A Coldblooded ScoundrelJoAnne
Soper-CookIntroductionScotland
Yard Inspector Philip Devlin's past comes back to haunt him when a series of
gruesome murders unsettles Victorian London, and most especially the Yard. Why
does the killer single out Devlin for his game of cat and mouse? Is his killing
spree something personal?Interwoven
into the suspense of this story is a generous dose of humour, provided by the
warm-hearted Devlin himself, as well as his motley group of assistants, amongst
them a charmingly inept, infatuated constable, a pair of elegant graverobbers
and a couple of free-thinking sapphites, all of whom have a colourful history
and personality of their own.Join JoAnne
Soper-Cook's eccentric characters on the killer's trail through clammy London
streets, wild clubs, secret societies and country inns.OneIt never got
any easier. Inspector G. Phillip Devlin, standing with hishead bared
to the pouring rain, tried to remember - not for the first time -why he was here. Of course it was tradition, and a custom of his,
almosta punishment of sorts, that he turn up here every
year on this date andreflect upon her grave, to
remember. It was ten years since the fire -since she
fell to her death trying to escape the flames, the certainty of herown mortality. Ten years, and every year he made himself come here
andremember her, even though it nearly killed him. If
only he'd been quicker,if only he'd done more to save
her, if only he'd been able to dissuade theother one,
the one who'd doused her clothing in alcohol spirits, the onewho swore he'd 'set the little bitch afire.'Of course
Devlin had failed, and Elizabeth Hobbs had died - anothervictim of
another crime, all in a day's work for a police inspector, yes, yes.He still saw
her face in his dreams, and relived the occasion of her deathin his
nightmares. He would never be free of it - it was his fault that shehad died, because he hadn't been enough of a policeman to stop thedeadly cycle of events. He could never forgive himself for
that, for thegross omission of his duties.He put on
his hat, knelt down as he usually did and pressed his lips tothe cold,
cold stone. "I'm sorry." He could hardly force the words past thelump in his throat, and even though he was alone in the
cemetery, hewas grateful for the driving October rain
that effectively hid his tears.Anything, he thought,
was easier than this. Anything at all.He hailed a
cab just outside the cemetery gates and climbed inside, hismind
curiously empty of sensation. His gloved hands lay in his lap,nerveless, and his dark eyes gazed openly at nothing at all. For theduration of the ride back to Scotland Yard, he deliberately
concentratedon the sense of emptiness - he knew if he
didn't, he would weep again, and that would never do."Sir?"
Constable Lewis stood a respectful distance from Devlin's desk - asthick as he
was throughout, even Lewis knew that Devlin was nothimself
today, and he hesitated to push where he knew he was notwanted. He cleared his throat and began again: "Sir?""Yes?"
Devlin had been staring at the pile of paper on his desk for half anhour,
willing his mind into activity, but so far he'd had no luck. He felt oldtoday - old and tired, worn out and used-up. He'd have to stop
going tothe cemetery, he thought - it wasn't doing him
any good, and it certainlywasn't doing Elizabeth Hobbs
any good, seeing how she'd been in theground this ten
years and her murderer gone free on a technicalitybecause
of his aristocratic blood and his family's goddamned money."I
thought you'd like some tea, sir. Bloody wet and cold out there today."Lewis laid
down a thick mug of the steaming brew and stood back again.The inspector still hadn't moved so much as an inch, was still
occupiedwith his internal considerations, whatever they
were. Lewis hoped to bean inspector himself, someday,
and he wondered precisely what sorts ofthings men like
Devlin were wont to think about - but Lewis was a meretwenty-two
to Devlin's thirty-five, and could have no real idea.Devlin
blinked, seeming to draw himself back from a great distance, andstared at
Lewis as if he'd just then materialised from out of the floor."What?" He scratched his head in a distracted manner,
further disturbinghis hair which, when wet, tended to
arrange itself into astonishingcowlicks and curlicues
which were not at all germane to the habitualdignity of
a Yard inspector.Lewis
allowed himself the hint of a smile - he liked it when Devlinallowed
himself to become just that little bit disarranged, because, truthbe told, Lewis fancied his superior and thought that Devlin was, if
notexactly handsome in a conventional sense, one of the
most attractivemen he'd ever had the privilege to know.
But he'd never repeat this toDevlin - it simply wasn't
done for constables to mingle with theirsuperiors, and
anyway, there remained the thorny problem of the Act.There
was no getting round that, and who wanted to end up in ReadingGaol for the price of a weekend bit of slap-and-tickle with a
fetching police inspector...a police inspector who looked younger than his
thirty-five years and whose dark hair held an auburn
gleam when the light wasjust so, and whose deep brown
eyes with their long lashes were, well,quite lovely.
Lewis sighed gently."Something
wrong, Constable?" Devlin picked up the tea and examined itintently
before bringing the mug to his mouth and sipping it with greatenjoyment."No,
sir." Lewis withdrew a piece of paper from underneath his left elbowand passed
it across the desk to Devlin. "Thought you might want to seethis, sir."Devlin took
the paper and examined it carefully. "I am down on whores,"he read
aloud, "and I shan't quit ripping them - " He tossed the paper ontothe growing pile at the front of his desk and treated Lewis to
a look ofutter contempt. "For the love of
God!" he said. "The Ripper case has beendone,
Freddie!" It behooved Devlin, at a time like this, to use thediminutive of Constable Lewis's first name. "Where did you dig
this up,eh? Been foraging in the rubbish bins
again?" He sat back and pressedhis fingers against
his eyes, still sore and gritty from a sleepless night."It's
not left over from the Ripper, sir - course not, that was two yearsago."
Lewis shifted his not inconsiderable weight to his other foot andregarded Devlin with a weather eye. "Just came in this morning.
Younglad brought it round, he did. Said to give it to
Inspector Devlin."Devlin was
too old and too experienced to allow himself the luxury of awide-eyed
expression of shock - but something deep inside him recoiledfrom the cold, blunt fist of anguish that always struck him whenever
heremembered the Ripper. He fumbled in his desk for his
cigarettes, strucka match with rather more of a
flourish than was strictly necessary, andhoped Lewis
didn't notice the overt shaking of his hands.But Lewis
had. "You alright, sir?"Devlin
treated him to a withering look. "Of course I'm alright, Freddie!" Hedrew hard
on his cigarette. "Didn't sleep well last night," he muttered.Of course,
Freddie Lewis reasoned, Devlin had been sleeping alone, inhis
admittedly mean accommodations, with no one to comfort him...noone to take him into their arms at night and hold him, trace the
lines ofhis lean face with love and compassion and
perhaps, just as dawn waslightening the inspector's rooms,
coax him into a little bit of the oldrumpy-pumpy. It
was to Freddie Lewis's credit that his internal dialoguestill retained more than a passing familiarity with his working-classorigins. He'd have never called it "making love" or
even "fucking", the wayDevlin was wont to do.
Such talk would have been giving himself airs."Sorry
to hear that, sir." Lewis refused to meet Devlin's eyes, and fixed hisgaze
stolidly on the worn carpet between his feet."Mind
your own bloody business!" Devlin snapped, and instantlyregretted
it. "Look, Freddie - " He sighed noisily, allowed his gaze to restupon the tall young constable. Freddie Lewis looked like
something off aPeak Freans tin, if you caught him in
the right light, or else an hyperbolicillustration of "The
Glories of the Empire". Freddie Lewis was a shadeover
six feet tall, with long bones that in another man might have beenlanky and ungainly. His hair was a particular shade of curly blond,
lighterat the ends, as if he'd just now got back from a
holiday in the South Seas.His eyes were brown, but not
the deep, nearly-black of Devlin's own -Freddie's eyes
were the colour of warm hazelnut cream, and his carefulmouth
always managed to retain the hint of a smirk. In another set ofcircumstances, Freddie might have felt at home in the crimson uniform
ofone of the Foot battalions - he had that sort of
bearing. Devlin had noidea how Freddie had managed to
become a Peeler." - I'm
not sure what we've got, exactly," Devlin managed to say. He tookanother sip
of his tea - by God, how did Freddie know he liked it just thisway? A hint of sugar, generous amounts of milk - and wondered whenthe throbbing in his skull was going to subside. "You've
got to keep aneye out for these kinds of copycats -
every man-jack on the docks fancieshimself some sort of
dark character, if only for the pleasure of his ownvanity."
It was one of the longest speeches Devlin had ever made, and itexhausted him."Beggin'
your pardon, Inspector - " Devlin's pardon was effectivelybegged by a
very junior constable from downstairs, with startling orange hair and a
veritable blizzard of freckles. " - the Chief says he's wantin' tosee yer in his office, like.""Did he
say what it was about?" Devlin could have bitten off his tongue -here was
this morning's first breach of protocol, following hard on theheels of a hellish beginning in the cemetery. Of course this urchin
had noidea - how could he?"No
idea, sir. Said for me to fetch you." The lad sketched a quick glance atLewis and
scuttled away down the corridor like a startled land crab."Think
it's about the note?" Lewis shot a look at Devlin. "Or perhaps OldBrassie's
got his knickers in a twist again.""Constable
- " Devlin sounded a warning note: he, like all the others,knew Sir
Neville Alcock's nickname among the force, but that didn't meanhe had to countenance its use among the junior officers. " -
don't let mehear you say it again." The term
'Brassie' had been coined by some semi-literate wag in
Special Branch, who thought that a man with a surnamelike
'All Cock' must have a nether member made of brass. Of course thename had stuck, to the merriment of all concerned, and even thoseyoungest of the constables who were just entering the service
werenecessarily briefed on its proper uses and abuses.
Devlin paused tostraighten his necktie and attempted to
smooth down his hair with theaid of his palms, but to
no effect. He glanced at himself in the smallshaving
mirror mounted over his filing cabinet: tired eyes, face too palefrom lack of sleep, shoulders already sagging even though it was
barelyeleven in the morning."You
look fine, sir." Lewis appeared behind him, smiling gently.
"Perfectlyalright." Privately, he remarked to himself that
Devlin needed a goodsleep, a hot bath and a hot meal
and then a bloody good rogering, notnecessarily in that
order.Devlin's
eyes met those of the constable in the mirror, and for a momentsomething
indefinable passed between them, something wistful andsweet.
"I should be about an hour, depending - " Devlin tossed this offover his shoulder as he flew out the door. "Make another
pot of tea!"Freddie
Lewis grinned, and set about doing just that.Sir Neville
Alcock was huge - not plump or merry or even well fleshed,but huge,
enormous, a vast rolling bulk of a man with a belly theapproximate
size of some larger species of barrel. His hands were little,fat and doughy as suet, and his head sat atop the great mound of hisbody like a Jack-o-Lantern. All in all, he seemed to be
composed ofseveral intersecting spheres, rather like a
snowman. "Devlin."Devlin
sagged visibly. Sir Neville could manage to fit moredisappointment
into the two syllables of the inspector's name than mostpeople did; surely this couldn't be good news. "Sir?" He
took the glass ofbrandy that Sir Neville offered, took
care not to quaff it too hastily, andsat down at Sir
Neville's indication that he should do so."The
Ripper." It was another feature of Sir Neville's not-inconsiderablepersonality
that he flittered out bits of news in short, staccato bursts,rather like burps - or, as Freddie Lewis was wont to say, like hen
farts.Devlin made a mental note to speak to Lewis.
"We've had strangehappenings of late,
Devlin.""Like
what, sir?" Devlin gazed into the brandy, warming the glassbetween his
palms. Odd how, in certain light, the glossy liquid retainedthe colour of flame -I'll set
her on fire! I'll send the little bitch to Hell! You see if I don't do it!Devlin jerked backwards so
violently that some of the brandy sloshedonto the leg of his
trousers."Devlin,
are you quite alright?" Sir Neville was staring at him, irritatedthat his
monologue had been so interrupted."Quite,
sir. Please - go on." He willed his quivering nerves to stillthemselves,
looked away from the brandy in his glass. It wouldn't do if hewere to go to pieces after all this time, and it had been ten
years...tenyears since he'd stood in that empty flat in
Crutchley Road and tried tobargain with a madman. See
if I don't do it! The images presented themselves one after the other, a
parade of mental photographs:Elizabeth Hobbs, fourteen
years old and already habituated to the streets- a
whore, a common doxy, procured long ago by someone who'd wanteda taste of virgin flesh and was willing to pay for it. She wasn't the
first ofher kind, and Devlin knew she wouldn't be the
last - but here wassomeone with a specific grudge
against her, a customer who'd paid hismoney and had his
fun, but got something else in the bargain. Devlinwasn't
sure how long it took syphilitics to die. Perhaps Elizabeth hadalready been so far-gone that her murderer had been doing her a
favour -no, that was too easy. Devlin shook his head."So you
don't agree - that's good. I knew I could count on you." Sir Nevilleheaved his
bulk up out of the chair and went to look out the window,feigning nonchalance.Devlin
wondered what, exactly, he'd disagreed with, but theconversation
was too far gone for him to start back-pedalling now. "Quiteso, sir." He cleared his throat. "So I'll bring some of the
constables into it,as well?"Sir Neville
turned and glared at him. "Goddammit, man! Weren't youlistening?"
His fat hands worked awkwardly at the air directly in front ofhis chest. "I want to keep it quiet, I told you - find out where
this lettercame from and if it's genuine, or if some
copycat in Chiswick or Brixtonthinks to have himself
some fun."Devlin
sagged with relief. "Right," he said, with as much crispness as hecould
muster. "I'll get on it immediately, sir." He laid down the brandyglass and stood, eager to make his exit and grateful that he'd
been ableto effectively avoid any awkwardness over his
small gaffe, hisinattention. He was within blessed
sight of the doorway when -"Oh,
Devlin - "Devlin
composed his face into appropriate lines before turning round."Sir?""Er...my
wife is having a little tea dance on Saturday next - "Devlin
stifled a groan by driving his teeth forcibly into his bottom lip." - and
she wanted me to invite you and young Lewis."Devlin had a
momentary vision: being wheeled gracefully around theroom in
Lewis's grip, to the strains of a violin, a cello or two -"My
daughter Phoebe will be there - she's been at her auntie's inSwansea
these three months, and I know she will want to make youracquaintance." Sir Neville paused, wrinkling his walrus-like
moustache."Not, er...married, are you,
Devlin?""No,
sir - that is to say, not yet." Devlin coughed - he was about as near tomarriage as
Gibraltar was to the South Pole. "But it's definitely in myfuture plans, sir."Damn!"Ah...well,
you will want to meet my Phoebe, then." Devlin imaginedwhat this
paragon must look like: four feet tall and five feet wide, withgreat rolls of fat barely concealed beneath some hideous haute
couturecreation. Perhaps there was a way to
escape what seemed to be hispreordained fate - he might
arrange to have Freddie Lewis push him overthe Tower
Bridge. The foetid water of the Thames would kill himinstantly."Thank
you, sir." Devlin took his leave as gracefully as quickness wouldallow.At least old
Brassie would see to it that Lewis had to suffer, right alongwith his
favourite inspector. This in itself was enough to draw InspectorDevlin's lean face into a smile.TwoI'm going
to burn her like she's burned me! The sulphurous smell of the
litmatch, illuminating the small rooms - Devlin drew hard on his
cigaretteand went to push open one of his windows. Not
sleeping again, hethought wryly - haven't slept
properly for ten bloody years, now. At timeslike these,
he was glad he lived alone, for there was no one to see orcomment on his bizarre hours, or the fact that he sometimes started
upout of a sound sleep, a scream of horror dying in his
throat.He rubbed
his hand over his tired face, his fingers scraping on stubble,and leaned
against the windowsill. The night air was cold, but it was agood cold, and it helped to blow the nasty dreams out of his head,
theones that came just as he was falling asleep, when
his ability to tell factfrom illusory deception was deadened
by exhaustion. He wondered whatFreddie Lewis was doing,
this time of night - the mantel clock said it wasjust
gone eleven-thirty. Did Freddie have friends that he went out with,drinking in the pubs or chasing pretty little doxies in the
PiccadillyCircus? It was hard to imagine him sitting at
home, and yet Devlin knewthat Freddie had a widowed
mother and a younger sister entirely in hischarge. What
did a lad like Freddie do on cool October nights, when hisdaylight duties were all effectively discharged?Right at
that moment, Freddie Lewis was in a pub, but not the sort ofpub that
Devlin might have imagined, and it wasn't doxies he waschasing.
Well, Freddie admitted, he wasn't chasing anyone tonight,which wasn't like him - he wondered if he had lost his touch. No, hethought, as he brought his cigarette to his lips, it wasn't
that - his mindwas entirely on Inspector Devlin.The
inspector hadn't been himself today, and Freddie wondered whatthat had to
do with, or whether Devlin was sick, or merely tired andoverworked. The warm brown eyes creased with tender mirth as Freddieimagined myriad ways of making his dear inspector feel much
better - things Devlin had probably never thought of,
much less heard of."Freddie,
you raddled old whore - all alone tonight?" Dennis Dalzieltapped him
on the shoulder as he went past, in company with an elegantman that bore a certain resemblance to the solicitor, Reginald Harker
-but it couldn't be. The older man turned and gave
Freddie a wink, and adelicious smile, before
disappearing into the evening with Dennis. ThankGod for
the Peacock, Freddie thought, not without chagrin, for no one ofhis persuasion was truly safe in London these days, not since the
Act. Heshuddered, stubbing out his cigarette with an
expression of distaste.Even the Peacock Club could, on
times, be a most unsavoury venue for ayoung man who
simply wanted the company of his own kind....He wondered
if Devlin was sleeping. Probably not. He checked hiswatch: a
quarter to midnight. Was Devlin asleep? And if so, would it beutterly criminal to wake him? Freddie sighed aloud - what in God's
namewould he say, once he'd got to Devlin's house? 'I
was sitting in this club Igo to, called the Peacock?
It's a sort of molly house - and I kept thinkingabout
you and I wondered if you'd mind a little bit of Bob's-your-unclebefore bedtime....' Christ. Not bloody likely.What would
it be like, though? He knew he shouldn't torture himself withfantasies
about what he could never have, but - Freddie rationalised it tohimself this way, as he reclaimed his coat from the cloakroom -
thinkingabout Devlin was so delicious in itself that he
could hardly refuse toindulge. He'd start with kissing
Devlin - taking the inspector's face intohis hands and
capturing his mouth, kissing long and slow and deep untilDevlin's toes curled. He wanted to unbutton Devlin's clean white
shirtand lave the warm skin of his chest with his
tongue...he wanted the fullbody press, right there on
the floor, on the sofa, on Devlin's or anybody'sbed....Freddie
sighed, and slipped out of the Peacock Club, carefully unseen.In his rooms
elsewhere in London, Devlin fell into a fitful sleep, anddreamed of
Old Brassie's hefty daughter who had breasts like Easterhams. Towards the middle of the dream Freddie Lewis rescued him,dressed in the scarlet uniform of some illustrious Foot
battalion - Freddieput Devlin up on his horse and they
clattered out of sight.Devlin
turned over in his sleep, and smiled.Somewhere
beyond his rooms, the Bow Bells chimed the hours, and thetraffic of
the London underworld moved slowly through its accustomedpaces. Nothing touched him in his cocoon of sleep, as he rode with
thedream of Freddie Lewis on his ridiculous white
charger, looking like SirLancelot or some impossibly
beautiful officer of the Foot battalion. Herode with
Freddie out of London, past the suburbs whose names heknew
only slightly, and into the countryside. Time folded in upon itself,as it often does in the elastic language of dreams, and Devlin was
lyingon the grass, gazing up through oak leaves at the
sky. His shirt hadsomehow contrived to become
unbuttoned, but he didn't mind, becausethe warm air was
delicious on his skin, and someone - it didn't matterwho
- was slowly, gently stripping him of all his clothes and runningtheir warm hands over him, and in his sleep Devlin arched his back,
hislonely flesh seeking the caress of the unseen hands.
Perhaps a whimperescaped him, but he didn't know, and
he would never know, because theloveliness of the dream
evaporated into the dingy walls of his bachelorflat -"Sir."Devlin
blinked, desperate to clear his vision. He saw that he'd thrown theblankets
off himself, and he wondered just how much writhing he'd hadto be doing...and where the hell had Freddie Lewis come from?"Sir -
Old Brassie sent me over here to rouse you. We've had another letter- it's bad
this time." In the pale morning light, Freddie's features wereshadowed, haunted by a grievous shock. Devlin knew it was as theconstable had said - judging by the expression on Freddie's
face, it hadto be very, very bad indeed.Devlin set
his bare feet upon the floor, dropped his head into his handsand rubbed
his eyes with his palms. "How did you get in?""Your
landlady let me in - she said you'd been up and pacing the floor tilltwo this
morning, so you were probably still sleeping." Freddie movedabout Devlin's sparse lodgings, peering into the wardrobe and the dresser
drawers, collecting articles of clothing with an appearance ofgreat industry. He withdrew Devlin's shoes from underneath the bed
andlaid them out, selected a necktie from inside the
wardrobe.Devlin
watched this performance with a feeling of immense irritation."Freddie,
since when have you become my personal valet?" He was stilltired, and his night-shirt hid the vestiges of a stubborn erection,
courtesyof that damned dream - how in God's name could
he stand up and let ayounger constable see the precise
tilt of his yardarm?"Sorry,
sir - only Old Brassie said it was urgent." Freddie's mouth wasn'tquite
smirking, but Devlin wasn't fooled."Well -
go out on the landing while I get dressed, for God's sake." Hisdressing
gown was within reach on the end of the bed, and Devlincaught
it to him, belted it securely round his lean middle. "If you want tomake yourself useful, go ask Mrs. Taylor for some breakfast - I
take ityou've already eaten?"Freddie
sniffed, clearly wounded. "I wouldn't mind a muffin and a cup oftea,"
he said. "I've been up since five-thirty and you know how Dobbinmakes the tea - "Devlin
didn't wait for him to finish: he knew the litany as well as anyone."-
like a whore's piss on a February morning: steaming, cold, and yellow."He caught hold of Freddie's shoulder and steered him gently towards
thelanding. "Run along and chat with Mrs. Taylor,
there's a good lad." Withany luck, Mrs. Taylor
would sequester Freddie in her kitchen and rattlehis
lugs off with discussions of the spider veins along her nether parts. Itwas a description Devlin had already heard, and one he didn't
care tohear again."His
throat's slit - nearly took his head off." Freddie Lewis straightenedup, his
mouth compressed so that it was nearly invisible. "Bastard.""How
long?" Devlin spoke through the handkerchief pressed against hisnose and
mouth."Couple
of street arabs found him this morning, round about four-thirty."Devlin
removed the handkerchief long enough to grin. "So that's why OldBrassie
knocked you up so early?"It was hard
for Freddie Lewis to contain his smirk, but the effort was,Devlin had
to admit, admirable. "He said you older fellas need your rest.""Mmmm."
Devlin circled the body, his methodical mind carefully notingpertinent
details. "I've seen hogs butchered neater than this," heremarked. "Obviously he's got a taste for serrated instruments -
nothingtidy about him.""There's
something else, sir." Lewis bent and deftly flicked the corner ofthe sheet
away from the lower half of the dead man's body. The smell ofcharred flesh struck Devlin full in the face and he staggered
backwards.I'll burn the little bitch! " He tried to cover up his tracks, he did - figuredhe'd burn the body. Only for the rain we had last night - "Devlin's
distraught mind seized upon this mundane fact and used it towrench him
back into the present moment. "It rained last night?"Freddie
blinked rapidly, as if he hadn't heard Devlin correctly. "Yes, sir -poured
buckets round about two o'clock. There was puddles on the streetthis morning when I got up.""Puddles.""Yes,
sir." Freddie peered at Devlin. "Are you alright, sir?"Devlin
impaled the constable with a glance. "Cover him up." He gesturedat the
body, indicated that Lewis should follow him; Devlin was alreadyclimbing the stairs and Lewis, for all his youth, was having
difficultykeeping up. He could just imagine what a
tiger Devlin must be in bed -here he suppressed another
smirk - considering how physically adept theinspector
was. Freddie's gaze followed the outline of his superior's bodythrough the thick Donegal, resting on Devlin's well-shaped backside.Despite the chill of the morning, and the necessary coldness of
the police morgue, Freddie was sweating.Back
upstairs, in Devlin's office, Freddie took himself off to make teawhile
Devlin pored over the crime scene photographs. His skin had goneicy cold, but for all that, he was sweating as if he'd just run a
mile behinda drover's cart. Tried to burn the body,
Freddie had said...but it couldn'tbe. Surely Whittaker
had learned his lesson, even if he'd got off on atechnicality
- surely to God he hadn't come back for another go at it, juston the matter of some sick principle, or to take another slap at
Devlin.... Itwas comforting to think that maybe
Whittaker had forgotten, hadmellowed in his years away
from London, and seen the error of his ways.Devlin had
heard the little bastard had been farmed out to Australia byhis parents, both of whom understood the principle of money talking
andshit, therefore, walking. Devlin reflected sourly
that it was always theway with these cases - a toff
murdered some dockyard floozy with a chipon his
shoulder, and nobody thought twice about it.He looked up
as Freddie arrived with the mugs, laid a steaming cup ofthe
fragrant brew down in front of Devlin. "What time is it?" Devlin
asked.He could have pulled out his watch and checked
for himself but he felttired beyond his years, and
heavy as lead."Half-eleven,
sir." Freddie reached into the filing cabinet, rummaging for abiscuit
tin. "Still too early for a drink." He cast a grin at Devlin, whoresponded reluctantly, but in kind, and sat down in the chair
oppositeDevlin's desk.He'd hated
travelling to Brixton to wake Devlin at the ungodly hour thathe had - he
understood, if no one else did, the kind of strain that theinspector had been under lately, even if Devlin didn't understand ithimself. If it were up to him, Freddie reflected, he'd have let
Devlin sleeptill the afternoon, and made some suitable
excuse to Old Brassie as towhy the inspector was so
late to his post. Besides - here Freddiesavoured a tiny
frisson of pleasure - Devlin looked so damned cute whenhe
was asleep."It
can't possibly be."Freddie
glanced up from his tea. "Sorry, sir?""Whittaker
- you ever hear of Whittaker, Constable?" Devlin reached intothe filing
cabinet and pulled out a thick, rather imposing-looking folderand dropped it onto the desk. It made a thick, rather imposing thud
anddisposed some smaller pieces of paper into the
region around Freddie'sshoes."The
original, you mean." Freddie darted a glance at Devlin fromunderneath
his eyebrows, opening the file and paging through it asthough
he'd seen it all before. Devlin had to admire the lad's sang froid.He'd seen what was in there - he'd written most of the reports
himself -and it was hardly what the literate population
of the Yard would termlight entertainment. "The
one this killer is copy-catting."Devlin
permitted himself a mirthless laugh. "Perhaps.""You
don't think this is Whittaker's work?" Freddie thought for a moment,his warm
brown eyes holding Devlin's gaze. "Is he stupid enough to comeback to London and try this again?""You
tell me."Freddie
closed the file and sat back heavily. For long moments there wasnothing in
the room but the sound of their breathing - Freddie's:contemplative,
even, and Devlin's: ragged, tense. "Came back to finishthe job?" Freddie knew it had to be said, and figured he ought
to be theone to say it.Devlin
nodded. "Yes. You see, it's me he's really after - it's me he's alwaysbeen after -
"" -
then tell old Snowman that you want a month or two of leave, and byGod, cut
and run! I know some people in the Hebrides - "Devlin had
no doubt that Freddie did, indeed, know 'some people' in theHebrides,
but whether they were of the human variety was not entirelysure. "No." He laid one hand flat on the desk between them.
