“Look at this,” he said. “Several marks on this machine, clear as day. If there are marks on these shears we’ll know for certain whether this tailor was the man following you and whether he stabbed that man at the workhouse.”
“It won’t prove he killed Little.”
“No, but if we compare these shears to the pair used on Pringle and then compare them to the marks here on this sewing machine … well, if they all match, I think we’d be reasonably safe in pinning the blame on this fellow. What’s his name again?”
“Cinderhouse. The marks of his fingertips still won’t be enough to convict him.”
“Perhaps not, but they’ll be enough to convince you of his guilt, and with your case narrowed in so precisely, you’ll find the proof you need.”
Day smiled. “That I will.”
Kingsley went about the task of comparing finger marks, humming quietly under his breath while Day poked about the shop, looking for anything that might be construed as evidence of a crime. Henry Mayhew bobbed about in a corner of the shop, dancing to the tune Kingsley hummed.
“Detective,” Kingsley said.
Day looked up from a red smear he had found along a crack in the floorboards.
“This sewing machine,” Kingsley said. “It appears to be moving.”
Day trotted over to the counter. The machine, though bolted to the countertop, was rocking back and forth, almost imperceptibly, as if being tugged by something. Day followed the length of fabric tied around its base. The makeshift rope was pulled taut across the counter and ran down into a cupboard on the other side. In the base of the cupboard, there was a square hole. The fabric disappeared into the darkness below the shop. Day squatted outside the cabinet. He drew his gun again and shouted.
“Hullo! Is someone down there?”
After a moment, an answer echoed up and into the cupboard.
“Who’s that?” the voice said. “I warn you, I’m armed.”
Day frowned. “Hammersmith?” he said. “Is that you, man?”
96
Blacker followed Penelope Shaw through the foyer and into a well-appointed parlor. He whistled.
“Lovely.”
He meant that the lady herself was lovely. He had never seen such a creature in his life. He had seen her only briefly in hospital, where her husband had died, and her face had been red and puffy from crying. Even then she had been breathtaking. Her scent filled the room and he felt light-headed. No wonder Hammersmith had been so eager to spend time in her company. He would need to focus on the task at hand. He reminded himself that the most beautiful women were often the most dangerous.
“I mean your home,” he said. “You have a lovely home.”
“Thank you,” Penelope said. “My son, Bradley, and I are happy here. Would you care for tea?”
“Oh, good Lord, no!”
“Well, all right.” She looked hurt.
“I’m sorry,” Blacker said. “That was a bit emphatic of me, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, a bit. I take it you’ve spoken with Mr Hammersmith.”
“I do apologize.”
“No, it’s perfectly understandable. I made a horrible mistake with him. I should never have-”
“Think nothing of it. Water under the bridge and all that.”
Blacker was mortally embarrassed for having made things so awkward between them. He had no idea how to bridge the silence, and so decided he would take his leave and return another time.
“Well,” he said, “I’m sorry to have disturbed you today. Perhaps I could-”
“Mother?”
Blacker turned to see a young boy standing under an arch by the staircase.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mother. I didn’t know you had company.”
The boy was perhaps five years old, and his tiny pointed face was creased with worry. He looked as if he’d always been worried. Blacker was glad of the distraction. He smiled and waved him over.
“Not at all,” Blacker said. “Come here, lad.”
The boy glanced at his mother and dragged himself over to them.
“What is it, Bradley?” Penelope said.
“It’s raining and I can’t go outside today. I thought perhaps we might play a game of draughts.”
“You always beat me.”
“I won’t beat you this time.”
“Maybe when I’ve finished with Mr Blacker.”
“Call me Michael,” Blacker said. “And your name is Hasenpfeffer, correct?”
“No. It’s Bradley.”
“That’s an extremely silly name.”
“Is not. It’s quite common.”
“It’s silly and I should know because I collect silly names.”
“It’s not a silly name at all.”
“I beg your pardon. Hasenpfeffer is a very silly name indeed.”
“But I didn’t say Hasenpfeffer. My name is Bradley.”
“I’m certain you said Hasenpfeffer.”
“And I’m certain I didn’t!”
“Well, perhaps you didn’t hear yourself say Hasenpfeffer. Honestly, I don’t see how you can hear anything at all when you’re walking around with that thing in your ear.”
“What thing in my ear?” The boy looked alarmed.
“You mean you didn’t put it there?”
Bradley shook his head.
“Then let’s see if we can’t fish it out.”
Blacker reached behind the boy’s ear and, with a flourish, drew forth a penny. Bradley gasped.
“Your ear is hardly the best place to keep money,” Blacker said. “Perhaps you should find a better place for it.”
Bradley took the penny and stared at it. Then he looked up at Blacker and grinned. He turned and held the coin out for his mother to see.
“Look, Mother, it’s a magic penny.”
“That’s wonderful.” She smiled at Blacker. “Bradley,” she said, “why don’t you go and show your new penny to Elizabeth.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And have her put the kettle on for tea, would you? I’m in the mood.”
Bradley ran out of the room with the penny cupped in his hands as if afraid it would vanish as easily as it had appeared.
“Thank you for that,” Penelope said. “I can’t remember the last time anything made him happy.”
“My pleasure,” Blacker said. “I rather like making people happy.”
Penelope smiled at him, and Blacker decided that making her smile again might be the most worthwhile task he could take up.
“That’s a nice thought,” Penelope said. “Bradley’s had a rough time of it lately. But I don’t think being a child is ever particularly easy.”
“It’s not particularly easy being an adult, either.”
“No.”
There was an awkward silence, but the tension in the room had dissipated and Blacker decided he didn’t want to leave after all.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry to do this, but I have to ask you some official questions.”
“Of course.”
“The person or persons who … well, who murdered Dr Shaw have, I believe, killed several others. I think they plan to continue killing unless they’re stopped.”
“You ain’t far wrong.”
Blacker and Penelope both turned at the sound of the woman’s voice.
Two women emerged from the entrance to a short hall at the back of the parlor. One was short and the other tall, with a long scar running down her face. They both wore too much makeup. The tall one had a pistol in her hand and it was pointed at Blacker.
“But you’re wrong about stoppin’ us,” the short one said.
“He ain’t the one,” the scarred one said.
“True. He ain’t the one. But he’ll do. Look at that silly ginger mustache.”
97
Up you go,” Day said.
He let go and the little boy, Fenn, was pulled upward through the shaft of light. The twisted linen rope held tight under the boy’s arms. Day stepped back and he and Hammersmith watched the boy disappear up into the tailor’s shop above as Henry Mayhew, the dancing man, hauled on his end of the rope.
“I’m a bit nervous,” Hammersmith said. “Can this fellow handle the weight of a full-grown man?”
“He’s unnaturally strong,” Day said. “I believe he’s perfectly able. Handy bloke to have around, to tell the truth, but he badly needs a hot bath.”