Temple was silent for a few moments before he said: “I see. But that’s not the reason you’re here, Master Knob—not directly, at least. You’re here to answer questions about Jack Hanrahan and Alexander Ross.”
“Hanrahan!” Ned exclaimed. “What do I know about Jack Hanrahan? And who on Earth...” He broke off again, cursing himself for not having remembered soon enough that Alexander Ross was the name Sawney had been given at birth—and the name under which he had recently been hanged.
“You were seen talking confidentially to Hanrahan last night at Sharper’s,” Temple stated, baldly, “just before your friend Ross came in—startling you as much as everyone else. I understand.”
“Hanrahan said that there was something he wanted to talk to me about,” Ned admitted, remembering the fact belatedly, “but I never found out what it was because Sawney came in just then—and Hanrahan backed away, like a frightened rabbit.”
“But you do know Hanrahan—and you know his profession.”
“I know him as well as any of the regulars at Jenny’s—which no one calls Sharper’s any longer, by the way, though the old plaque still hangs outside the door. He, I dare say, knows me a little better, since I’m now in charge of Sawney’s old troupe—his actors, I mean, lest you should think I mean something else. I can’t replace him on stage, of course—no audience could take a man of my status seriously in the kinds of roles he used to play—but I can write and direct, and ever since Sawney persuaded Jenny to take down Tom’s old boxing ring and make a stage instead, we’ve gone from success to success. You should come and see my boys and girls perform, Mr. Temple—although it might be as well to come as Solomon Green. Some of the old hands are better by far at holding grudges than I am. What are you doing nowadays, by the way? I never really believed the rumor that said you were in Bedlam, let alone the one that said you were dead—although I think Suzanne might be very grateful for some proof of their falsity, if she really has none.”
“That’s not what you were brought here to talk about,” Temple said, sharply. “And so far, you’ve told me nothing at all. How did Ross cheat the rope?”
“A very interesting question, Mr. Temple,” Ned said, “And another I might have the answer to, if only I hadn’t been interrupted. He seemed confused when I asked him, and I was trying to help him remember when his physician arrived to take him away. I fear that Sawney’s memory isn’t what it used to be, since he doesn’t seem to remember that my poor Pretty Molly is long dead. I could have detained him, of course, but when a friend you took for dead shows unexpected signs of life, it’s hard to be vexed with his physician.”
Gregory Temple produced something from his waistcoat pocket and threw it on the table. It was Germain Patou’s visiting card. “Who is he?” the former head of Scotland Yard demanded, as if he still had every right to do so.
“If you’ve read the card,” Ned said, “you know exactly as much as I do. If you had a spy in Jenny’s last night, who saw Jack Hanrahan come to talk to me, he must have heard every word that was spoken between us.”
“Every word except one,” Temple retorted, as if he had caught Ned out in a tremendous lie.
“Oh, that,” said Ned, disdainfully. “I merely said à l’avantage. That’s what the Knights of the Deliverance used to say in France, you know, instead of the for the best they whispered when they met in London. Patou did not give the customary reply—but he probably thought it unnecessary, given that the Emperor is dead and the Deliverance disbanded.”
“That being the case,” Temple said, coldly, “Why did you say it?”
“Because he is French, and because I’ve found it a very useful way to ingratiate myself with a certain kind of Frenchman. I told you just a few minutes ago, if you recall, that I carried a vital message to the Brotherhood at the new chateau. They have cause to be grateful to me, even though their cause is lost, and I’m a man who knows the value of gratitude. I can admit that safely, can I not, Mr. Temple? You cannot have me hanged merely for knowing a defunct password, and using it a trifle promiscuously.”
“And this Patou recognized the Deliverance’s watchword?” Temple queried, “Even though he did not make the approved reply?”
“He admitted openly to having met Bonaparte before he was Emperor, and to having a dear friend in common,” Ned pointed out. “As to who that friend might have been, your guess is as good as mine.”
