The wardrobe contained rather more clothes than those in the other rooms, including a small sherwani, the long coatlike garment common to South Asia. The boy obviously clung to his roots, though an orphan and far from his homeland.
As they moved back into the hallway, Burton stopped and looked thoughtful. He glanced at Swinburne, then at the two little chimney sweeps who were sheltering shyly behind Ebenezer Smike, then went into each of the three rooms once again and looked at the footwear in each.
He came out and suddenly squatted on his haunches and smiled at the two boys. Swinburne grinned, amazed at the way his friend's habitually ferocious expression seemed to melt away.
"I have two shillings, lads," said Burton. "Would you like to earn them-a bob apiece?"
"Not half?" they both hollered enthusiastically. They pushed past their landlord to stand before him.
"What do we have to do, Mister?" asked one.
"What's your name, son?"
"Charlie, sir; this is Ned."
"Well, Charlie and Ned, all you have to do is answer a question."
"Yes, sir?"
"Were the three boys who occupied these rooms tall?"
"Oh yes, sir!" they chorused.
"Regular giants, they were!" cried the youngster named Ned.
Burton nodded. "So older, eh?"
"No, not a bit of it! Just big 'uns, is all, sir!"
"Good lads," encouraged Burton. "Now, I have another question. If you think carefully about it and answer it truthfully, I'll add a sixpence each."
"Crumbs!" breathed Charlie.
"First of all," said Burton, "do you know the other boys who've disappeared recently?"
"Yes, Mister."
"I'm aware that most of them have come back. It's the ones who haven't that I want to ask you about."
"That'll be Jacob, Raj, and Benny, and Paul Kelly, Ed Trip, Mickey Smith, Lofty Sanderson, Thicko Chris Williams, and Ben Prentiss," said Charlie, counting the names off on his fingers.
"And Aubrey Baxter," added Ned. "He was snatched the other night."
"And those boys," said Burton, "were they tall, too?"
"I say! They certainly were!" cried Charlie excitedly. "They're some o' the tallest sweeps in the League, ain't that right, Ned?"
"Excepting Aubrey, what's a nipper like us, yes; beanpoles, the lot of em!" responded Ned.
"Thank you, boys-here are your wages."
He placed the coins in their eager little hands and rose to his feet, turning to Ebenezer Smike as the children scampered away as if afraid he might change his mind and demand the money back.
"Thank you, Mr. Smike. We won't take up any more of your time."
"You've seen all you need?"
"Yes, I believe so. We'll leave you in peace."
Smike accompanied them to the front door and, as they stood on the step and shook his hand, asked, "The young 'uns, sir-will they be back?"
"That I can't answer, I'm afraid," replied Burton.
He and Swinburne took their leave and strolled toward New Kent Road, intending to pick up a cab there.
"Interesting," muttered Burton. "It's the tall boys who aren't returning. What does that mean, I wonder?"
"But I say!" cried Swinburne. "What the dickens put you on that particular track?"
"You did! When you were looking into the mirror in Jacob Spratt's room I realised that it was leaning against the wall at an angle exactly suited to someone of your height; considerably taller than little Ned and Charlie. I then checked the shoes and slippers in the rooms and saw that they were all of a comparatively large size."
"Auguste Dupin!" screeched the poet excitedly, jumping around the older man like a whirling dervish.
"Calm down, you silly ass!" The king's agent chuckled.
Swinburne, though he became uncharacteristically silent, did not calm down. As they walked along, his gait became increasingly eccentric, until he was practically skipping, and he wrung his hands together excitedly, twitching and jerking as if on the verge of a fit.
By the time they'd waved down a hansom and were chugging homeward, the poet could contain himself no longer, and exploded: "It's obvious, Richard! It's obvious!"
"What is?"
"That I have to masquerade as a chimney sweep!"
"What the devil do you mean?"
"You must see the Beetle again and arrange for me to join the League. I'll work in the Cauldron and will put myself in harm's way until I get abducted!"
"Don't be bloody ridiculous!" snapped Burton. "I have enough deaths on my conscience; I'll not add yours."
"You don't have any choice. If you don't help me, I'll do it despite you!"
Burton's eyes blazed. "Blast you, you little squirt! It's suicide!"
"No, Richard. It's the only way to find out where the werewolves come from and where the boys are being taken. Look at me: I'm the same height as Jacob and Rajish and Benny and the other missing lads! I'll wander the streets after dark until I get myself kidnapped, and, somehow, by hook or by crook, I'll get a message to you!"
"I forbid it, Algernon! I absolutely forbid it! For all you know, the boys have been killed. And how the hell will you send a message?"
"I'll carry a parakeet with me!"
"It won't work! You'll not find one that'll be content to sit in your pocket without swearing at the top of its voice. It'll attract attention and you'll end up with your throat cut, if not by the loups-garous then by an East Ender."
"I don't know how then, Richard, but I'll find a way. It's our only hope of solving this case!"
"Our only hope? What do you mean, our? Since when did you become my assistant?"
"Since just now-and I'll not be dissuaded; this plan will work and you know it!"
"I know no such thing."
Their argument raged on until they reached Swinburne's lodgings, by which point Burton had concluded that nothing he could do or say would convince the little poet of the madness of the scheme. He was even tempted to mesmerise his friend but Swinburne's personality was so eccentric that his behaviour under magnetic influence was impossible to predict and might prove just as dangerous as his crazy plan. So, reluctantly, he agreed to talk to the Beetle later in the day.
At the back of his mind, an idea was emerging, and he realised that a return visit to Battersea would also be required.
When he arrived home, Sir Richard Francis Burton found that the roadworks were now right outside his house. The two workmen were obviously toiling with far greater efficiency than the average labourer, digging a deep, narrow trench and filling it in behind them as they progressed.
"Fast blighters, ain't they, Cap'n?" came a voice.
It was Mr. Grub, the chestnut vendor.
"They are indeed, Mr. Grub," agreed Burton. "You're taking the day off."
"Not by choice. Some idiot lost control of his penny-farthing and knocked my Dutch oven over. Put a whacking great dent in it. I had to send it off to my brother-in-law, the metalsmith, to hammer it back into shape. A darned hazard, all these new contraptions, don't you think?"
"I do, Mr. Grub. I do. I wonder what they're up to?"
"The diggers? They're laying a pipe. Probably a new gas main."
Burton looked at the two workmen; funny-looking chaps, he thought. More like gravediggers than labourers.
He bade Mr. Grub farewell and entered his home.
Mrs. Angell confronted him in the hallway.
"Now then, sir," she said, with hands on hips and a tapping foot. "They finished the new window a half hour ago and I've made your room shipshape again-but I would very much like to know what all that nonsense was about. I've put up with your ungodly carousing on countless occasions but you've never caused such mayhem before. Who was that white-skinned scoundrel?"