"I won't, Freddie."" - but
if he's - ""That
wasn't a request, Constable!"Freddie
subsided into silence, his fingers toying awkwardly with thehandle of
his cup. "I see. Sir.""No,
you don't bloody well see, Constable - Freddie." How in the name ofGod to
frame it so that someone as young and stupid as Lewis couldunderstand? Devlin wasn't even sure he understood it himself."So you
stay in London and wait until he comes and finishes you off?"Freddie
rose, laid the mug down on Devlin's desk with an audible thump,rage grooming in his eyes. "Just hang about until he turns up -
is that it?"The back of
Devlin's neck prickled and his face flushed. "Why the hellshould you
care?" he snapped."I -
" Freddie's mouth opened and closed like a dying carp. "Never
mind,"he said quietly. He snatched his coat from the hook beside
Devlin's officedoor. "I'll see you later."For once,
the obligatory 'sir' was absent.Devlin
decided to let Freddie sulk awhile, perhaps burn off some of hisirritation
in the Sergeant's room below - it would do him good, andbesides, Devlin wasn't up to explaining his motives to Freddie - or
toanybody - just now. He spent his time pulling every
piece of informationthat he had on Whittaker, poring
through files long since archived in thedusty attic
storage room that was, and always had been presided overby Jack Melville. Melville had retired from the Force long before
Devlin'stime, but was so dedicated an archivist that,
when he finally shuffled offthe earthly pile, his last
will and testament included instructions that hispreserved,
taxidermied remains be forever interred in the same room hehad so long occupied in life. He therefore occupied the space just
past the door, preserved in all his withered splendour in a glass box builtespecially for him. Devlin stopped and gazed in at him, as he
always didwhen venturing into the archives; it might
have been his imagination,but he felt old Melville had
shrunk a bit in height these last few months.Probably
the dryness of the summer, Devlin supposed.He found
what he was looking for in some boxes toward the back, albeitwith much
sneezing and cursing (no one dusted the archive room or oldMelville) and a painful wrench to his left elbow.I'm going
to burn the little bitch. You see if I don't.Devlin's
head snapped up, every nerve taut and quivering. He could havesworn - no,
his mind was probably going, in that case. And anyway,there
was no one here except himself and the dried remains of old JackMelville, who couldn't possibly have spoken through the mortician'sprongs that held his lips together. He allowed himself the
indulgence of amental shrug and returned to burrowing
through the boxes.Send the
little whore to Hell where she belongs.He was
sweating now, and not from any excess of heating in thearchives
room: his fingertips left several wet places on the papers he wassorting, and his collar was suddenly too tight. He reached to
unbutton it,gave himself another mental shake. Damned
room was giving him thewillies...Burn you
too, Devlin. Just see if I don't.He'd pulled
out the original reports, all signed by him - he rememberedbashing
them out on the weathered old typewriter in the downstairsoffice, one painful letter at a time. Whittaker, scion of an old
Englishfamily, obscure as his Saxon roots and just as
bloody...he hadn't takendown any other tarts except
Elizabeth Hobbs...and he'd pursued heracross the
breadth of London...Devlin had
been a stripling constable in those days, proud of the uniformand the
fact that he was manly enough to fill it. He'd been assigned tothe Complaints desk the first day she'd come in, just off the day
shift at the woollen mills, smelling of lanolin and steam. Man chasing her, shesaid - she kept seeing him loitering in the street outside her
lodgings. Didshe ever take home gentlemen in the
evenings? Devlin had phrased it toher as politely as he
knew how, expecting that she would demur, protestthat
he was casting aspersions on her virtue - but no. She owned up to it,the brazen little doxy, said she often found a john or two amongst
thetoffs, who liked a bit on the side now and then.
Especially a bit fromdown around the docks, a girl who
knew all the proper tricks and stilllooked like she'd
just come up to London from the country. Didn't givehim
no call to follow her around, she said, "interfere with her." Devlinwondered where she'd got that phrase - certainly not in the
woollenmills, or on the streets.The worst
thing was her loveliness, her wide blue eyes, her golden hair,and the
skin so pale as to be almost translucent. She seemed a thingmade for light to pass through, wholly pure - and even then (thoughDevlin could not know it) she was in the tertiary stage of
syphilis, dyingby degrees.Burn the
little bitch.Devlin
grasped the file tightly and willed the shaking in his hands tostop.He had to
admit he liked watching Inspector Devlin. Especially now,when he was
lying at the mercy of whatever he'd found in the archives,whatever sordid things were contained in the Yard's old files. Devlin
inthe midst of mental concentration was a sight to
behold, with his collarbutton undone and his hair
falling over his forehead, his long fingerstwitching
through the pages, oblivious to whatever might be lurking justbeyond the door or even in the very room, for God's sake. For someonewith as much experience as Devlin, such openly careless
behaviour waspractically an invitation to disaster. One
would think Devlin wouldunderstand the kinds of dangers
that existed even in this place.One would
hope Devlin had not forgotten.ThreeFreddie
Lewis was waiting when Devlin returned from the archives,dusty but
beaming in something very like triumph. Freddie had managedto burn off his little fit of pique in a game of cards and a brisk
walkaround the block; the physical exercise had done
wonders for both hismood and his intelligence, and he
was certain he was prepared, if needbe, to dissuade his
dear inspector from his dangerously questionablecourse
of action.Devlin,
characteristically, made no mention of their earlier disquisition."What
time is it?" he asked. He had a smudge of dirt on the tip of hisnose, and another on his chin. Freddie had to physically restrain
himselffrom fetching out his handkerchief and cleaning
the inspector up."Quarter
to six." Freddie gestured at Devlin's face. "You seem to havecollected a
little evidence of your own, sir.""Eh?"
Devlin gazed at him blankly, his mind still wholly occupied with theWhittaker
files, the evidence and facts. He followed Freddie's pointingfinger to the shaving mirror. "Damn." Devlin chuckled.
"How is it youalways notice such things,
Constable?"Freddie
coughed diplomatically. "It's the light, sir.""Hmmm."
Devlin was having trouble with his collar button, his fingersstiff with
fatigue."Let
me, sir - " Freddie's touch was rather more deft, seeing as how he'dspent the
afternoon playing whist with several ageing sergeants downbelow. Winning all their money had made his fingers rather more
supplenow than usual.It was odd,
Devlin thought, that it therefore took him so damned long to fasten one
small collar button. Devlin found his gaze drawn to theconstable's,
made to linger there. "You're worrying," he said quietly."I am,
sir.""Freddie,
for the love of God, we're alone. You can leave off theobsequious
bit.""How
long have I been working here with you?" Freddie's hands hadfinished
with the collar button and had somehow come to rest on Devlin'sshoulders."Five
years, give or take.""Have
you ever known me to do anything exceptionally stupid?""Well,
there was that one time with Lady Digby's parasol and thatunfortunate
small dog - " Devlin let it go when he realised that Freddiewasn't laughing. "No," he said, "No, you've never done
anything stupid,Freddie.""Who
taught me not to be stupid, eh? Who said to me, 'Freddie, for thelove of
God, get yer head down, don't be such a damned maniac.'?"Devlin
smiled. "Freddie, if you get anywhere near a point - "The
constable's hands tightened on Devlin's shoulders. "You're going tosit about
and wait for - ""Not
wait," Devlin assured him. "No waiting required, Freddie. I'm surehe's here -
in London already." He grinned, and in his excitement swayedcloser to the young constable, so close that their noses were all buttouching."Oh,
that eases my mind a lot, does that," Freddie murmured. He wouldn'thave cared
less, just then, if Whittaker had sailed in through the windowand announced he was the Second Coming. Devlin was close to him: soclose that Freddie could see the tiny flecks of gold in the
inspector's dark,dark eyes, and the fine lines at their
outer corners, and the indentation in Devlin's top
lip...All at once,
Devlin was back in the dream again, lying on the grass andlooking up
through oak leaves at the sky, and warm hands were on hisbody, burning through his clothing to his skin. Devlin folded into
FreddieLewis like he was made of wet paper....It wasn't
the world's most successful kiss - at least not at the start: theirnoses
mashed together and Devlin wondered for one horriblyembarrassing
moment what in Hell he'd gotten himself into. Then it wasright, beautifully right, his mouth opening despite himself, inviting
thecaress, hungry for it. He felt Freddie's hands move
to clasp his face, agesture of consummate tenderness
that made him whimper aloud, forgethimself."Freddie
-" Devlin caught his subordinate's hands and removed them fromhis face.
"Someone might walk in." He was breathing hard, and his cockfelt huge - what the Hell was Freddie thinking? He still clasped
Freddie'shands in his: lean, elegant hands, the hands
of an aristocrat."You're
shaking," Freddie observed this most salient point with a grin."Get
stuffed," Devlin snapped. Freddie tilted Devlin's face up, gazed intohis eyes."Liked
that, did you?" The grin was wider, if that was possible."Listen,
Freddie, don't - ""Don't
kiss you?" The young constable adopted an appropriatelysubmissive
expression. "Thought you liked it, sir." Quick as a thought, hedipped his head and claimed Devlin's mouth again: a deep,
devastatingcaress.If he keeps
this up, Devlin thought, I'll burst into flames. With an effort,he pushed
Freddie away. "Flames," he stuttered, his mind still mostlyunhinged from the astonishing kisses that his constable, his subordinate- here Devlin groaned out loud - had bestowed upon his
too-willingmouth. "How many burned bodies have
been through the morgue this month?"Freddie
stared at him as if Devlin had grown extra limbs. "What?"But Devlin
was away, dashing around the desk, snatching up his coatand hat.
"Flames, man, flames! Bodies set on fire!" He called back over
hisshoulder to Freddie as the younger man struggled to
keep up. "Has to besome kind of fire starter!
Something to make it burn - flesh won't do thaton its
own."Whittaker
had doused Elizabeth Hobbs in spirits of alcohol, designed tomake her
burn. Any flammable liquid would do, anything to start theconflagration.Within three
days, Devlin had obtained samples of the eschar from everyburned body
presently in the morgue. Being naturally squeamish aboutsuch things, he'd dispatched Freddie Lewis to do the gathering,
takingcareful scrapings of the charred and ruined flesh
and sealing each pieceof vital evidence inside a test
tube.A day after
that, he brought his scrapings to Fowler Street.Devlin
decided that there was no time like the present to educate youngLewis about
the social strangeness of the pair he had dubbed TheResurrection
Men. It would save much embarrassment later, whenFreddie
finally figured it out and allowed himself the luxury of a mentalbreakdown. "I don't feel that I need to tell you that Mr. Harker
and Mr.Donnelly are rather...unconventional." That
was putting it mildly, Devlinthought. "Neither is
married and, although it's not widely known inSociety,
they have...well, an arrangement.""What?"
Freddie's mouth hung open artlessly. "You mean they're...perverts?"
Freddie had to bite his lip to keep from laughing aloud -perhaps it was time he introduced Devlin to the Peacock Club."You
didn't hear it from me," Devlin replied primly - and then there wasnothing
more to say, for their cab had arrived at its destination. Devlin led the way
past Mrs. Cadogan, who took their coats and bid them agood
morning. On the landing just outside the Harker/Donnellyhousehold, he took another moment to instruct Freddie about the'arrangement' between the two, so there would be no
misunderstandingor unfortunate social gaffes. Freddie loved
it when Devlin got like this -when he got all earnest
and concerned, and his dark eyes shone, and twospots of
colour bloomed high up on each of the inspector's pale cheeks.Freddie wondered what Devlin would look like after a bloody goodrogering."Inspector
Devlin!" Harker was dressed in a ratty pair of gentlemen'spajamas and
a red dressing gown that had clearly seen better days; hisexpression was one of great pain, and Devlin imagined it irked Harker
tohave been fetched early out of bed." Donnelly
has been called away forthe morning, I fear - research
in Bow Street - so you have only mycompany to sustain
you." He poured brandy for them both, despite theearly
hour, and offered them cigars, which Devlin refused and Lewisaccepted. Devlin sketched the outline of their problem for the
solicitor, ashe sat with his head in his hands,
contemplating the holes in hisdressing gown. It was
Harker's way to assume various poses andpostures, the
result of a lifetime spent among the upper classes (fromwhose unsuspecting loins he had sprung) and the scions of the InnerTemple. Harker was no longer practising the law, of course,
having beensummarily ejected from the bar after some
shady dealings with theLondon underworld.Devlin
didn't know the full details, of course, but he'd heard that Harkerhad been
caught in some sort of money-changing racket that involved abilliards table, three rent boys, and a French poodle. Ever since hisunfortunate (here Devlin allowed himself an inward chuckle)
tumble fromthe higher echelons, Harker had seen fit to
content himself with awayward residence among the
lesser classes of London society, and theoccasional
foray into some ad hoc research toward dubious academicends. He was assisted in these affairs by apothecary Donnelly,
anotherupper-class ne'er-do-well who concerned himself
with slightly rechercheexperiments on
unwitting corpses. Devlin thought better of wasting hisbreath
in warnings: if Donnelly and Harker wanted to spend their leisuretime invading graves, they deserved whatever they got. Besides, he
hadbigger things to worry about than The Resurrection
Men and their esoteric habits."It is
a thorny little problem, to be sure." Harker opened pale green eyesto peer at
Lewis and Devlin in turn. "If this murderer of yours has accessto some unusual kind of chemical - say, eau de toilette, for example
- thenhe would tend to use it again and again. Whatever
is easiest to lay thehands upon." Harker exposed a
hole in his stocking and picked at itresolutely. "What
must be established, my dear Devlin, is this: theresidues
left behind by various chemicals can differ from one anotherwidely, or be frustratingly similar. If your murderer took care to
usesomething which leaves an easily detected signature,
so much thebetter. If that easily detected signature
appears in several of the bodiesthat have so lately
passed through the police morgue, again, it is to ourbetterment.
What we are looking for is an esoteric or unusual compound,something which he used as a means of inciting the bodies to
burn..."Devlin
waited patiently for Harker to continue, but the solicitor seemed tobe sunk in
his own musings. "And?""Leave
the samples with me. This is a problem for a chemist, Devlin, andI daresay
you have other lines of inquiry to follow?"Devlin
indicated that he had."One
more thing, Mr. Harker - " Lewis cut in with a wary, sidelong look atDevlin.
"This Whittaker - we think he's only doing this to get at InspectorDevlin.""Freddie!"
Devlin was stayed from further acrimony by the motion ofHarker's
hand."As
Inspector Devlin can tell you, Constable, I, too, have followed theWhittaker
case from beginning to end. It would not surprise me if thisfiend did indeed take it into his head to cause harm." Harker
rosegrandly, indicating that the interview was at an
end. "Thank you,gentlemen. I shall be in
touch." He reached into his dressing gown andbrought
forth a blank piece of paper, approximately the size of amatchbook cover. "My card."At the door,
Freddie turned: "Mr. Harker...you wouldn't be familiar with apub called
the Peacock Club? I'm certain I saw - ""Ah,
Constable, there you have me. I have truck with neither peacocksnor the
clubs in which they habitually congregate." Harker repliedshirtily, and offered them a chilly smile. "Good day,
gentlemen."As Devlin
took Freddie out onto the landing, Harker could be heardbellowing
at Mrs. Cadogan for hot water. "What Peacock Club?" Devlindemanded, collaring Freddie at the first turning of the stairs.
"What inGod's name got into you?"Freddie
shrugged. "Sorry, sir. Must've forgot myself.""And
another thing - " Devlin was winding up for the full speech whenFreddie
interrupted him."What
day's this, sir?"Devlin
stared at him as if he'd been poleaxed. "What day? You mean, dayof the
week?""Day of
the week, sir."Devlin
thought for a moment. "Why, it's Friday." He stared at Lewis."Why?""You
know what tomorrow is, sir.""What?""Mrs.
Alcock's tea dance."Devlin's
eyebrows climbed towards his hairline. "Tea dance?""Yes,
sir - remember Old Br - I mean, Sir Neville - "Devlin
paused on Mrs. Cadogan's final landing and rammed his foreheadagainst the
wall. Of course he had forgotten. Of course he had to go. And he had to take
Freddie with him. He'd bloody well take Freddie with him,now, whether -"You do
realise Sir Neville expects your presence as well, Constable...?"Devlin
tried to keep from grinning as he pulled his gloves on, breathingdeep of the bracing October air."Me?"
Freddie's neck made several contractions, not unlike a dodgyostrich.
"What for?"Devlin
hailed a cab, waited while it stopped, and climbed aboard. Itreally was
rather too much fun, making Freddie squirm like this, but thelittle bastard had it coming, after all, on account of that awkwardquestioning just now, with Harker all eyes and ears and ready
to pounceupon any shred of evidence. The last thing
Devlin needed was thatdisgraced solicitor and his
intimate apothecary prying into his case withhands
that were perhaps none too clean.Devlin sat
back and smiled, reached out to clap Freddie briskly on thearm.
"I do believe his Phoebe's looking for a husband," he said.The look on
Constable Lewis's face was worth a great deal of money.FourIt was as
bad as Devlin had expected - no, it was worse, for there wasabsolutely
no liquor to be had except Mrs. Alcock's putrid punch and theever-present pots of tea. Devlin had poured himself a glass of punch
andcarried it held out slightly in front of him, as if
to fend off any eligiblewomen with fantasies of
marriage. He wished bitterly that he'd thoughtto bring
his silver brandy flask - a few dollops of that and even Mrs.Alcock's punch would taste remotely palatable."You
must be Inspector Devlin."He turned
rather more quickly than he ought, sloshed punch out of theglass and
onto his shoes. He found he was looking at a woman perhapshis own age, wearing a stunning afternoon dress in navy blue; her
facewas a perfect rounded oval, smooth as milk, and her
eyes weresomewhere between brown and green. "I'm
afraid you have theadvantage of me, Miss....?""Oh,
bugger that nonsense." She stuck her hand into his and shook it witha
surprisingly strong grip. "I'm Phoebe Alcock. I bet Father invited youhere because he's trying to marry me off - am I right?"
Devlin was caughtrather off his balance by her
forthright manner, but couldn't take his eyesoff her
plump white bosom, bared to perfection by the exquisite dress.His collar was too tight again, and he wondered desperately whereFreddie Lewis was. "Something like that."She grinned,
revealing two rows of perfect white teeth. "Well, don't worry- I've no
intention of burdening you with anything like that. I deplorethese tea dances of Mother's - you'd think she'd know by now.""You're
not interested in marriage?" She was the first one yet, Devlinthought. He
was certain English females had the homing-nesting instinctinfused into their brains at birth, by some sort of magical syringe."Marriage?"
Phoebe's pretty face assumed a shocked expression. "Are youmad?"
She laughed uproariously, her small, plump hands latticed acrossher lovely mouth. "Not bloody likely." She leaned close to
Devlin andspoke confidentially. "Have you got a
fag? I'm dying for a puff." Shereached into
Devlin's silver cigarette case and extracted one, toyed withit for a moment or two. "I can't smoke it in here - Mother would
have a fit.Come out into the arbour with me. We can
talk." And she took his armand steered him after
her.It was warm
for October, as evidenced by the many doors and windowsof Sir
Neville's house that were left wide open to the evening breezes.Phoebe led him up a small incline to a gazebo, set behind a stand ofpoplar trees, out of direct sight of the house."You
know Freddie Lewis is absolutely mad about you," she began.Devlin
struck a match to hide his incipient confusion, held it carefully tolight her cigarette. "He tries to make out like he doesn't, but
anybodywith eyes can see he'd be on you in a
minute." She tilted her head andgazed at Devlin. "You're
not used to a woman talking this way, are you?"Devlin
conceded that he was not."Mother
sent me to America to be educated - I suppose it's made merather
sharper with my tongue than I would be otherwise." She slanted agaze at him. "You're awfully handsome - how come you're not
married?""Ah...well,
you see, I'm very busy and police work - ""You're
going to tell me that a policeman's life is no life for the wife andkiddies,
and you wouldn't want to tie yourself to home and hearth whilethere are criminals afoot." She laughed gently. "I've heard
it all before,Inspector. And yet to look at you -"
She trailed off abruptly. "I think I'vesaid too
much."But Devlin
was curious to hear the rest. "Please - go on."Phoebe took
a long drag on her cigarette, exhaled smoke with apractised
air. "You're a lovely man, Inspector," she said softly, "but you
have the loneliest eyes I've ever seen." She shook her head, crushed thecigarette under the heel of her dancing slipper. "You're
scared to death tolet someone close to you - you think
you'd be compromising yourself ifyou did. Losing that
keen edge of yours." She grinned. "Oh yes, I've heardall about you, Inspector."Devlin was
silent for a long moment. "I wish there was something else todrink
besides that awful punch," he blurted, and could have bitten off histongue. In a trice, Phoebe reached into her reticule and handed
him asilver flask."Brandy,"
she explained. "Mother makes the punch and I can't stand thebloody
stuff. I've been tippling ever since this damned thing started."Devlin
couldn't remember when he'd been this drunk - whatever PhoebeAlcock had
put into her little flask, it bloody well wasn't brandy, or atleast, it wasn't any brandy that he had ever had. "They're going
towonder where we are, inside the house," he
slurred. For some longmoments he had been discoursing
with Phoebe on the nature ofhumanity, and whether it
was possible for anyone to be entirely good.Phoebe told
him that she had absolutely no desire to be good - that itwas better to be interesting."How
long have we been out here?" Devlin wondered if Phoebe even hada watch.She did.
"It's nearly midnight," she said. "We've been out here the wholetime."
She laughed, rolled back on the gazebo seat and tossed herstockinged feet into the air - she had long since discarded her
shoes."Your
father is going to kill me..." Devlin rested his head in his hands andclosed his
eyes. The gazebo seemed to be mounted on wheels and wasspinning
about him like Mr. Ferris's famous carnival ride. He opened hiseyes to the touch of Phoebe's nose against his own. "He'll think
I'mpresuming on your virtue.""Presume
all you bloody well want," Phoebe cackled. "I'm past the age of marriage and
damned well past the age of consent." She gazed at himthoughtfully.
"Do you know that Freddie Lewis is in love with you?""He
kissed me, you know. Twice." A saner Devlin would never have toldher this,
but the brandy - or whatever it was - was whirling in his head."Did
you like it?" Phoebe reached out, laid her palm against his cheek. Hewas such a
dear thing - lonely and unutterably sad, and so bloody fragilein his own way."Oh,
yes." Devlin nodded with the weighty sagacity of the thoroughlydrunk.
"I don't get kissed very much - " The rest of it died in his throat,unspoken, as she reached for him and kissed him tenderly, a
tendernessthat was curiously without passion.She slipped
away from him, moving through the darkness towards thehouse."Sir...?"
Freddie Lewis's face filled the whole of Devlin's vision. "Are you -
"He drew back in astonishment, then began to laugh. "You're
drunk!""Sh
-shut it." Devlin tried to loop an arm around Lewis's neck and thussteady
himself, but was unable to make his limbs obey him. "No need totell - " He waved expansively at the house, including the
grounds and allthe occupants. " - everyone.""Are
you alright?" Freddie wrapped his arm around Devlin's slim waist,steadying
him. "I think I ought to take you home, Inspector." He walkedDevlin carefully down the gazebo steps and into the cool night air."You're in no condition - ""What
if Whittaker comes back?" Devlin fought to make his eyes focus."Whittaker?"
Freddie felt the hot flush of anger in his face and fought itback.
"I'll thrash him from here to Kingdom Come!" He moved Devlin theshort distance down the gravel drive to where a four-wheeler
waswaiting, handed the inspector inside and got in
beside him. "I won't letWhittaker anywhere near
you." He wondered when he'd become sovoluble in
his devotion."Phoebe
said - " But Devlin thought better of it. He closed his eyes andseemed
asleep in moments.Freddie
Lewis reached across the dark confines of the carriage, and tookDevlin into
his arms.Devlin awoke
groaning, in an unfamiliar bed and an unfamiliar set ofcircumstances.
His head felt at least as large as Sir Neville's belly, butnot nearly so soft or padded. And he wasn't alone - through weightedeyes he peered at the blond head on the pillow next to his.
Freddiebloody Lewis! Devlin reached out gingerly and
rapped his knucklesagainst the constable's forehead.
"Wake up!" he snapped, and regretted itinstantly.
The volume seemed to be causing the insides of his head toslosh about in a most disagreeable manner, and his stomach seemed tobe rising to meet the unfortunate condition of his brains. He
fairly boltedfrom the bed and was halfway to the Closet
of Ease when it occurred tohim that he was absolutely
mother-naked - this was the last coherentthought he was
to have for some long moments, for all his energies werespent in expelling the contents of his stomach.Dimly, he
heard Freddie speaking behind him, and reached out an arm towave him
away. It was all bloody bad enough - here his thoughts werecurtailed by another wave of vomiting - bloody bad enough to beupchucking into Freddie Lewis's facilities, but even worse to
be doing itwithout a shred of dignity. How in God's
name could he explain himself,or even look the
constable squarely in the eye?He sat back
on his heels, his ribs and abdomen sore from this mostrecent
bout. A hand appeared within his field of vision and passed him acold cloth, which Devlin took gratefully and applied to his sweatingforehead. "What...?" The taste of bile had backed up
into his throat and hepressed his eyes closed against
another rising wave of nausea. "Where isthis?""Let me
get you sorted, guv'nor - " Freddie reached out to help him to hisfeet, but
Devlin struck out savagely. "Oi! There's no call for that - sir."But Devlin,
his mind elsewhere, didn't bother to reply. His hand hadfound a
towel on the rack nearby and he wrapped it around his middle inthe manner of a Polynesian warlord."Oh,
that suits you right down to the ground, does that." Truth be told,Freddie was
in a unique position to appreciate Devlin's unusual attire,seeing as how he was still kneeling on the floor. Nice arse, he
thought -nice legs, stomach flat enough to iron
bedsheets on..."Get
up!" Devlin staggered against the washbasin and nearly fell. "This isnot the
time to be commenting on my attire, Constable!" He ground histeeth together in frustration and pain; it felt as if his eyeballs
were goingto pop out. "Where are my clothes?""I hung
'em up for you - keep the wrinkles out." Freddie indicated thewardrobe
just beyond, its door standing open, Devlin's clothing clearlyvisible. Devlin pushed past the younger officer and seized his
trousers,yanked them on over the towel."Haven't
got time for this," Freddie heard him say, "Bloody tea dance atbloody
Brassie's house then bloody drinking with his bloody daughterand her bloody brandy - ""I
think it were gin, sir." Freddie coughed apologetically. "Old Br - I
mean,Sir Neville's missus said young Phoebe brews the stuff herself."Devlin
levelled an evil glance at Freddie. "Just my bloody luck!" hehissed. He
rammed his feet into his shoes and cast about the room for hishat and overcoat. "And what use were you last night, eh? Left me
on myown with that spinster and her witches' brew -
rubbing elbows with thetoffs, were you?"This was unfair,
and both Freddie and Devlin knew it. From another man,Freddie
Lewis would never countenance such an attack, and on areasonable
day, he wouldn't countenance it from Devlin, either. But heknew Devlin was horribly hungover and doubtless feeling as if he wereeven now in the claws of Death. Perhaps he would bring it up to
Devlinanother time, when the inspector wasn't feeling
as if he'd been crushed under the wheels of a
costermonger's cart."I'm
going," Devlin said savagely, "and don't follow me!" The doorslammed
shut behind him, and Freddie was all alone. He allowed himselfa philosophic gesture, in the form of screwing his eyes shut andtwitching at his lower lip violently with his index finger. He
sighedgustily once or twice, and went into the lavatory,
stared at himself in themirror. "You're a bloody
idiot, you." His mouth compressed itself into aline
underneath the neat moustache. "Stripping all his clothes off - didyou think he weren't going to notice?"By the time
Devlin got into his office, early Monday morning, the wholecity of
London was humming with the news of a possible Ripper repeat.Devlin wondered sourly who the hell had let it leak to the papers,
butthen realised it could have been anyone, not
necessarily someone insidethe Force. This made him feel
slightly better. His hangover had gonecompletely,
although he wasn't quite sure what to do with FreddieLewis's
bath towel, now that it had served its appointed function asconcealment for his nether parts. He'd given it to his landlady to
washand tried to ignore her pointed questions about its
origin, and her never-ending lament that she'd never
seen it before, and who knew where ithad come from, and
what was Inspector doing, bringing home strangetowels
for her to launder? She dinned his ears with this continually, nightand morning, until Devlin wished he'd never seen the bloody thing.He'd arisen
early this morning, and treated himself to a shave and haircutat
Windigger's barbershop. Normally he shaved himself, but the events ofthe past few days, and the reappearance of Whittaker, had convincedhim that he deserved a little treat, even if Windigger's rates
wereexorbitant and Devlin could hardly afford it on a
policeman's salary. Hewould be the last man to think of
himself as being niggardly over money,but his
colleagues at the Yard made a point of routinely inspecting theseat of his trousers to ascertain the degree of wear.He slipped
into the chair and submitted himself to Windigger's tenderministrations,
and was massaged, clipped, pummelled, soaped, scraped,and
had his cheeks pinched into what, for Devlin, passed for glowinghealth. At the end, the stray hairs were brushed from his waistcoat
and he presented Windigger with the cost of his ordeal, and what was rathera minuscule tip.Make no
mistake: Devlin hadn't yet found a barber to surpass or evenequal
Windigger, an elderly Dutchman with a surfeit of nose and ear hair,and the halitosis of a week-dead corpse. "I heard that Ripper
fellow israising havoc again, yes?" He dropped
this into one of Devlin's ears as hisscissors did their
work."I've
no idea where you got that idea, Mr. Windigger." Devlin felt a knot ofanger
growing underneath his breastbone: what was the world comingto, he wondered, when one's barber bruited official police business
aboutthe streets? "Never heard such silliness in
my life.""But
they say that even now - ""Rubbish."
