Authors: Edward Marston
The clock on the desk began to strike and Leeming realised how late it was. It was time to go home. He downed the last of the whisky in one gulp then rose to his feet.
‘What will
you
be doing tomorrow, sir?’ he asked.
‘Going to Birmingham. I need to speak to the bank manager.’
‘Better you than me. I hate long train journeys. They unsettle my stomach. To be honest, I don’t like travelling by rail at all.’
‘Really? I love it. Believe it or not, there was a time in my youth when I toyed with the notion of being an engine driver.’
‘The life of a cab driver has more attraction for me.’
‘You prefer the horse to the steam locomotive?’
‘I do, Inspector.’
‘Then you’re behind the times, Victor,’ said Colbeck. ‘The railways are here to stay. In any race between them, a steam train will always beat a horse and carriage.’
‘That’s not what happened today, sir.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The mail train came a poor second,’ argued Leeming. ‘It was put out of action completely while the robbers escaped overland by horse. I think that there’s a message in that.’
Colbeck pondered. ‘Thank you, Victor,’ he said at length. ‘I do believe that you’re right. There was indeed a message.’
The fight was over almost as soon as it had begun. After exchanging loud threats and colourful expletives, the two men leapt to their feet and squared up to each other. But before either of them could land a telling blow, they were grabbed by the scruff of their necks, marched to the door and thrown out into the alleyway with such force that they tumbled into accumulated filth on the ground. Rubbing his hands together, the giant Irishman who had ejected them sauntered back to the crowded bar.
‘I see that you haven’t lost your touch,’ said a voice in the gloom.
‘Who are you?’ growled Brendan Mulryne, turning to the man.
‘I was waiting for you to remember.’
Mulryne blinked. ‘Haven’t I heard that voice before somewhere?’
‘You should have. It gave you a roasting often enough.’
‘Holy Mary!’ exclaimed the other, moving him closer to one of the oil lamps so that he could see the stranger more clearly. ‘It’s never Mr Colbeck, is it?’
‘The very same.’
Mulryne stared at him in the amazement. The Black Dog was one of the largest and most insalubrious public houses in Devil’s Acre and the last place where the Irishman would have expected to find someone as refined as Robert Colbeck. The detective had taken trouble to blend in. Forsaking his usual attire, he looked like a costermonger down on his luck. His clothes were torn and shabby, his cap pulled down over his forehead. Colbeck had even grimed his face by way of disguise and adopted a slouch. He had been standing next to Mulryne for minutes and evaded recognition. The Irishman was baffled.
‘What, in God’s sacred name, are you doing here?’ he said.
‘Looking for you, Brendan.’
‘I’ve done nothing illegal. Well,’ he added with a chuckle, ‘nothing that I’d own up to in a court of law. The Devil’s Acre is a world apart. We have our own rules here.’
‘I’ve just seen one of them being enforced.’
Colbeck bought his friend a pint of beer then the two of them adjourned to a table in the corner. It was some time since the detective had seen Mulryne but the man had not changed. Standing well over six feet tall, he had the physique of a wrestler and massive hands. His gnarled face looked as if it had been inexpertly carved out of rock but it was shining with a mixture of pleasure and surprise now. During his years in the Metropolitan Police, Mulryne had been the ideal person to break up a tavern brawl or to arrest a violent offender. The problem was that he had been too eager in the exercise of his duties and was eventually dismissed from the service. The Irishman never forgot that it was Robert Colbeck who had spoken up on his behalf and tried to save his job for him.
A pall of tobacco smoke combined with the dim lighting to make it difficult for them to see each other properly. The place was full and the hubbub loud. They had to raise their voices to be heard.
‘How is life treating you, Brendan?’ asked Colbeck.
‘Very well, sir.’
‘You don’t have to show any deference to me now.’
‘No,’ said Mulryne with a grin that revealed several missing teeth. ‘I suppose not. Especially when you’re dressed like that. But, yes, I’m happy here at The Black Dog. I keep the customers in order and help behind the bar now and then.’
‘What do you get in return?’
‘Bed, board and all the beer I can drink. Then, of course, there’s the privileges.’
‘Privileges?’
‘We’ve new barmaids coming here all the time,’ said Mulryne with a twinkle in his eye. ‘I help them to settle in.’
