parked out there”. Behind which was now parked a police car. Two uniformed police officers stepped out and walked round the green sports car. One officer spoke into his radio briefly before the two of them walked up the steps to the front door. John and Rose looked at each other. “I believe you about what happened, Darling,” she said, “however I don’t think the same can be said of the police!” Just then there came two knocks on the door and John wished he could disappear!

The two police officers sat and listened to what John had witnessed only a short time ago. “Well it is an interesting story, Sir,” said the first officer. “Did you witness this, Madam?” he asked. “No,” replied Rose, “but when we were upstairs, I did hear a car outside and the front door slam shut. John came downstairs and I remained in the bedroom and called the police.” Rose explained. “But you didn’t see this man enter your house or indeed, the two undertakers?” asked the second policeman, exchanging ‘looks’ with his colleague! “No, but soon after, I did see a hearse drive past with two undertakers and a coffin in the back of it” replied Rose, “It must all seem rather strange to you, officers”. “No Madam, you would be amazed at the stories we’re told,” smiled the second officer. “One man,” he added, “said that his wife had been abducted by space aliens!” “Really?” said Rose. “No, not really. He’d murdered her, cut her up and stuffed the pieces in sacks under the floorboards!” the officer explained. 

“Nothing has been stolen or disturbed?” asked the first officer. “No.” Rose and John replied. “And this man simply let himself in with his own key?” the officer asked. “That’s right,” replied John, “I remember hearing it in the lock. Besides, the door was locked”.

“I don’t suppose you keep a key out front for emergencies, like locking yourself out?” asked the second officer. “No, nothing like that,” replied John, “and we haven’t lost any keys either!” “Thank you, Sir” replied the first officer, making notes. “And after this man gained entry to your house,” said the second officer, “you think he was promptly carried off in a coffin by two undertakers!” John knew the police officers found his story somewhat difficult to believe. “Well, he’s not here, is he? And besides which, that’s his Caterham sports car outside. I watched him drive up in it”. “I suppose the officers think he’s under the floorboards!” interrupted his wife sarcastically. “No Madam, we don’t think that,” replied the first officer, “and the car outside is an original Lotus Seven, Sir, not a Caterham”. “Are you sure?” asked John, puzzled. “Of course, Sir. It has a Lotus badge on its yellow nosecone,” the officer replied. “And we are eager to trace the owner, Sir. We will want to speak to him. The tax disc is thirty years out of date and the car has no safety roll bars. The car’s illegal. We’ll have it towed away for you, Sir,” said the second officer as his radio came to life, “Four-five from Control”. The officer answered his radio. “Four-five receiving, over”. “Four-five, registration check of KAR 120C” said a female voice. “Go ahead” the officer replied. “Last registered to a Mr John Drake of 1 Buckingham Place, London” said the voice. “Received Control” said the officer. John and Rose looked confused. “Last registered year of KAR 120C please?”  “Wait Four-five” said the voice. “Last registered tax year, 1967”. “Roger. Out” replied the officer. “Wonder how he’s got away with that for so long” said the first officer. “I don’t know,” replied his colleague, “but we’re going to find out! Can I see your driving licence Mr Blake?” “I’m sorry officer, but I don’t drive!” John replied. “Well Sir” said the second officer, “at least we know how he gained entry and how he managed to have a key”. “How do you mean?” asked Rose. “Well Madam, he’s obviously lived here at some time or other!” the officer replied. “When did you buy the house?” he asked. “We didn’t. We’ve taken out a twelve months’ lease on the house, fully furnished,” John explained, “We have only lived here two months” added his wife. ‘Then I suggest you contact the estate agents, Madam, and arrange for the locks to be changed.” said the first officer. “Who are the estate agents, Sir? We may need to speak to them.” “Oh, Stumber & Croydon,” John replied, “they’re on Victoria Street”. “You don’t mean you are taking us seriously, do you?” said Rose. “We will make some enquiries Madam,” replied the second officer, “check with the neighbours and such like. They may have seen the driver of the Lotus Seven or indeed the hearse. I don’t suppose you have the registration of the hearse, do you?” he asked. “No, sorry” they replied, showing the two police officers to the floor. “Mr Blake, you really do think that this John Drake chappie was abducted by two undertakers, don’t you?” said the first officer. “Officer, I am a barrister and not given to fancy” John explained. “If this Drake fellow was not abducted by the two undertakers and was in fact dead, then the firm of funeral directors is running a hell of a service, don’t you think?” quipped John smiling, opening the front door. “Good Day officers and you say you will have the Lotus towed away?” “Yes Sir” replied the policeman, however, to the astonishment of all concerned, KAR 120C no longer stood outside 1 Buckingham Place.