Devlin bit back a sigh. "Look, how much longer is this going totake? I've
to be at the Yard in half an hour."Windigger took
his scissors away and twirled Devlin's chair - and Devlinhimself -
like a carousel. "There. You are handsome, Inspector.""Humph."
Devlin grumbled at his own reflection in the mirror opposite,wondered
when he'd achieved those dark rings underneath his eyes."But a
little tired-looking, if I might say.""Mind
your own business!" Devlin snapped - and anyway, Windigger'sbreath
could peel the skin off your eyeballs. He slipped into his coat andgathered his gloves; the October morning was sunny and bright, but
heldthat unmistakable breath of winter. "And thank
you."He decided
to walk the moderate distance to the Yard, to get some freshair and
also to delay the inevitable meeting with Freddie Lewis. Just thisonce, Devlin wished that Freddie could be elsewhere, for he was stillcuriously amnesiac about events immediately following Old
Brassie's teadance, and embarrassed that he had
evidently turned up in the bed of hissubordinate
completely au naturel. Of course, Freddie's reasoning in thematter had been perfectly sound: Devlin would have been considerably put
out if he had awakened to find he'd slept in his clothing. Still, thatdidn't warrant being stripped to the skin and deposited into bed
beside aman who was in a similar state of undress. Perhaps
Freddie merelythought he was doing Devlin a favour, and
meant nothing by it. Whatwas it Phoebe Alcock had said?
"He'd be on you in a minute." Here Devlingrumbled
again, stepped neatly around a steaming pile of horse turdsand onto the pavement opposite. Freddie hadn't - as far as Devlin
couldtell - so much as laid a finger on him. Freddie
had been absolutelycircumspect. In every regard.This made
Devlin incredibly depressed.Devlin
reached his desk a little after nine, having successfully dodged SirNeville
Alcock, who was deep in heated conversation with threesergeants
near the desk. He wondered how much - if anything - Phoebehad said to her father about Devlin's questionable conduct at the
dance.He hoped to God she was intelligent enough to understand
that even anintimation of inappropriate behaviour would
be sufficient to ensure thatDevlin's stones became a
permanent fixture in Sir Neville's office,alongside the
elephant foot rubbish bin and the monkey paw ashtray. Heshuddered to think of his bollix floating in ether at Sir Neville's
meatyelbow.There was a
cup of tea waiting for him, and Freddie Lewis appeared, allgraciousness
and good intentions, to take Devlin's coat and hat. If theconstable was still upset about Devlin's screaming at him on Sunday,
hemade no mention of it now - but Devlin thought he
could detect thepungent stench of hurt feelings.
Freddie was particularly obsequious thismorning, which
immediately put Devlin on the defensive: every timeDevlin
so much as looked at Freddie, the constable flinched, until Devlinbelieved himself capable of any number of heinous acts."See
here, Constable - ""There's
a telegram for you as well, sir, and shall I freshen up your tea?"Freddie's
gaze rested somewhere around the knot of Devlin's tie andmoved no higher."Freddie
- ""I
expect you ought to open the telegram as soon as possible, sir. It mightbe
something important." Here the constable bit his bottom lip and fellinto a grievous brown study that rendered him very nearly catatonic.
Sointent was he upon his private mourning that he
completely missedDevlin's immediate directive."Sir?""I
said, shut the bloody door!" Devlin got up from his desk but Freddiewas
quicker, and closed the door of Devlin's office with a punctilious'click' that would not have been out of place at the Prussian royal
court.He then adopted an attitude of profound humility,
and stared at the floorbetween Devlin's feet."Out
with it." Devlin leaned against his desk and crossed his arms on hischest.
"Come on. Let's get this bloody air cleared before we bothsmother."The
constable raised his eyes and looked Devlin full in the face. "I wantedto tell
you...that is...well, see here, sir - " At this point words failed him,and he appealed to Devlin mutely, his warm brown eyes
overbrimmedwith misery.Devlin
sighed - there was no way in God's name that he could even thinkto broach a
subject as delicate as this, with Freddie looking like Devlinhad just murdered his kitten. "Saturday night," he said
finally. He'd had itall planned out, what he'd been
going to say, even down to his facialexpressions and
the placement of his feet. Right now, his feet werebetraying
the rest of him by creeping ever so slowly towards FreddieLewis, until finally Devlin was gazing into the constable's eyes.
"Thankyou for taking care of me." He laughed
self-consciously and rubbed athumb across his eyebrow.
"Made a bloody fool of myself, I did." Devlinstraightened
his shoulders and tried to look authoritative, even thoughhis stomach was attempting just then to invert itself entirely, and
comeout his windpipe. "And that scene on Sunday
morning - "Freddie
smiled gently. "I see you've been to the barber this morning," hesaid."What?""Windigger,
isn't it?"Devlin
blinked at him like a startled animal. "Yes - yes, I always go toWindigger.""And he
always nicks you in the very same spot.""Nicks
me?""When
he shaves you - he always gets you right there."Devlin's
hand explored the contours of his naked face. "Where?"Freddie swayed
forward and captured Devlin's mouth with his own,sucking the
inspector's bottom lip gently, while his eager tongueflickered
and nibbled, teasing. Devlin heard himself groaning, as if from agreat distance away, and his body moved of its own volition, into theconstable's embrace. His fingertips pressed against the clean
white linenof Freddie's shirt, exploring every contour
of the young man's back,memorising the texture of
barely covered flesh. When Freddie at lastreleased him,
Devlin was gasping as if he'd been dragged along theStrand
behind an omnibus."Oh
God, Freddie - " Was that his voice - his voice, so ragged and sopleading?
" - we can't do this - someone will walk in and then - "Freddie
pressed his thumb against Devlin's mouth. "I know," hewhispered,
leaning in to kiss the inspector gently, cherishing the touch ofhis mouth. Devlin looked absolutely bloody wonderful when he'd beenthoroughly kissed; Freddie wondered what he'd look like if he
were givena damned good tumble."Who's
the telegram from?" Devlin whispered, going weak in the knees asFreddie
leaned in and pressed his opened mouth against Devlin's neck."Reginald
Harker."NOTHING
UNUSUAL STOP VARIETY OF SUBSTANCES USED STOP NOPRECISE
CONCLUSIONS STOPDevlin
buried his chin in his hands, dimly aware that the hard surface ofhis desk
was exerting an uncomfortable pressure on his elbows. "Damn!"He passed the telegram across to Freddie, who read it laboriously,
hislips moving, then affected a frown that would not
have looked out ofplace on an inmate of Madame
Tussaud's."It's
the law of averages," Devlin remarked ruefully, once the initial shockhad passed.
We've only four bodies currently in the morgue to work with- "" - two
were from the Goulding family - that big fire over in Cheapside,"Freddie
supplied helpfully.Devlin
wilted him with a look. "And the other two from bodies discoveredin SoHo,
their previous owners having died under mysteriouscircumstances."
He gnawed on his bottom lip. "Four bodies to work with -a bloody small sample, to be sure.""They
can only keep 'em for so long, sir - they end up stinking after a dayor
two."Devlin
wondered if he could strangle Freddie silently and toss him outthe window.
It would be a criminal waste, he decided, if Freddie turnedout to have been the great love of his life, but the constable's
increasinglyinane comments were beginning to grate on
Devlin's nerves."Sir -
" Lewis looked decidedly embarrassed, and Devlin wondered whatmoronic
offence the constable wanted to confess. "I've been wonderingif...well, some evening after work...see, there's this club - "The door of
Devlin's office banged back so hard that the knob nearlystuck in
the wall. Framed in the entrance was the orange-hairedconstable
with the blizzard of freckles, complete with apologetic expression. Once again,
he begged Devlin's pardon before barging in andhanding
Devlin a slip of paper. He stepped back while Devlin read it, andgazed at Freddie Lewis awhile, while Freddie gazed at a stubbornhangnail on his thumb and wondered if he could get his fingers
into hismouth without the guv'nor noticing."Constable
Lewis - " Devlin's dark eyes seemed to burn through Freddie'sguilty
conscience. He nodded at the disingenuous moppet in thedoorway,
dismissing him. Freddie suspected something of import wasabout to transpire, and so screwed his eyes shut momentarily andstroked his neat moustache once or twice for luck.Devlin got
up and shut the door. "Before Barnicott, just now - "Freddie's
eyes squinted at Devlin as if he'd only then discovered hisexistence.
"Who?""Barnicott!"
Devlin barked, "The bloody messenger!""Bit of
an odd name - " But he accurately divined the import of Devlin'sexpression
and let it die a natural death."This
club you mentioned," Devlin began, getting up from his desk. "Whatsort of a
club is it?" He positioned himself in front of the addled constable,and fixed upon him the piercing look he normally reserved for
hardenedmalefactors."A
club, sir." Underneath his neat moustache, Freddie's upper lip wassweating.
He hoped Devlin didn't notice.Devlin held
the paper up in front of Freddie's face. "There's been anothermurder,"
he said.He was into
his Donegal and halfway down the stairs before Freddiethought to
follow.FiveThe body was
lying in a narrow lane behind a shop, partly screened fromtraffic by
a stack of empty barrels. A young male in his mid-twenties,stylishly dressed, with perhaps an unnecessarily flashy aspect to histiepin, and several jewelled rings upon his fingers. Nothing
had beenstolen: his watch was still intact, and his
billfold still in his pocket,containing a large number
of fresh bank notes."What
do you think, Lewis?" Devlin bent low over the corpse, his sharpeyes taking
in every pertinent detail."Oh, I
think he's dead, sir."Devlin
wondered if he had been perhaps over-hasty in letting Freddielive:
surely a body tossed out the window of a Scotland Yard officewouldn't cause that much of a stir?"And
he's a pouf."Now it was
Devlin's turn to blink. "How the Devil d'you know that?"Freddie
Lewis gazed at Devlin with guileless eyes. "I recognise him, sir.From the
club - the Peacock Club. His name is Dennis Dalziel."If Devlin
were perfectly honest with himself, he would have to admit toparticular
aspects of this case which were already well within his ken.The note upon his desk was not wholly unexpected; he knew that ifWhittaker were back in London it would only be a matter of time
beforehe made contact with Devlin.He turned
the paper over in his fingers, but he knew there was nothingto be seen
that he hadn't seen already. The only fingerprints upon theletter were his own; the handwriting was deliberately scrawled and childish,
written with a rather dull pencil that had been unevenly andcarelessly
sharpened. The contents, too, were no more than Devlin hadbeen expecting: various vague threats and allusions to the past,
'secretsbetter kept between ourselves.' He knew what
that meant. And he knewwhy the queer from Freddie's
molly house was killed. The irony of it, thechoice of
Whittaker's latest victim, was not lost on Devlin. And therewould be a reckoning, he knew, and unless he got to Whittaker before
hestruck again, there would be no telling...no telling
what chaos might bewrought.It would be so
easy for Whittaker to upset the balance of a lifetime.Devlin
glanced up as Freddie Lewis slipped into the office, already in hisovercoat
and carrying his gloves. "If you're not needing me anymoretonight, sir, I thought I'd dodge along."Devlin was
halfway through an absentminded greeting when hesuddenly
sat bolt upright and shrieked loud enough that he was heard inthe cleaner's closet in the basement. Three largish sewer rats and aprostitute by the name of Boompin' Nelly appropriately
scattered,thinking that the ungodly scream had been
uttered at the instant of theFinal Judgement.Devlin
caught up with Freddie on the pavement just outside the door,and seized
on him with both hands. "This club," he panted. "Are yougoing there tonight? Are you going to the molly house?"Two aged
sisters returning from an afternoon's perusal of themerchantware
in Covent Garden wheeled an extreme berth aroundDevlin,
and drew their shawls protectively around them."Keep
your voice down!" Freddie hissed. "Are you telling everyone thatI'm - "Devlin
clapped a hand over the taller man's mouth. "Are... you... going...to...
the... club?" He spoke with the exaggerated slowness usuallydirected at lunatics and the hard of hearing.Freddie, his
speech constrained by Devlin's hand, nodded vigorously."Any
one of them could be a target." Devlin was musing aloud now, hisquick mind
skipping rapidly over possible scenarios, alternately choosingand rejecting strategies as quickly as his brain disgorged them.
"I wantto go there and have a look around,
question some of the, er, patrons.Someone might have
seen something, heard Whittaker talking. Maybehe's
luring victims like the Ripper did - "Freddie
disengaged Devlin's hand from his lips. "Maybe he's playing atbeing a
toff!"Devlin
levelled a glance at the young constable. "John Whittaker doesn'thave to
play at being a toff. He's well able to climb the social ladder withthe ton."Devlin was
as uncomfortable as ever in his life, even though thecircumstances
of his current situation contained no overt goads to hismorality, no pricks to his conscience. Devlin found himself frowning,thought that perhaps 'prick' was an unfortunate choice of word,considering the venue.For half an
hour he'd sat beside Constable Lewis at a lavishly appointedbanquette;
for twenty-nine and a half minutes Constable Lewis had hadhis hand on Devlin's thigh. It was, Devlin thought, playing it a bit
tooclose to the bone. The entertainment consisted of a
rather vapid floorshow, wherein young men dressed in
frocks mounted - here Devlinchided himself severely for
the paucity of his personal lexicon - a lowstage and
crooned the collected works of Mr. Gilbert and Mr. Sullivan,not necessarily in that order. The real entertainment, Devlin
thought, wasin the club itself, which presented the
same overall sentiment as aknacker yard the day after a
particularly bad showing at the Ascot.He saw men
openly engage each other for assignations, all within hisearshot,
and couples ascending the stairs into some shadowy regionhigh above, their arms around each other, their faces close together.Devlin wondered what on earth could possibly be upstairs, but
he waswilling to bet it had something to do with lust
and secrets, things better undertaken
in the dark.His collar
was suddenly too tight. And his imagination, he thoughtsourly, was
becoming far too florid. He ought to check himself before itwent too far, and undertake some form of chastisement that wouldeffectively curtail such fantastic musings.A tall form
loomed over Devlin, and a smiling blond figure leaned downand
caressed his cheek with one elegantly manicured finger. "Hit me,"the figure whispered."I beg
your pardon?!"The figure
offered Devlin the handle of a whip: a quirt or riding crop, astrip of
stinging leather. Devlin was suddenly and unpleasantlyreminded
of the headmaster of his schooldays, who liked to put boys overhis bended knees and administer a caning. Perhaps, Devlin mused, hisold headmaster was here."Oh,
come on...give us a few whacks, guv'nor."Devlin felt
faint. He pushed out from underneath Lewis's clutching hand."Lavatory,"
he whispered.This seemed
to inflame the whip-bearing gorgon to entirely new heights."Like
it in the lavvies, do ya, guv'nor?"Devlin
plunged through the crowd of men with a kind of maniacaldesperation.
He felt as though he were trapped in a particularly deviousnightmare, and all he could see in front of him were the backs of men
andthe faces of men, smiling mouths leering wetly under
waxedmoustaches. He gained the relative safety of the
lavatory and leanedagainst the door, trying to calm his
racing heart. Behind his closedeyelids he could see the
lurid glances of the stage performers, whinnyingtheir
songs to a somewhat less than rapt audience. It was all too sordid."Inspector
Devlin!" The familiar summons gripped him with a flare ofpanic; he
opened his eyes cautiously, uncertain of what he might find.Harker had
never looked better: the dark suit he wore set off his strangegreen eyes
with a particular inevitability, as if some malicious destinyhad decreed that he meet Devlin here in the toilets. "Mr.
Harker.""Ah,
Devlin..." Harker smiled gently. "I am sorry that your post mortemefforts on
behalf of your charred bodies did not yield more promisingresults. Donnelly tried his best."Devlin could
well imagine what Donnelly's 'best' entailed. "I appreciateyour help,
Mr. Harker." What the devil was Harker doing here, Devlinwondered, and more to the point, did his naturally inquisitive mind
leadhim to make suppositions about Devlin that would
prove to be of adevastating truth?"Are
you here alone?" Harker was leaning on the door in what could onlybe
construed as a proprietary manner. His gaze flickered on Devlin's face,travelled to Devlin's throat, his practised eye entirely appreciative
ofDevlin's appearance."Freddie."
Devlin couldn't seem to make his vocal cords work; he wasmesmerised
by the glint in Harker's eyes, the warmth in his expressionas he moved, catlike, to cover Devlin's body with his own."You
have always made much of the distances between us, Devlin..."Harker
cupped the inspector's face between his palms, his mouth inchesfrom Devlin's own. "And yet, I see that we are truly not so
different...."It was,
Devlin thought, like sucking on one of those new electric wires,with a
current that ran from his groin to his brain and back again, in anever-ending loop. He was held back against the door as Harkerplundered his mouth with ruthless accuracy, his agile tongue
coaxingDevlin's lips apart, devouring him. When Harker
finally released him,Devlin found that he had lost his
voice completely."You
know, Devlin..." Harker straightened his tie with a certain aplombthat Devlin
had always envied and never been able to achieve. "I havewanted to do that for a very, very long time."He swept out
of the room, leaving Devlin alone.Devlin, of
course, knew why Dennis Dalziel had been killed. It didn't takea genius or
someone with the dubious connections of a Mr. ReginaldHarker
to understand the reasoning behind such a carefully calculatedact, and Devlin knew the mechanics of terror, of intimidation. He'd
usedthem himself, in the past, during particularly
trying interrogations orwhen trying to wring
information out of suspects he'd taken in forquestioning.
He knew that Whittaker had chosen Dalziel for one reason,and one reason only - to send a message to Devlin.Devlin
always prided himself on being at least outwardly circumspect,on keeping
his 'proclivities' - if they could be considered such - strictly tohimself. Even after all these years, it would be hard to pick a man
out ofthe general community who would point at him and
immediately declarehim deviant. He had become
singularly adept at hiding his true nature,even to the
point of not revealing his real name to those men with whomhe had pursued liaisons. Even Harker and Donnelly knew that theirsecret was safe with him.Strictly
speaking, Devlin ought to have arrested both of them years ago,under the
aegis of the Act, and pursued it as he would any other criminalmatter. As it stood he was putting the entire Metropolitan Police
Force injeopardy of ridicule, by turning a wilfully
blind eye to what went on at 12and a half Fowler
Street. It was a strange sort of dance that he wasdoing,
Devlin mused, wondering whom to trust and when to keep hismouth shut. Harker probably knew, if anyone did, the extent of
Devlin'sinclinations, especially after seeing Devlin in
the Peacock Club withFreddie Lewis. It was interesting
how Freddie knew it would be safe tobring Devlin there,
to invite him there as if his inclinations were entirelyabove whatever board currently denoted public morality. PerhapsFreddie wasn't as stupid as Devlin might think - or else the
youngconstable had the kind of keen instincts that
would betray suchtruths...and yet Devlin knew he wasn't
particularly swish. Not like somepatrons of the Peacock
- not like the one with the whip.He got up
from his desk, went to look at himself in the mirror: a slenderman of early
middle age, thin face, eyes probably larger and more naïvethan was strictly necessary for a man of his profession. As a youngerman, he had
been perhaps too lean and sharp in the face - no, Devlinrealised, he was still too lean, and his expression often tended,
withouthis knowing it, toward cunning. Those of the
Yard whom he countedamong his friends - and they were
precious few - were inclined tooverlook his rather
hungry-looking eagerness. His enemies called himweasel-faced.
He wasn't weasel-faced, or even anything like it - justchronically
insomniac, with far more worries than many other men ofthirty-five.
He wasn't devastatingly handsome, or elegant like Harker, oreven dimpled and endearing and terribly capable like Donnelly. He hadnot the bearing of the gorgeous monster John Whittaker, who
even nowwas stalking about the streets of London like
Devlin's personal ghostcome home to roost.
"Whatever did you see in me...?" He whispered to themirror, lost for a moment in his memories."What did
you say, sir?" Freddie Lewis appeared in the doorway. "Wereyou talking
to me?""Nothing,
Constable. Just musing to myself." Devlin crossed to his deskand gazed
pointedly into his empty mug. "Cup of tea wouldn't go astray.""Right
you are, guv. Oh, by the bye, there's a couple ladies here to seeyou."Devlin
experienced a flash of panic - perhaps someone had discoveredhim, and
had come to lodge a complaint of public lewdness. Someonehad seen Freddie Lewis in the Peacock Club, with his hand on Devlin'sthigh, and wanted to set things right with the law. Or someblabbermouthed old biddy had spied on him in the lavatory,
beingsoundly kissed by Reginald Harker...the one with
the whip, Devlinthought, in a sudden fever. "Who
are they, Constable?" He fought to makehis voice
sound normal."One of
'em is all got up in gentleman's togs and smoking a cigar - "Evidently
Freddie found nothing odd in this, " - and the other one is MissPhoebe Alcock.""Phoebe
Alcock?" Devlin checked his watch. "At this hour?"She appeared
in a cloud of costly perfume, decked out in what seemed toDevlin to
be some sort of split skirt - a bicycling costume. Slightly behindher there came a tall young redhead, dressed like Lord Byron.
"MissViolet Pearson." Phoebe introduced her
to Devlin and Freddie. "My mostintimate
friend." Miss Pearson stepped forward as if submitting herself toa duel, and shook Devlin's hand with a certain manly vigour. Just asquickly as Devlin had made this paragon's acquaintance, Phoebe
wasdismissing her: "Run along now, Violet, and
play with Constable Lewis. Ineed to chat with this
gorgeous boy - alone."Freddie
grudgingly offered Miss Pearson his arm, clearly resentful ofbeing left
out of the proceedings. "I'll give you a tour of the station,"Freddie said, and darted a sharp look at Devlin, an expression
of mingledhurt and contempt."Only
approved areas, Constable. Stay out of the morgue." Devlin knewthat
Freddie's current level of pique might seduce him into showing theirvisitor rather more than was acceptable."Can I
see your darbies?" Violet Pearson's voice floated up the stairwell,disappeared.
Devlin waited until he was absolutely sure they had gone."Your
intimate friend?"Phoebe
smiled, reached over and took a cigarette from the box onDevlin's
desk. "The Queen herself has declared that such acts do notoccur between women."Devlin
permitted himself a short, cynical laugh. "I knew a woman once inStepney
Green - made herself a fortune catering to both -"Phoebe took
his face between her palms, gazed at him. "Still notsleeping, I
see." Before Devlin could make a suitable rejoinder, she said,"Elizabeth Hobbs.""Where
did you hear that name?" He spoke as quickly as he could, for hisbottom lip
had begun to quiver as if he were taken with a fever. Hismemories felt like body blows. Be objective, he told himself, it was
justanother case. He struggled to fall back on his
training, cut himself off from the sensations that
threatened to overwhelm him. He reached intohis pocket
for his handkerchief, mopped his sweating forehead."It was
something Dad let drop one night, at the supper table."Devlin
stared at her, incredulous. "He let it drop? At supper?" The onlything
Devlin could imagine Old Brassie dropping at supper was his fork,and that tragedy alone would be enough to precipitate an
internationalincident."It's
not the point, Inspector. I know all about Dennis Dalziel - I know thathe was
killed and set on fire in an alleyway. It's so hackneyed that it'spractically a textbook case."Devlin was
thinking about the way the fat on Dalziel's body had bubbledgreasily
through the cracks in the blackened skin. It wasn't for nothing,he thought, that cannibals referred to human meat as long pig. Hewondered if he were going to be sick. "I don't know where
you got thatinformation, Miss Alcock, but might I
remind you that you are discussingofficial police
business -""I know
why you never married." Her gaze was clear, steady, and withoutcompromise.In that
instant Devlin saw the end of everything: his career, his life,everything
in ruins, and him wearing out the floor in a cell at ReadingGaol. He'd be condemned as a sodomite, subject to the harshest ofpenalties, because he was a copper, and corrupt, in open
defiance of theAct....Devlin turned a horrified gaze on
Phoebe Alcock, a gaze full of fearand patent misery."I have
a proposition for you." She touched his arm, broke into a smile."Oh,
for God's sake, Inspector - don't look at me like that!"Blackmail,
Devlin thought - she's going to blackmail me. What resourceshad he, on
a policeman's salary?"I
think this is something you will readily agree to, Inspector." She tookhis hands
in hers and squeezed them gently. "If we can agree on terms, I think everything will work out to your benefit."Devlin
escorted Phoebe Alcock down to the main door, where they saidtheir
goodbyes. His mind was churning with the import of what had justpassed between them: mainly he wondered if she would make good onher promises to him."Let's
just keep it between us for now, Inspector." She smiled, stood ontiptoe and
kissed him - passionately. It differed significantly from the kissshe had bestowed that night at the tea dance; Devlin felt the tip of
hertongue teasing at his own, parting his lips. She
released him after whatfelt like an eternity. "And
here's Violet! Did you enjoy your tour, my dear?"In the
subsequent babble of female conversation, and before he fledheadlong
back up to his office, Devlin caught a glimpse of Freddie Lewis.The
constable looked as if Devlin had slapped him.SixAlone in the
archives room, Freddie Lewis carefully reconsidered whathe'd just
seen pass between Phoebe Alcock and Devlin. Of course anyonewould want to kiss Devlin, he reasoned, and even if Devlin wasshockingly unaware of his own appeal, that made him no less
attractiveto others. What in God's name had Devlin been
doing? The simplestexplanation - that Devlin liked his
bread buttered on either side or both -made absolutely
no sense. Freddie knew there was no Mrs. Devlin - thatthere
had never been a Mrs. Devlin, nor was there likely to be. Hesuspected, although he couldn't know for certain, that Devlin had atsome time engaged in one or two brief affairs with men, of mild
interestand short duration. He'd never seen Devlin with
a woman - exceptPhoebe Alcock. And yet Devlin had spent
much of his free time at the teadance in the garden,
drinking gin with Phoebe Alcock and doing Godknew what.
Maybe he'd wandered off with her and sampled the stringsof her merkin. Maybe, Freddie reasoned, she'd sampled his - no,
Devlindidn't own a merkin, nor had he ever worn one.
Freddie knew thisbecause he'd had the pleasure - here
his face relaxed into a grin - ofseeing the inspector
mother-naked.Beyond the
table where he was working, something dropped. Freddiefroze in
place, his senses turned toward the direction of the sound."Bugger," he murmured. "Losing me bloody mind, I am."Then he
heard it again: a discrete click, like roundshot being dispensedinto a tin.