Temple stood up, as if he wanted to pace around the room, but he thought better of it. He sat down again, but he held himself upright so that he could look down on Ned in spite of the fact that they were both seated. “Don’t play games with me, Master Knob,” he said, apparently trying to sound menacing. “As yet, you have not given me a single item of useful information.”
“I’m aware of that, Mr. Temple,” Ned agreed, wondering what the times were coming to when a man like Gregory Temple had to make an effort to sound menacing, and could not be entirely convincing in the role. “Just as I’m aware that you haven’t told me why I should. The truth is, alas, that I have no such information to give you, and I’m not playing games with you at all. I’m as curious to get to the bottom of this matter of the grey men as you are, and would be glad to trade facts with you, if you had information to give me in exchange—but I’m an honest man, and will not try to trick you into telling me what you know without having anything to offer in return. I’m sorry that my knowing your daughter seems to offend you, but I’m not ashamed of being her friend, any more than I’m ashamed of being a radical and a man of some reputation at Jenny Paddock’s. You may try to terrify me with your power and authority if you wish, but I repeat that I do not deserve your contempt, and you have no right to hold me here without charge.”
Gregory Temple stared at him in open amazement, astonished to be addressed in such a manner by a man like Ned Knob. Ned felt that it was time to seize the initiative.
“I think I can guess, now,” Ned aid, “why I was knocked on the head last night—it was last night, I presume? Your spy wanted to take possession of the card that Patou gave me, to discover what he had written on the back. You’re ready to move against the body-snatchers whose increased activity has begun to cause alarm in Westminster—but I’m not part of that conspiracy. I’m an innocent bystander, who merely happens to be a friend of one of the men this Germain Patou seems to have brought back from the grave.”
“You’re a rogue and a liar, Master Knob,” Temple said, his snarl still unconvincing. “Who was the man you saluted from the quay near London Bridge?”
Ned’s head had been quiet for some little time now, thanks to the laudanum and the care he had taken to be still, and he felt that he had learned more from his present situation than Gregory Temple had learned from him. He felt that he was a step ahead of his captor now—which was exactly where he liked to be, in every situation.
“Ah!” he said softly. “So that is what this is really about. That is why we are here à deux, I suppose. No subordinates, no superiors—just poor Ned Knob and the once-great Gregory Temple. You should have lied to me, Mr. Temple, and told me that I had indeed been seized by burkers, and that you really had dashed to my rescue. I might have believed you, at least for a second or two. These are dark days for men of your kind, are they not? The government is direly anxious, since the gagging acts have made things worse instead of better. This is London, of course, not Paris—we are more careful to keep the existence of our secret police as secret as their names. You were the top man at Scotland Yard, I know, but that was before your supposed madness and public disgrace. You take orders now, I dare say, but you’re not the sort of man to follow them to the letter, and if personal matters should intrude on your inquiries... well, once again you know as much as I do, Mr. Temple. The man wore a Quaker hat, as I’m sure you’ve been told. I saluted the hat, for old time’s sake, although I could not see who wore it. Your guess is as good as mine.”
Temple clearly had not liked this speech, but he had a tight rein on his tempe
r at present. “And what is your guess, Master Knob?” he asked, with feigned politeness.
“If it is him,” Ned replied, without hesitation, “then I suppose he too might have been brought back from the dead. Indeed, I can hardly suppose otherwise, since I know for a fact that he has not been in contact with his beloved Jeanne since the day he was reported to have shot himself in the head.”
“You’re teasing me, Master Knob. Why do you not name him?”
“Because I hardly know what name to give him. Should I call him Comte Henri de Belcamp, or James Davy, or Tom Brown... or simply John Devil the Quaker?”
“I had to carry a message to his father that another Tom Brown had been captured and hanged,” Temple said, stonily, “having confessed to the murders of Maurice O’Brien and Constance Bartolozzi.”
“I know,” Ned replied, unable to stop himself although he knew that it might be unwise. “I sent that message.”
Temple scowled. “You flatter yourself a little, Master Knob,” he replied, almost calmly. “Ross was still the puppet master then, I think. Ross persuaded the boy to do it, and coached him in his speech.”