The police carried out their enquiries but what could they do? None of the Blake’s neighbours had seen or heard anything of the Lotus sports car or a hearse. Firms of funeral directors that had been contacted could account for all members of their staff and vehicles, none of which had been anywhere near 1 Buckingham Place. And to top it all the Lotus sports car had been driven off by person or persons unknown. Of course the police officers and the Blakes swore that they had heard nothing of the car being driven off but it would only be a question of time before the car and its owner (whom the police are keen to speak to) are traced, or so they thought. After contacting the estate agents of Stumber & Croydon all they could learn was that Mr Drake had lived at 1 Buckingham Place for some two and a half years. The only strange detail was that Mr Drake vacated the property with still six months on the lease to run. Not wanting the property standing empty, it was not long before a ‘To Let’ sign was put up outside 1 Buckingham Place.

It was late Saturday afternoon, two days since the morning of strange events. John Blake had arranged for the locks of the house to be changed. The work had been carried out promptly and swiftly, leaving the Blakes feeling once again safe and secure in their home. John stopped writing and sat back in his chair. “I wonder exactly who he was” he suddenly said. “Who?” asked Rose, not looking up from her newspaper. “This Drake fellow who lived here before us” he replied. “Who’s anyone?” asked Rose. “That’s not like you to be philosophical” he remarked. His wife set the newspaper down on her lap. “No, it isn’t, is it?” Rose replied thoughtfully. Suddenly there came three sharp knocks on the front door, breaking her train of thought. “Who can that be?” she asked. “Not expecting anyone are we?” John asked. “Don’t worry, I’ll see who it is” Rose replied, rising from her chair. “Then I’ll make some tea and sandwiches”. “Mmm, that would be good” he replied, returning to his letters. 

Upon opening the front door, Rose was confronted by a tall, dishevelled-looking man who eagerly asked her “What’s the number of that car?” Looking past the man into the street, Rose saw the green, yellow-nosed sports car of two day ago. KAR 120C!” What’s the engine number?” he asked brusquely. “I really wouldn’t know” she replied. “461034TZ. I know every nut and bolt. I built it with my own hands” he explained. To her surprise Rose found herself inviting the man in, she had no reason as to why! Leading the man into the lounge, “Darling, this is Mr...?.” Smith, Peter Smith” he said, introducing himself. “Forgive me for the intrusion but I... I used to live here” he explained. “In better days?” Rose asked, looking at his dirty turtleneck sweater, torn fawn trousers and grubby deck shoes. “Before I went away” came the reply. “Would you like some tea and sandwiches, Mr Smith?” Rose asked, “I was just about to make some”. John could hardly believe his wife, offering a complete stranger tea! Then, after a few moments of studying Mr Smith’s unshaven face, he suddenly recognised him as the man from two days ago who had let himself into their home! “Thank you but I can see I am intruding. I’d better go. I didn’t mean…” he said, moving to the door. “No, Mr. Smith, please sit down” John said, blocking his way, “I’ll help my wife with the tea. We won’t be a moment.” Peter Smith was left alone in the lounge. The old place hasn’t changed much, hardly at all really, he thought to himself as he studied the pictures and furnishings. Picking up the receiver of the ‘phone he listened to the dialling tone. He found it reassuring, somehow. Through the window he could see his green and yellow-nosed Lotus outside. Someone’s been taking care of her, he thought.