The tiny hairs on the back of his neck rose, and he wondered ifit would be cowardly for a constable of the Metropolitan Police to
runscreaming out the door. "Get a hold of
yourself," he said. "Nobody in herebut old
Johnnie Melville.""Where's
Constable Lewis?" Devlin stopped at the desk on his way out, pulling on
his gloves with half his mind elsewhere."I
haven't seen him, guv." The sergeant applied himself studiously to theprocedures
manual lying open in front of him, affected an expression ofgreat intelligence that sadly failed to convince even himself."How
long have you been on duty here?" What the hell was PhoebeAlcock
thinking? Devlin had passed from shock and fear to a state ofpatent anger."Half
an hour, sir."Devlin
nodded. "I have pressing business to attend to - if you see him, tellhim I'll be
back later on." Devlin buttoned up his overcoat against theOctober chill. "And by the way, Sergeant - ""Sir?""Your
bloody book is upside down!"John
Donnelly kept an office of sorts, located in Kensington, but whereexactly in
Kensington, Devlin was not entirely sure, and so spent nearlyan hour clopping about in a hansom cab with a not entirely helpfulcabbie suggesting possible venues. Had Donnelly been a proper
chemist,he would have perhaps taken the ground floor of
a house and made itinto a shop, but Donnelly wasn't now
and never had been a properchemist - just a bounder
from an Essex family just recently out of themiddle
classes. Donnelly made great pretence about being forced out ofschool before he'd completed his training, but Devlin had done somechecking and knew that Donnelly's downfall had been an overt
and badlyrestrained hunger for cock in public places.
He'd been caught fondling afellow student on the Boat
Train during summer holidays, in the yearsbefore the
amendment to the Act, and so found himself on the wrong endof a public prosecution and summarily expelled without a word ofwarning. He'd managed to gather enough skills to set himself up
as asort of backroom chemist, but Devlin knew that
Donnelly's sometimeslavish lifestyle and taste for
gambling were largely funded by Reginald Harker.Devlin
wasn't worried about being seen, altogether, but concernedinstead
whether this latest enquiry of his would divulge too much of thecase in hand. Of course, Devlin mused, given Harker's uncanny methodsof gathering information, it was a fair bet that he had already
deduced asmuch as Devlin himself knew, if not more. It
was a difficult one to call, hethought, and he was
grateful that he wasn't a betting man.Donnelly's
laboratory was housed in a respectable looking house with anunassuming
brick front, and a brass plaque beside the door proclaimingthat this was the office of Mr. John M. Donnelly, apothecary and
chemist.The door opened on to a pleasant anteroom,
comfortably furnished andboasting several large
fern-like plants in pots. Devlin chose a chairnearest
the window - the room was empty - and browsed through amonths-old
copy of The Strand that he'd found lying behind a flowerpot.After some moments a door opened, and Donnelly appeared, clad in along white apron that was decorated with sundry bits of gore.
"Inspector!What a surprise - please, do come in!""I hope
I'm not catching you at a bad time?" Devlin wasn't sure where theblood and
guts had come from, and he wasn't about to ask - it was notaltogether impossible that Donnelly had been engaged in somedissection work for Harker, for reasons better left to the
imagination."Not at
all, not at all." Donnelly ushered Devlin into his consulting room,and went
immediately to wash his hands at the basin, taking great careto scrub his fingers and his nails. The filthy apron, however, he
chose toretain. "Now then, my dear fellow - what
can I do for you?"Devlin
decided to dispense with preamble. "How long can a person beinfected
with syphilis before the, ah, final stages?"Donnelly
regarded Devlin with narrowed eyes. "That depends," hereplied.
"You might want to get undressed."Was this a
seduction ploy? Devlin wondered. "What for?" he asked, tryinghard to
keep a note of truculence out of his voice."Well,
I'd very much like to examine you - to see how far the infection hasalready
progressed. Reggie and I make an interest out of these sorts ofcases. Just slip out of your clothes and get under the blanket - ""Not
me!" Devlin's head had begun to pound. "I ask merely out ofprofessional
interest."Donnelly
seemed relieved. "Well, of course - and I mean, you couldn'thave caught
it just from that one night at the Peacock Club.""I see you've
been talking to Harker.""We
occupy the same rooms, Inspector." Donnelly smiled coyly. "Pillowtalk, you
know. Post-coitus, the powers of conversation are ratherheightened - ""Alright,
alright," Devlin conceded the point irritably. "But how long doesit take?"Donnelly
blinked at him. "Harker was rather a quick starter when we firstmet, but
I've managed to bring him along - "Devlin swore
savagely, a long stream of mostly gutter curses withinvocations
to the Deity sprinkled liberally throughout. The pounding inhis head had settled itself firmly behind his eyeballs."After
the secondary symptoms -" Donnelly at last recognised his taskand
launched into it with real enthusiasm, " - that is, after the, er, genitalnodule disappears - well, the disease sometimes goes into a
long latencyperiod, without any ill effects."Devlin
sagged visibly. "Damn," he whispered.Donnelly
appeared not to have heard him. "Latency, in some cases, canlast a
lifetime - unless, of course, other organs are involved. Of course theworst is neurosyphilis, when the brain is involved. There are
documentedcase histories of patients in lunatic asylums
- ""Lunacy?"
Devlin looked as if he hadn't heard properly. "So it can cause lunacy.""Yes -
in the tertiary stages, of course - ""Thank
you, Mr. Donnelly." Devlin curtailed another lengthy discoursewith this
sharp rejoinder. "That will do nicely. Very helpful." He cast aparting glance at Donnelly's soiled apron. "When you see
Mr. Harker,would you ask him to call on me, at the
Yard? There are some aspects ofthe case I am very eager
to discuss with him." Probably not thosefeatures
which Harker expected, but nevertheless..."I
haven't seen him very much lately - he does pursue an after-hoursexistence
these days. Of course he's always had an artistic bent. Hisgrandmother was a Hungarian lacemaker, you know. Artistry is part ofhis essential nature, especially when you consider such a
storiedbackground."Doubtless
Harker was even then settled comfortably in a cafesomewhere, discussing
such weighty philosophical tropes as Truth,Beauty, and
Life with an audience of enraptured young catamites at hisfeet. Devlin turned to go."One
more thing, Inspector - ""Yes?""I
understand that Harker has been pursuing a line of enquiry at thePeacock
Club - did you chance to speak to him when you were there, theother night?"Devlin
considered his reply for about as long as it took him to blink. "Notreally,
Chemist. Mr. Harker and I share certain commonalties of thoughtin some areas, but to his core philosophies I'm afraid I can only
give...lipservice."SevenHarker was,
predictably, in the bathtub when Devlin arrived, but this didnot deter
the solicitor from receiving him - indeed, Harker directed Devlinto take a seat upon the closed lid of the commode, the better to
conversewith him. Devlin wondered if it were not some
misaligned attempt atseduction, considering the kiss
that Harker had bestowed on him just theother night -
the fact that Harker was necessarily naked was also afactor.
Devlin did his utmost to focus his gaze elsewhere, but time andagain his eyes were drawn to the solicitor's smooth, wet skin."I've
come on business, Mr. Harker - official police matters, you mightsay."
Devlin wriggled a little on the lid; the hard wooden circle waspressing into his buttocks and causing him discomfort. Add to that
thefact of Harker's nakedness, so near, so
tantalising...for a moment Devlinallowed himself to
indulge in fantasy, and wondered whether it might bean
error of judgement. He could think of no two men who were asunsuited to each other as himself and Harker - their differences of
opinionas to procedure and method were the least of the
stumbling blocks thateach had placed in the other's
path over the years of their longassociation. Devlin
sighed. "Dennis Dalziel is dead." He felt it better toget it out in the open and not linger over it. A clean cut, and make
itquick.Harker's
eyes widened for a moment. "Ah," he murmured, "that isunfortunate,
Devlin.""I only
mention it, Mr. Harker, because it occurred to me that you and Mr.Dalziel had
been keeping company of late."Harker
paused to dump a jug of water over his head, sputtered andgasped for
some moments, and took the towel that Devlin passed him."Oh no, Devlin, there your intuition has lead you wrong. I was
notkeeping company with Dalziel for any other purpose
than my current line of inquiry.""Then
what were you doing in the Peacock Club?""Following
my current line of inquiry!" Harker stood up abruptly, in ashower of
droplets, and reached out a long arm for his bath sheet. Devlintactfully looked away, occupied himself with examining the cracks in
theceiling. "Come along, Devlin!" Harker
hovered impatiently in the doorway."And let that
water out, would you?"Devlin
accepted the cup of hot lemon and whisky that Harker passed tohim, and
sank into a chair beside the fire. His entire body ached, and, asusual, he hadn't been getting more than three hours of sleep at
night. Hewondered if he would ever sleep again.
"What line of inquiry?" The hotdrink warmed
him through, and he felt a dangerous lassitude creepingupon
him, relaxing all his limbs."You
were at school with John Whittaker." Harker offered Devlin a cigar,lit it for
him with a glowing splint from the fire."How
d'you know that?"Harker's
features arranged themselves into an appropriatelycondescending
expression. "Devlin.""Yes, I
was. That is to say, I knew him." Devlin waited to be struck bylightning,
but some moments passed and his skin remained unsizzled."Your
parents did without a very great deal in order to afford your tuition.They wanted
to send you to a good school, give you the education theyfelt you deserved."Devlin
nodded. "Dad never made it past the ranks of your ordinary copper- a Bluebottle
till the day he died."Harker
smiled faintly. "Then you have surpassed your family'sexpectations,
Devlin!" He drew on his cigar. "How well did you knowJohn Whittaker?"Panic
descended, smothering and absolute. "What do you mean?" Hefancied that
Harker could see right through his skin and deep into hisbones, into the core and marrow of him. He could not confide in
Harker;the truth was far too shattering for him to tell
anyone-"We
have all, in our time, made errors in judgement, Devlin." Harker'shand
reached out, closed around his wrist gently. "I would nevercondemn you for that."Devlin
forced himself to take a few deep breaths, attempted to calm hisinsides.
"I first started at that particular school when I was fourteen. Ofcourse, I was the new boy, and not especially liked by the
others." Devlinoffered Harker an embarrassed grin.
"You can imagine. Well, JohnWhittaker was tall for
his age, and big about the chest and arms. He keptan
eye on me - ""He
appointed himself your ad hoc protector?"Devlin
blinked. "Er...yes, something like that, Mr. Harker." Ad hoc?
"Andhe taught me how to fight back. I'd have never made it through
if hehadn't come along."Harker
smiled thinly. "Ah yes, Devlin, I expect you would have. We allhave our
resources, you know." He roused himself, paced a few stepsback and forth in front of the fire, and went to look out the window.
"Youknow that John Whittaker is married."Devlin's
eyes were in danger of quitting his skull. "Married?""Oh
yes." Harker puffed on his cigar. "Although the wife is quite mad,quite
mad." He peered at Devlin. "You were in the Peacock Club.""So?"Harker let
the window blind drop back into place. "Many aspects of thiscase are
clear to me, Devlin - except one."Devlin asked
the obvious question."Why,
Phoebe Alcock, of course." Harker sat down, cast a glance acrossat Devlin.
"I am not at all certain how she figures in this equation.""She's
the Chief Commissioner's daughter." What the hell was Harkerdriving at?"She
came to see you at the Yard the other day. I know this because Ihappened to
be there, talking with one of your colleagues about a case Icurrently have in hand.""You...went
to someone else?" In spite of himself, Devlin was hurt. "Whycouldn't
you come to me, for God's sake?"Harker
laughed. "Good God, Devlin, anyone would think you werejealous!"
He leaned forward, hands on his knees. "Believe me, my dearfellow, I did not allow him the same considerations as I gave you
thatnight at the Peacock Club!" Harker examined
Devlin carefully. "I candeduce by your expression
that my surmises are correct - and so you arejealous.""I've
never heard such rubbish in my life!""I
wonder, Devlin, why you have never bothered to arrest me -considering
that you are privy to the most sensitive of secrets."Devlin
stammered something about the privilege of long association,confessed
to turning a blind eye, consideration for one's friends, surelyMr. Harker understood. "And anyway," he conceded, "if
I had to arrestpeople for open defiance of the Act,
half of bloody London would berotting below stairs in
Reading Gaol!"He clutched
his overcoat around him and tore off out the door, his insidesseething
with unspent rage. He heard a rattle on the stairs above him,and then Harker's voice, weighty with sarcasm."Mind
how you go, Inspector!"Devlin found
his mind returning again and again to John Whittaker'ssupposed
wife. Harker had not been forthcoming with his information,but that in itself was not surprising. Devlin had engaged in theexhausting task of badgering Harker for as long as he'd known
him.Perhaps it wasn't just that, though - perhaps
Harker was as much in thedark as Devlin himself, and
feared to reveal his ignorance. It wouldn't bethe first
time that Harker had deliberately "forgotten" about him, out ofsheer bloody-mindedness - here Devlin considered arresting
Harker forobstruction - and it certainly wouldn't be
the last. He considered goingback to Fowler Street, but
it was getting late, and he was cold and veryhungry. If
he went back to the Yard, there would likely be an inevitableinterview with Old Brassie, who'd want to know why Devlin had made solittle progress - this was an eventuality that Devlin wanted to
delay foras long as possible. He would effectively
inform Sir Neville when the timewas right, when he'd
gathered all the pertinent threads into his hand andhad
something to show for his efforts.He stood for
some long moments on Crutchley Road, and consideredwhat his
next move might be. It was getting on for dark, and the windhad freshened with an uncommon hostility, piercing Devlin's worn coatin several places. He shivered and tried to burrow further into
his collar.He had no desire to go back to his empty
rooms in the Brougham Road,but neither did he want to
wander about the streets of London like aRomany
discard. In the end, he settled on a meal, and found himselfsitting in a restaurant near Covent Garden.Most of the
menu items would leave a considerable hole in his finances;when the
waiter came and enquired as to his needs (with a whollyunnecessary
haughtiness) Devlin ordered Welsh rabbit and a glass ofbeer.
While he waited for his meal, his gaze strayed across the adjacenttables, which were mostly occupied by couples, or the odd well-bredfamily with their equally well-bred and well-behaved children.
Devlinhad always harboured a secret soft spot for the
little ones, even thoughhe had long ago accepted that
he would have no issue of his own.Nearest his own table
was a sumptuously appointed banquette,occupied by two
men about his own age, obviously friends, andobviously
engaged in comfortable and intimate conversation. As Devlinwatched, the taller of the two reached out and covered the other
man'shand with his own in a fleeting caress, whispered
something that Devlin could not hear. The patent
evidence of warmth and compassion wasalmost more than he could bear, and
he was forced to turn his eyesaway, pretend to study
the pattern of the tablecloth.Where was
Freddie Lewis tonight? Devlin found his thoughts drifting tothe young
constable. For all their five years as working partners, Devlinoften felt that he knew very little about Lewis, about his habits and
thecompany he kept. He wondered if this reflected badly
on him as asuperior, this lack of interest in the
well-being of his subordinates - no,that was far too
pat a realisation. Freddie's life was his own, and what hedid after hours was his own business.Devlin was
halfway through coffee and a Chelsea bun before he noticedthe Bluebottle
standing near the entrance. Instinctively he flagged theman, beckoned him over. "What is it, Constable...?""Higgins,
sir. You'd best come with me right away, Inspector."It was yet
another murder, Devlin thought - had to be, on the face of it.Nothing
else would turn his guts to water like the intuition thatWhittaker had struck again. He'd had a fleeting idea that he might
beginhis search for Whittaker's insane wife, perhaps
initiate a search ofvarious lunatic asylums and
workhouses, but it would have to wait.Perhaps he might
put Freddie Lewis on this one - that sort ofinvolvement
would make Freddie feel better, even if it was merely a sopto Devlin's own shrieking conscience. He had some making up to do, herealised, and he had been rather too cavalier of late with
Freddie's regardand his affection. He would give this
case to Freddie, put him in chargeof it, build up his
confidence a bit.He tossed
some coins upon the table and, shrugging into his overcoat,followed
the constable out into the night.EightFreddie
Lewis had decided to walk home, even though the wind wascold enough
to cut the bollix out from under a brass monkey. He wantedthe cold air, and even relished it, because it helped to clear his
head andgive his thoughts a more rational framework.
He'd left Devlin's officetidier than it had been in a
long time, and filed all the bits of straypaperwork
that Devlin was wont to overlook. He'd even washed Devlin'steacup and cleaned the sticky rings from the top of the inspector's
desk,and he'd considered whether he ought to take
Devlin's other coat out forcleaning, but decided that
might be going a bit too far.He was
nearly at the entrance to his street when he heard the cries, andturned
instinctively to see what was the matter: an old man withseverely bandy legs and the habitual demeanour of a beggar was beinghounded by three other men, all of them young and obviously
fit. "Oi!"Freddie started off towards them.
"What's this, then?" They predictablyscattered
and ran, escaping down a narrow lane between two buildings,and it occurred to Freddie that something might be amiss when herealised that the crippled man was running with them.He stopped,
began to back away, and turned to make good his escape,but his way
was barred by the crippled man, who had seeminglyregained
his health and was holding what looked to be a length ofpiping. Freddie reached to make the collar, but his wrists were
grabbedand cinched behind him, tied with rope. The
premonition of it rose likesmoke behind his eyes, and
he fought to stay upright on his feet, but theywere too
many and he was only one.They swarmed
to cover him, striking out with feet and fists, until hewent down
under a flurry of blows. He rolled from side to side, seekingescape from the endless assaults, but could make no headway. He
tastedblood inside his mouth, and a wave of dizziness
threatened him, thencrested and washed over him, as
everything went black."What
do you make of it, sir?"Devlin
realised that if he'd got a fiver for every time someone had saidthat to him
in recent days, he'd be set up for a holiday on the Continent.Devlin had never had a holiday, unless one counted the time he hadaccompanied his mother to the home of an aged aunt in
Manchester,some years before, and Devlin was loath to
count it, seeing as how he'dspent the entire time
having his cheeks pinched and enduring remarksabout the
state of his bowels."He's
not burned it this time." Devlin mused on this for a moment,bending low
over the corpse. "Probably didn't want to start aconflagration."
This last was significant in terms of location, for Whittakerhad taken his latest victim on the doorstep of Scotland Yard - a
brazenassault, to say the least, and one calculated to
cause embarrassment.What intrigued Devlin, however, was
the physiognomy of the victim:from a distance, he might
pass for Freddie Lewis. "How long has he - it -been
here?"The
constable consulted his notebook. "I came on duty around about half-seven, sir.
It weren't here then. Me and Duffett - " The constable gesturedat another of his ilk, standing off to the side and vomiting quietly
onto hisboots " - were walking the beat tonight,
and we come out about eightand he was there."Devlin asked
the obvious question. "Where was Constable Lewis?""Sergeant
Hubble said he left about half-six, sir. Said he was going hometo get some
supper."Devlin
turned this over in his mind, decided at last to leave Freddie out ofit, at
least for the moment. "Alright," he said, "Get it covered and
get it tothe morgue before you start a bloody
riot." Already the curious had begunto gather
round the steps, peering at the dead man with rather too muchvicarious pleasure for Devlin's taste. "And get these people out
of here!"He heard the
constables' cries of "Move along, there - move along, now!"only dimly,
as he slumped against the railing and wondered what in hellhe was supposed to do about it now. He could already vividly imaginewhat the papers would have to say about it - a murder directly
on thedoorstep of the Yard, and nothing done, no leads
followed, no suspectsarrested.Devlin found
Sir Neville Alcock still in his office, bent studiously over afile
folder, his great girth supported against the edge of the desk. Forsome long moments, the Chief appeared not to see him, and so Devlincleared his throat, rather more noisily than was necessary."You've
been stood there for five minutes - you can manage to stand therefor a few
seconds more." Alcock didn't even raise his eyes from the folder,and Devlin took this as a very bad sign indeed. By the end of theinterview, he supposed, he would most likely be directing
omnibus trafficin the Piccadilly Circus."I
expect you've seen it," Devlin began, once he had gained the olderman's
attention."Of course
I've seen it," Alcock grunted. "I'd have to be blind not to haveseen
it!" He heaved his bulk up out of the chair and began a slow circuitaround the office, his steps as ponderous as any circus
elephant, and justas capable of devastation. He stopped
before Devlin, and gazed for somemoments into the
inspector's tiepin. "But it's not your fault."Too bloody
generous, Devlin thought sourly, considering I was nowherenear."He
means to send a message to us, this Whittaker. Means to take usdown a
notch, draw the ire of the public and the press, make fools of us."Alcock moved away, went to look out the window. "How long
sinceyou've been home, Devlin?"Devlin's
mouth opened and closed on nothing."How
long since you've had a good night's sleep? Eh? Don't think Ihaven't
noticed. Good night's sleep just the thing for you. Young chaps of your sort haven't got the stamina that we used to have. You need to get
agood meal in you - "This was
something, Devlin thought, coming from a man who looked as ifhe routinely
devoured a hog at each dinnertime." - a
good meal, sir, and then a bloody good rogering!"Devlin would
have sagged, except such response would mean fallingthrough the
opened door. For a horrified few moments, he imagined thatSir Neville himself thought to provide if not the former, then at
least thelatter, and the images conjured by this
speculation made Devlin slightlyqueasy."Go
home, Devlin." Alcock turned his back, effectively dismissing him."Get
some sleep and come back here with some concrete ideas on how tocatch this fellow Whittaker." He turned and bellowed at Devlin,
in a voiceloud enough to carry all the way to Essex,
"And find yourself a woman!"It wasn't
that Devlin found himself a woman so much as a woman foundhim. He was
awakened out of sleep by Mrs. Taylor, bending over himand
rolling him to and fro, hissing in his ear that a gentleman was here tosee him, and hadn't he get up and receive his visitor?"For
God's sake!" Devlin rolled over and opened one eye. "Who is it, at thistime of
night?""Don't
take that tone with me!" Mrs. Taylor, ever resourceful, and quiteused by now
to dealing with the inspector's vicissitudes, wrung one ofhis ears until he yelped. "A young man, very handsome. You'd
best seehim.""Go
away," Devlin moaned. But he got up anyway, and shrugged into hisdressing
gown, the better to receive John Donnelly.The chemist
made no preamble: "Freddie Lewis is very badly hurt. I camehere as
soon as I found out." He reached out to steady Devlin, hold him upright. "You're shivering - here." Donnelly fetched a
blanket from thesofa and wrapped it around Devlin, who felt as if he'd
been drenched inicy water."What
happened?" Devlin asked, and then, "What time is it?""Just
past midnight. As far as we can tell, he was attacked on his wayhome, lured
into a laneway.""How
did you find out?" He'd have been all alone, Devlin thought, andlikely
preoccupied with other matters, as Freddie often was. They mighthave done anything to him, and what could he have done to defendhimself?"Harker
is also working toward a resolution of this case." Donnellysloshed
some brandy into a glass and handed it across to the inspector."He asked that I relay the information to you.""I
should have known Harker would be involved!" Devlin gulped thebrandy
hastily, his mind already running ahead. "Where is Freddie? Is hein the hospital?""He's
recuperating at a safe location - Harker thought it unwise to allowhim to
linger in a public hospital- ""Harker!
What right has Harker to decide - " Devlin tossed the blanket offhis
shoulders, went through to the bedroom and began dressing ashastily as his shivering would allow. "Fowler Street," he
said, "Take methere."Donnelly
caught the inspector by the forearms, stilled his headlong flight."He's
not at Fowler Street.""Then
where the bloody hell have you - ""Get
into your coat and come with me." Donnelly gathered up Devlin's hatand gloves.
"There's a cab at the door."He had never
felt so bad in his life - not even after his failed bid for entryinto the
Hell Fire Club. He was lying - insofar as he could tell - in a nicebed, very comfortable, but he felt as though someone had tried to
turnhim inside out. Thank God for Chemist Donnelly, who
at least had offeredsomething for the pain - something
Freddie suspected was laudanum,but which at least eased
the savage grip of his injuries. The only downside was
that it tended to make him astonishingly sleepy, and to producebizarre and varied dreams, not unlike the visions of Samuel TaylorColeridge, with whose work Freddie had a nodding acquaintance.In his more
lucid moments, he worried about Devlin, and whetherWhittaker
was even now stalking the inspector with an eye to murderinghim, now that Freddie had been taken out of the way. Perhaps it hadbeen Whittaker in the archives room that morning, and perhaps
he haddeliberately infiltrated the offices of the Yard
to weaken their resolve, totorment them with lingering
and unfounded suppositions. It seemed toFreddie that a
criminal of Whittaker's sort would likely turn tointimidation
as the means to his end, if he thought it would help hiscause - and it wasn't beyond Whittaker's scope, Freddie thought, toinitiate a campaign of harassment. Privately, he fingered these
theoriesover in his mind, but he knew that he would
never mention any of this toDevlin. Perhaps Devlin had
already contemplated similar, and Freddiehad a deathly
fear of seeming stupid to the guv'nor - he alreadysuspected
that Devlin thought him a little dim. He didn't want to lowerthe inspector's opinion of him by offering theories that might
ultimatelyprove disappointing."How
much further?" Devlin bit hard on his lower lip, quashing an urge topummel
Donnelly with his fists. After all, it wasn't the chemist's fault thathe was overwrought and tortured with worry."Not
long now." Donnelly reached out and squeezed Devlin's hand in thedarkness of
the cab. "He is being well cared-for, Devlin. Ah, here we are."The cabbie
had stopped in front of a nondescript brownstone inKensington,
the sort of address usually occupied by the upper classes and those whose financial means did not outweigh their taste. Devlindisembarked
and followed Donnelly into the house, stumbling on thesteps
in his haste, half blind and dizzy with fatigue. "Easy, Inspector."Donnelly wrapped an arm around his waist and ushered him into
thefoyer, where Violet Pearson, dressed in silk pajamas
and a smokingjacket, in deference to the hour, met
them. Her long red hair wasunbound and flowed freely
round her shoulders; she was, Devlin thought,an
uncommonly handsome woman."Inspector
Devlin!" She took Devlin's hands in hers and gave them agentle
squeeze. "You must be half out of your wits with worry! Right thisway." She led him up a narrow staircase and along the upstairs
hall,pausing outside one of the bedrooms.
"Donnelly has administeredlaudanum for the pain,
so Constable Lewis might well be sleeping."Devlin
reached for the doorknob, and his courage failed him, and with it,the last of
his strength. He slid down the wall to end up in an awkwardsitting position with his overcoat bunched around his knees. "Oh
myGod," he whispered, thankful that only Miss
Pearson was present to seehis complete mental
breakdown. "How bad is it?"She knelt
before him, her hands on his knees. "It looks rather worse thanit actually
is - or so Mr. Donnelly tells me." She smoothed his cheek withthe back of her knuckles and smiled. "You must take courage,
Inspector!Constable Lewis needs your strength
now." She helped him to his feet,leaned in and
kissed his cheek. "Go in and satisfy yourself, Inspector,with the knowledge that your constable will indeed recover. Of thatmuch I am certain."Devlin
waited till her footsteps had retreated down the stairs, beforeventuring into
the bedroom. The lamp had been turned down to a mereflicker
in the darkness, and Devlin was loath to tamper with it, for fear ofwaking Freddie. He drew near to the bed in which the young constablelay sleeping, reached out to touch one of Freddie's hands,
cradling thelimp fingers against his palm as he sank
into a chair. He forced himself tolook, to assess and
catalogue the damage. Random bruising on the face,and a
nasty cut above one eye that had swollen and puffed toastonishing
proportions - Devlin sighed, drew the covers back fromFreddie's
naked torso. They had been at him with fists and feet – Devlin traced the map of bruises with his gaze, not daring to touch Freddie
forfear of causing him more pain than had already been endured. He sawwhat looked like puncture marks from hobnailed boots along the
youngman's sides, and further down his thighs; it was
clear that more than oneman had provoked and sustained
this. Devlin vowed that he would scourthe bowels of
London until he found them. Perhaps he wouldn't evenallow
them benefit of trial, he thought savagely, perhaps he'd kill them allhimself, with just his bare hands and perhaps a pair of hobnailed
boots...."Sir.""Shhh...don't
try to talk." Devlin had sworn he would not weep, but histears
burned his face like vitriol. "I came as soon as I heard.""I've
been stupid, haven't I?" Freddie's grip tightened on Devlin's fingers."Didn't
keep my head down like you taught me - went charging in like abloody maniac.""Freddie...."
