‘Very thoughtful,’ said Thackeray.
‘Yes, it wasn’t till September that I ’eard anything of ’er, and by then Ezekiel was looking as scraggy as ever. When the flunkey found me in the cabman’s shelter I thought my luck was in again. I bowled off round Russell Square and I swear old Ezekiel knew where we was ’eading for and galloped all the way.
‘When we got there, out comes the lady and climbs inside without even looking at the ’orse or me and calls out an address in Notting ’Ill Gate. It don’t make no sense to me, but I know my job, so away we goes. And when we get there it’s a shabby little terraced ’ouse, but out she gets and asks me to come in too. A big woman comes to the door and lets us in without a word. She shows us the parlour and what do you think is there? A baby, Officer, three months old and ’owling fit to burst. “You can pick it up,” says me passenger. “It’s yours. I’ve brought it into the world and provided for it up to now, but I can’t keep it. It wouldn’t be possible for a woman in my position. So it’s yours, cabman. Look after it, won’t you?” I was so surprised, Officer, that I picked it up without a word and do you know it stopped bellowing at once? “There will be money provided regular for its upkeep,” she told me. “Mrs ’Awkins ’ere will take care of it by day until it’s old enough to join you on the cab, but you must collect it every night. It will need to know its father. Be good enough not to get in touch with me after today. The baby’s name is Peter, and you’d better treat ’im kinder than that unfortunate ’orse of yours, or Mrs ’Awkins will fetch in the law.” And I could see by the way the fat woman wagged ’er ’ead at me that she didn’t like the look of me at all.’
‘What a facer!’ said Thackeray. ‘What did you do?’
‘Exactly what they wanted. I took the child and brought it up, as I’ve told you. As soon as it was old enough I told ’Awkins ’er services wasn’t required no more. Money arrived regular by way of the flunkey until the boy was ten years old and could earn for ’imself.’
‘What work did you put him to?’ asked Thackeray.
‘Glimming, at first.’
‘What’s that?’
‘That’s ’olding cab doors open for passengers, to save the cabby from getting off ’is box. You must ’ave seen the boys along the rank stretching their arms across the cab wheels to stop the ladies’ dresses from getting soiled. It’s worth a copper or two most times. ’E done that for about a year, and then ’e went ’is own way. I ’ad it in mind to get ’im ’prenticed, but ’e can’t read or write, you see, and there wasn’t no openings. I believe ’e sold newspapers for a while and then ’e got a job as bellboy in one of them new ’otels in The Strand. Later ’e got in with the turf mob. I saw ’im one afternoon the summer before last at Epsom working the three card trick and ’e was looking as dapper as ever I’d seen ’im, with a grey bowler and a check suit and that silver watch I told you about. You don’t suppose-’
‘We’re leaving the watch out of it,’ said Thackeray firmly. ‘Tell me, Mr Brand, did you ever meet the boy’s mother again?’
‘Never to speak to, although I’ve seen ’er once or twice in cabs. She moved out of Russell Square a long while back and I’m not sure where she went.’
‘Did your son ever meet his mother?’
‘Not while ’e was a boy, Officer, but I rather think it might ’ave crossed ’is mind last year to try and find ’er.
When I saw ’im that afternoon on the race-course we talked about old times over a glass of ale-we was on very good terms, you see-and, seeing that ’e was now a man of the world, I told ’im the story I’ve just told you. Up to then ’e’d always believed ’is ma died of cholera. ’E seemed uncommon pleased to learn she was still alive, and asked me the number of the ’ouse in Russell Square. Of course I told ’im it was no good going there now because she’s long since moved. I suppose ’e might ’ave called and found out the new address, but lately ’e’s been very busy with the spirits and I ’aven’t spoken to ’im since that afternoon at Epsom. If you ask me, I don’t reckon ’e got much of a welcome from ’er if ’e did find the place where she lives. She don’t want to be reminded of us, I’m sure of that. Well, Officer, that’s my story and I’ve rambled on for long enough.’ He put his pipe in his pocket and struggled out of the arm-chair. ‘I’ll just ’elp you look through that chest of drawers and then I’m on my way. I work from the Charing Cross rank these days. You can always find me there if anything worth ’aving turns up.’
‘It ain’t so simple as that,’ Thackeray explained. ‘He might have made a will.’
‘Couldn’t write,’ said Brand Senior.
‘Well, his mother has the right to claim some of his possessions.’
This was a thought that had not occurred to the cabman. After a moment’s reflection he shook his head. ‘She’s not going to come forward after all this time. She’s in clover already. She’s got no use for silver watches and check suits.’ He opened the drawers one by one and passed his hand rapidly between the layers of socks and shirts. ‘But if she wants any of this stuff she’s welcome to it.’
‘You didn’t mention her name,’ said Thackeray.
‘No I did n’t. One thing you learn in my occupation, Officer, is to be careful over names. There’s passengers that like to be recognised and there’s those that don’t. Most times it’s best to keep off names, so I never asked ’er what it was.’
‘But you found it out, surely?’
‘That’s another matter. If I did, all the cab ’orses I’ve ever owned wouldn’t drag it out of me.’
‘Perhaps this would,’ suggested Thackeray on an inspiration. He plunged his hand in his pocket-and came out with four sixpences and a halfpenny. ‘I could get some more by this afternoon,’ he added lamely.
‘I’ll believe that when I see it,’ muttered the cabman as he started downstairs.
Thackeray stood where he was, looking bleakly at the five coins in his palm. He would have cheerfully have given a pound of his own money to have got that name and dumbfounded Cribb for once in his career. With a sigh he put the money back in his pocket, took out his notebook and started making the list of Peter Brand’s possessions.
CHAPTER 9
How would you treat such possibilities?
Would not you, prompt, investigate the case. .?
Sergeant Cribb was on a small square of carpet in front of Inspector Jowett’s desk at Great Scotland Yard. He was standing at attention, motionless, so far as one could see. Actually his toes were wriggling in his boots.
‘You know me for the last person in the world to discourage initiative,’ Jowett was saying. ‘My word, yes, I can claim with some pride that my record in assigning responsibility to the lower ranks is second to none in the Force. Consider, Sergeant, how often I have put you in charge of a murder inquiry, given you your head, so to speak, whilst I for my part have been content to take only that unobtrusive interest in events which you are entitled to expect from your superior. And of course you have always known that you can look in this direction for the support, the wisdom, the inspiration, the shaft of light that makes everything clear when all is darkest. I do not deny that there have been times when I was tempted to join you at the scene of a crime, to exercise my powers of deduction again, and with a few modest observations render hours of painstaking interrogation and inquiry unnecessary. My place is here, however, in this office, overseeing not one investigation alone, but up to a dozen simultaneously.’ He tapped the side of his head with the mouth-piece of his pipe. ‘This is the repository of sufficient information to bring sleepless nights to some of the blackest fiends in criminal London, Cribb. Yes, indeed, the Director cannot spare me to ferret out particular offenders. I am here to take the longer view.’ To emphasise his point the inspector got up, walked to the window, cleaned a small section of it with the end of his thumb and peered out.