Just then John & Rose returned carrying a tray of tea, sandwiches and cake. While in the kitchen there had been some debate as to why John should not call the police. It was Rose’s decision not to, she didn’t know why. “Please Mr. Smith, do sit down and help yourself,” said Rose, holding out a plate of sandwiches. Over tea no-one hardly spoke, least of all Mr. Smith. He was too busy filling his belly, he hadn’t realised how hungry he was. Afterwards he wiped his lips on a napkin. “Thank you, that was the best fruit cake I have ever tasted,” he said. “You said you used to live here, Mr Smith” John said, wanting to know more of his... guest. “Yes, there was still six months to go on the lease” he replied. “We’ve had it for a year” replied Rose, “We arranged it all through Stumber & Croydon”. “They’re not the estate agents I dealt with.” Mr Smith replied. “How odd” she answered. “Isn’t it?” said her husband, “You say you have been away?” “Yes, I’m an exile!” he replied. “Now, you have been very kind and trusting, I’m not used to that”. “It’s nothing” Rose replied. “However,” he said, standing up to leave, “I have two calls to make, one in town and one in the country”. Rose protested, “But you can’t go like that! Look, the bathroom is upstairs on the left. I’ll get some of John’s spare clothes. I just know you’re in some sort of trouble”.

Outside, the engine of the Lotus Seven fired into life. “Mrs. Blake, you have been so kind, thank your husband for me” said Mr. Smith. “Take care,” said Rose, “Come back and see us again. I’ll bake you another cake”. “I’ll hold you to it” he said, revving the engine and selecting first gear. “I’ll be back,” he shouted. Already it felt good to be behind the wheel again as the Lotus pulled away from the kerb. Rose waved him goodbye then turned to see John standing on the top step, under the porch, watching as the car turned the corner. “I don’t understand!” he said as Rose climbed the steps to the house. “What’s to understand?” she asked. “You’re being philosophical again!” he replied, smiling.  Twice in one day, whatever next?’. She laughed... “More tea?” “Perhaps something stronger” John suggested. Taking his wife’s arm they crossed the threshold and the door slowly closed behind them. 

A few days later there was another visitor to 1 Buckingham Place, a Mr. Croydon of Stumber & Croydon estate agents, now retired. “Nothing wrong with the house or lease, I hope,” asked John. “Oh not that I am aware. I don’t have any involvement, except in name”. “I see, then what brings you here?” Rose asked, passing him a cup of tea. “I became a little intrigued by a visit to our premises recently from the police, regarding an incident here a few days ago. Mr. Stumber replied, sipping his tea. “They also asked about a previous tenant of this property!”  John and Rose glanced at each other and then went on to explain everything that had happened a few days ago, much of which they had no explanation for. “Well now, said Mr. Stumber, placing his cup and saucer on the table, “Let me see if I can explain a little from what I know. A young man took out a three year lease on 1 Buckingham Place. He was tall, over six feet, with brown hair if I recall correctly,” said Mr. Stumber. “As I recall, he had very good references from his employer”. “What was his job?” Rose asked. “Oh I don’t know exactly but I know he was working for the Government in some department or other.” Mr. Stumber explained. “How old would you say he was?” John asked. “Oh let me see, about thirty-eight years old, he was.” came the reply. “Liked to dress in a charcoal grey suit and drove a green Lotus Seven. Yes, I remember Mr. Drake very well now.” said Mr. Stumber. “Funny that, he left before the lease ran out. Disappeared with six months to run on the lease”. “Well, Mr. Stumber, he came back!” John replied. “What do you mean?” he asked. “Look, a tall man, over six feet, brown hair, about thirty-eight years old, wearing a charcoal grey suit and drives a green, yellow-nosed Lotus Seven.” said John. Mr. Stumber fell silent for a few moments. “It has to be the same man”, pleaded Rose. “No, I am afraid that is not possible.” Mr. Stumber replied, “the man of whom I speak would be around seventy years old because, you see... it all happened thirty years ago”. 

As I understand it, the Blakes were the last people to lease 1 Buckingham Place. An insurance company bought the building, turning the lounge, dining room and bedrooms into offices. There’s a brass plaque on the wall and access is only gained through an intercom system. 

“Miss Jones, do we have any appointments this morning?” asked Mr. Brack. “No Sir, nothing until this afternoon.” she replied. Mr. Brack was looking out of the window. “Well, who owns the green, yellow-nosed Caterham which is parked outside?” he asked. “I really don’t know!” Miss Jones replied. 

It was then that they heard the front door slam shut and the office door suddenly burst open

Copyright © David A. Stimpson 2001