Devlin pressed his lips to the young man's palm, the oneplace on
his body that remained undamaged. "So help me God, I'll findthem - I'll find them and I'll deal with them, supposing I swing for
it!"Freddie
freed his hand, pressed his fingers against Devlin's mouth. "HellFire
Club," he murmured, and then, "Kiss me.""Oh no,
Freddie, I'll hurt you.""You'd
never hurt me," Freddie said, and Devlin damned himself for ablackguard.
He bent and pressed his opened mouth against Freddie'sparted
lips, unprepared for the young man's hungry assault or his owneager response. "Phoebe told me everything," Freddie
murmured, sinkingback against the pillows. A slight
smile played about his lips, and Devlinfancied that the
laudanum was claiming him again."Phoebe?""A
woman on your arm is the best camouflage, sir. Even Mr. Harkerthinks so."Devlin
snorted. "Mr. Harker! As if Mr. Harker would know a woman fromhis watch
chain!"But Freddie
was already too far sunk in sleep to hear him, and finally,Devlin
crept quietly from the room."Inspector
Devlin - " Phoebe hugged him tightly, took both his hands inhers.
"Violet has made tea - please come and sit with us."Devlin
perceived Donnelly sitting near the fire, devouring the largestChelsea bun
that Devlin had ever seen. At Devlin's approach, the chemistlooked up and mumbled something through a mouthful of pastry, thenburied his face in his teacup. "Thank you." Devlin
took the cup andsaucer, but declined a Chelsea bun -
his stomach felt as if someYorkshire codger had used it
for a round of ferret-legging."Violet
was telling me that Constable Lewis might do better if he stayedwith us for
the duration of his recovery." Phoebe glanced across at Violet,now semi-recumbent on a chaise longue and smoking a cigarette in along ivory holder. "This is a most discreet household -
and Violet and Ican provide for most of Constable
Lewis' needs right here. Withassistance from Mr.
Donnelly, of course."Intellectually,
Devlin knew that she was right, but he feared to haveFreddie
languish under any protection but his own. "I expect you'reright," he allowed reluctantly. He wondered how he might go
about hisdaily duties, knowing that Freddie was the
recuperative hostage of twotribades in a brownstone
house in Kensington."We'll
take good care of him," Violet interjected. "He will want for nothing- Phoebe
and I will care for him as though he were a much-belovedbrother." She smiled as Phoebe came to stand behind her, a hand
uponthe redhead's shoulder. "As far as this
Whittaker is concerned, Freddiewill appear to have
vanished from the planet."Devlin laid
his teacup down. "It's not Freddie that he's interested in." Heheld his
tired, aching head between his palms. "He's after me."Donnelly
started, his teacup clanking in the saucer. "Good heavens,whatever
for? What have you done to him that he needs to seek this kindof vengeance?"Devlin
laughed mirthlessly. "A long and sordid tale, Mr. Donnelly."Violet
Pearson cast a curiously assessing gaze at him. "I expectWhittaker
didn't take too kindly to your throwing him over, all thoseyears ago."Devlin would
have reacted, except his nerves had long ago surrendered."Who
told you?" he asked, his fatigue lending a deceptive mildness to thequery.Violet
shrugged, an elegant lifting of her slender shoulders under thesmoking
jacket. "We each have our histories, Inspector."Devlin stood
up to go. "Well, be that as it may, I do have a murderer tocatch, and
other business to attend to before this is all tied up." He laidthe cup and saucer on a side table. "Ladies - thank you for the
tea. Mr.Donnelly, your presence has been most helpful.""Where
are you going?" Phoebe started forward, tugging at his sleeve."Surely
you're not going out after this Whittaker again - at this hour?""Surely
I am, Miss Alcock - and 'this Whittaker' as you are wont to callhim, is not
likely to wait upon my pleasure before he strikes again."Devlin shoved his hands into his gloves. "Trust me - I know him
wellenough to know he never hesitates.""Inspector
Devlin, if I may be so bold, you are exhausted, sir!" VioletPearson
rose from the chaise longue like a cat uncoiling itself, and shookher long hair out. "Why not stay here till the morning? We are
only toohappy to provide you with a bed.""Because
I must make my way to Fowler Street," Devlin replied. "It's timeMr. Harker
and I joined forces, whether it's to our mutual benefit or not."Donnelly
roused himself. "Devlin, if you like, I can come with you - "Devlin
considered it for a moment, then waved it away. "No - but thankyou.
Perhaps you might remain to care for Freddie. I'm sure you can dothe most good here, where you're needed." Besides which, he toldhimself, it was necessary that he speak to Harker alone,
withoutDonnelly's mitigating influence."Sarah
Whittaker." Devlin didn't bother to sit down, this not being a socialcall.
Besides, he knew that if he sank into one of Harker's comfortablechairs, he would be asleep in moments....someone
was drawing a blanket over him, and he fought it, clawing atthe obstruction,
seeking to remove it...he couldn't let them draw thesheet
over his face, because he wasn't dead yet, and wouldn't be for along time -"Devlin,
lie still." Harker's voice came to him in the half-light, warmer andmore
comforting than Devlin would ever have thought possible. "Youwould think I was trying to smother you." The solicitor drew the
blanketsround him, and turned to blow out the lamp.
Devlin felt his bodycompress the mattress as Harker
turned over and sighed."Doubtless
you will ask about Sarah Whittaker.""I was
going to, yes." Devlin was floating in warmth, absolutely safe andcomfortable.
He must speak to Mrs. Taylor about getting a feather bed,he decided sleepily."John
Whittaker's mad wife." Harker paused for so long that Devlinwondered if
the solicitor had drifted into sleep, but Harker was merelyyawning. "...in a lunatic asylum...easily located...."Devlin asked
the question he'd been waiting to ask all night. "Will youhelp
me?" He could just make out Harker's features in the gloom, the paleglow of his face and his white nightshirt."Of
course." Harker was lying on his side, facing Devlin, and he wassmiling.
"But sleep now, my dear Inspector - for I see you are desperatelyin need of it."Without
thinking - without even the primeval cushion of instinct to guidehim -
Devlin curled himself into Harker's arms, his head against thesolicitor's shoulder. He felt Harker tighten the embrace around him,
untilhe was drifting in the shared warmth of their
twinned bodies, and hewas nearly asleep when Harker
lifted his chin and kissed his mouth.He fell
asleep to the motion of Harker's fingers in his hair.NineThe lunatic
asylum at Bethlehem Hospital - more familiarly known as'Bedlam' -
never failed to depress Devlin to the uttermost. During thecourse of his duties as a constable and later, as a police inspector,
he hadoften had cause to visit the hospital, and he
always came away fromthese visits feeling rather more
depressed than when he'd gone. Therewas just something
about the dim, grey building and its dim, greyinhabitants
that seemed to drain the life out of him, and instill in him asense of overwhelming hopelessness.He and
Harker had arisen early this morning, breakfasted upon anexcellent
repast prepared by Mrs. Cadogan, and taken a cab to Bedlam,hoping to find Mrs. Sarah Whittaker, the wife of John Whittaker, andpossibly the best witness they could have as to his whereabouts
and hismotives."Did
you sleep well last night, Devlin?" Harker climbed into the cabbriskly,
tucked his long legs against the seat."Yes,
in fact, I did." Devlin grinned. "You have a remarkable method, Mr.Harker, of
lulling someone to sleep.""Ah,
Devlin - even the most austere of us is often prey to creaturecomforts."
Harker snorted, privy to some joke that even now played itselfabout between his ears. "Donnelly has often urged me to take up
somediverting personal habit.""He
didn't come home last night?" Devlin wondered if his presence hadperhaps
driven a wedge between Harker and the chemist."He
sent word by messenger that he would remain with Constable Lewis- Miss
Alcock and Miss Pearson were quite insistent that he accept theirhospitality." Harker stiffened to attention. "Ah - we're
here!" He leapt out of the cab with Devlin hard
on his heels, and it wasn't until Devlin hadascended
some several steps that he realised the cabbie was stillwaiting (with rather ill grace) for payment."Ah..."
Devlin fumbled in his pockets, counted coins into his hand. "I thinkthat should
do it, cabbie. Thank you."The man
looked disdainfully at Devlin's offering, wondering why copperswere so
bloody cheap and how come he hadn't got a tip? He ought totake his cab and go across the Channel to the Frogs - at least they
knewhow to express appreciation.Devlin
caught up with Harker just inside the door. The solicitor wasleaning
against the wall, feigning nonchalance, but Devlin could detectsomething rather uneasy in his air of studied carelessness, the way
heflicked his walking stick rather nervously against
first one shoulder, thenthe other. Nursing sisters
hurried here and there, some balancing trayswith
medicines, and Devlin saw a burly orderly go by with whatappeared to be an oversized leather dog collar. "I expect she's
on thewards," Devlin said.Harker,
gazing steadily before him, saw nothing."Mr.
Harker?" Devlin touched the solicitor's arm. "Are you alright?"Harker
seemed to pull himself back from some precipice, andstraightened
abruptly. "Devlin! What are we standing here for? We havework!"Devlin
followed as Harker led the way down the dimly lit corridor, alwayskeeping to
the side and a little behind the solicitor, in an effectiveshadowing position. Devlin had little experience in dealing directly
withlunatics - thankfully, his scope had been confined
to flying visits and notetaking - and he wasn't sure
how secure the locks and bars were in thisplace. He'd
been here not five minutes and already his skin wasbeginning
to crawl; another five and he'd run gibbering into the brightOctober morning. He wondered how Harker could stand it: quite apartfrom the stench (a cross between human feces and an open sore)
and thenoise (men and women crammed alike into
overcrowded cells, some silent while others shrieked
and howled) there was the general air ofhelpless desperation that
seemed to corrode his soul.Harker
stopped in front of an iron door that was bolted and padlockedfrom the
outside. "Do you see that woman?"Devlin stood
on tiptoe to peer over Harker's shoulder, saw the crouchingfigure of
an elderly woman. Her iron-grey hair was matted with twigsand straw, and flowed unconfined over her narrow shoulders; her feetwere bare, and for clothing she wore only a shredded linen
shift. Herhands and face were filthy, the fingernails
grown long and savage, andas she sat and watched them,
she rocked back and forth on herhaunches, peering at
them mutely, a creature entirely untamed."Is it
Sarah Whittaker?" Devlin asked - but this woman was old, and JohnWhittaker
surely would have taken a woman of his own age, given hisvanity for such things."No,"
Harker replied. "It is my mother."Devlin
waited while an attendant unlocked the complicated series ofbolts that
would admit them to Sarah Whittaker's cell. He was preparedto see just about anything - especially now, after Harker's shockingrevelation. The door swung back and they stepped into an
interior thatwas painted white, with a high window that
admitted some smalldegree of light into the room.
Someone had gone to the trouble of fixingcurtains
there, and Devlin could easily discern the care that had goneinto creating the delicate embroidery and ruffled edges. Just
underneaththe window was a writing desk with a
selection of pens, a blotter, andan ink bottle; the
chair adjacent was draped with a scrap of discardedvelvet
- probably to hide its worn and battered appearance."Mr.
Harker - " The woman on the bed rose gracefully and moved towhere they
were, reached to shake Harker's hand. "I am so grateful youhave come. Your legal counsel was always most welcome to me in daysgone by." She peered over Harker's shoulder at Devlin.
"But who is thisfriend of yours?"She was a
small woman, neat and tidy, with blonde hair coiled at theback of her
head. An apron, much smudged with various bright colours,protected her dark dress, and Devlin realised that she'd been
painting,that there was an easel in the corner of the
room with a half-completedfigure on it. "Inspector
Phillip Devlin, Scotland Yard, mu'um."She squeezed
his hand warmly. "I imagine you expected to find ahowling
madwoman, did you not, Inspector? But I am retained here forother reasons.""Madam,
you are most gracious in agreeing to this visit." Harker gesturedthat she
should sit down. "Inspector Devlin and I are engaged in aninvestigation concerning your husband - ""Ah. My
husband." Her lips curved into a merry bow. "If he may be calledso, for I
have not seen him this five years." She nodded at Devlin,standing by the desk. "We were married for convenience, as I wascarrying his child."Devlin
blinked. "What happened?" It was an awkward, unfortunatequestion,
but it couldn't be helped."It was
not meant to be, Inspector." She cast a glance towards her easelin the
corner. "And it effectively erased all hope of future children fromour marriage." She gazed at Harker. "John Whittaker
is a madman, Mr.Harker - of that I have no doubt. I am
not certain what has so disturbedhis mind, but I hear
talk that his brain is addled by disease." She smiledat Devlin. "Even in this place, we do receive some news.""Forgive
me, Madam - " Devlin felt compelled to interject. " - but youyourself,
if I may say so, do not seem particularly mad."Harker shot
a look at the inspector. "She's not," he said. "And that'sprecisely
why she's in here.""My
husband's family have great wealth, Inspector, and even greaterinfluence.
Whatever John wants, he tends to get. When Ibecame...inconvenient...he
decided to put me away - ""That's
barbaric!"" - and
so here I am. John, or some representative of his family, meetswith the
hospital administrator on a regular basis. The meetings are toensure that I remain just where I am. He has corrupted or coerced all
thehigher members of the administrative staff, all with
an eye to keeping meincarcerated here."Devlin was
sickened. If he'd had no better reason to pursue and catchWhittaker
before this, he certainly did now. "That a woman such asyourself should be - ""Then
do your best to capture him, Inspector. And I might be free." Sheshrugged,
and offered them a smile of resignation."In the
past few days, John Whittaker has gone on a killing spree." Harkerlaid this
information out before her with his usual precision and economyof words. "A police constable has been ambushed and badly
beaten, andmembers of Scotland Yard have received
veiled hints that there is worseto come. The most
recent murder was done on the very steps of ScotlandYard!"Mrs.
Whittaker thought for a moment, gazed at first Harker and thenDevlin.
"It may be that his brain is entirely destroyed by whatever thisdisease is - but John was always shockingly unconventional in hisbehaviour. It has much to do with these friends of his."Devlin
snapped to attention. "What friends?""The
Hell Fire Club, Inspector. Doubtless you've heard of them. Oh, manypeople in
London nowadays think it died away at the end of the lastcentury, but that is an erroneous assumption.""Freddie
- " Devlin's brain was working so furiously that it was painful."Freddie
said something to me about the Hell Fire Club - when I went tosee him at Violet's - Miss Pearson's - house.""The
Hell Fire Club are a group of moneyed ruffians, Inspector, who cloak their true
purpose in pageantry and silly ritual.""I have
heard," Harker said, "That they profess to worship Satan.""They
have no need to worship Satan, Mr. Harker, and if indeed that weretrue, it
would be a far simpler explanation than any I could furnish. No -they delight in causing havoc in the lives of others, of destroying
wherethey might. They often strike at those among
society whom they deem'unnatural'."Devlin could
not have been more shocked if she'd hauled out a pistol andshot him
between the eyes. "Unnatural?" he whispered."Devlin."
Harker gave him a significant look."Any
deeds that John himself is not keen to furnish, he will have somemembers of
that unholy brotherhood to assist him. He doesn't like to gethis hands dirty, Mr. Harker."Devlin
wondered aloud if murder wasn't the dirtiest of all deeds."Quite
so, Inspector." Sarah Whittaker laughed mirthlessly. "But for Johnand his
close companions, murder is merely another facet of their ritual.""I
don't understand," Devlin confessed, as he hurtled back throughLondon with
Harker."What
is it that you don't understand, Devlin?"The
inspector was silent - he had no right to ask, and it was none of hisbusiness in
the first place."Doubtless
you are referring to my mother."Devlin
conceded that yes, he was."Ah,
Devlin...there you lead me into the realms of ancient family history."The
solicitor leaned slightly forward and gazed into the inspector's darkeyes.
"Have you no family secrets that you wish to remain hidden?"Devlin
realised that, in all good conscience, he could not pursue itfurther."Your
constable, young Lewis - was he ever a member of the Hell FireClub?"
Harker put this question to him quietly."I
don't believe so," Devlin said, "And besides, Freddie is a police
officer!He would never have anything to do with that gang of
reprobates."Harker
snorted. "If you only knew, Devlin - if you only knew the names ofall the
politicians and policemen, men of the cloth and university dons. Itis true that the Hell Fire Club was initially founded on the
precipitousnature of the aristocratic classes - but it
has grown beyond that, muchbeyond that." The
solicitor reflected for a moment. "It is not beyondpossibility that Constable Lewis at one time desired entree into thisheinous association and was refused."Devlin
thought about this for a moment. "Mrs. Whittaker said that Johnand his
cronies are wont to take their spite out on 'unnaturals'.""Another
reason why Freddie Lewis was not allowed in."Devlin could
make neither heads nor tails of it. "And yet Whittaker holdshigh rank
in this secret brotherhood.""But
Whittaker isn't - "A great
silence yawned between them in the cab: Devlin had never seenHarker's
pupils distend to that particular degree."Oh
yes," Devlin affirmed. "Oh yes." He held Harker's gaze for some
longmoments, an unspoken pleading in his eyes. "I know of at least
one otherman that Whittaker has had intimate relations
with.""Good
God, Devlin," Harker breathed. "Do you understand what we are upagainst?"
He caught Devlin's wrist, squeezed it gently. "This is not merely some demented commission of his, undertaken in accordance with thepreferred
behaviour of this - this club of his. Devlin, this is personal!""It's
me he's after, Mr. Harker." Devlin smiled thinly, his great strainevident
upon his face. "It's me he's always been after. It's me he blamesfor everything."The cab
shuddered to a stop in front of Scotland Yard, and Devlin madeas if to
exit, was stayed by Harker's hand. "But he probably was infectedby his contact with Elizabeth Hobbs!""Perhaps,
Mr. Harker." Devlin stepped down from the cab, leaning intothe darkness
of its interior. "Or perhaps he never had sexual relationswith Elizabeth Hobbs. It may be that the only reason Sarah Whittaker
isunscathed is because their marriage was never
consummated.""The
child - ""A
sovereign says she'd been in love with someone else." Devlin forcedhimself to
smile, even though his face couldn't quite make that sort ofmovement. "Marriage of convenience is not exactly unknown, Mr.
Harker.How many men of our persuasion enter into the
marriage contract withsome woman - some woman who is
fully apprised of the situation, butwho nonetheless
desires it, for her own reasons?""Then
she is complicitous."Devlin shook
his head. "Not knowingly. You saw her face when we laidthe
evidence before her - she was quite surprised by it. Oh, she knowsthat he's a blackguard, a common swindler and a liar. But she didn'tcount on murder."Harker
sighed. "Devlin, these are indeed murky waters." He grinned.
"Willyou have supper with me some evening this week?"Devlin
stepped back from the cab. "Only if you're paying.""If
Whittaker is not taken into custody very soon, Devlin, I fancy we shallall be
paying."Harker
tapped his walking stick against the cab's interior, and droveaway.It was
strange for Devlin that he was at his desk without Freddie Lewishovering
around. He hadn't realised how much he depended on Lewisuntil the young constable had been so brutally taken out of
commission.Quite apart from the fact that he had to
fetch his own tea (a task thatDevlin loathed, because
it took him past the ubiquitous clutch ofsergeants
lounging in the downstairs hallway) he missed Freddie'ssteadying
presence. He made a mental note to call round at VioletPearson's
later that day, to check on Freddie's progress.The only
mail for him was a small white envelope stamped with aKensington
postmark, and no return address.I am down
on whores and I shan't quit ripping them -Devlin
snarled and hurled the letter into the rubbish bin, then clenchedhis hands
around his teacup until his knuckles shone white underneaththe skin. What whores had Whittaker ever killed, besides ElizabethHobbs, and that by vengeful intimidation? If he thought to copy
SaucyJack, then he was doing a bloody poor job of it,
Devlin thought.He turned
from his contemplation as the door creaked open, and PhoebeAlcock
peered inside. Today she was wearing a very handsome greenwalking dress, with a matching hat that brought out the lambent greenaccents in her warm hazel eyes. "Is this a bad time?"Devlin felt
some of his anger recede. "No, Phoebe, of course not - please,come
in." He arranged a chair for her and waited while she sat down."Let me get you some tea - ""The
tea can wait." Phoebe dimpled at him over the desk. "You and I havework to do,
Inspector, and I've gotten Dad's express permission to stealyou for an hour.""Phoebe,
I can't just up and leave - I've got work to do, and besides - "She would
not accept his refusal on any terms. She was on strict orders,she said,
from Violet Pearson, to ensure that Devlin received his dailyquota of fresh air. Devlin wondered peevishly if his daily quota
includedthe oxygenic contents of the Bedlam Lunatic
Asylum."Freddie
is doing much better." Phoebe tightened her grip on his arm andsmiled up
at him. "Mr. Donnelly has been caring for him night and day -you'd think he was a doctor, the way he gets on about this or thatmedicine. Of course, he is absolutely relentless in his fussing
andfretting, your young Constable. Keeps asking when he
can go back onduty.""I've
had another letter from Whittaker." Devlin wondered if he shoulddivulge the
contents, and then remembered that this was the womanwith
whom he'd gotten roaring drunk at an innocuous tea dance. "Orrather, a repeat of the first letter: 'I am down on whores and I
shan't quitripping them till I get buckled.'" He
tilted a glance at Phoebe. "I can'tunderstand it.
He's only ever murdered one whore - and that wasElizabeth
Hobbs. This puerile (Devlin was understandably proud of hispersonal vocabulary at this point) attempt at mockery makes no sensethat I can see.""Well..."
Phoebe thought for a moment. "I think you're coming at it from astrictly
male point of view, Phillip."Devlin
wondered exactly when she'd decided to drop the 'Inspector.'"Oh?""A
woman would immediately understand the reference, because sheknows that
the suspicion of improper behaviour at any level brings withit the label of 'whore.'" Phoebe steered him, by a pressure of
her hand,into the park. "Someone who's had a
dalliance, someone who has perhapsbrought an intimate
shame upon the aggressor.""Not
necessarily a woman, in that case," Devlin observed."Quite
so." Phoebe drew him down onto a bench. "Now," she said,
"Whenare you going to kiss me?"Devlin
blinked at her, suddenly embarrassed, as Phoebe drew his face tohers and
kissed him gently, with an excess of tenderness, upon themouth. In the midst of this caress, Devlin experienced the sort of
bizarreepiphany that so often marked his habits, and
sprang up off the bench asthough an electrical wire had
been surreptitiously applied to hishindquarters.
"Whores!" he cried, seizing Phoebe's hands in his anddrawing her into an ecstatic hug. "Whores, Miss Alcock! Whores
of anystripe!"A group of
strollers walking en famille bent evil glances in Devlin'sdirection,
and Phoebe felt compelled to clamp her palm over his mouth toprevent any further likewise eruptions. "A whore," she
whispered quietly,"is not necessarily a woman."He felt
something loosening inside of him as the terrible tension began todissipate.
Here, then, was a thread upon which he might reasonablyfasten
his hopes. "Phoebe," he cried, "I adore you!""Then
marry me."Her gaze was
solemn and steadfast; Devlin saw that she could notpossibly be
joking. All at once, the wan October sky seemed somethingother than banal, and long-forgotten debts came whistling on the
winds."Sorry?""Marry
me, Inspector." She took his arm, drew him with her onto the path."A
marriage in name only, but sufficient to secure both our reputations."She was a
brave woman, and to even bring this issue to the fore waspainful for
her, Devlin realised. Still, he could not imagine going to SirNeville and announcing that he wished for Phoebe's hand in marriage -Old Brassie would probably open up his massive jaws and swallow
theinspector whole...."Father
has already given his consent, if that's what you're wonderingabout."Devlin drew
a hand over his face. "Phoebe, this is - that is to say - I'mflattered,
of course - "She pulled
away from him, drifted over to a stand of trees, now gloriouslyin autumn
colour. Her handkerchief was clutched in her hand, but shestrenuously denied that she was crying. "Please - " she
appealed to him, "- forget I ever mentioned it.""Now
see here - " Devlin turned her round to face him, smoothed her tearsaway with
his fingers. "You're ruining your pretty face," he murmured."I'm not saying 'no', Phoebe." To be certain, it was not
something he hadever imagined, but now that the
possibility had presented itself, he coulddiscern
several important benefits in it. "But I'm not saying yes just yet,either." He spread his overcoat on the grass below, and
drew her downbeside him. "Am I the first man
you've asked?""Of
course you are!" She scrubbed at her eyes angrily with the back of herhand.
"As soon as I met you, at the tea dance - you see, it isn't easy forme - naturally the public penalties are not nearly as severe as
for a manin similar circumstances -" She blew her
nose loudly into herhandkerchief. "Oh, God dammit
anyway!"Devlin
offered her his handkerchief, waited while she dried her face. "Goon,"
he said."It's
one thing for me to be seen about London with Violet, and quiteanother for
the Chief Commissioner's daughter to be perceived as onehalf of a Boston marriage."Devlin
wondered whether this latter might be an American plot. Onecould never
quite trust a people who had so vigorously thrown off thecivilising influence of the British Empire. "I understand,"
he said. Hedidn't."As
much as I might feign disinterest in the mores of society, Inspector, Iam not that
strongly cast." She glanced at him. "People talk."Devlin
sighed. He'd been doing a lot of that lately. "Phoebe..." How to best
approach
the subject without giving undue offence? Diplomacy hadnever been
his strong suit. "I have always thought, because ofmy...inclinations...that I would never marry." He caught her
crestfallenexpression and hurried on. "However,
what you say makes a good deal ofsense." He
smiled, reached out to caress her cheek with his fingers. "Itwould be in name only, Phoebe - quite apart from the requiredconsummation to make it legal." He held her chin in his hand and
lookedher squarely in the eye. "Do you think you
might countenance that?"She sniffed.
"Phillip, I've seen cock before."Devlin
suppressed a grin. "Seeing cock and, well...it's two differentthings, my
dear.""Have
you?""Seen
cock?" Devlin regarded her queerly. "Well, I see my own every day,you
know." It occurred to him that this might not be what she'd meant."Have
you ever been with a woman?" Phoebe's features resumed theirhabitually
saucy expression. "Have you ever fucked a woman, Inspector?""I'm
sure I could manage," he said stiffly. "And yes, for your information
-although it's none of your damned business - I have.""Gawking
at the corset ads in the back of Pall Mall's while you're havinga frig
doesn't count." And she was on him, laughing as she tumbled himbackwards on the ground.TenBy the time
Devlin returned to the Yard, it was nearly two o'clock, and hehanded
Phoebe off reluctantly. He couldn't remember when he'd had theprivilege of such good conversation, and indeed, their brief sojourn
hadbeen as enjoyable for him as he might have wished.
