The Vice Society (29 page)

‘Could I offer you a glass of milk, Eusebius?’ said ‘J.S.’.

‘No thank you, sir.’

‘You are good boy. It was a capital idea to bring those men here, and to contact me directly. We must provide our investigative colleagues with every opportunity to pursue this case, even if it means working with civilians.’

‘Yes, sir. I have remembered everything that was said.’

‘Of course you have, but it is unnecessary. I heard and saw everything.’

‘But . . . when?’

‘Look there, Eusebius, at the painting of the hunting scene on the east wall. A fine rendering, is it not? But if you were to look closer at the undergrowth where the hounds forage for a fallen bird, you would see a small aperture with a larger one in the wall behind it. From that small room, I was able to observe all. It is why I suggested this property. The man who owns it likes to . . . well, never mind about that.’

‘Ingenious, sir.’

‘I knew that a man of your temperament would appreciate such a ruse. It is important, you see, that we at the Society know everything about this case.’

‘Could you not simply ask the policemen?’

‘Ah, you are too innocent! Men like Inspector Newsome dislike men such as we “intruding” in his work. He likes to keep the details to himself so that he may take all the glory when the case is solved. It is pure arrogance. Fortunately – thanks to you, Eusebius – we are now able to pursue the case ourselves. A solution is certain with more people investigating the case.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘It is a curious case, is it not? You have heard all of the evidence – what do you make of it?’

‘I, sir? I am sure I have no idea.’

‘Come, now! That is not the Eusebius I know. I see your eyes and I know that all the information is being absorbed into that pretty head of yours. Tell me: what do
you
think happened in that room at Colliver’s coffee house?’

‘Well, it seems Mr Sampson embarked upon an adventure he was not prepared for. Too late, he decided he would like to change his mind, hence his “I cannot”. His fellows were angered and he was either pushed or jumped from the window. They subsequently fled.’

‘You are a clever boy. What of the girl?’

‘Which girl? She of Golden-square, or the one found dead that morning?’

‘My, you were listening very carefully! I refer to the one found dead.’

‘I cannot see any connection.’

‘Good. That is good. I believe the policemen are chasing a phantasm there.’

‘Sir . . . I admit that I am a little afraid . . .’

‘Afraid, my boy? Why ever is that?’

‘It seems that many people are dying who have a connection to this case. Mr Jessop, Mrs Colliver, Joseph the waterman . . .’

‘But you have no connection to the case, Eusebius. You did not hear or see the incident. Who do you think is killing these people?’

‘The men who were in the room with Mr Sampson.’

‘Who do you think those men might be?’

‘I . . . I really cannot guess.’

‘Working men, perhaps?’

‘Rather not. I believe the carriage they escaped in was their own. And the working man prefers gin to sherry.’

‘You are right, of course. What a young detective you are! I was right to choose you as my special observer. I do not want you to be afraid. We must endeavour to do everything in our power to bring these men to justice so that you need be afraid no longer. You will be instrumental in that.’

‘How so?’

‘You are to cease your partnership with Inspector New-some for the time being and pursue Mr Williamson. I sense that he is the finer investigator, and I think we both know that he knows more than he has told.’

‘Yes, sir. And Mr Dyson?’

‘He is no concern of yours. No – you should keep your hawk-like eyes upon Mr Williamson. Report to me all that he does.’

‘I will.’

‘Your place in Heaven is secure, Eusebius. You are truly an angel of righteousness in this wicked city of ours.’

The second of our temporarily absent characters is, of course, Constable Cullen. It had been three days since he had once again reluctantly adopted the uniform of his rank and been ignominiously returned to L Division as a common beat policeman. At that moment where we left Inspector Newsome cogitating in his office, the constable was out alone upon the familiar streets. But where?

Let us indulge ourselves and, in fancy, fly as a spirit over the city in search of him. It is dark and chilly. London is a tapestry of charcoal and ashes far below us, its larger streets illuminated with gas and a blanket of smoke lying over all as invisible millions gather round fires in their homes, or freeze to death on the open road. The river is a black serpent slithering inexorably through the desolation, countless ships’ masts harrowing the sky at the Thames Pool. But for the hopeless sigh of the upper air, there is silence on our flight.

We descend through smoke and fly low along the frigid river, beneath the bridges – London, Southwark and Black-friars – until the nine graceful arches of Waterloo-bridge approach . . . and there he is, standing alone at its mid-point, looking east at the chimneys and spires against the sky.

Within that top hat, and within that stately scull, Constable Cullen is perhaps recalling the interview that brought him to this point: that final briefing in the office of Inspector Newsome.

‘As you know, Constable, your time with the Detective Force has been a trial period. How do you think you have performed during this time?’

‘I have learned much, sir. We have searched the scene of a murder and questioned witnesses. I feel that I have begun to learn many of the skills of a detective.’

‘Your questioning of Mr Poppleton was not especially effective.’

‘The man was quite rude and obstructive, sir. He was mocking me.’

‘Indeed he was. But I’m sure you would find a drunken Irishman considerably ruder and more obstructive if you had to interrogate one. A detective must exhibit an unquestioned authority.’

‘Does this mean that I am not to remain with the Detective Force, sir?’