“And I persuaded Sawney to persuade him,” Ned replied. “Would you like to know why?”
Temple hesitated, but eventually said: “Ross refused to tell me the reason. I would have done better to ask him before he was condemned to hang, rather than afterwards, but I had no suitable opportunity.”
“He would not have told you no matter how much force or cunning you exerted,” Ned said, “but I will tell you, if you wish. Then I shall have told you something you did not know, and you’ll have no more reason to be annoyed with me.”
Temple did not like that, but he nodded his head. “Touché,” he conceded. “Why did you do it, Master Knob?”
“Because your daughter asked me to—oh, don’t be angry! She didn’t do it on her own behalf, let alone to strike a blow at you. She did it for the Marquis, and for Jeanne. They had such a fervent desire to believe—such a fervent need to believe—that Henri was not the assassin of Maurice O’Brien and Constance Bartolozzi that Suzanne asked me to help them in that, just as I was helping them in other ways. It was a small thing—there’s no shortage of men who are to be hanged, alas, and the lad would have done it merely for the jest and the notoriety, even if we hadn’t been able to offer help to his mother. He loved his mother, that boy—who was not Helen Brown, of course, no matter what he said in his little speech. You always knew that, I suppose... and yet you carried the message anyway, and offered it without comment. You’re right; I did take a little of someone else’s credit—not Sawney’s, but yours. If you had called the lie a lie... but you loved the old Marquis too, didn’t you? So you see, Mr. Temple, that we were allies once, even though you’re now a member of Lord Liverpool’s secret police, while I’m a steadfast reader of the Black Dwarf.”
“Don’t play games with me, Master Knob,” Temple said, stiffly. “The Marquis is dead now, and if John Devil really has returned from the dead, he’s your fast friend and my deadly enemy. I can keep you here, you know, for all that you haven’t been charged with any crime. You might not be a man to bear grudges, but you have never been subject to the pressure that was put on me. Believe me, Master Knob, I would not hesitate to kill you here and now if I thought that it would bring me one step closer to the real Tom Brown.”
“But it wouldn’t,” Ned pointed out, disdainfully. “And when you say that you can keep me here, you mean that you have the power, not the right. I am no longer the kind of man who bows down to power, Mr. Temple, but only to right. There was a time, I believe, when you were that kind of man yourself, and I hope that you still are. I have done nothing wrong, Mr. Temple. It is not a crime to stand on a quay and salute a Quaker hat, no matter what you might think of the man who might have been wearing it.”
“No, it isn’t,” Temple conceded. “But if I let you go, you’ll try to seek him out—and that will surely lead you into wrongdoing.”
“I am interested to know what has become of my friend Sawney,” Ned Knob said. “I am interested to know how he cheated the hangman, and how many other grey men there are in London just now. If Monsieur de Belcamp is responsible for Sawney’s rescue or resurrection, I shall be very pleased to make his reacquaintance—but I’m my own man now, Mr. Temple. I follow right, not power.”
“I’m interested to know how Ross cheated the noose myself,” Temple admitted. “Hanrahan and his sinister brotherhood have been far too busty of late, and the situation is getting out of hand. When rumors of the living dead reach the palace of Westminster, even the Luddites seem mere scarecrows. You might be useful to me, Master Knob. Will you work for me, if I let you go—until we discover the secret of the grey men?”
Ned had expected this, and had known for some time exactly what he ought to say, but when he opened his mouth to speak, he found that he could not do it. “No, Mr. Temple,” he said, as honesty got the better of him. “I won’t work for the police, secret or otherwise, in this or any other matter. If all men were equal before the law, I could respect it—but until they are, I’ll not assist it.”
Temple clicked his tongue. “All you had to do,” he said, resentfully, “was lie. I’d have expected you to betray me.”