"One thing at a time."He kissed her cheek
around the corner from the Yard. "I'll need somespace
for this, Phoebe. You can't expect a bachelor of thirty-five to leapdirectly into wedded bliss without a warning - even if it is merely amarriage of convenience."She opened
her reticule and extracted a roll of banknotes, which shepressed
into his hand. "What's this?" he asked."You'll
need to buy a ring, when the time comes." She winked at him."Nothing
too flash, but nothing too tiny either."Devlin
pressed it back into her hand. "When the time comes," he said,
"forme to put a ring upon your finger, I will buy it for you
myself." He pattedher cheek fondly. "Now run
along." He waited till she had turned thecorner,
not wanting to ignite rumours by appearing so close to hisworkplace with Old Brassie's pretty daughter on his arm.What in
God's name had he just agreed to?Devlin had
often noticed in himself the distressing impulse, when alone,to putter -
to dawdle about his rooms and tidy things that perhaps didnot require tidying, in order that Mrs. Taylor not have further
evidence forshrieking about the state of his rooms. He
wished he were alone now,that he might putter away to
his heart's content - instead of sitting at thisdimly-lit
card table and watching, in mesmerised awe, the motions of theother hands upon the green baize. He'd sat in comparative silence for some time now, watching hands and faces, inhaling the smoke fromseveral
expensive Cuban cigars, and being summarily prompted nowand then by the sharp and none-too-gentlemanly elbow of ReginaldHarker."I see,
then, that's five and I'll take another." The man to Devlin'simmediate
right did some inexplicable thing with the cards, setting theother occupants of the table into subdued motion. Devlin wondered
whatthe devil was occurring, for he had no clue how
poker was played, norhad he ever had any inclination to
learn. He considered gambling -especially gambling at
cards - among the higher forms of vice, andwondered
often when he had become so stringently moral. At themoment,
he was trying to 'pass' for a seasoned card shark, without anymeasure of success. Only Reginald Harker's keen eyes and fine sense
oftiming prevented Devlin from exposing himself for
what he really was.He wondered how fast he'd have to
run, when these doughty puntersfigured out he was a
copper.Devlin
recognised several important members of high society around thetable. He
reflected on what Sarah Whittaker had told him at Bedlam, thatthe influence of the Hell Fire Club reached even into the upper
echelonsof society. What would Lord and Lady Inkpen
think, he mused, if theyknew that their red-headed,
boyish son was seated opposite Devlin atthis very
moment, sucking on a cigar (Devlin thought there might besome arcane symbolism in that, but he couldn't discern precisely what
itmight be) and shuffling cards as if he were a
shiftless dock labourer on aFriday night. Their current
company comprised that of several snottyruffians,
ne'er-do-wells who floated with ease between the high classesand the low, and who weren't above nicking a spot of crumpet from anyof the assorted dollymops that roamed the East End. Devlin had
seentheir kind before, seen it most profoundly during
Saucy Jack's late andunlamented reign of terror. Oh,
they'd be quick enough to defendthemselves with fancy
words and accusations fit enough to drag a maninto a
duel, but Devlin saw them for what they were, and understoodtheir nature.The club -
if it might be called such - was located underground, andcould only
be reached through a complicated series of tunnels andtreacherous
switchbacks. He'd disembarked from a cab above, accompanied
by Harker, and within perhaps ten minutes he wasstanding in
the main meeting hall. It looked like pictures Devlin had seenof flash gentlemen's clubs, all mahogany and baize, and carpets thatseemed to grip your foot about the ankle. Devlin had never
actually beena member of a gentlemen's club, not
possessing any of the necessaryprerequisites for entry,
but he knew what he was looking at. This wasthe place
where London's able boys came to rest their weary bones,when the Hunt and the Horn had lost their savour. He felt remotelynauseous. He was quite nervous, too, in the too-large set of
eveningclothes he'd borrowed from John Donnelly, the
shoes that Harker hadbestowed upon him. He'd found what
looked to him like fingernails insideone of the
pockets, but could not determine whether they belonged toDonnelly or Harker, or to one of their resurrected subjects. PerhapsDonnelly had found the clothes within the course of his
midnightforaging - it wasn't beyond possibility for
Donnelly and Harker to striptheir corpses of the mortal
shroud.The cards
were going round the table again, and Devlin felt Harker'selbow in
his side, warning him to place his bet. He tried not to fumblethe cards, aware of the eyes upon him, the unspoken expectation.
"Therewe are!" He forced a note of
cheerfulness into his voice. "I'll raise five."Again,
Harker's elbow in his ribs. Devlin grunted. The men were lookingat him, and
he saw or felt some frisson of disgust pass between theothers.
"I say, if you're going to be niggardly, you might as well not playat all." This from a vapid blond man, with the predatory
sleekness of aneel."From
the paucity of your own bet, I should think you'd keep quiet,Ronald."
Harker smirked, eyelids at half-mast, and Devlin found himselfadmiring the silken ease with which the Resurrection Man allayed theunpleasantness of the discourse. "Unless, perhaps, your
fortunes are notwhat they were?"Bitchy, Devlin
thought, relieved that he hadn't been the one to say it. Ifnothing
else, he had to congratulate Harker on the relative size of hisballs, not to mention his slick bravado. "Quite something about
thehubbub in the East End," he said. He was aware
that he was venturinginto dangerous territory, but that
the risk was necessary. Considering what Sarah
Whittaker had told them, there was precious little time towaste."What
about it?" The one called Ronald fleered at him, lips curled indisdain.
What was it, Devlin wondered, about the upper classes, thatthey could so easily achieve that particular expression? Perhaps theprojecting teeth..."Well,
from what I've heard, this fellow might be the Ripper." Devlinaccepted a
cigar from Harker, allowed the Resurrection Man to light it forhim. The taste was rather stronger than he was used to, and for amoment the table and its occupants swam weirdly before his
eyes, buthe recovered his composure soon enough."So
what if he is?" The redheaded son of Lord and Lady Inkpen tossed hischips upon
the table, the very portrait of elegant aplomb. Devlinsuddenly
understood why everybody hated the upper classes - evenyoung
Inkpen had the very same projecting teeth as all the rest. "Cityneeds to be cleaned up - who cares if he's topping a few old whores?"Devlin felt
his eyes bugging out, darted a savage glance at Harker. TheResurrection
Man continued as he had done: cool and smooth as ice,utterly
without regard. "Perhaps so," Devlin allowed, "but what if he's
gothis cap set for something bigger?"The blond
man snorted. "Like what?"Devlin
shrugged. "Could be anything. You never can tell what mighthappen."A clock
ticked in the silence, each stroke sounding like attenuatedhammer
blows. Devlin felt the keen tickle of sweat behind each ear, andhis overwrought nerves were twanging savagely."Nothing
going to happen." This from redheaded Inkpen. "As long as heconfines
his fun to the great unwashed, he can carry on, as far as I'mconcerned." He glanced at his companions and laughed, eerily
horsey inthe dim light. "He knows what side his
bread's buttered. He'll keep to thelower, and not
bother with the upper."Devlin felt
his insides go very still, the room retreat from him: vague,unreal. He
darted a glance at Harker, shuffling cards with the impunity ofthe intimately favoured. "Deal me out," he said. "Need
to find the lavs." Itwas becoming a pattern with
him, he thought, that all his most awkwardencounters in
life should necessitate a trip to the Seat of Ease. He was nomore pleased when he found himself wandering throughout thecavernous interior of the club, turning down numerous blind hallwaysand coming hard against many dead ends. At one point, he hadascended a short flight of stairs and was making for a closed
door,located at the terminus of the hallway, when
certain exclamations ofcarnal excitement and various
invocations of the Deity caused him toturn about. He
found himself hopelessly lost, and had decided to relievehimself upon a nearby aspidistra, when he discerned that he was beingfollowed.Devlin crept
behind a pillar, slowed his breathing to the point where itwould be
all but inaudible, and waited. The footsteps came nearer,echoing eerily in the stony spaces of the underground cavern. He
heardthe footsteps pause, could almost visualise the
intellectual processes oftheir owner - when a man's
head appeared, and then the rest of him, andDevlin
leapt to collar his opponent neatly. "That'll be far enough, then!""I beg
your pardon, sir! How dare you!" He struggled fitfully againstDevlin's
steely grip, his eyes darting wildly in his head, his lips drawnback over his projecting teeth (there it was again, Devlin thought)
like astallion scenting a mare."You
were following me!" Devlin pressed the man against the pillar andgazed at
him spitefully. "What d'you think you're doing, eh?""Lord
Dalyrimple, sir - unhand me immediately!"Devlin's
fingers released their grip; Lord Dalyrimple tidied his clothingwith an air
of significant resentment, and regarded Devlin narrowly, as ifthe inspector were no more than a butterfly impaled upon a pin."Much
better," Dalyrimple sniffed. "You might do better than to roamabout the
corridors yanking people by their clothing."Devlin
waited."Yes,
well then - I heard you talking at the poker table. I was seated twotables
over, with Lord Bastadge and the Duke of Boneasse. You're a bit ofan inquisitor, aren't you?"Devlin
wondered how he'd come to be linked with the Spaniards all of asudden, and
that nastiness the Catholics did. "I don't understand.""Mmmm,
no vast surprise there." Dalyrimple raised one aristocraticeyebrow.
"Cheapside?"Devlin felt
himself bristling, or perhaps it was Donnelly's purloined suit. "Ibeg your
pardon!""You're
a Yard man, aren't you?"Devlin
raised his eyebrow, but was unable to effectively mimicDalyrimple's
delirious sang froid. "And if I am?""Let me
guess - Brixton. It would have to be Brixton, really...not quite lowenough for
Cheapside, but dear God where ever did you get that suit?""Keep
your hands where I can see them!" Devlin snapped. "Unless you'dlike to
lose 'em.""You
might want to mind your tongue," Dalyrimple observed mildly."Talking
in the wrong places. You might miss it when it's gone."Devlin
thanked him for the warning."They
all dance to Johnny's tune, nowadays," Dalyrimple shouted afterhim.
"Johnny's got them doing what he wants - he'll make sure of it."Devlin
turned. "What the Devil are you talking about, man?""Johnny
Whittaker - that's what you were asking about, isn't it?"Dalyrimple's
smile was slick and oily, like his hair. "Johnny's got them all at his disposal, ready to carry out his every wish.""Really.""Some
of us have debts, you know - a little too much money spilt aboutfor
comfort's sake. Whittaker has an open purse, and nothing buys loyaltylike money." Dalyrimple inclined his head. "I'd stay clear
if I were you." Helaughed noiselessly. "I'd
stay bloody well clear."If he
managed it just right, he could ease himself onto the floor and then -Freddie
Lewis stopped, his senses tuned to the approaching footstepsalong the
hallway. He shoved his legs into his trousers, and rammed hisfeet into his shoes."Constable
Lewis!" Violet Pearson stared at him, outraged. "What inGod's name
are you doing?""You've
been very good to me." Freddie treated her to his brightest smile."But
I'm afraid I can't be away from duty any longer.""You'll
do no such thing!" Violet caught the sleeve of his shirt andsomehow got
the unfastened cuff twisted round his wrist. "Get out ofthose things immediately and get into bed!""No,
you mustn't - " Freddie wrenched the sleeve away, stumblingbackwards
in his weakened state and landing on the bed. "I simply mustget dressed!"Violet
caught the front of his shirt in a violent grip, rather like an escapeefrom a
Bluestocking home for wayward girls. "You cannot leave. I forbidit!""Inspector
Devlin - ""Inspector
Devlin is a grown man - ""Violet
- Miss Pearson - please!" Freddie reclaimed ownership of his shirt,and righted
himself, panting from the exertion. "Please. Inspector Devlincannot proceed with this investigation alone.""Mr.
Donnelly said you were to take complete bed rest.""Mr.
Donnelly is an apothecary!"Violet,
seeing that he was not to be swayed, sighed and gave up thefight.
"I'll have your things waiting at the bottom of the stairs." She
sweptout of the room in a cloud of offended feminine
dignity, banging the doorshut as she went.He'd been
watching the house for awhile now: Constable Freddie bloodyLewis under
the tender ministrations of two middle-class Sapphists - itwas simply too amusing. Freddie Lewis, Devlin's favoured mollycock,seemed to have regained his strength. It was a pity, he
thought, that hisassociates had not finished the job.You couldn't
get good help these days.ElevenIt was,
Devlin had to admit, rather an unusual parcel to be landing on hisdesk at
this hour of the morning, but then, nothing shocked him anymore, or at least, nothing of this small magnitude. A dead cat ' a
deadcat in a box ' well, that he could take in stride,
having seen at least oneor two dead cats before now.
The cat wasn't the problem ' the problemwas the note
that had come along with the cat: My lads should havefinished the job. Of course this was
talking about the recent assault onFreddie Lewis, and
this made Devlin's blood boil and froth like a pot ofoverheated
coffee. Speaking of that, the beverages around these partshad been none too savoury, ever since Freddie's enforced absence.Whoever made the coffee down below must have boiled it up in
thelaundry kettle ' and the tea was wholly unworthy of
any commentwhatsoever. Devlin forced himself to swallow
the last mouthful of hiscold coffee and found himself
wishing savagely that Freddie mightreturn. At least
then the quality of the refreshments would improve. Hecarefully
avoided examining his feelings beyond that ' it wouldn't do forhim to get all sympathetic and maudlin about Freddie, especially notnow, and particularly not after the incident with the dead cat
in the box.Curious means of getting a message through,
Devlin thought, butWhittaker had never been one to take
the median route towardsanything. Straight through, and
as flamboyant as possible ' that hadalways been his
style.My lads
should have finished the job... Yes, too bloody right,
Devlinthought, or perhaps my lads ought to finish you. The cat, of course,bothered him, because he was something of an animal fancier,
and hecouldnït imagine that Whittaker had picked the
poor thing up out of thegutters after it was dead, so
that meant that he'd killed it himself. Itdidn't bear
thinking about. It was the sort of thing that Whittaker hadalways gone in for, even when he'd been a boy at school: pulling thewings off flies, decapitating ants, hounding field mice round
and roundthe dormitory and then cornering them so he
could chop their tails off.This was
entirely Whittaker's style ' here Devlin allowed himself a smallgrimace of
remembrance ' to hurt, and keep on hurting, that was hisbelief, both creed and tenet.When they
were both boys at school, it had been the same: Whittakerdictated,
and Devlin obeyed, at least in most things. He could at leastsay that he had never gone along with Whittaker's campaigns of
tormentagainst other boys, nor would he willingly
participate in the kinds of goryexperiments that
Whittaker enjoyed. No, it was different than that: hewas
Whittaker's shadow, content to trail behind the older boy and feelprotected in his presence. Devlin had never truly belonged at theexclusive boarding school, but being with Whittaker had helped
to erasesome of his awkwardness. Being with Whittaker
was a sort of protection:as long as he and Johnny were
together, then Devlin felt himself to belegitimate. He
had gone far, he realised, to court Whittaker's regard and,having gained it, fought like mad to keep it, lest he fade again intoinvisibility.But that was
then, Devlin thought, and this is now. He no longer caredwhether he
had Whittaker's regard. He only wanted to track Whittakerdown and take him in, and then see him swing for what he'd done.Freddie had
made his way immediately to the Yard ' really, there was noother place
for him to go ' and enquired after Devlin, to see where hecould be of best use. It wasn't that he was eager to be back at work
' hisbody felt like it belonged to someone else, and
he'd merely borrowed itfor a day or two ' but he knew
that unless he intervened, Devlin wouldgo after
Whittaker all on his own, and get himself in trouble, and thenFreddie would have to get him out of it. The very idea made Freddie
feelinexpressibly weary. It meant that he would
have to go chasing afterDevlin, probably following him
God-knows-where. Once Devlin got athing into his head,
it was difficult to dissuade him."He's
not been here?" Freddie leaned on the desk for support, and hopedit didn't
look this way. The desk sergeant applied himself fastidiously tohis book, and pretended to look interested in what Freddie was
saying."At all?""He was
here earlier ' he went out of here like the bells of Hell, with adead cat
under his arm." The sergeant sucked on his peppermint with aderisive noise. "Like I said ' he weren't asking after you, he
said nothingabout you. Out that door, dead cat. That's
all I know."Freddie
sighed gently, twitched at his moustache with a fingertip. Heturned
round and retraced his steps, went upstairs to Devlin's office. Thedoor opened on a musty interior, and no Devlin. The desk was covered
invarious bits of paper, and Devlin's empty teacup was
glued to one cornerby a sugary residue. The window
blinds were drawn ' Freddie wonderedwhen Devlin had
last been in ' and Devlin's overshoes stood emptybeside
the umbrella stand, by the door. Freddie sat down in the chairand surveyed the office for a moment ' very nice. He'd like to have
anoffice like this someday, although (here he smiled
gently to himself) hecould never be as good an
inspector as his guv'nor. He could try, though,and he
would do. He considered himself and Devlin as two of a kind, andthat was good enough for him. He'd still got no closer to giving
Devlin abloody good tumble, but at least the inspector
had kissed him, that nightat Miss Pearson's house.
Freddie remembered the kiss with a kind ofhazy
enjoyment, leaning back in Devlin's chair and running his fingersover Devlin's sticky desk.There was a
clattering on the stairs and Freddie sprang to his feet,immediately
busied himself at the filing cabinet, and feigned greatinterest
in an ancient article about sailing on the Thames ' why on earthdid Devlin keep such things? He divined a presence in the doorway,
butchose not to turn around just then, and strove to
maintain his air ofbusyness, until he was addressed in
dry and docile tones by one of thesergeants from down
below."Yes?"
Freddie turned slowly, taking full advantage of his natural grace(and also
the remaining stiffness in his back and shoulders) to present anair of haughty disdain that would not have been out of place on a
scion ofthe Hunt and Horn. It was a shame, therefore,
that Freddie had beenraised in Pimlico, and could not
entertain even the faintest hope of socialascendancy.But the
visitor was no one worth posturing for ' Dennis Foster had been with the
Force as long as anyone could remember, and had neverattained a
higher rank than his present one of sergeant. It was muchbruited about that he was dim in his wits, and had only received hisposition through some outside influence, but Freddie could not
be surewhat that was. Several of the more waggish
constables whispered thatFoster was Old Brassie's son,
begotten on the wrong side of the blanket,but Freddie
couldn't honestly see Sir Neville completing the act of coituswith anyone. He was certain that Phoebe had been deposited with SirNeville through the agency of fairies."Are
you lookin' for his nibs?"Freddie
blinked at him."Devlin!
Are you lookin' for Inspector Devlin?" Foster sighed: why in thename of God
did they stick the pretty ones in with the inspectors?Clearly,
the lad had not enough brains to blow his nose."Oh! Oh
yes, I am, yes.""You'll
not find him here. Morris said you were askin' after him."Freddie drew
a blank. "Who's Morris?""At the
desk?"Freddie
glanced behind him at Devlin's sticky desk, with its surfeit ofpapers and
its empty, bewildered tea cup, and wondered what he wassupposed
to be looking for. "Sorry?""Christ!"
The expletive exploded out of Foster with the same forcerequired,
in another man, to expel a particularly recalcitrant bowelmovement. "Morris is the sergeant at the desk! Were you dropped
onyour head, or what?""Well,
I have had a bit of a knocking about," Freddie conceded cheerfully."Look '
Old Brassie told me to tell you that Devlin is gone after Whittaker.I don't
know who Whittaker is, or where he come from, or if his mother's givin' a bit of a knees-up at the Pig and Spout. All I know is that
Devlin isgone looking for Whittaker." Foster exhaled, letting all
the air out ofhimself, and disappeared down a
stairwell, still muttering.Freddie
Lewis crossed to Devlin's tiny window and gazed out of it for amoment,
enraptured with the view: a brick wall, and a pair of nestingpigeons whose effluent had painted the scenery in multicoloured
strandsof slimy matter. Freddie was the sort of man in
whom the intellectualdawn is very slow to break, but
whose light is staggering to behold.When the light
broke, Freddie jolted away from the window as thoughhe'd
been shot at, turned, and sailed down the same stairs as thedeflated Foster.Outside, on the
pavements, he paused to reflect while adjusting hisgloves.
Devlin had obviously got it into his head that Whittaker could befound and neatly captured by merely his own efforts ' a dangerousassumption, Freddie knew, especially given what Whittaker's bludgershad done to him. Of course this plan of Devlin's ' if indeed he
had a plan' was completely mad, for how could Devlin
know where Whittaker was?Perhaps he'd had communication
from Whittaker ' perhaps that's whatthe dead cat was
all about. Freddie could just imagine how cheerfullythat
parcel had been received. So now Devlin had another reason to wanthis vengeance, and, given the inspector's penchant for impetuous
single-mindedness, he could have scoured the length and
breadth of London bynow.The idea
didn't cheer Freddie one little bit.The dead cat
had not been received in anything resembling good cheer.Devlin
remarked on it to himself now, as he sat screened behind theblack sides of a maria, waiting outside a gentlemen's club in
Piccadilly.The October chill had seeped into his bones
until he felt deadened, coldand stiff, and still there
was no movement in or out of the door. He cursedgently,
and without any real feeling, as yet another dubious-lookingspecimen loitered on the pavement, blocking his view of the doorway,but he could have no real hope that Whittaker would even be
here. Hewas going on gut instinct alone, and a sixth
sense that told him Whittaker
had been here, might be here again soon. It wasn't so muchthat
Whittaker was a dangerous killer who must be caught ' no, it wentfar beyond that now ' it was that Whittaker had dared to strike atsomeone close to Devlin, and for that offence if no other, he
would swing.Devlin had,
for all intents and purposes, cast aside the trappings of aYard man.
He could not consider doing this while dressed in his habitualdark suit and woollen overcoat, and so he was wearing a selection ofragged clothes that had been handed off to him by Reginald
Harker. 'Ikeep these things for... situations,"
Harker had told him, although Devlinhad no idea what that
meant, and decided not to ask. He figured itprobably
had something to do with Harker's passion for grave robbing,and, come to think of it, the clothing did retain a rather fusty
odour. Itwould have to do, because Devlin had no time
for niceties. He'd beenhaunting molly houses and
gentlemen's clubs (as well as the dangerousplaces near
the docks) for days now, hoping that Whittaker would comelooking for another victim. So far, the killer had been irritatingly
cautiousabout his movements.Devlin
slipped out of the maria and moved into the shadows, eminentlygrateful
that darkness came early at this time of year. He stuck hisgloveless hands into his pockets and adopted a rolling sort of stroll,
suchas a drunken seaman might display, and ambled his
way along thepavement to the club. He braced his back
against the wall and slowlyslid down it, to sit with
his ragged coat puddled around his knees; thegin bottle
was in his pocket, at the ready, and he pulled it out, took whatpassed for a long drink, the liquor barely touching his lips. He
wouldneed all his senses for this. No sense in being on
the point of collaringWhittaker and then mucking it up.
Devlin smiled grimly to himself,wondered where Freddie
Lewis was, and hoped that the youngconstable was safely
resting at the home of Violet Pearson in Kensington.No
need to bring Freddie into this ' best leave him and everyone out of it' and Devlin was acting on his own recognizance now, no longeraffiliated with any law except himself.Two men
staggered out, leaning on each other for support, and began tolaugh
hilariously at some private joke. Devlin rolled onto one hip andregarded them blearily, rubbed a dirty hand across his unshaven face.Strangers, no one he knew, and certainly not Whittaker, who'd be gorgeous even if he rolled himself through the sewers of London.Whittaker
had always been like a set of silver buttons: shining andperfect, immune to threat of tarnish. "Spare us a drink?"
The taller of thetwo wandered over to Devlin and stood
swaying over him for a moment;in the cold October damp,
his breath steamed out of his mouth and noseand seemed
to condense into the air."Piss
off," Devlin growled, clutching his bottle to him. He didn't wanttrouble '
if they insisted, he'd give them the bloody bottle and be done ofit. To make a scene now would invariably expose his position, and
thenany hope of subterfuge would have flown out the
metaphorical window."Only
wanted a tipple, guv'nor!" The man rejoined his companion, andDevlin
sighed with relief, sagged back against the wall. Long momentspassed, and in the lengthening shadows, a man brushed past him:elegant, well dressed in evening clothes with hat and stick.
The hem ofhis overcoat brushed one of Devlin's shabby
knees, and as he went by,the man said, "Good
evening, Phillip."Devlin sat
bolt upright, his gaze burning into the man's retreating back.He couldn't
be certain that he had heard aright; perhaps the man hadmerely said 'good evening, fellow' or something of that like. There
was noreal proof that he had called Devlin by name,
addressed him familiarly, asthough they were friends or
something more....By the time
Devlin had rounded the corner, the man had disappeared.Devlin
thought this was uncommonly like the stories in the pulpymagazines, with their tales of near misses and ships passing in the
nightand whatnot. He searched the faces of the crowds
anxiously, scanningtheir eyes and their expressions for
any hint or recognition, but foundnothing. He retired
to the maria and made his reluctant way back to hislodgings.Devlin had
bathed and shaved himself, and was just sitting down to oneof Mrs.
Taylor's astonishing meals when the downstairs bell rang. Hecursed quietly, and cut into the Yorkshire pudding with more than hisusual alacrity. He was chewing when Mrs. Taylor ushered Freddie
Lewis in, both of them
deferential. On Lewis it seemed natural, but on Mrs.Taylor it
had an unfortunate effect, like a tugboat struggling to seemdainty. Lewis stood with his hat brim clenched between his fingers,
butDevlin was in no mood for niceties. He pointed the
handle of his knife atthe constable: "Sit."Freddie
pulled out a chair hastily and slid into it, hands clasped in hislap. His
hat had rolled under the table, but he dared not dive down torescue it ' Devlin would probably murder him while he was down there."Sir, I
can explain ' ""You're
out of bed."Devlin glanced up as Mrs. Taylor appeared with asecond
supper, which she placed in front of Freddie Lewis; her smilehovered somewhere between matronly and salacious, a combinationwhich made Devlin acutely uncomfortable."Sir, I
felt that ' ""Out of
bed, barely healed, and I bet you've been trailing all over Londonafter me,
haven't you?""Foster
said you'd gone after Whittaker yourself ' "Devlin
snorted as well as he was able through a mouthful of beef. "Fosteris a
drunken sot who couldn't find his arse with two hands and gaslight.""I
followed you to Piccadilly." This was true: Freddie had secreted himselfaround the
corner and kept Devlin in his view the whole time. "You'd dothe same for me, sir, I know you would. I couldn't let you just walk
inthere, in to God knows what, without anyone to back
you up, see." Thistumbled out in a rush, followed
by a moment of acute silence, duringwhich Freddie
delved into his plate with gusto."Constable
' Freddie." Devlin laid his fork down and gazed at hissubordinate.
His stomach knotted itself into a curious, gruff tenderness,which he could not deny. The bruises on Freddie's face had faded todappled yellow and purple, and the swelling had gone down, so
thatFreddie looked like someone had decided to paint
his features in with watercolour and hadn't
finished the job. "You're still not recovered. Youshould be
in bed! And besides, I can't have you running after me ' it's notyour task to take care of me. I'm supposed to do that for myself.
"He bitdown hard on his lip. "How are you
feeling?"Freddie
smiled. "Another day in that house with those women and I'dhave lost
my mind."Devlin
chuckled. "Bit much, aren't they?"Freddie
tilted his head, regarded Devlin quietly. "Is it true that you'regoing to
marry Phoebe Alcock?"Devlin laid
down his fork. "No, Freddie...no, I'm not. "How to phrase it soit made
sense? But Devlin saw that he didn't have to, for Freddie wasnodding as if he understood. Devlin couldn't discern the precise
level ofFreddie's understanding - it might be that
Freddie was as much in thedark as ever, given the
convoluted path his thought processes usuallytook.
Devlin wisely left matters where they were, for he wasn't sure whenor if he'd come to the decision to nullify his not-quite engagement
withPhoebe. Perhaps, he reasoned, he'd begun to
understand himself and hisown nature, and no longer had
any desire to hide from himself. Or maybelast night's
supper had made him apoplectic - either way, he was contentto let his digestion lie as it was at present, seeing as how Freddiehimself was satisfied with his response. Freddie was tucking
into Mrs.Taylor's supper with a great deal more relish
than was strictly necessary,but Devlin supposed that
the poor lad had been subjected to barleywater and
great lashings of oatmeal during his convalescence, and littleelse.Devlin was
early at his desk the next morning, a cold and foul morningwith a
heavy, drenching mist and a chill in the air that went straight tothe bone. He'd barely hung his coat before Barnicott appeared, his
redhair somehow managing to stand nearly straight up on
his head, givingthe impression of mind-shattering fear
- Devlin supposed it was thehumidity. "Sir Neville
wants to see you, sir - said it was urgent. He's inhis
office waiting for you."Devlin
waited till Barnicott had vanished, before folding gracefully forward and
slamming his forehead into the hard wooden surface of hisdesk. Damn,
damn and double damn again - what was it this time?Perhaps
Old Brassie had heard about Phoebe's overtures, and decided toput his oar in. Devlin had visions of being frog-marched down the
aisle ofthe church, with Old Brassie's hand at his
collar and a phalanx ofconstables making sure he didn't
try a runner. Or perhaps Old Brassiedesired Devlin's
attendance at another of his wife's infernal tea dances.Whatever it was, it could not possibly be pleasant.It wasn't.
