Dodger heard with relief the sound of the knife being dropped to the ground. He kicked it into the shadows, then heaved the man by his collar and hustled him to the other end of the alley, crossed the street and pulled him into a corner.
‘Stumpy Higgins!’ he said. ‘Blow me down if you aren’t the dumbest thief I’ve ever met. You know, next time you come up before the beak you will end up with the screws swinging on your ankles, you bloody idiot!’ He sniffed, and groaned. ‘Cor blimey, Stumpy, what a mess you are, ain’t you? Do you ever take a wash? Or ever stand out in the rain or even change those trousers?’ He looked into two eyes full of cataracts and sighed. ‘When did you last eat?’
Then Stumpy muttered something about not wanting to be a beggar, and Dodger nearly gave up on him, but the vision of Grandad was still in his mind.
‘Look, here’s sixpence,’ he said. ‘That should get you a decent bite and a space in the flophouse, if you don’t drink it all up. OK, you poor old bugger, now off you go – no one else is chasing you, so just keep on moving and get out of the neighbourhood. I’ve never seen you before in my life, I don’t know who you are, and by the look of you, Stumpy, neither do you, you poor old devil.’ Dodger sighed. ‘Look, if you’re going to hold up something, the time to get grogged up is after the business, not before, right?’
And that was it. Dodger went back to the Chronicle offices and there was a copper there already when he arrived, and the clerks were giving the man the particulars of the aforesaid Stumpy, which at the moment did not include the wooden leg. By the sound of their babbling, Stumpy was a lot more fearsome than Dodger knew him to be, and apparently his bread knife had become a real honest-to-God sword too. The policeman was trying to take down details, being hampered by the chattering of the clerks and the fact that he wrote things down very slowly, all the while keeping an eye on Dodger, because although the policeman might not have been that good at spelling he was very good at recognizing the likes of Dodger.
Dodger knew what was coming, and here it came as the policeman poked a thumb in his direction and said, ‘This gentleman was an accomplice, yes?’
The clerks looked at Dodger, and somewhat reluctantly their chief said, ‘Well, no, in fact to tell the truth he threatened the miscreant with a spike and chased him away.’
Dodger was beginning to really dislike the policeman, because the man said brightly, ‘Oh, so this man here had a weapon as well?’
The chief clerk said, ‘Well, no, I mean it’s a spike, we have one on every desk.’
There was a creak on the stair by the door and a voice said, ‘This young man is working for me, Constable, and may I say that Mister Dodger has my full confidence. It would appear that he is a hero of epic proportions, having saved the Chronicle from the depredations of such a terrible creature as the one that I’ve just heard spoken about – possibly he should have a medal of some kind; I will speak to the editor. In the meantime, gentlemen, Mister Dodger has confidential information for me, and I would like to take him over to the coffee house to hear what he has to say. So if you will, in fact, excuse the both of us, we will depart.’
With that, Charlie nodded to the policeman and walked down the steps, an amazed Dodger following him. Onan padded behind, ever-optimistic that Dodger might be taking a route through the foggy streets that could involve a bone. Life for Onan often didn’t produce the rewards he wanted; and as Dodger tied him to a lamppost it became clear that this was going to be one of those times. Again. Dodger resolved to get him a decent bone at the earliest opportunity.
He hadn’t tasted coffee before, but Solomon said it was nothing but mud, and in any case he couldn’t afford it. The coffee house was full of the stuff, full of people and full of chatter and, above all, full of noise.
Charlie pushed Dodger onto a chair, sat down beside him and said, ‘Nobody is going to hear what you say here, because in here everybody is always talking at once, and the ones who aren’t actually talking are thinking about what they are going to say next and waiting for their turn. Is there any point in my asking you for the truth about that delicious little episode, or should we perhaps just let a veil of mystery fall over it? Have you ever heard of a cove called Napoleon, by any chance? Do take more sugar, and when you have finished the bowl they will bring another one; these new sugar lumps are all the go, aren’t they?’
Dodger stopped feverishly pushing sugar into his pockets and said, ‘Napoleon, yeah, Froggy general, that’s why we’ve got old sweats begging on the streets, sometimes with a knife, yes?’
‘Well,’ said Charlie, ‘he was famous among other things for saying that what he looked for in his generals was luck; and you, Mister Dodger, are all lucky, very lucky, because something about that little escapade smells to me as bad as an extremely old cheese. I think I know you, Dodger, so I will indeed recommend to my editor that some little honour, possibly including a half sovereign or two, might be in order – although I will try and persuade him not to put your name in the newspapers, because I suspect that doing so could mean you having some little trouble finding friends in the future, since helping the police would not look good on your curriculum vitae in those shadows you frequent. You are lucky, Dodger, and the more you help me, the luckier you will become.’ His fingers strayed to his pocket and the unmistakable jingle of coins could be heard. ‘What have you found out?’
Dodger told him about the coach and the girl, with Charlie listening carefully to everything he said.
When he had finished, Charlie said, ‘So she saw no crest on the coach? What kind of foreign accent? French? German?’
Much to Charlie’s surprise, Dodger said firmly, ‘Mister Charlie, I know about what’s on coaches and I know to recognize most lingos, but you see that in this I’m just like you – I’m dealing with an informant who isn’t bright enough to know everything or notice much.’
Charlie looked at Dodger in the way that somebody would look at some sad accident and said, ‘You, Dodger, are what is known as a tabula rasa – Latin for a clean slate; you are smart, indeed, but you have so very little to be smart about! It grieves me, it really does, although I do see that you have had the sense to get some new clothes, the best a shonky shop could provide.’ He smiled when he saw Dodger’s expression and went on, ‘What? You don’t think the likes of me would know what a shonky shop is? Believe me, my friend, there are very few depths in this city that I haven’t plumbed as a matter of business. But on a lighter note, I expect you will like to hear that the young lady you rescued is recovering. I believe that no one has yet reported her missing – though there are indications that she is not some street waif, so her disappearance should have been reported. You understand? Although as yet she cannot speak very well – she seems incapable of explaining what may have happened to her – she does appear to understand English. As a matter of fact, I believe she is a foreigner – a very special foreigner, although I cannot tell you why I think this may be the case. And I suspect there is some excitement about this in high places. The crest on her ring is providing an interesting line of enquiry, and my friend Sir Robert Peel is being rather circumspect, leading me to believe that there is a game afoot. As you know, I write for newspapers, but not everything a newspaperman knows gets into print.’
A game, Dodger thought. He had to get into this game and win it. But what kind of game would lead to a girl being beaten like that? That kind of game he would have to stop. In the noise and smoke of the coffee house, under his breath, he said a prayer to the Lady, feeling somewhat embarrassed as he did so: ‘I ain’t never met you, missus, but you knew Grandad and I hope he’s with you now. Well, I’m Dodger, and Grandad has made me king of the toshers, and a little bit of help from yourself would certainly not go amiss. Thanking you in anticipation, yours, Dodger.’