‘Would you be interested in doing some work for me?’
Mulryne was hesitant. ‘That depends.’
‘I’d pay you well,’ said Colbeck.
‘It’s not a question of money. The Devil’s Acre is my home now. I’ve lots of friends here. If you’re wanting help to put any of them in jail, then you’ve come to the wrong shop.’
‘The man I’m after is no friend of yours, Brendan.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because he doesn’t really belong in this seventh circle of hell,’ said Colbeck. ‘He’s an outsider, who’s taken refuge here. A gambler who drifted in here to play cards and to lose his money.’
‘We’ve lots of idiots like that,’ said Mulryne. ‘They always
lose. There’s not an honest game of cards in the whole of the Devil’s Acre.’
‘He still hasn’t realised that.’
‘Why do you want him?’
‘It’s in connection with a serious crime that was committed earlier today – a train robbery.’
‘Train robbery!’ echoed the other with disgust. ‘Jesus, what will they think of next? There was never anything like that in my time. The only people I ever arrested were beggars, footpads, cracksmen, flimps, doxies, screevers and murderers – all good, decent, straightforward villains. But now they’re robbing trains, are they? That’s shameful!’
‘It was a mail train,’ said Colbeck. ‘A substantial amount of money was also being carried. They got away with everything.’
‘How does this gambler fit into it?’
‘That’s what I need to ask him, Brendan – with your help.’
‘Ah, no. My days as a bobby are over.’
‘I accept that. What I’m asking you is a personal favour.’
‘Is it that important, Mr Colbeck?’
‘It is,’ said the other. ‘I’d not be here otherwise. It’s been a long day and walking through the Devil’s Acre in the dark is not how I’d choose to spend my nights. No offence, Brendan,’ he added, glancing around at some of the sinister faces nearby, ‘but the company in The Black Dog is a little too primitive for my taste.’
Mulryne laughed. ‘That’s why I like it here,’ he said. ‘The place is alive. The sweepings of London come in through that door, looking for a drink, a woman and a fight in that order. I keep very busy.’
‘Could you not spare some time to assist me?’
‘I’m not sure that I can, Mr Colbeck. I’ve no idea what this man looks like and not a clue where to start looking.’
‘I can help you on both counts,’ said the detective. ‘When I finally persuaded his wife that I needed to track him down, she gave me a good description of William Ings. He’s living with a woman somewhere. But the place to start is among the moneylenders.’
‘Why – did he borrow from them?’
‘He must have Brendan. He lost so much at the card table that he had to sell or pawn most of the furniture in his house. The only way he could have carried on gambling was to borrow money – probably at an exorbitant rate of interest.’
‘There are no philanthropists in the Devil’s Acre.’
Colbeck leant in closer. ‘I need to locate this man.’
‘So I see. But tell me this – does that black-hearted devil, Superintendent Tallis, know that you’re here?’
‘Of course not.’
‘What about Sergeant Leeming?’
‘There’s no need for Victor to be told,’ said Colbeck. ‘That way, he can’t get into trouble with Mr Tallis. This is my project, Brendan. You’ll only be answerable to me.’
‘And there’s money in it?’
‘If you can root out William Ings.’
Mulryne pondered. Before he could reach a decision, however, he saw a drunk trying to molest one of the prostitutes who lounged against the bar. When she pushed the man away, he slapped her hard across the face and produced a squeal of outrage. Mulryne was out of his seat in a flash. He stunned the troublemaker with a solid punch on the side of his head before catching him as he fell. The man was lifted bodily and hurled out of the door into the alleyway, where he
lay in a pool of his own vomit. The Irishman returned to his table.
‘I’m sorry about the interruption,’ he said, sitting down.
‘You have a living to earn, Brendan.’
‘I do, Mr Colbeck. Mind you, I can always do with extra money. Since I became forty, my charm is no longer enough for some of the girls. They expect me to buy them things as well – as a mark of my affection, you understand.’
‘I don’t care how you spend what I give you.’
‘That’s just as well,’ said Mulryne. ‘Before I agree, promise me there’ll be no questions about any friends of mine here who might accidentally have strayed from the straight and narrow.’ His eyes glinted. ‘I’m not an informer, Mr Colbeck.’
‘The only man I’m interested in is William Ings. Will you help me?’
‘As long as my name never reaches Mr Tallis.’