‘I’m afraid so, Constable Cullen. You are a fine policeman, but not for the Detective Force. I thought that perhaps you had learned from Mr Williamson, but I see now that it was your loyalty rather than your brain that he prized.’

‘Sir . . . I believe that with further experience I will—’

‘Well – that is all I have time for, Constable. You will return to L Division with my commendation on good work done. And you will speak to no one – absolutely no one at all – on the subject of this case. I am quite serious on this point. If I find that you have passed any information to Mr Williamson or his cohorts, I will see to it that you are thrown out of the police. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, sir.’

So now the forlorn constable stood leaning on the parapet above the cold water, his breath steaming about him in the stillness. It would soon be dawn and time for him to return home to sleep. But not before his life had been changed irrevocably.

A man was approaching from the north on the same side of the bridge that Constable Cullen stood. Even from a distance the shadowy, top-hatted figure was tall and solidly built – a column of blackness even in the lamplight. The policeman assumed his full height and touched the truncheon at his side.

And as the figure came nearer, it became clear that he was indeed a walking shadow: a Negro.

‘Hello, Ben!’ Constable Cullen immediately recognized Noah’s dark friend by his ghostly eye. The two formidable gentlemen exchanged a handshake that might have crushed the bones of lesser men. ‘How long is it since we worked on that case together with Mr Williamson?’

Benjamin shrugged good-naturedly.

‘I will tell you, Ben: I miss those times. What I would not give for some real investigation. What brings you to . . . ? O, what is this?’

Benjamin was holding out a letter to the policeman. Mr Cullen felt an anticipatory prickle of excitement across his neck and moved closer under a lamp that he might read more clearly.

Constable Cullen was taken with rush of giddiness that he tried his best to conceal in front of Benjamin. It hardly seemed possible: Mr Williamson wanted
his
help on a case!

‘I am to go with you, Ben?’

Benjamin nodded.

‘Just leave my post this moment and not return? Just walk away and forget about my duty to the Metropolitan Police that I have served for three years?’

Benjamin nodded.

‘I see . . . Then let us not waste another moment!’ And the two men headed north across the bridge, a muscled Negro arm around the shoulders of the constable, who blathered on with sufficient effusion that Benjamin need do nothing but smile.

NINETEEN

It was just after dawn on that same day as Mr Williamson and Noah Dyson sat in a fireside nook within the smoky confines of Dick’s coffee house on Fleet-street, just a short distance from that eminent arch where they had so recently been re-acquainted. The former was in a state of some agitation.

‘We must go immediately to the Continental Club – with the inspector if necessary – and arrest this man James Tattershall: he with the distinctive laugh.’

‘Wait, George – do not be so ready to put on your coat. Let us consider everything that we know before acting precipitously.’

‘There is nothing precipitous about it – our murderer is a member of that club. Or at least he knows who it is – perhaps this Major Tunnock.’

‘We know nothing of the sort. There is a young man with a strange laugh. Perhaps he is our man – perhaps not. The prudent path is for me to arrange another meeting once I have made a more thorough study of this tract they gave me. I have been invited to do so by Major Tunnock. That is the occasion when we might learn more and strike.’

‘You ask me to wait as a murderer walks free?’

‘The deaths of Mr Jessop and Joseph tell us that they already know of our investigation, and yet they do not hide. Evidently, they do not fear us. They are not running.’

‘Hmm. What of this tract?’

‘I have read it through once. It is poor sort of amateur philosophy on the nature of erotic transgression. What is of more pertinence is that the gentlemen at the club clearly have something to hide – something that, as we have suspected, is of a morally dubious nature and may connect a number of crimes. I believe they might tell me more in a private place – particularly if they thought they could lure me there with the promise of information.’

‘A trap, then.’

‘No doubt, but we will be ready for it. If these are the men who were in the room with Mr Sampson, they have already demonstrated they will stop at nothing to preserve their freedom. We must proceed with all caution.’

‘I would like to take this fellow James from the street and question him. Arrest him if necessary.’

‘With what effect, George? Now you are thinking like Inspector Newsome. James is rich and knows powerful men. He will tell us nothing and will obtain a powerful legal counsel. But perhaps if I can talk to him in his own environment, among his fellows, he will give something more away, even inadvertently.’

‘Our murderer is frustratingly close.’

‘Indeed, but there is still no connection with your wife in sight. Tell me more about your excursion to Clerkenwell. Benjamin has told me about “Freepass”. What is it?’

‘I have no idea. A person? A place? I have never heard the name in any context. Is it two words or one?’

‘Can you be sure that the boy was not coached to tell you the word? It seems odd for him to identify, or even know, such a term so precisely.’

‘Of course, I have considered the possibility. But a distraction is of equal importance to a truth if seen from the correct perspective.’

‘Quite. Perhaps your Constable Cullen will be able to tell us more if Benjamin has been able to lure him away from his duties.’

‘I hope so. I would prefer to solve the case without meeting Mr Newsome again.’

The coffee house was now filling with men on their way to work. Chill air flooded in across the floor each time the door opened, and trade was brisk as they hurriedly drank their steaming beverages before rushing to their futile labour. One hundred years hence, all their efforts would be ash – vanished and insignificant, unless they were writers.