“I’m sorry to have disappointed you,” Ned said, sarcastically. “But if you let me go, you’ll have to do it for the right reason, not because I’ve provided you with a sly excuse. If you want to connect Jack Hanrahan to Sawney, and prove that Germain Patou is the buyer for all the corpses ripped from their graves these last few weeks, you’ll have to do it yourself. And if you want to neglect your actual orders to go chasing after your old employee James Davy, who crushed your career and broke your system—and left you here in Newgate to explain why Richard Thompson had gone missing, even though you hadn’t had the privilege of freeing him—you’ll have to do that by yourself as well. I won’t report to you, Mr. Temple, and I won’t make false promises to you.”
Temple was no longer holding himself stiffly. Indeed, he had slumped so far down in his seat that he seemed little taller than Ned Knob—who had drawn himself up under the pressure of his bombast. Silence fell, and Ned moved his head from side to side to stretch the muscles in his neck. If the worst came to the worst, he thought, at least he’d be able to lie down until his headache was completely gone. If Temple released him, he’d not be able to allow himself to rest.
“If I were you,” Temple said, bitterly. “I’d be wondering why John Devil the Quaker has come to London without sending for his favorite messenger-boy. Perhaps he’s heard that you are now a man of principle, and is too delicate to offend you with a new offer of employment.”
“I know that you only mean to insult us both,” Ned replied, proudly, “but I could believe that. The Comte de Belcamp was always honorable in his dealings with me. I tried to blackmail him once, and he struck back at me as I deserved, but afterwards, he treated me as a man—and that was not the way I was accustomed to be treated, in those days.”
“His name,” Gregory Temple said, dourly, “if he really is still alive, is Tom Brown. He lost the moral right to be the Comte de Belcamp long before he pretended to shoot himself in the head in his father’s presence. You might have provided another Tom Brown to take the blame for some few of his crimes, but that was mere sham. If he really is alive, he is—as he has always been—a common criminal nurtured and raised by Helen Brown.”
“He is far more complicated than that,” Ned riposted, “and always was. That was his gift—whereas other men played parts, while remaining the same in secret, he lived all his roles wholeheartedly. When he was playing the assassin, he was the ultimate assassin; when he was playing the cavalier, he was the bravest and most chivalrous knight there ever was. Jeanne would not understand, of course—she could not begin to comprehend how such a perfect lover could vanish from her life completely, if he were not actually dead—but I am a wholehearted man myself, Mr. Temple, and I have a very good und
erstanding of stagecraft, thanks to Sawney. I understand how plays are made, and how they ought to grip their audience. I understand how this scene is supposed to go. given your character and mine. You should let me go, Mr. Temple. Tell yourself, if you must, that you will always be able to find me again, if and when you think further interrogation might be valuable. In the meantime, you can go after Jack Hanrahan, or investigate Germain Patou’s address in Stepney, as you please.”
“This is no more a play than it’s a game,” Temple told him.
“All the world’s a stage, Mr. Temple.” Ned replied. “Now that we’ve each said our piece, it’s time for us to move back into the wings. I don’t doubt that we’ll have other scenes to play, in later acts, but this one is surely done. Am I free to go?” He got down from his chair as he spoke, and as glad to find that he could stand upright without feeling dizzy.
Gregory Temple stood up too, not too proud to take full advantage of his height in looking down upon his insolent prisoner. He needed every inch to make himself convincing, as he said: “I can find you when I need to, Master Knob—and I can bring you back here at the snap of my fingers. I can put a noose around your neck, if the whim takes me. Next time we have occasion to talk, you really ought to be ready and willing to answer my questions.”
“Yes, Mr. Temple,” Ned said, content to be meek now that he had made his point. “I know all of that—and I think we understand one another. Will you take me to the turnkey now, and instruct him to let me go free, so that I may go about my business?”
Chapter Three
The Burking Business
Ned did not know whether to be glad that he was released into broad daylight, or annoyed that he had been kept all night in prison. He consoled himself with the thought that it was not the first night he had spent in a cell, and was highly unlikely to be the last, given that he had declared himself an enemy of the Crown and all injustice. He bought himself a good breakfast and a mug of beer—which seemed to clear away the drowsiness imparted by the laudanum without bringing his headache back in full force—and then he went to the public baths to wash himself.
The Shadow of Frankenstein Page 3