‘It won’t,’ said Colbeck, ‘I can assure you of that.’
‘Then I’m your man.’
‘Thank you, Brendan. I appreciate it. Though I’m afraid it won’t be easy to find Ings in this rabbit warren.’
Mulryne was confident. ‘If he’s here – I’ll find the bastard!’
Polly Roach was much older than she looked. By dyeing her hair and using cosmetics artfully, she lost over a decade but her body was more difficult to disguise. She had therefore placed the oil lamp where the spill of its light did not give too much away. As she lay naked in his flabby arms, she made sure that the bed sheet covered her sagging breasts, her spindly legs and the mottled skin on her protruding belly. She nestled against his shoulder.
‘When are you going to take me away from here?’ she
asked.
‘All in good time.’
‘You said that we’d have a home together.’
‘We will, Polly. One day.’
‘And when will that be?’
‘When it’s safe for me to leave here,’ he said, unwilling to commit himself to a date. ‘Until then, I’ll stay with you.’
‘But you told me that I didn’t belong in the Devil’s Acre.’
‘You don’t, Poll.’
‘You promised that we’d live together properly.’
‘That’s what we are doing,’ he said, fondling a breast and kissing her on the lips. ‘I left a wife and children for you, remember.’
‘I know, Bill.’
‘I changed my whole life just to be with you.’
‘I simply want you to get me out of the Devil’s Acre.’
‘Be patient.’
William Ings was a plump man in his forties with large, round eyes that made him look as if he was in a state of constant surprise, and a tiny mouth that was out of proportion with the rest of his facial features. It was lust rather than love that had drawn him to Polly Roach. She offered him the kind of sexual excitement that was unimaginable with his prudish and conventional wife and, once she had a hold on him, she slowly tightened her grasp. During the first few days when he moved in with her, he was in a state of euphoria, enjoying a freedom he had never known before and luxuriating in sheer decadence. It was worlds away from the humdrum routine of the Post Office.
The shortcomings of his situation then became more apparent. Instead of having his own house, he was now
sharing two small rooms in a fetid tenement whose thin walls concealed no sounds from the rest of the building. Ings soon learnt that his immediate neighbours, an elderly man and his wife, had ear-splitting arguments several times a day and he had been shocked when he heard the prostitute in the room above them being beaten into silence by one of her more brutal customers. In the room below, a couple had made love to the accompaniment of such vile language that it made his ears burn. In the past, paying an occasional brief visit to Polly Roach had been exhilarating. Living with her in a place of menace was beginning to have distinct drawbacks.
‘What are you thinking, Bill?’ she asked, gently rubbing his chest.
He sat up. ‘I’ve decided to go out again.’
‘
Now
? It must be almost midnight.’
‘There are places that never close.’
‘You don’t want to play cards again, surely?’
‘Yes, Poll,’ he said, easing her away from him. ‘I feel lucky.’
‘You always say that,’ she complained, jabbing him with a finger, ‘yet you always manage to lose somehow.’
‘I won this week, didn’t I?’ he said, peevishly.
‘That’s what you told me, anyway.’
‘Don’t you believe me?’
‘I’m not sure that I do.’
Anger stirred. ‘Where else would I have got so much money from?’ he said. ‘You should be grateful, Polly. It enabled me to leave my job and move in here with you. Isn’t that what you wanted?’
‘Yes, Bill. Of course.’
‘Then why are you pestering me like this?’
‘I just wanted to know where the money came from,’ she said, putting a conciliatory hand on his arm. ‘Please don’t go out again. I know that you feel lucky, but I’d hate you to throw away what you’ve already earned at the card table. That would be terrible.’
‘I only play to win more,’ he insisted, getting up and reaching for his clothes. ‘This is my chance, don’t you see? I can play for higher stakes.’
‘Not tonight.’
‘I must. I have this feeling inside me.’
Her voice hardened. ‘How much have you given to
her
?’ she asked, coldly. ‘I don’t want you wasting any of our money on your wife.’
‘That’s a matter between me and Maud.’
‘No, it isn’t, Bill.’
‘I have responsibilities.’
‘
I’m
your only responsibility now,’ she said, climbing out of bed to confront him in the half-dark. ‘Have you forgotten what you promised? You swore that I was the only person who mattered in your life.’