The Inquiry Agent

by William King

  “No, Doctor. I have come about somebody else. A girl. She was beaten by the same men as beat me and I'd like you to take a look at her.”

  “Very well, Mr Brodie, just let me get my bag.”

  “There's one thing you should know -- she lives in St Giles.”

  He surprised me. “Why do you think that matters?”

  “She's not the most respectable sort of woman.”

  “Is she hurt?”

  “Maybe very badly.”

  “Then let's go and take a look at her.”

  “I'll pay her bill, Doctor.” He nodded and looked grim and we made our way back to the cellar.

  The doctor looked quite shocked at Sarah's surroundings and he looked even more shocked by her condition. He turned and he glared at me as if I were the one responsible and said, “What sort of animals would do this?”

  “The sort that walk on two legs.”

  Sarah opened her eyes and looked up and said, “Who are you?”

  “I'm a doctor, and I'm just going to take a look at you.”

  “I'm not going to die, am I, Doctor?”

  “No, I don't think so. What's your name?”

  “Sarah.”

  “That's a pretty name,” he said as if he were talking to a child. She smiled anyway in a dreamy, hazy sort of way. The doctor glared at me and said, “I see Dr Brodie has prescribed you laudanum. He does the same thing for himself.”

  “He's very good to me, Doctor,” she said. “He always pays me well.”

  The doctor looked at me again and I was surprised to see that his face was red as he blushed with embarrassment. It was obvious that he misunderstood the relationship that existed between Sarah and I.

  “Stand out off my light there, man,” he said. “And pull that curtain across the room. I would like some privacy while I examine my patient.”

  “As you say, Doctor,” I said and did as I was told. There was no way that the sacking could completely seal off the side of the room that I was in and I watched him through a gap in those improvised curtains. He examined Sarah meticulously and conscientiously, prodding her in a manner that I remembered well and which she took no better than I did. It took him a while and as he performed his task he kept asking her questions not just about how she felt but about the men who had done this. In her drugged condition she answered him fully and even apologised to him for betraying me to Billy Tucker.

  After a while, he was done and she was dressed again and decently covered in that thin blanket. He rose and came over to me and said, “She is lucky, I don't think there's any internal injuries. Given time and rest she should get better.”

  “Thank God for that,” I said. “What now?”

  “She has laudanum and she should just stay in bed until the healing is well begun.” I looked at her landlady and she nodded as if she understood and would make sure that it happened.

  “Thank you for coming, Doctor,” I said. “I am grateful.”

  He looked at me seriously for a long time and said, “If I were the sort of man who believed in injuring people, Mr Brodie, I would tell you to find the men who did this and hurt them very badly.”

  “And if I was the sort of man who did that sort of thing, Doctor, I would take that advice.”

  “Then I think we understand each other, Mr Brodie.”

  I offered to pay him but he shook his head and took another last long look around the room before making his way up the stairs. I decided that I would accompany him to make sure that he didn't get into any trouble, a thing that was easy to do in St Giles.

  As we walked I found myself brooding about Billy Tucker and his friends and what it might be necessary to do to them when next we met and whether I would have the will or the nerve to do it. It’s an easy thing to threaten to kill a man. It is a much harder thing to do.

  After seeing Dr Davies safely home, I went back to my own place to rest and get ready for the night's work ahead. I sat down beside Rachel watching her sleep, and praying that she would get better. The old heavy fear settled itself in my stomach, and I thought about what might happen that evening.

  I could not help but remember that The Rat’s Nest was where Sarah had said she had met Billy Tucker the previous week. I would be lying if I said that the thought of meeting Billy and his friends did not trouble me but I could not think of anything else to do. Bart had said he would be there so I would need to be there also if I wanted to reclaim Mr Soames's goods and get the money that would help pay for getting Rachel well again.

  Her small form looked so fragile and her breathing was so shallow that she already seemed half way towards leaving this world. I reached out and ruffled her hair and she groaned in her sleep. Her forehead was clammy and felt a little cold, like a foretaste of the grave. My shoulders hurt, my arms hurt, my chest hurt and I felt as if a huge weight pressed down on me, but none of that mattered I realised. There were things I simply had to do and nothing was going to stop me doing them.

  Donald came in from school and tiptoed over to where I sat when he saw me waiting there. He rested his head on my shoulder and put his arm around me and I could tell that he was frightened too. Mrs Marshall had cooked the evening meal that I was too nervous to eat much of and I did not want to take any more laudanum for tonight I would need all my wits about me.

