The Thieves' Labyrinth (Albert Newsome 3) (12 page)

There was one more thing that marked the fellow out. Though private in nature and not in the least troublesome for most of the time, he had been known to fly into most terrible rages. On one
such occasion, it had been something so trivial as a warder knocking over a pile of sorted newspapers – an act that moved ‘Crawford’ or ‘Cowley’ to such a fury that he
had to have his hands prised from the throat of the poor turnkey.

Could this unusual man have been the same who called himself Eldritch Batchem? There was no beard, no russet cap, no apparent aspirations to lauded investigation. Certainly, I was in no position
to judge further . . . at least not as long as I remained unable to resolve my debts. That time would come soon enough, and I would return gloriously to the cab stands, public houses and itinerant
street lads who are the true authorities on the city’s happenings.

In the meantime, and as I garnered more shreds of information from other sources, Eldritch Batchem himself had spent little time luxuriating in the triumph of his evening at the Queen’s.
Assuredly, he stepped with perhaps a little more pomp than heretofore, and stroked his beard with a more practised air, but he had seen his chance to eclipse the Metropolitan Police and there was
no time to be lost while the Detective Force gathered its wits.

Thus, on the very afternoon I was quizzing the turnkey at Horsemonger-lane, our be-capped investigator had taken the first logical step in chasing the vanished brig
Aurora
and was down
among the carpenters, canvas cutters, rope weavers, biscuit-bakers, blacksmiths and instrument-makers of deepest Wapping. He was looking for crimps.

As any sailor (or river-district constable) knows, there are generally three kinds of people awaiting a ship as it finally tosses its ropes ashore: the multifarious shore-side workers, the
ruddy-cheeked whore, and the crimp. It is the latter, of course, who offers most. The finest beds, the cheapest beer, the most wholesome nutriments, and the most convenient lodgings for rapid
shipping – all such lies roll off his tongue like poetry. Never mind paying now, he says to the tars rolling down the gangs onto solid land – they can pay him in full after they have
collected their payment from the shipping office. They can pay him in full after he has kept them drunk for three weeks, inflated their bill, paid their women and gone quite through their wages
before they even receive them, heading back out to the horizon with a throbbing head and no recollection of land.

Accordingly, Eldritch Batchem was working his way along the dozens of taverns on Wapping-street asking if any of these crimps had welcomed the crew of a ship called the
Aurora
recently,
and whether any of them might be resident. He had already visited the Ship and Pilot, the Golden Anchor, the Ship and Whale, and the Marline Spike before meeting any fortune.

The obstreperous sot who owned the Marline Spike had offered the investigator little but invective, yet there happened to be two sailors on the cobbles outside who had heard the exchange.

‘Ho, sir! You there wi’ the child’s red cap on,’ hailed the taller one of the pair, evidently a number of days into his prodigious intake of liquor.

‘Are you referring to me, sir?’ said Batchem, turning.

‘Aye, mate. Was yer ’quiring ’bout th’
Aurora
? The brig out o’ Calais?’

‘Indeed. Do you know of it?’

‘Know o’ it? I was a ——— seaman on it two . . . three . . . some days hence!’

‘Is that so? You may be of considerable importance to an investigation I am conducting.’ The investigator took out his notebook and pencil. ‘I had heard that half the hands
were lost with the vessel.’

‘Well . . . my ’ands is both accounted for. Are yer wi’ the newspapers?’

‘I am an investigator. Tell me, sailor – where did the
Aurora
dock? She did not land where expected?’

‘Aye, that’s right enough. Should o’ roped up at St Kath’s, but the tidewaiter said there were no place and we ’ad to wait. After a bit, first mate said we could go
ashore by lighter on account o’ our thirst for beer and whores!’

‘I see. Do you recall the name or the appearance of the tide-waiter who came on board? This is really rather important.’

‘Youngish chap I s’pose . . . I didn’t pay him much ’eed. He spoke to the first mate, not to me.’

‘Did the mates accompany you on the lighter?’

