The Major gave a wave as he advanced up the garden path. They had never worked together. He knew what Felix was and did, just as Felix knew, within limitations, what Mearns did, but that did not make them friends.
Mearns was jealous of Felix â plain, straightforward, manly jealousy on account of Mindy, and he could see that Mindy liked Felix. He did not try to stop being jealous. Jealousy was not a wine to drink in moderation. Better to get drunk on it and get over it.
Â
The front door was not locked â hardly practical to have it locked with members of the Unit coming and going all the time. Felix advanced to meet Mearns while beckoning to the other man to whom he had been talking, nodding him to the way out. A big burly figure, he brushed against the Major, but touched his forelock politely as he did so.
Addressing Felix, Major Mearns said: âJust calling to see you.'
âI wondered when you'd do just that.' He led Mearns through to the room the Unit used, and spread out his hands, as if offering a display. âYou see us as we are â a bare room. Don't be mistaken though.' He tapped his forehead. âIt's all here.'
âBest place for it.'
âSame place you use, from what I've heard.' It was true enough that Mearns wrote very little down, even delivering important reports by mouth. He had learnt that much of politics: trust no one.
âEveryone says you are doing a very good job. That's what I hear.'
Felix nodded. âGood. You want to talk about poor Dol's death? That's it, isn't it?'
âI don't deny it.'
Felix walked across the room to a cupboard in the wall, from which he took a bottle and two glasses. âLet me offer you a drink.' He poured a good measure. âI was advised to keep a bottle of brandy in case I should need to receive a lady in distress or a gentleman suffering an Injury.'
âAnd have you?' The bottle was half empty.
Felix gave his charming grin. âNot so far. But I have several times felt a little strained myself.'
The Major looked at his glass, studying the colour and smell. âRum,' he said aloud.
âI fancy it works better than brandy, and I prefer it myself.'
âWhat more is known about the death of poor Dol? Is her killer known? Or even caught?'
âNot caught, of course,' said Felix soberly. âNot known either.' He paused, then went on: âShe was strangled â¦you saw that for yourself. Strangled by a pair of hands.'
âBy a man then?' the Major suggested.
âIt does seem likely, doesn't it? One of her â¦
customers â an unsatisfied one?' There was a note of doubt in Felix's voice. âBut the poor young actress who found her â¦'
âHenrietta Temple,' prompted the Major, thinking it was the first time anyone had called Henrietta âpoor'. âYoung', yes, but not âpoor', as she specialised in rich protectors â one of whom was a Royal duke.
There was a hint of a smile at the back of Felix's eyes, which suggested he knew all about Henrietta.
âYes, she says she saw a woman disappearing into the darkness. Dressed all in black.'
âSo the strangler could have been a woman?' The Major wanted to follow this through.
Felix shrugged. âNo one else saw a strange woman in the Theatre that night. Doesn't mean anything, of course. The play was
Macbeth
after all; there were a lot of people going round dressed in dark cloaks.'
âThe three witches, for instance?'
âThe Thorntons â husband and wife â were two of them,' said Felix, with that smile again.
âThey were all on stage for most of the performance. I could see them lurking around,' said the Major reluctantly. He did not like Mr Thornton and would have been glad to have had him for murder. âPerhaps his wife pretended to be both of them â¦she's large enough.'
âWhoever it was, it scared that poor young woman who saw her,' said Felix sardonically.
âOught to have had some of your brandy or rum ready for the poor girl.' Mearns was enjoying his own potion, while wondering why Felix was being so generous.
âShe was given some water. Women are tough, you know. And an actress â¦trained to recover quickly.'
Their glasses were refilled, then Felix said, with some hesitation: âThere has been some trouble in the Theatre lately ⦠I have been looking into it.'
âAh!' thought Mearns, âso that is why I got a welcome. He wants to tell me, and find out what, if anything, I know.'
âThefts?'
âNo, I don't believe that would disturb them so much. No.' Again some hesitation before stating: âBlood â¦'
âNasty.' It was all Mearns could say as he gulped down some rum. He was thankful Denny was not with him, because for sure Denny would have claimed the blood for Traddles. He could almost hear Denny's voice: âThat's Traddles' blood â¦so that is where he was killed and cut up.'
His own voice was echoing it, but silently. Yet he knew he had to say something.
âHow much blood?' he asked at last â his voice steady, trying not to sound too interested.
âTwo or three pools in the yard behind the Theatre. It leads on to Waterloo Place.'
âThen on to Peascod Street.'
âThat's right.'
âYou can see why the blood and now the killing are making them all nervous.' Felix was walking slowly round the room as he spoke.
âYou too,' the Major thought to himself. âYou need help, my friend. This is too much for you, Felix, and you
don't know what to do.' He decided to tell him.
âSomeone will know who killed her and someone else will know about the blood.'
âDo you think so?'
âYes, you just have to keep asking. It's how it works.' The Major tried to sound decisive.
âGod help me,' Major Mearns thought, âI hope I'm right. Always worked inside the Castle, but that's a special world. No secrets inside the Castle. In the end someone always tells you.'
âWhere is her body now?' he asked.
âDown the mortuary,' replied Felix matter-of-factly, adding: âThe Coroner's orders.'