Sir Neville Alcock had a terrible cold, and that, combined withhis
effusively running nose, gave him the look of a frustrated Brahma bullin heat. His eyes were red about their rims, deceptively
weepy-looking,and his lips were similarly wet. He was
in a bad temper, too, bargingaround his desk, swinging
his stomach in front of him, and pausing nowand then to
cough resoundingly and spit a slimy organic substance intohis handkerchief. It made Devlin queasy."I've
been looking for you, Devlin." Sir Neville sank his fleshy bottom intothe chair
cushions and regarded Devlin as he might a mound of horseturds. "I've been hearing things.""Things?""What's
this I hear about you taking a constable and a maria and goingafter
Whittaker yourself - in disguise and plainclothes, no less."Devlin
allowed that, as a detective, he always worked in plainclothes -but as soon
as the statement was out of his mouth, he wonderedwhether
this was precisely what Sir Neville meant."Skulking
about the streets like a common thief! Lying in wait for him,although
I'm certain you got nothing for your troubles.""I need
- we need - to bring Whittaker in before he kills again." Devlinconsidered
the bald fact, wondered if Whittaker had killed today, or if hewould kill tomorrow. There was a certain sordid inevitability about
it thatleft him chilled throughout. Or maybe that was
the weather."I know
that!" Sir Neville barked - a noise that degenerated into a coughing fit
that lasted several long minutes, and whose end productwas the
unfortunate spitting of still more mucus into Sir Neville's alreadyburgeoning handkerchief. "But I can't have my detectives going
off ontheir own, it's not right. You might get yourself
into a pack of trouble, andthen the Force is all over
the newspapers, being laughed at."Devlin
couldn't imagine anyone in their right mind laughing at Sir Neville- at least
not to his face, but he didn't say anything."You
seem dead set on getting this Whittaker, as if he'd done you somekind of a
personal injury. I know about Elizabeth Hobbs - I remember thecase - but I can't for the life of me understand why in the world
you're soobsessed - "Here Devlin
felt it necessary to defend himself. "Sir, with all due respect -""Shut
it!"Devlin
obediently shut it."I've
been hearing talk, Devlin - that you and this Whittaker have somekind of a
history." Sir Neville peered at him, his blubbery lips quivering."It's no accident that Freddie Lewis was beaten, to my mind.""I had
nothing to do with that - sir. Constable Lewis is a very good friend,I would - ""What
I'm saying to you, Devlin, is this: at all times, a police detectivemust be
above suspicion. He must be circumspect, without a stain on hispast. These things come back to haunt a man." Sir Neville
grunted, notunlike a pig nosing about for truffles.
"I know."Devlin
stared at the toes of his shoes. Now all the old ghosts werecoming home
to roost, descending on him like a murder of crows. He stillfelt incredible guilt over the attack on Freddie, and counted himself
atleast partly responsible - but he couldn't say
anything of this sort to SirNeville, because he knew
that to do so would immediately lay all hisproclivities
bare. How much easier if a man could be himself, if he were permitted to live as he chose, under the aegis of society."You
are hereby suspended, with pay, for an indefinite period."This slammed
into Devlin like a series of body blows, rendering himeffectively
speechless, as silent as one of Harker's purloined corpses."I
cannot have you going off on your own because you've got some scoreto settle
with this Whittaker." Sir Neville produced another handkerchief,sneezed voraciously and inspected the nasal effluvium that this
actionhad created. Devlin felt as though he were being
dismissed, and indeed,he had been.He was
packing up his meagre belongings when Freddie came in,bearing
mugs of tea and his assortment of facial bruises, all of whichwere fading nicely. This did nothing to assuage Devlin's guilt, butFreddie's surprise momentarily overrode him. "What the
devil...?""Suspended
indefinitely," Devlin said. He declined to add 'with pay'because
Freddie might hit him up for a loan - Freddie was bad for that."Has he
gone mad?" Freddie put the mugs down, moved to inspect thecontents of
the box. "You've took down all your pictures - where's yourfern?"Devlin
laughed humourlessly. "I tossed it out the bloody window." Hehad, and he
had enjoyed watching it plummet to the alleyway below andsmash, a devastated green smear."What
are you going to do now?""What
I've been doing all along - my job." Devlin took his still-wetovercoat
from the peg and slipped into it. The damp wool hung heavilyfrom his shoulders like a shroud, nearly dragging him to his knees.
Hefelt suddenly old and tired."Are
you sure that's a good idea?" Freddie came round the desk, stood infront of
him, blocking Devlin's escape. "It's my fault, isn't it? I got beat upby Whittaker's bludgers and now you got to pay for it.""Freddie..."
Devlin sighed through a sudden sharp pain in his heart. "Noneof this is
your fault.""I'm
going with you."For once,
Devlin made the first move: he cupped Freddie's face betweenhis palms,
his thumb brushing the younger man's bottom lip. "You aremost certainly not. I won't allow it. You've got a future here,
Freddie.""What
about you? Who are you going to get to help you? I know youwon't let
this alone - you'll be out there after him."Devlin
dropped his arms to his sides. "I haven't thought that far ahead. Imight
enlist Mr. Harker's help, I don't know."The younger
man's face fell. "Mr. Harker... you'd choose Mr. Harkerinstead of
me?""Oh,
for God's sake, Freddie!" Devlin felt all the tension in his body gatheritself into
a knot, just behind his solar plexus. He lunged forward andkissed the constable - a hard, brutal kiss that communicated nothing
butfrustration. "Come and see me later on,
alright?"He didn't
wait to hear Freddie's reply, but in his haste left everythingbehind: his
pictures, his books, and his shattered, murdered fern.He waited
until he had hailed a cab and climbed inside before heallowed the
reaction to play itself across his flesh. By the time he reachedhis lodgings, he was weeping bitterly.TwelveDevlin
accepted the glass of brandy that Freddie had poured, and waitedwhile the
constable sat down beside him on the sofa. He wondered if helooked as poorly as he felt: certainly the events of this afternoon
hadalready taken their toll. He now doubted, more than
ever, whether hewould be able to catch the cold-blooded
scoundrel that was JohnWhittaker, now that the
resources of the Yard were no longer at hisdisposal.
"I suppose Dubworth will be assigned to it," Devlin said, gazinginto the amber liquid. The glass felt warm in his hand, as
though thebrandy still held within it the fire from
which it had been forged. "He'llmake a bloody mess
of it - you see if I'm not right.""How
are you?" Freddie spoke softly, leaning towards him. All day he'dbeen
wondering what to say to his guv'nor when he arrived at Devlin'slodgings. He hoped he had the words in him to say what he wanted tosay."Bloody
wonderful, Freddie - what d'you think?" Devlin regretted thisalmost
instantly: it wasn't Freddie's fault that he'd made such a bollix ofeverything. "Sorry," he murmured. "I'm not myself.""Yes,
you are." Freddie gazed at him with a peculiar intensity that Devlinfound
unsettling - was there a spot of something on his face? Perhaps hisshirt was unbuttoned rather more than was socially proper. "Even
ifyou're not on active duty, you're still
yourself." He leaned back, franklyassessing the
man in front of him. "You never deviate."Devlin was
astonished that Freddie knew a word like 'deviate'. "Thankyou.""You
know who you are, Phillip. That's a lot more than most men cansay."Devlin felt
hot colour rise into his cheeks - it couldn't be a blush, he wasfar too old
for blushing. "You're quite full of flattery tonight, Freddie. AndI've noticed a new familiarity in your speech. Maybe you ought to getknocked on the head more often - "Whatever
else Devlin had been going to say was lost for all time asFreddie
leaned in and kissed him. Devlin struggled with the brandy, hisbody coursing towards his constable with the ferocity of the tide; hereached around Freddie and laid the glass on the floor withoutdisengaging from the kiss. His skin was on fire, his pulse
throbbing tothe tips of his fingers - these fingers
that now roamed unashamedly overthe young constable's
broad back. Freddie's hands reached round toclasp his
backside, pull him hard against the younger man in apossessive
gesture. Devlin watched, as from a great distance, as Freddieripped his shirttails out of his trousers, and unbuttoned him
completely."I
can't wait - I won't wait - this is bloody long enough." Freddie's mouthwas at his
throat, the tip of his tongue flickering against Devlin's skin,while Freddie's busy hands caressed him to a throbbing hardness.The bed came
up to meet him, and he had no idea how he'd got there,only that
it was soft and warm, and everything would be alright becauseFreddie was with him now. He turned his face for Freddie's kiss and
feltthe heat of his desire, transmitted so ably to him
in the skin of another.He opened his arms and felt his
bones compressed under Freddie'sweight, the delicious
press and crush of skin on skin. "You love me," hewhispered wonderingly, his fingers tracing his constable's face
gently."You love me."He knew that
things had suddenly, irrevocably changed between them.Devlin was
lying on his stomach with Freddie Lewis beside him, andFreddie was
running his fingers up and down the furrow of Devlin'sspine,
pausing now and then at the curve of his back. It was lateafternoon, nearly dark, and Devlin felt absolutely boneless, his skin
acontainer for heat. He turned his head and looked at
Freddie, saw thesmile that curved the constable's
mouth. "Freddie," he said lazily, for this was as much energy as he could muster, "you're making me sleepy.""Let's
go for a walk."Devlin
raised an eyebrow. "A walk," he repeated. The sheets were anerotic
ruin, and the quilt was somewhere on the floor. His drawers - well,best leave that one where it was, Devlin thought. He hadn't seen hisdrawers for some hours now."I love
walking at this time of day.""Aren't
you afraid? After what's happened, I mean - " He sighed. Freddiewas young,
and the young never worried about anything at all. "A shortwalk."Freddie
moved, quick as a mongoose, and rolled Devlin onto his back,pinned him
against the bed. "Then we can come back here again." Hishands slid down Devlin's sides, caressing, until the detective hissedthrough his teeth. He wondered where his rational, logical side
had gone,that a mere touch from Freddie could so
unhinge his faculties."It's
gotten away from me, you know." Devlin breathed in the cold air withsomething
like gratitude."What's
that?""This
whole case - Whittaker - everything."Freddie
looked at him queerly. "I don't believe you."Devlin
laughed. "I figured I'd have him in custody by now - long beforenow,
actually. I figured I could collar him quick as a thought.""He's
very slippery, like an eel." Freddie, having uttered this pearl ofwisdom,
looked appropriately blank, but Devlin knew that blanknesswas part and parcel of Freddie's habitual expression and was
thereforenot alarmed by it. They had strolled some
distance from Devlin's lodgings, talking
companionably, with the sensual comfort of thisafternoon's
pleasures still warm between them. It did not seem strangeto Devlin that they should walk arm-in-arm, for he perceived other
men insimilar states, all around them. Besides, it felt
good to be in close contactwith Freddie: he felt he at
least had an ally in the midst of all this sordidbusiness.At length
they wandered into a well-lit public house, and, disposingthemselves
around a table, proceeded to warm themselves before thefire.
The place was empty save for a group of men in dark topcoats,conversing earnestly at a corner table."If I
catch him, I'll have something to show Old Brassie." Devlin took along
draught of his beer and gazed at Freddie over the tabletop. "But nowI wonder if I'll ever catch him."Freddie
nodded sagely, having nothing to say. He turned to the manstanding
before him - the man who had not been there a moment ago.Freddie felt suddenly both hot and cold at once, wondering if they
hadbeen observed and listened to, and his gaze was
irresistibly drawn to theman, who smiled at him as one
might smile indulgently at a waywardchild. This man was
tall, and exceedingly well made, with dark blondhair
and eyes the colour of a storm-lashed sea. His suit was of the finestdark stuff, exquisitely tailored, and his rings and cuff buttons were
gold.He was, Freddie thought, an astonishingly gorgeous
monster."Hello,
Phillip."Devlin froze
inside, raised his head slowly, and he and the strangerlocked
glances like two strange tomcats meeting in an alleyway. He feltthe tiny hairs on the back of his neck come up, and all at once he
wasbesieged by memories of John Whittaker...It will
only hurt the first time...then we'll fit each other...Phillip, are youlistening?
Don't cry - you mustn't cry like that. I'm sorry about the blood,you know, but that's the way it is...Phillip, are you listening to me?Devlin
reached into his pocket for the darbies that were no longer there.Whittaker
turned as quick as lightning and vanished, the door banging shut behind him. Devlin stood so quickly that he nearly overturned thetable, and
the landlord of the place came scuttling over, brandishing aslop pail and a filthy rag. "Freddie, stay here." Devlin
tossed some coinsupon the table and headed for the
entrance, his mind whirling:Whittaker, here and now,
ready and seemingly willing to be taken, andperhaps
he'd had enough of killing now, and wanted to be takenin...perhaps
he was ready for an end to it, and an end was just whatDevlin
thought to give him, as swiftly as possible.The October
darkness had fallen as quickly as ever, compounded now bya dense,
thick fog and the rising damps from the Thames. Devlinsquinted,
peering into the night, listening carefully for any sign thatwould show the direction: footsteps, the tapping of a stick on thepavement, a cough or a rustle of clothing.Nothing.He slipped
one hand into his pocket and went carefully round the side ofthe
building, where it abutted with another of its like and formed asheltered passageway, dark and narrow. "Whittaker!" His
voice felldamply around his ears, deadened by the fog.
"Give it up and come out.""Phillip?"
Freddie Lewis stood framed between the buildings, peering atDevlin
queerly, as if his guv'nor had just materialised out of the mists."What're you doing in there?"They rose,
roaring as one voice, the men in dark topcoats, and pushedpast
Freddie Lewis to swarm all over Devlin like a monstrous anddemonic horde. The hand that had been in his pocket came out again,brandishing a knife: as sharp as a surgeon's lance, and with a
retractableblade, it was his favourite weapon.Freddie was
roaring, laying about him with a certain doggedwillingness;
Devlin saw nothing except the flashing of his own blade,heard nothing except grunts and swearing all around him. One of them
-huge, dark, monstrous - came at him, waving his
enormous fists likecudgels, and Devlin drove the blade
hard into his solar plexus, droppinghim like a
slaughtered bull. Another appeared, brandishing a length ofpipe and screaming like a berserker. He was stopped - quite suddenly, and probably for good - by Freddie's stunning blow to the back of hishead. Of
course, Devlin thought, panting furiously from theunaccustomed
exertion, Freddie had retained his constable's stick, andwas using it now to good effect.As quickly as
it had begun, it stopped. Their attackers scattered,disappearing
into the darkness. The one that Devlin had stabbed lay verystill beside the one whose head Freddie had so obligingly bashed in;Devlin had no doubt that they both were dead. He pocketed his
knifewith shaking hands, and tried to mop his forehead
with his handkerchief.This was bad
- this was very, very bad. There would be an investigation,Devlin
knew, especially if their assailants had been, as he suspected,Whittaker's friends and members of the Hell Fire Club. The Yard
couldn'tpossibly turn a blind eye, especially if Devlin
had just murdered severalmembers of the upper class...
He sat down heavily, suddenly very sick tohis stomach.
The warm feelings of satisfaction and contentmentvanished,
leaving a howling emptiness inside. Devlin turned his headand retched quietly, each spasm seeming to tear something out of himthat he wasn't yet willing to part with."We
have got to go." Freddie crouched on his heels and spoke quietly,urgently. "We
can't stay here - they'll waste no time in alerting the Force."He helped Devlin to his feet. "Come on - we have to go.""Where?"
Devlin struggled against Freddie, then subsided and allowedhimself to
be led away. "Where can we go that's safe? Of courseWhittaker has been watching my rooms - of course we were followedhere. Where can we go, Freddie?"He dimly
perceived Freddie hailing a cab that had stood at the corner;everything
was beginning to blur around its edges, and the city seemedstrange to him, as if he'd not seen it before. He glanced up at the
driveras he got into the cab, his mind remarking that
the driver seemedfamiliar, but perhaps that was only
Devlin's addled mind. He didn't knowany cabbies
personally - he hardly ever used the things, not if he couldwalk or take out one of the marias and a driver. But the cab was
takingan unfamiliar route, and when Devlin darted a
glance at Freddie, he sawthat the younger man was
slouching in his seat and gazing before him with an air
of wariness and wily calculation that Devlin had never seenbefore.
"Freddie?""It's
for your own good."Devlin
moved, intending to leap from the cab, and was quickly restrainedby hands
that felt so very hard and pitiless - the same hands that hadcaressed him, only hours before. The horrible realisation clanged
insidehis skull like the tolling of a bell, and he
watched in helpless horror asthe darkened city slid
quickly past them, taking him to God knowswhere.ThirteenThe cab ride
eventually gave way to a train station - a station that wasn'twithin the
boundaries of London proper, and which Devlin did notrecognise.
He wondered what Freddie was playing at, and if he was inthe pay of Whittaker - it would be so easy, Devlin realised, for
Whittakerto corrupt someone like Freddie, someone so
innocent and untouched.Almost as soon as he'd had this
thought, he dismissed it - perhapsFreddie had only been
toying with him, all this time, and wasn't asinnocent
as Devlin had supposed. His demeanour during the long cabride had been strange, to say the least, for he was more than a
littlesilent and morose, the complete opposite of the
young man with whomDevlin had shared a bed earlier that
day. Devlin thought dully thatFreddie perhaps intended
to hand him over to Whittaker, and hewondered why he
wasn't trying harder to escape. He merely felt tired,and
his hand ached where he had driven it and his blade into the bowelsof Whittaker's henchman; he was hungry and immeasurably weary, andhe wanted nothing more than to sleep and never wake again.He got down
from the cab, and looked about him, measuring the ache inhis body
against the possibility of escape. The railway platform wasdeserted, and Devlin wondered if he might make it through to the
otherside and then onto the tracks, before Freddie
caught up with him. Thecabbie pulled his vehicle close
against the station and got down from hisperch behind;
he paused to tie the reins, and patted the horse's neckamiably,
murmuring some comforting phrase meant only for animal ears.Devlin was cold, shivering in the dampness, and his throat felt as
thoughhe'd been screaming for a month: sore and gritty,
and entirely too warm.The station was blurred and
strange, as the passing streets had been,and he found
himself looking for individual particles of moisture in thefog."This
way." Freddie took his arm in an iron-hard grip and propelled himinto the
station, while the cabbie followed, tall and dark and silent as a monolith. Devlin had the odd idea that there was no actual man insidethe
cabbie's clothes, but a block of stone that had somehow becomeanimated and rumbled after them like a colossus. This seemed so funnyto him that he began to laugh, and laughed until tears ran
freely downhis cheeks, while Freddie and the cabbie
took his elbows and betweenthem, propelled him onto the
train and into a private, first-classcompartment that
had obviously been reserved for this purpose."Here -
" The cabbie reached into an overhead bin and pulled out a thickwoollen
blanket, handed it to Freddie, whose face had assumed itsnormal expression of dim-witted vivacity. "Get this around him -
he'schilled to the bone, poor thing."Devlin found
Freddie's face very close to his own, and he stared,fascinated,
at the gold flecks in Freddie's brown eyes. He felt that theflecks spelled out some secret message that would free him if only hecould decipher it. Freddie's bottom lip was trembling, and
Devlin noticedthat the constable was shivering as badly
as himself - why had thecabbie not given Freddie a
blanket? And why had the cabbie left his cabbehind them
at the station? "Your cab.""Quiet."
Freddie pressed him back against the seat, with an expression ofimplied
violence. "Just shut it." The train lurched forward, forcing itselfthrough the fog, as the cabbie pulled down the privacy blinds,
enclosingthem completely. He reached into a Gladstone
bag and brought out aflask, handed this across to
Freddie. "Phillip - have a little drink. It willhelp
you get warm."Across from
them, the cabbie was doing some peculiar business with hisface -
strictly speaking, he was peeling off various features and placingthem into his pockets, as if skinning himself. Devlin stared at him,wondering if this was some trick of the light, but at last the
cabbiefinished, rubbed a handkerchief over his face,
and emerged as ReginaldHarker."So
you're in it, too," Devlin said bitterly. He wanted to turn his face to
thewindow and weep - with weariness, with regret - but he would remainsteadfast. He would go out of life like a man, not sniveling on
his kneeslike a baby.The door to
their compartment opened, and the figure of John Donnellymomentarily
blocked out the light from the passage. Donnelly wascarrying
a gun, which Devlin could see was cocked and ready. Hewondered
how Donnelly would possibly mask the noise of the weapon'sdischarge, but figured that they would wait until the train passed
overthe points, and shoot him then. In such close
quarters, Donnelly couldhardly miss."I've
checked all up and down. Nothing much - two women travellingtogether,
and a nurse with a child near the back." The apothecary noddedto Devlin and sat down beside Harker. "Did you see anyone?"The
solicitor shook his head. "No - all the usual precautions - I made sureof it."Donnelly
moved to the opposite side of the compartment, took a seatbeside
Devlin and pocketed his revolver. "You've cocked that," Devlin saiddryly, "I hope you don't shoot your bollix off."Donnelly
touched his face, a curiously gentle gesture, and peered into hiseyes. His
fingers pulled down the lower lids, raised the upper, and thenpalpated the glands in Devlin's neck. "Not influenza, thank
God," he said."Probably a bad cold. Few days
bed rest should help.""Get
your hands off me!" Devlin pushed at him, but all his strengthseemed to
have drained away. He wanted to lie down and sleep, but histhroat hurt and his eyelids were burning hot. He coughed, discharging
aglobule of mucus that would have made Old Brassie
proud, except that itsplattered on the floor, somewhere
near Harker's feet. The solicitorregarded this with a
raised eyebrow, but said nothing. Donnelly reachedinto
a pocket and extracted first a length of string, then a pencil, andwhat looked to Devlin like part of a finger, neatly severed at the
joint. Atlast he produced a thermometer, which he
pushed into Devlin's mouth.The instrument tasted like
pocket lint, tobacco, and rotting flesh.Freddie was
asleep, his head lolling onto Harker's shoulder. "What's hegot to do
with it?" Devlin asked, speaking with difficulty around thethermometer.Harker
glanced at the blond head, smiled gently. "He is your greatestally,
Devlin - and perhaps your dearest friend.""Friend!"
Devlin sputtered, nearly choking on the thermometer."Sh."
Donnelly repositioned the instrument, gestured at his watch. "Just alittle
while longer.""Freddie
Lewis probably saved your life." Harker leaned forward,forearms
resting on his knees, his hands dangling. This position causedFreddie's head to drop forward, so that he appeared to be looking forsome lost item between Harker's buttocks. "You were quite
correct,Devlin - Whittaker has been watching you for
some time now. Indeed, Ihave been following my own line
of investigation, and I determined thatJohn Whittaker
has kept you under close scrutiny these many weeks."Harker paused as Freddie awoke and righted himself, smiling
idiotically."He saw you go out this afternoon with
Constable Lewis - doubtless hefollowed you along
whatever route your walk accomplished, and lay inwait
for you."Devlin
glanced at Freddie. "You knew this?" He spat out thethermometer.Freddie had
the good grace to look ashamed of himself. "Mr. Harker cameto see me
whilst I was convalescing in Kensington. He said we'd to becareful about Whittaker - make sure he kept away from you.""But at
the same time, I had Constable Lewis contact Whittaker - withoutyour
knowledge, of course, because that would have jeopardised myentire plan.""Of
course," Devlin said sourly."Mr.
Harker said for me to go see Whittaker - I'd no trouble finding him.He were
with all the other toffs in the Strand one night.""I
instructed Freddie to make overtures to Whittaker, offer tidbits ofinformation
on your whereabouts and the progress of your investigation."Harker
smirked as Devlin's face turned an alarming shade of purple."False
information, Inspector Devlin - you need not concern yourself onthat point. False - but with enough truth that Whittaker would think
itworth his while.""We
knew that he was following you, all along - that's what we wanted,"Freddie
said."So as
to control him, Inspector - control and hopefully contain him."Harker sat
back, seeming to lose himself in contemplation of the windowshade. "I only regret that your efforts in this case led to your
dismissal -but perhaps it's better this way."Devlin
coughed, but into his handkerchief this time. "What d'you mean?""We are
luring Whittaker away from London." Harker pierced him with akeen
glance. "Luring him out into the open, like a wild animal, so that wemay hunt more freely." The solicitor laughed mirthlessly.
"One is soconfined by the city.""You're
mad." Devlin glanced from Harker to Donnelly - Freddie had fallenasleep -
and back again. "Do you think he can be so easily led?""Oh
yes," Harker said quietly. "For he is, at this moment, on this verytrain."Devlin
wasn't precisely sure where they were, except that Harker hadtaken him
to the country, some miles outside of London, and lodged allfour of them at an inn on the borders of Surrey. Harker had exchanged
hiscabbie costume for that of an itinerant peddler,
whilst Donnelly wasdisguised as - of all things - a
surgeon. Devlin fervently hoped that theapothecary
wouldn't kill anyone in the process of carrying out hisdeception.Freddie and
Devlin shared a room, as did Harker and Donnelly, butDevlin felt
himself to be so ill, and in such a state of shock, that he couldnot possibly attempt any kind of physical closeness with Freddie, or
evensustain a conversation. He sat on the bed while
Freddie filled thebathtub in the other room - thank God
for modern conveniences, Devlin thought -
and then obediently got in. The hot water quickly lulled himinto a
state of insensibility, and before he knew better, he was lying inbed, dressed in a clean nightshirt, with Freddie by his side.Despite his
illness, Devlin found that sleep eluded him, and his mindchased
itself round and round in circles, seeking answers where therewere none to be found. He lay still, listening to Freddie's sleeping
breathbeside him, and the sound of Harker's and
Donnelly's voices from theroom next door, murmuring in
quiet conversation. He watched theshadows lengthen
through the curtains, and the rise of moonlight thatblanketed
the bed. He drifted into uneasy dreams, seeing John Whittakerin every corner of the room, and jolted back into wakefulness, his
heartpounding and sweat seeping into the sheets. At
length he fell asleep,and dreamed that a madman was on
a great wooden sailing ship, withDonnelly and Harker,
chasing him and Freddie around belowdecks witha cat o'
nine tails. The ship changed course, and sailed off the edge of theworld, and Devlin tried to shout and warn them, but he could only
utter afrustrating series of squeaks and grunts. He
tried to cover himself withthe sails, to escape the
knowledge of the inevitable, but the waterrushed in
through a hole in the side of the ship, and he had nothing inwhich to catch it. He woke up shouting, and was comforted by Freddie,who fetched him a hot toddy and sent him back to sleep again.There were
no more dreams.Devlin slept
till quite late in the morning, and by the time he finallyawoke,
Freddie had dressed and gone down to breakfast, and he wasalone. He awoke slowly, conscious of the pain in his swollen throat,
andthe hacking cough that racked him. He felt feverish
and dizzy, and he satup slowly, resting for a moment on
the side of the bed before attemptingto stand.The day was
quite beautiful, one of those cool, crisp days that are onlyever
possible in autumn, with a sky of soaring blue overhead. Devlinwished he were here in happier circumstances, so that he might enjoythe bounty of the weather - what would it be like to spend a
day shootingin this country? Devlin had never actually killed
a bird in his life, having never had
the stomach for it, or the necessary cruelty, but he felt thatrecent
events had hardened him throughout. He hoped he would have achance to pursue Whittaker over the entire countryside, and lodge abullet in him, just as he would do with a fox or a hare. He
hopedWhittaker was running away when that happened -
Devlin liked the ideaof shooting his old nemesis in the
back.He looked up
as the door opened, and Harker appeared, wearing asombre
expression and an even more sombre dark suit, with lines offatigue around his eyes, and his complexion unnaturally pale. Thesolicitor wordlessly passed Devlin a telegram, waited while the
inspectorread it. "What the devil...?""Sarah
Whittaker hanged herself last night, in her cell in Bedlam."Devlin had
never considered himself a fanciful man, but now,sequestered
with Harker and the others in the country, he began toimagine
all sorts of things that would previously have never entered hisconsciousness. The knowledge that Sarah Whittaker had taken her ownlife - or had it taken from her - gnawed at his mind. Even
given that shewas still (as far as Devlin knew) married
to John Whittaker, there wasnothing in her personality
to suggest a tendency towards melancholy.None of it
made sense, and he wanted desperately to return to London,to the scene of the supposed suicide, and examine every inch of
Sarah'squarters to try and determine the truth. He was
doing absolutely no goodhere, trapped in a bucolic
countryside setting with Harker and JohnDonnelly, and a
nervous and over-solicitous Freddie Lewis hovering athis
elbow every five minutes and plying him with tea and scones. Devlinhad consumed enough tea in the past twenty-four hours to float anarmada, not to mention the increasingly-annoying attentions of
thepseudo-medico Donnelly. "It's a sore throat,
dammit!" He waved Donnellyand his thermometer away
with an irritated gesture. "Just a cold -probably
caught it from Old Brassie the other day."The papers
from London - thoughtfully provided by Harker - brought nofit news
for Devlin's ailing state, either. Daily the headlines screamedthat there had been another murder, that corpses were found floating
in the Thames, lying in the streets, dangling
from the chandeliers at thedancing halls. It amazed Devlin
that Whittaker could manage to exactsuch a monstrous
toll, being so far from the alleged scene of the crime.As
far as the scions of journalism knew, the Metropolitan Police weredoing nothing to curtail this horrendous string of offences. This
lattergave Devlin a kind of grim satisfaction: now that
he'd been removed fromthe case, Old Brassie and all the
other high hats in the Force were fallingon their
collective faces."Oh,
Inspector, I feel certain that we are on his track now." Harker foldedhimself
into the chair next to Devlin, with the graceful motion of anattenuated umbrella. Today the solicitor was dressed in dark grey - asombre choice, given current happenings in London - but his
strangegreen eyes held their usual expression of cool
self-interest."Do
you?" Devlin's throat was aching, and his eyelids felt hot andweighted
with fever. He'd just been on the verge of drifting off."Perhaps
it is my intuition." Harker flicked a glance at him, a curious half-smile that
appeared and vanished, quick as a thought."Well,
what the devil are we waiting for, then?" Devlin moved to rise, wasstayed by
the pressure of Harker's hand."All in
good time, Inspector." Harker discovered a loose thread hangingfrom his sleeve,
and spent some long moments manipulating it furiously.Devlin
found himself increasingly irritated with the solicitor's evasions,and wondered whether his initial surmises had been correct. PerhapsHarker had lured him here for reasons of his own. Perhaps he
andDonnelly had made arrangements to dissect him, after
they'd done awaywith him, and add their findings to
whatever dubious research thatHarker was currently
involved in."I have
been examining this Whittaker's movements - he was indeed onthe train
with us, and he is here, just nearby."Devlin
coughed noisily, dislodging what felt like part of his right lung."Post
handbills, then," he hissed, "and tell him to show himself so I canarrest him.""No
need to post handbills, my dear fellow." Harker smiled insinuatingly,clasped his
hands around his knees. "He sticks closer than a brother."The idea of
Reginald Harker quoting Scripture gave Devlin serious pause- hadn't
someone said that even the Devil could quote Scripture to hisadvantage? "What d'you mean, he's close? Close to what?""Close
to us."The walls
seemed to bend and bulge curiously, and Devlin passed ahand over
his eyes until the fit had passed. He couldn't imagine whatHarker meant: even given that the country house was large (supposedlyit belonged to some friend of Harker's, although he wouldn't
say who)Devlin could hardly fail to discern Whittaker's
presence in the hallways."Where?""He got
off the train at the same stop as we did, and took rooms in an inncalled The
Checkers, about a mile down the road. I have gone thereseveral
times, on some pretext or other, and twice now I have sent John."Devlin was
dumbfounded. He knew that Harker liked to play detective,but he
hadn't factored this sort of cool subversion into the solicitor'scharacter. "You said he took rooms - not just one room.""Ah -
he is there with his sister.""His
sister?" Devlin didn't remember a sister, but that wasn't surprising,seeing as
how he'd been determined to block out any memory of JohnWhittaker from his mind. If Whittaker had a sister, this was news; if
hehad a sister who was clearly in collusion with him,
then the case beforethem was considerably enriched.