‘The mates stay aboard for offloading, don’t they?’

‘Of course. How many of you eventually came ashore by lighter?’

‘O, seven or so. And the master. I don’t recall p’cisely.’ The sailor turned to his fellow, who was leaning against the wall of the public house with heavy limbs and an
expression of spiritous idiocy. ‘How many o’ us came ashore on the lighter, Pikey?’

He addressed as Pikey moved his eyes towards the origin of the question and merely gaped in wonder at the function of speech.

‘Well, it was ’bout seven,’ said the taller sailor. ‘And the master.’

‘What of the ship herself? What happened to her thereafter? Have you met any of your fellows hereabouts who stayed aboard?’

‘I ’ave no idea, mate. And I ’ave no care. Never saw the ship again after I came ashore. I got money to drink! What is all o’ this ’bout?’

‘It is an investigation I am conducting. You may have heard of me – my name is Eld—’

‘An ’vestigation? You police, then? If I’d known you were police I wouldn’t of spoke to yer!’

‘I am not a policeman. I am something quite different. My name is Eldri—’

‘——— copper! I don’t talk to no coppers!’

Eldritch Batchem recognized that the interview was at an end. He made his little bow and continued on his way along the high street in search of any more sailors from that unfortunate
vessel.

And as he strolled, his nose was assailed by a quite hideous stench of effluent that caused him to resort to use of his handkerchief. He looked about the street, perhaps expecting to see an open
sewer, but there was no evidence to be seen. At the same time, as he hastened his step to escape the stench, he had the curious notion – that queer tickling at the base of the neck –
that he was being watched.

Others in the thoroughfare seemed to show no particular sign of interest in him, so he glanced at the upper-storey windows, at shadowy doorways and at a passing omnibus for signs of his
observer. But no curtains twitched, no figures lurked and no sign of
surveillance
presented itself. He hurried on.

‘Inspector Newsome – you are no longer under my direct command. Did I not make it absolutely clear? Furthermore, you are neglecting your duty on the river by being
here.’

Sir Richard Mayne occupied his customary position behind the oak desk at Scotland Yard. Standing before him, Mr Newsome was dressed in the uniform of the Thames Police and was indeed absent from
his official duties. His constables waited impatiently for him in the galley at Whitehall-stairs.

‘Sir – if I may speak frankly . . .’

‘You generally do, Inspector. That is a significant proportion of your failing as a senior officer.’

‘Eldritch Batchem, sir – he cannot be permitted to escape his recent slurs upon the name of the Detective Force—’

‘And he will not be permitted to do so. The case will be solved and we will prove conclusively that justice is best served by an official body.’

‘Sir – if I were to be reinstated in the Detec—’

‘No. I already have Inspector Watson of the Detective Force working on this case. Any assistance
you
can offer will be through your duties on the river . . . wait, do not attempt to
interrupt me! Your duty with the Thames Police allows you access to the wharfs and docks and warehouses of the entire Port of London. If the
Aurora
is to be found, she is likely to be found
there.’

‘So I am to remain in uniform . . .’

‘That was our agreement: until you prove yourself. Now – since you are here, perhaps you can tell me something about the body you apparently pulled out of the river four days
past.’

‘It was nothing. Just another suicide washed up by the colliers. We have no identity as yet.’

‘Really? I heard that there was a length of chain about the legs. An odd sort of suicide, was it not?’

‘One might think so if one had not worked on the river, sir. It seems they shoot themselves, poison themselves or weight themselves and
then
leap into the waters. I surmise that
they want to be absolutely sure of reaching oblivion.’

‘And what of the hurried
post mortem
you allegedly arranged at Wapping station? That was not standard procedure.’

‘I am thorough in my work, sir . . . but, may I ask how you came to hear of the examination? I rather feel I am being spied upon.’

‘Not at all. The superintendent at Wapping merely mentioned it to me and questioned whether you understood that you are no longer a detective. Do you?’