  When I got up to go, Donald stood in the doorway as if he would bar my way if he could. Gently, I lifted him up and placed him to one side and walked out of the warmth into the cold darkness.

  “Take care, father,” I heard him say behind me.

  “You too, son.”

  The night was cold and the breeze blowing through the alleys carried a moist chill. Such lights as there were flickered, and sometimes as I passed a baked potato seller a shower of sparks would erupt from the brazier when he opened the drawer to take out his wares.

  The Rat’s Nest was a rough place, located in a cellar beneath a crumbling building in a rotten street in St Giles. It was a haunt of the roughest sort of men and women, a real rat's castle. People looked up as I came in. I recognised some of them but it was mostly a new crowd now. A large number from my day had either gone abroad for the good of the country, or they were in jail or they were dead. There were a lot of new faces and over in one corner I saw the man I was looking for.

  It was not the sort of place where you wanted to show any fear. So I didn't. I walked as confidently as I could manage across to the table where Bart Tobin sat with his friends. Obviously, the presence of so many bullies and brawny lads gave him confidence, for he smiled up at me and said, “Good evening, Mr Brodie. Chilly out, isn't it?”

  “Very, Bart,” I said. I looked at the men he was drinking with and ordered a beer for all of them. After that, I said, “I would like a word in private.”

  “Of course, Mr Brodie. Lads, if you would be so kind as to leave us for a few minutes, Mr Brodie and I have some business to discuss.”

  The lads vacated the table taking their beer with them and I sat down on the bench facing Bart. A glance around the bar showed me some more faces I recognised including Fat Frank, the knifeman, and a couple of others that might well be connected with Bart's little crew.

  “Do you have anything for me, Bart?” He smiled and reached inside the long, black trenchcoat he was wearing and threw a package of letters bound by a ribbon onto the table. I picked them up and turned them over. I sniffed them for they had an odd scent, that might have been some old-fashioned perfume or camphor. I plucked one letter out of the bundle, and inspected it. It was a single old sheet of paper, folded and once sealed with wax. The address was written on the outside of the sheet and the name given was Charles Soames although the address was not Brighton House but some place in the City.

  “It's not very interesting,” said Bart. “Just some old love-letter. I took the liberty of reading it while I was waiting for you just make sure there was nothing interesting to the people I represent in it.”

  “Reading other people's letters, Bart, h
ave you no shame?”

  “Most likely not, Mr Brodie. I find it doesn't pay.”

  “Did you read that in Jack Sheppard, Bart?”

  “I don't know what you mean, Mr Brodie.” He smiled though and I'm sure he understood the reference. He was very young and very cocky and I wondered how long it would be before he found himself in Australia or swinging from the end of a rope. I have lost count of the number of confident young men like Bart I had seen that happen to.

  “Are those the documents you were looking for, Mr Brodie?”

  “They certainly look like it, Bart. I'll need to show them to my principal and make sure.”

  He shook his head, ever cautious. “Keep that one. I will return the others to my associates until the deal is done.”

  I hid my disappointment as best I could and said, “Fair enough.”

  “Assuming that he approves them, how would we move on from here?”

  “I would get the money and you would get the goods and we would exchange them. Assuming that you want to do the exchange yourself.”

  “Is that the way you would normally do it?”

  “Normally, the people with the goods would go through an intermediary such as Old Nick Nicholson down by the docks. But since you're already acting as an intermediary I am not sure that you would want to do that. It might be safer for all concerned.”

  “I'm not so sure about that, Mr Brodie. I've heard stories about Nicholson and I'm not sure I trust him.”

  Bart was one of the new generation of scoundrels, and perhaps he was wiser than those who had belonged to the last. If I had been him, I probably wouldn't have trusted Nicholson either. Not about the job itself -- I am sure that would have gone through without a hitch, but about what might have happened afterwards and what Old Nick might have been able to do with information. I didn't say that though because his suspicion was not going to make my job any easier.

  “Then what would you have us do?”

  “It would suit me to have a meeting in my crib in Seven Dials.” I could tell by the way his smile widened that he didn't expect me to go along with that but he felt that he had to try it anyway.

  “Do you really think that I'm going to carry all that money into the Dials, Bart? I might get robbed. And where would you be then?”

  “Are you saying you don't trust me, Mr Brodie?” He said it as if that were not the most natural thing in the world.

  “There are a lot of thieves in the rookeries.”

  “It's a shame that there's so little trust in the world.”

  “I couldn't agree more, Bart. But sometimes suspicion is wisdom.”

  “You're a philosopher, Mr Brodie. Well Nicholson’s it is then. Nine o’ clock tomorrow night suit you?”