"What sister?"But Harker
only gave him an enigmatic smile.FourteenDevlin
hadn't wanted to make so bold a move as lying in wait forWhittaker
at The Checkers, but he told himself that, since he could findno better method of capture, it was just as well to follow Harker's
advice,and see what came of it. The worst that could
happen was thatWhittaker would divine their presence
and take himself away, leavingthem empty-handed.Devlin had
allowed John Donnelly to bundle him in a heavy overcoat anda knitted
muffler, against the late October chill. The fields around thecountry house were white with frost, and there was a scent of snow inthe air. The cold lay upon Devlin's chest like lead, and he
cougheduncontrollably in the carriage, raising
concerned looks from bothDonnelly and Freddie. Harker,
for his part, was too sunk in his ownreflections to pay
much attention to the beleagured police inspector, andDevlin
wondered what was going on in Harker's head."Are we
there yet?" Freddie Lewis sat with his buttocks barely touchingthe edge of
the seat, and his gloved hands wrung themselves together."When are we going to be there?"Everyone
ignored him. The silence inside the carriage grew, puncturedonly by the
sound of the horse's hooves on the road. Someone's stomachgrowled, and Devlin found himself wishing mightily for a cigarette,
butDonnelly had forbidden it, on the condition of
Devlin's lungs. Devlinwondered peevishly just when John
Donnelly had received his doctoralcertificate - it
seemed the apothecary was giving himself unwarrantedairs,
but Devlin supposed that his dubious medical attention was betterthan none, especially at a time like this.Harker had
assumed the poise of a predatory animal, sitting pressedagainst the
cold wall of the carriage, gloved hands clasped together inhis lap, and his eyes hooded and watchful. Devlin still didn't
entirely trust him: it wasn't beyond
Harker's scope to be somehow involved withWhittaker, especially if
there was benefit in it. Devlin imagined thatHarker
would sacrifice even his acolyte Donnelly, if it meant an advancein his own position."How do
you know he'll be there?" Devlin raised his face from the mufflerand
directed his question at Harker. "It's not like he's expecting us, is it?""Harker
thinks he has devised a means by which Whittaker can be madeto show
himself." Donnelly nodded his agreement, as if he had been theinstigator of this great and noble scheme."Oh,
has he?" Devlin cursed quietly. "What did you do," he asked
Harker,"send him a telegram?"Harker
turned his head slowly, his eyes slow to focus, as though he hadjust then
been lost in some unfathomable inner contemplation. "Whyyes...that's precisely what I did, Inspector.""You
did." Devlin tried to laugh, but incited another coughing fit. "And Isuppose you
requested the presence of his sister, too?""I have
laid an amiable trap. Whittaker will step into it because he will beunable to
resist.""And
he's just going to overlook the fact that you have lent me yourabilities -
put it down to a brain fever or something?"But Harker
was no longer listening, and after a moment the carriageground to a
halt in front of The Checkers. "We're here."The interior
of the inn was overheated, and, wrapped in his woollenovercoat
and Donnelly's great muffler, Devlin began to sweat - he sweatas a pudding sweats, when placed into a bag and secreted within thesame pot as a boiled dinner. His perspiration ran off the tips
of his fingersand into the recesses of his gloves, and
crawled a slow and agonisingpathway down his spine. He
glanced around the room, taking carefulnote of the several
quiet patrons disposed around the tables, and JohnWhittaker,
seated near the back, and with him a woman dressed in gentlemen's attire, smoking a cigar.Violet
Pearson.Devlin
swayed, and clutched at Freddie Lewis who, in the interests ofverisimilitude,
had shaved off his moustache and slicked his curly blondhair back over his head. The effect was not unlike a squeezed ferretbeing forced headfirst through a length of piping. Freddie was
dressedas a gardener-cum-jack of all trades, and someone
(probably Harker,knowing his penchant for dressing
games) had smudged coal dust onseveral strategic places
around Freddie's face and head. He looked for allthe
world like a Northern miner just home from the shafts and headed fora bit of a knees-up at the local pub."What
the devil...?" Devlin blinked through the haze of smoking candles,not
trusting to his vision, which had in all probability been irreparablywarped by Donnelly's viscous potions. "What's she got to do with
it,Harker?" He seized a fold of the solicitor's
coat between his gloved andsweating fingers."She is
his sister." Harker flicked a glance at him. "But," he said
airily, "Iam satisfied that she is not complicitous in this
affair.""Really."
Devlin felt sweat running down inside his pant legs, collectingin his
shoes, and he wanted nothing more at that moment than to bashHarker a good one in the mouth. But that would bring Donnelly down onhim, and he'd heard that the apothecary had played a rather
savagebrand of cricket at school, so perhaps that
wasn't a good idea. Besideswhich, it wouldn't do to
incite a round of bloodshed at The Checkers - theclean
up alone would be murderous.Whittaker
was just as Devlin remembered: elegant, gorgeous, polished.He'd always
felt inferior to Whittaker's brand of self-assured confidence,as though his background could never measure up. Whittaker's fatherhad been a Member of Parliament, whereas Devlin's was a
Bluebottle tillthe end of his days. Whittaker's mother
kept an impeccable household,with dozens of servants,
while Devlin's mother took in laundry tosupplement the
family income. It was too cruel an irony that Devlinshould
be here now, sweating in his borrowed clothes, standing beside the notorious Resurrection Men, and with a witless young constable whoresembled a
compressed weasel."He's
over there - do you take our friends to the back room, John, beforewe're all
of us discovered." Harker adjusted his tie and started forward,while Devlin struggled futilely in the apothecary's grip. No darbies
in hispocket, and he'd been long since relieved of his
warrant card, but byGod, he'd lay hands on
Whittaker tonight and collar him for good andproper."Harker
has arranged this meeting - it's necessary to get Whittaker awayfrom here
and into some place more...secluded." Donnelly wrestled abreathless Devlin into a chair and loosened his muffler. "If we
pounce onhim here, the whole thing is finished.""You're
a bloody piece of work!" Devlin spat some woollen threads ontothe table,
cast the muffler away from him with an expression of distaste."I suppose you cooked this up between the two of you, eh? Is
that it? CutDevlin out all together, let Harker ponce
on in and take the credit."Freddie bit
into a particularly stubborn hangnail with perhaps more forcethan was
necessary. "What does that mean," he asked, "ponce?"Devlin
ignored him. "What's he going to do? Lure Whittaker out onto thelawn and
beat him with a rake?"Donnelly
caught Devlin's wrist in a powerful grip. The apothecary'sbrown eyes
were cold and uncompromising. "He is going to lure himback to the house."The tiny
hairs on Devlin's forearms stood to sharp attention. He stared atDonnelly,
open-mouthed, while Freddie gnawed his fingernails incontented
silence. "The house," he said finally."This
was his intention all along." Donnelly released him, sat back as awaiter
appeared, bearing hot drinks for them on a tray. Devlin sniffed thecup, detected an aroma of rum and spices, and wondered if Donnelly
andHarker had planned this aspect of it, as well. It
certainly wasn't beyondthe realm of possibility, given
the means by which Harker had lured both Devlin and
Whittaker here. Obviously the solicitor had depths that hisbloodless
exterior had never even hinted at."So
what are we supposed to do in the mean time? Perhaps he mightneed
reinforcements." Perhaps he might need his arse kicked forpresuming to interfere in official police business."It's
best if we wait here."Devlin
sniffed, in a manner intended to convey his irritation. "No doubt."Harker had
nearly worn out the carpet in front of the fireplace, and hisceaseless
pacing was making Devlin dizzy. He was already quitenauseous,
courtesy of his drink at The Checkers, and any moment he felthe might be compelled to hurl the contents of his stomach onto thehearth rug. His fever had reasserted itself, and he felt
flushed andpeevish; he kept falling into a fitful
sleep, only to be awakened byDonnelly's grunts of
exclamation. "What are we waiting for?" Devlinasked. His voice sounded thick and choked with mucus, and his skullwas pounding rhythmically. "It's obvious he's given you
the slip."Harker
whirled around, suddenly furious. "I will not accept that!" heroared. He
subsided into silence, assumed a pose before themantelpiece,
one hand upon his hip and the other pressed against hisforehead.The outer
door clanged shut, and footsteps sounded in the corridor.Harker
lunged, but Devlin was quicker, and yanked the door open."I
couldn't - I couldn't persuade him." Violet Pearson stood there, elegantand
beautiful in her evening clothes. "I did everything you told me." Sheglanced at Harker, lounging near the fire. "It was like he
knewsomething. I couldn't make him come here. I'm
sorry."Freddie took
her arm and drew her near the fire, poured a glass ofbrandy.
"It's not your fault," he said. The firelight played off the dirtysmudges on his face."This
throws difficulty into the whole arrangement," Harker sniffed. "NowI shall
have to start all over again.""No."
Devlin felt the time had come to assert himself. "You'll do nothing ofthe sort.
In the morning, I am going back to London, and I am going todemand that Sir Neville Alcock reinstate me, and then I am going to
trackWhittaker to his lair and I am going to arrest him."
He sounded far moreconfident than he felt, but at least
it was a start. Now to get the caseback on track, back
within the aegis of the Force, and get some workdone.Characteristically,
Devlin went charging back to London, with Freddie athis side and
a supply of fresh handkerchiefs in his pocket. Donnelly andHarker had elected to stay in the country for a few more days, as it
wascoming on for the weekend, and Harker felt that, as
he put it, 'a respitefrom our onerous labours' was in
order. Devlin had never in his life seenHarker perform
anything like onerous labour, but he wisely held histongue.
Donnelly had given him a supply of the same viscous substancewhich he had previously poured down Devlin's throat, but Devlin
tossedit out the window of the train as soon as they
pulled away from thestation."You
could have stayed - spent some time in the country, enjoyedyourself."
Devlin peered at Freddie. The young constable had beencuriously
quiet all morning, and Devlin wondered what was botheringhim. "I'm sure Harker wouldn't have minded.""I
should be with you, sir - Phillip. And I'm still on duty." Freddie gazedout the
window at the passing countryside. "I had to send a telegramsaying I was sick - Old Brassie doesn't know I came away with you. Hethinks you're at home with your feet up."For the
first time Devlin realised the depth of the sacrifice that Freddiehad made -
the depth of all the sacrifices that the constable had beenmaking, ever since this sordid business began. He felt acutely
ashamedof himself, that he had never thought to offer
one word of gratitude - surely the constable
deserved better. "Thank you." It felt awkward, andDevlin
wasn't sure he could get the words out his mouth, or perhaps itwas Donnelly's vile muffler. "You've been - " He sighed,
huffed his breathout between his teeth. "See here,
Freddie, I mean, you've been absolutelytop hole about
this, right from the start." He stole a glance at Freddie: theconstable's cheeks were flushed with pleasure. "I feel badly
that I've putyou in such danger." It was true:
ever since Freddie had been set upon byWhittaker's
bludgers, Devlin had impressed upon himself how vital itwas that Freddie stay out of the line of fire, that Freddie was hissubordinate while he, Devlin, was the man in charge - or at
least, hadbeen the man in charge. Until Old Brassie
gave him the heave-ho."I'd go
anywhere with you." Freddie raised his head, tears glistening onhis lashes.
"You know that. I'd cut off my right arm if you had want of it.""You're
left-handed," Devlin observed. "It would hardly be such an entirehandicap."
He smiled. "You're a good 'un, Freddie." The effect of all thisaffection was making him slightly nauseous; it wasn't like
Devlin to saythe things that he was feeling, even if
the situation seemed to demand it.He had always
believed that actions spoke much more forcefully thanwords
- but he thought that perhaps others might like to hear him castabout a few platitudes now and then."What
do you think he's going to say?" Freddie fished out a handkerchiefand dabbed
at his eyes."Old
Brassie?" Devlin permitted himself a humourless chuckle. "He'llprobably
clap me in irons - or he would do, if he could."Sir Neville
Alcock didn't necessarily need to clap Devlin in irons: as soonas the
train pulled in to Waterloo, Devlin understood the true length andbreadth of his difficulties. "See this?" Freddie came
towards him, bearinga newspaper. "Your picture's
on here!""Bugger."
Devlin caught Freddie's arm and pulled them both back againstthe wall.
"Let me see that."Oh yes,
there it all was, in plain black for all to see: Inspector PhillipDevlin,
lately of Her Majesty's Metropolitan Police Force, wanted on thecharge of attempted murder, two young gentlemen (Devlin snorted)found gravely injured in a laneway during a fracas.... Devlin
tossed thenewspaper away from him and tried to think.
The morning sunlight wasstreaming past the rising mist,
casting long shadows on the platform,lighting up the
window glass and the brass door fittings, and glisteningin Freddie's blond hair. Devlin envisioned his future as a series of
doors,all shut upon him, leaving him in blackness and
privation."What
are you going to do?"Freddie's
voice snapped him back to reality. "You go to work, Freddie.""What
are you going to do?"Bloody good
question, Devlin thought, considering the pickle he was inat the
moment. "Stay away until you hear from me," he said at last.
"Don'tcome to my rooms unless you know absolutely
that you've not beenfollowed.""But - ""Freddie,
I'm a wanted man. If this gets processed through the courts, I'llswing for
it." Devlin had witnessed many a hanging in his time; hewondered grimly if he would now witness his own. He turned to go,before Freddie could protest.His arm was
caught and held. "I'm going with you. Wherever you'regoing, I'm
going too."Devlin
sighed. "I appreciate your loyalty, Freddie, but right now isn't thetime.""It's
got nothing to do with loyalty!" Freddie hissed. "Dammit, Phillip, Ilove you.
And I know you and Mr. Harker and the rest all think I'm asthick as pudding - ""No one
said anything about pudding!" This was getting him nowhere – it was all fine
and good to argue with Freddie, but to argue with him in thebroad light
of day in Waterloo station was quite another, especially asthings stood now. "Alright," he said wearily.
"Alright. But you do exactlyas I say."Devlin kept
an alternate set of lodgings for those times when his workrequired
anonymity. He would have never thought that he'd be nowusing
those rooms as a hiding place. Still, the situation seemed todemand that he divest himself of anything that might reveal his
identity -the time would come for him to reappear, but
it was not now, not yet.He
dispatched his instructions quickly, waited till Freddie hadvanished......and then
he bought a ticket and boarded the train, back to Surrey andMr.
Reginald Harker.So...Inspector
Devlin wasn't staying in London, as he'd led his prettyyoung
beloved to believe...well, that was certainly interesting, because itcreated all sorts of other possibilities, many of which were too
deliciousto contemplate. The very idea made him
tremble. He would have to tellViolet - he had only
Violet to confide in, now that Sarah was gone, poorSarah.
Of course he'd only meant to frighten her, but she would struggleand tighten the rope around her own neck, the silly blower. She wasbetter off out of it, truth be told, because now there were nodistractions...now he could concentrate on doing away with Devlin,
ashad always been his intention, and then him and
Violet could go awaysomewhere, and live together
quietly, and be happy. He knew how tomake his dear
sister happy.John
Whittaker got on the train.FifteenDevlin was
just unlucky enough to catch Harker and Donnelly in mediasres or ad
hoc or whatever that Latin phrase was.... Devlin hadn't gotmuch Latin
at school, despite the best efforts of his praeceptors...inflagrante delicto - that was it! At any
rate, they were both in bed, in asingular state of
undress, and as far as Devlin could tell, Donnelly hadgot
quite busy on top of Harker."Inspector!"
Harker started up with a force of strength that Devlin wouldhave hardly
credited; his intensive search for various items of hisclothing
was also impressively energetic. "We had no idea - "Devlin felt
an odd satisfaction at the blush on Harker's thin cheeks, buthe
suspected that Donnelly was rather less than thrilled at his suddenreappearance. "I'll just wait in the sitting room, shall I?
Until you bothhave...er...composed yourselves." He
followed the winding series ofpassageways back to the
front of the house, and was helping himselfliberally to
the brandy when it occurred to him that Freddie had probablyalready gone to Devlin's usual lodgings in London and was waiting forhim there. Damn...it would take a lot of explaining to
make Freddieunderstand, not least because of Freddie's
particular mental deficit.Devlin stroked his unshaven
face and wondered if he oughtn't send atelegram, but
immediately dismissed it: too risky, and there was alwaysthe possibility that Freddie was being not only watched but followed.
Itwas impossible to tell, now, who was in the clear in
this matter - evensomeone as naive and gormless as
Freddie could easily be perverted intoalternative
loyalties, and Devlin's long experience told him that anyone,regardless of piety or station, had his price and could be bought."Mr.
Harker didn't say you'd come back."Devlin
started violently, cursed himself for being so sunk in his ownthoughts.
"Miss Pearson - or should I say, Miss Whittaker?" He laughed bitterly, recognised the entire premise for the savage end-game that itwas, and
resigned himself to whatever might follow after. "Johnny nevertold me that he had a sister - I suppose it never came up. Not like
otherthings came up. But I guess you know that, and
all...my history with yourbrother, the whole sordid
bit.""I'm
not intending on blackmail, Inspector, if that's what you think." Shemoved to
the decanter and poured herself a hefty portion of the brandy,drank it off without even blinking. "I want an end to all this,
just like you."Devlin
reached for the decanter and lit a cigarette, John Donnelly bedamned.
"I've figured out most of it," he said, "but one thing still
isn't clearto me...even after all this time.""Yes?""What
part are you playing in it? I mean, what's your role?" Devlin offeredher a
cigarette, which she accepted and lit for herself. "I can understandthe posture of the doting sister, keeping a hand in with the
poor,misunderstood and wayward brother - next you'll
tell me it was yourmother's deathbed wish or your dead
old Papa's bequest - but how muchdid he have to pay
you?" Devlin waited. "To do poor Sarah, I mean."Perhaps it
was his awful, chesty cold, but her hand had smacked into hisface and
rebounded to her side before Devlin could even think of uttering'Jack Robinson.' A warm, stinging flush spread along his cheek,
dartingpain into the socket of his eye. "Slapping
a man when he's not looking,"he muttered, rather
shamefaced, "not exactly cricket, is it?"But Violet
was weeping. "Sarah was my friend!" She scrubbed at hertears
angrily, ashamed that Devlin had seen her momentary weakness."We were at school together...we'd made plans with each other,
you see.Only Johnny had to put his oar in - "Devlin made
no effort to hide his confusion. "What d'you mean?""Oh...coming
round her house of an evening, bringing flowers orchocolate,
all the sorts of things that men do. She could hardly refuse him- and I resigned myself to it, because I thought that she'd be well
cared- for." She cast a
defiant look at Devlin. "It's not like you might think - youand Mr.
Harker and the rest. Sarah and I were like sisters! There was abond between us.""She
wasn't pregnant when...." Devlin let it drop: no sense in digging upold bones.
He'd leave grave robbing to the likes of Harker and Donnellywho were now both clothed, after a fashion, and both bearing glasses
ofbrandy. Harker was smiling, but Devlin thought he
could detect anundercurrent of hostility in Donnelly's
smile. Well, it couldn't be helped -and he'd no time to
consider the social niceties when Whittaker wasstalking
around Surrey with the bit between his teeth."Forgive
our inattention, Inspector." Harker inserted himself into a chairand
stretched out with every evidence of both leisure and enjoyment,and treated both Devlin and Violet Pearson to a particularly
bloodlesssmile. "We were...engaged.""I just
want this to be over with." Devlin felt suddenly old and tired, andleaned
against the mantelpiece. His reflection gazed back at himimplacably: a man of middle age with circles underneath his eyes andtwo bright spots of fever burning in his cheeks. "As soon
as possible. So Ican get back to London and clear my
name and get on with things. I'veno taste for buggering
around - " Perhaps the wrong choice of words, hereflected,
but he'd worry about his social gaffes later on.The front
door clanged, the bell perhaps manipulated unduly by theshivering
October wind. Harker's head swivelled, as though mounted ongimbals, and Devlin saw him exchange a look with Donnelly: secretive,furtive, altogether culpable. "Ah," he said, "I
see."The
footsteps entered the front hall, and paused just there, in the foyer...asudden,
unexpected foray into the kitchen and the butler's pantry, then ashift, a forward impetus, moving irresistibly now, drawn towards themas though fastened by a length of thread. There were footsteps
overhead,as well, more rapid now, and the sound of
someone descending thestairs.He had not
changed, Devlin thought, in all the years...the passage of timehad left no
mark on him, no spoor that he could recognise. Except – and here he paused - the eyes were wrong, not keen and sharp with
intellect,but dulled by pain and opiates and something else, something
akin tomadness. He was, of course, impeccably attired,
in shades of grey anddeepest black, a silk muffler
about his throat and fine gloves upon hishands -
camouflage, to hide the devastation that the disease must havesurely wrought by now...."John."
The utterance caught Devlin by surprise and rasped itself againstthe insides
of his throat, hurting him. The room was floating oddly abouthim, textures of things all wrong, the light was bending, quick and
agile,and the beating of his heart was out of rhythm.
"John Whittaker."The monster
laughed - a gentle laugh, full of the most horrible loathing."You
shouldn't run about like you have done, Phillip. It weakens the body,so much haste."Devlin
slipped a hand into his pocket, felt about the lining of his coatwith icy
fingers. It would only take one, he thought - but he could bewrong, because the room was weird and tilting now, and things weresliding past him. The footsteps were back, above his head and
all aroundhim, and he could see the danger now, the
danger in the revolver held inJohn Whittaker's gloved
hand. He had to watch the hand, watch it move,see the
fingers clasp and reach -The shot
rang out, and he was deafened by it, sickened by the stink ofcordite and
the writhing, slippery motion of the body as it fell face-downon the carpet. The blood was coming out and pooling all around thehead, and he could see the jagged hole the shot had made - and
he couldsee Violet Pearson in the passageway, her right
hand white-knuckled ona revolver, a curl of smoke dying
slowly in the stillness of the air. He sawall these
things - saw them and noted them, before the darkness swirledup to meet him and he fell down into it, a blessed relief.Epilogue"Freddie,
you don't have to keep bringing me things - I'm hardly on mydeathbed."
Devlin glanced up at the tall young constable hovering by hisbedside. "The doctor says it's just pneumonia, and I shall be
fine as soonas ever." He coughed, a terrible
racking noise, and Freddie Lewis movedto prop him up."I'm
not going away. You can bloody rattle on as long as you like and callme
everything - but I'm staying here to see to you." Freddie positionedthe tea tray over Devlin's knees, and poured a cup of the
steaming brew."Anyway, I've got good news that
will make you happy." He withdrew afolded
newspaper, handed it to Devlin. "Front page, three columns."YARD MAN
CLEARED OF CHARGES: SIR NEVILLE ALCOCK TO RETIREAT MONTH'S
END.Devlin
grunted. "About bloody time." He slurped his tea, oblivious tosocial
conventions. "And what did they say about...?""John
Whittaker's case has been...indefinitely suspended." Freddietwitched
his moustache with a finger. "Violet will be very grateful.""She
was terrified of an open scandal." Devlin shook his head sadly. "Poorgirl -
having to serve justice on your own flesh and blood that way...itcan't have been easy for her." He had seldom seen anyone as
steadfast asViolet - widow of Captain Edgar Pearson,
formerly of Her Majesty's 95thFoot,
brother of John Whittaker. "They will be very happy in Boston, sheand
Phoebe.""Boston?" Freddie was surprised.
"Are they going to America?"Devlin
sighed. "Boston is normally located in America, yes." He smiled."And
what better place to have a 'Boston marriage'?"Freddie was
quiet for a moment as he sipped his tea. "Is that what we'vegot?"
he asked, "A Boston marriage?""Gentlemen
don't make Boston marriages," Devlin said - in a tone thatwould have
done justice to Reginald Harker. "But I'll be here, Freddie - ifyou'll have me."And 'here'
was, truth be told, much better than Devlin's old lodgings, orFreddie's
rooms, because 'here' was a very nice flat near the Yard, withlarge windows overlooking the street and a fine tobacconist's around
thecorner, and plenty of good brandy and their fire. It
was understood, ofcourse, that Inspector Devlin and
Constable Lewis merely shared roomsin the interests of
economy, and because they were both bachelors - andwasn't
it a shame that the Inspector had been all set to marry PhoebeAlcock, and then she ran away to Boston with some red-haired womanwho was probably an actress, or at any rate, not a very nice
woman,certainly not the kind of woman who is ever
received in polite society....Such a
shame, really.The End