‘I wanted to be sure that it was indeed a suicide. As you say, the chains were suspicious. But the surgeon’s report was quite conclusive: drowning with some injuries sustained after
death.’

‘I see. That is what I assumed, but perhaps in future you could spend more time on the water with your constables . . .’

‘Yes, sir . . .’

‘Is there something else you would like to tell me, Inspector?’

‘Sir Richard – I am confused. You clearly had no intention of entertaining my request to work on the
Aurora
case, and yet you agreed to receive me this morning. Was it to ask
me about the suicide? I feel there is something more afoot.’

Another man might have smiled, but the police commissioner was content to nod an acknowledgement of his interlocutor’s perceptiveness.

‘Good. That is the Inspector Newsome I know. I will explain further in just a moment, but I am just waiting . . .’

Sir Richard took out his pocket watch and flicked open the case. There was a knock at the door and the clerk appeared. ‘The gentleman for whom you are waiting has arrived,
Commissioner.’

‘Very good. Show him in.’

The figure of George Williamson entered the room carrying his hat in both hands before him and looking ill at ease. Sir Richard stood to receive him.

‘What is this!’ erupted Mr Newsome.

‘Silence, Inspector,’ said Sir Richard. ‘
You
have been given admittance despite my better judgement – might not we extend that invitation further?’

‘This man is no longer a member of the police, Sir Richard. I must protest in the strongest terms.’

‘I asked for your silence, Inspector. Mr Williamson is my guest in a purely informal capacity.’

Sir Richard came out from behind his desk to shake Mr Williamson’s hand.

‘George – I thank you for responding to my letter. It has been a long time and I have been remiss in passing on my regards since you left the Force.’

‘Hmm. I imagine Mr Newsome here has been informing you of my activities over the last year or so,’ said Mr Williamson.

‘What is that supposed to mean?’ said Mr Newsome.

‘Gentlemen!’ Sir Richard held up placatory hands. ‘This animosity between you is something I neither understand nor condone. Collaboration is the more effective
strategy.’

‘The man collaborates with criminals,’ said Mr Newsome.

‘And I see that
you
are back in uniform,’ offered Mr Williamson.

‘That is enough,’ said Sir Richard with finality. ‘Let us go and sit by the fire. I have something to share with both of you.’

The three moved to the leather wing-back chairs by the hearth. Sir Richard stoked the coals as the two ex-detectives took opposing seats: one scowling, the other still looking highly dubious
about the whole affair. Neither seemed to notice the neat pile of papers or the pen and ink-stand on the fireside table between them.

‘George – I understand that you recently discovered the truth about your wife’s death,’ said Sir Richard, taking his seat. ‘I am happy that you were finally able to
solve that most private of crimes.’

‘Hmm,’ said Mr Williamson.

‘Do not question him too closely on how he went about his investigation,’ said Mr Newsome.

Sir Richard fixed him with a gimlet eye: ‘Inspector – your current uniformed attire should be proof enough that your investigative methods are not beyond reproach, so let us dispense
with such accusations. It is actually rather fortuitous for me to have the two of you in one room today. You are both fine, but flawed, detectives – by temperament if not by employment
– and I believe that justice is in earnest need of your like.’

‘Hmm. I have found justice to be a strange mistress,’ said Mr Williamson. ‘Things are done in her name that would shame some criminals.’

‘You are quite correct, George,’ said Sir Richard, ‘and that is why the investigation of this case must be an exemplar of righteous, honourable detective work: an investigation
that will stand the scrutiny of any judge, whether legal or moral.’

‘Forgive me for saying so, sir,’ said Mr Newsome, ‘but you speak as if the three of us had already made a covenant over this
Aurora
case.’

‘You are eager, as always, to reach the conclusion, Inspector. Well, let me reveal my thoughts. You gentlemen have solved some of the greatest mysteries to face the Metropolitan Police,
whether working together or at odds with each other. And yet you have both demonstrated qualities unbecoming of a detective. I will not dwell on these – rather I will say that the Detective
Force is a better body with such as you within it.’