The same place Traddles was. Or parts of him. The dead calling to the dead.
Â
Down the road, Charlie had crawled out from behind the holly hedge where he had hidden after realising Mr Pickettwick was talking to the Major about him. He had nothing against Mr P â a nice, jolly old fellow who knew where to keep his hands, which was not true of all. In any case, it had not taken Charlie long in London to learn how to deal with gropers and graspers. His first friend, Gog, had instructed him: âYou are a pretty boy, Charlie, and round here you can use that for money, if you choose; but don't go free. Teeth, nails and feet, Charlie; use 'em. You can practise on me.' Which was good of Gog, but Charlie had not done so. There was one lesson he had already learnt: never trust anyone.
He emerged from his hiding place in time to see the
Major go into a house further down the road. Whose house it was he did not know, nor why Mearns should be calling there, but in the story he was forming in his head it was because there was someone living inside with whom he must speak.
Yes, that was it, an important interview was about to take place. But there his plot stopped for the time being. Real makers of plots, he told himself, waited to see how the story grew. He would have liked to have a scene of jokes and laughter here, but nothing would come. He had already discovered that such scenes were hard, but joyous, to create. He walked down the road just in time to see Felix come out to greet the Major. Then they went into the house.
Charlie would like to have followed. He could see the two men talking together. He liked the Major better than Felix; he seemed the stronger and the kinder of the two. It would not do to rely on any man's kindness, of course, nor did he. But if he had any trust in his heart, then he felt it for Mearns. For Denny, too â he felt he could make a friend of Denny. It was his secret wish to have a friend.
A narrow, muddy passage ran between this house and the one next door. Charlie took himself down the passage, half crouching and stumbling in the mud.
There was a side window through which he could see the two men inside, talking and drinking. He nodded and thought that that was what men did. He himself had once been offered an ale and some stronger stuff, but he had had one taste and not enjoyed it; nor had he felt confidence in the motives of the man who had offered
it. One swig and he had felt woozy â a feeling half agreeable and half alarming. In the world in which he moved, it was best to keep on your own two feet, with your eyes wide open.
As his eyes were now.
He had got round to the back of the house where there was a patch of sad-looking grass and a small shed in which a cat had taken up residence. The cat looked sleek and well fed.
There were two windows for him to look in. One was large and uncurtained, allowing him a good view of a totally empty room. Bare boards on the floor, no furniture, but a wall cupboard into which, to his annoyance, he could not see.
The next window was small, high up, and uncurtained like the other one.
He moved on to look in to the smaller window. By reaching up, hanging on to the slate windowsill and dragging himself up, Charlie could see into the room.
This room was bare of furniture, but it was not empty.
On the boards a thin figure was lying on a pile of rags, and covered with a stained old blanket. Older than Charlie, taller and thinner.
By the side of the lad, pressing against his side, was a starved-looking terrier.
The dog looked up at Charlie. Then he moved away from the boy towards the window. Charlie saw he was lame; he limped on his left back leg.
âYou don't look like a biter,' Charlie said.
He dragged himself on to the sill, pushed open the
window from the bottom, and squeezed through. The air in the room was frigid, as if it had stored up the cold.
The dog gave a soft growl and the boy on the floor rolled over and opened his eyes. He reached out his hand and the dog came close. They huddled together.
âAll right,' said Charlie. âFriend.' He knew fear when he saw it.
The boy thought about it. âSpike,' he said at last.
âAnd the dog?'
âDog.'
So no name there, just âDog'.
âWhat do you do?'
He thought again. âSweep,' he said.
Charlie looked around the room. In one corner stood a big broom. And it was true that, although empty, there was no dust in the room.
He turned back to the boy. He had got used to the signs of starvation and ill treatment in London. He had learned to recognise them, and he saw them here.
âAre you hungry?'
Spike nodded.
Charlie had in his pocket two large sausages that he had bought the day before against his own hunger during the day. What meat had gone into the sausages he did not know, but he expected them to be tasty enough.
He produced one, which he handed over to Spike. Then he saw the dog's eyes following it. âYou're hungry too?' He handed the other sausage to the dog, who took it gently and neatly, taking himself off to one side of the room to eat it. Spike nodded and smiled.
âA nice pair,' thought Charlie. âI am on your side.'
He went to the door, which was not locked, and opened it on to a narrow passage. He stood listening.
Voices. One he knew was the Major's, and the other was that of Felix. Charlie crept down the corridor to listen. The first word he heard clearly was âblood'.
â¦it cannot be blood from Dol; she did not bleed,' said Felix.
âMight be an animal's blood â¦cat, rat, dog.' This was the Major.
Charlie at once thought of Dog. Dog limped. But no, no sign of blood. So not Dog's blood, nor Spike's.
âPity we cannot say whose blood,' said the Major.
âNo way to do that.'
âNo.' To Charlie's sensitive ear it was not clear if the Major was relieved or disappointed about this. âWhat will you do about the blood? Can't leave it there.'
Felix was dismissive. âI have someone who will clear it away ⦠sweep it into the drain.'
âSpike!' thought Charlie.
Charlie went back to Spike. âListen, I am your friend. I will come again. Trust me.'
He patted the lame dog and crawled out of the window.
Coming down the lane, he met the Major walking through the gate.