  “The sooner the better, so yes.”

  He glanced over my shoulder and a shadow passed over his face and as I wondered what he'd seen a heavy hand fell on my shoulder in a parody of a thief taker grabbing his mark. Pain surged through the bruised area and a voice I recognised said, “Well, well, well. Mr Brodie -- this is a pleasant surprise. I didn't think you would have the nerve to show your face here.”

  I turned around and found myself looking up into the smiling face of Billy Tucker. He tightened his grip and increased the pain in my bruises. Behind him loomed the gigantic Tiny and weasel-faced Dave Smedley.

  I tried to rise but Billy's hand and the pain it had inflicted kept me firmly in place. A desperate glance around showed not a friendly face in a crowd, merely a group of people looking on as interested spectators in what might prove to be a deadly show.

  “This is a stroke of luck. You've saved me the trouble of having to go and look for you. It's a pity there's nothing I can do to repay you for that. Because I'm not going to subtract anything from the debt you owe me.”

  “Good evening, Billy,” said Bart Tobin. “I was just talking with Mr Brodie here and I think it's bloody rude of you to interrupt.”

  “Keep your nose out of this, Tobin, and it won't get cut off. I have business with Mr Brodie here that is 10 years old and it won't wait. Get up, Brodie, we're going to have our little chat now.”

  I was in an awkward position. My back was to Billy and he had his two friends with him. I tried twisting free but Billy had too good a grip on me and he was strong enough to hold me in place.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Bart reaching inside his coat and then, all of a sudden, there was a pistol in his hand and it was pointed directly over my head. As ever, Bart's hand was very steady.

  “As I was saying, Billy, it's very rude of you to interrupt my little chat with Mr Brodie and if you don't let him go, I'm afraid I may have to blow your brains out.”

  There was a certain devil-may-care bravado in Bart's manner that made you suspect that he meant what he said. Well, any sane man would have.

  “I'll cut your throat, Tobin, if you get in my way.”

  Bart cocked the pistol. “I'm not going to tell you again, Billy. Let Mr Brodie go. He and I still have business to do. I don't care what you do to him afterwards but right now he's worth a lot of money to me. And I'm not going to let you do me out of it.”

  I could sense the tension in Billy. He was straining not to throw himself at Bart. His face was a ghastly rictus. He looked like a madman. Tiny laid a massive hand on Billy's shoulder and began to pull him away. Billy started to struggle but there was no way he could break Tiny's grip.

  “Let me go Tiny, or I'll have you too.”

  “This isn't the time, Billy, or the place.”

  Wicked rage surged through me and I turned, rising and punched Billy in the stomach. It was a sort of punch that would have doubled him over if Tiny hadn't been holding him and it drove all the wind out of him anyway. Tiny saw what was happening and let Billy go, which just set him up for my next punch. He dropped as if pole-axed.

  In a moment all was confusion. Tiny and Dave threw themselves at me but by that point Bart's boys had intervened. Fat Frank had his knife out and was coming at Tiny and a couple of the others grabbed Dave. I took the opportunity to give Dave a good kick between the legs.

  “That's for Sarah,” I said. I felt something cold and metallic pressed against the back of my head and Bart's voice said, “That's quite enough, Mr Brodie. You've had your fun. I think you'd better get out of here. Tomorrow night then.”

  “Where we agreed?” I wasn't thinking straight otherwise I would never have asked where Billy could hear us. Fortunately Bart kept his wits about him better than I did.

  “Yes. Now you better go and talk to your principal and I'll see that Billy doesn't follow you.”

  “I'll see you suffer for this, Bart Tobin,” said Billy. I took another kick at him.

  “That's enough, Mr Brodie. And Billy -- just in case you haven't noticed, I'm the one with a gun.” To give Bart his due, he was a cool one.

  “You won't always be.”

  I walked out and headed for home. As I did so I could hear the sound of policeman's rattles. It looked like somebody had decided to send for the law before a massacre took place in the Rats Nest. I felt a little better after working out my frustrations on Billy and Dave. Of course, I knew that it would only lead to worse things down the road. These things always do.

  Tuesday, April 13th, 1841

  I took a cab to Brighton House. Mr Soames agreed to see me at once in his study. Amanda Mayhew was with him, reading to him from a book as he took a sip of brandy from his glass. At that moment, I rather envied his gracious mode of living.

  “My God, Mr Brodie, what has happened to you?”

  “I got into a fight with some men, sir,” I said.

  “Nothing to do with what you were working on for me, I hope.”

  “Only peripherally, sir.”

  “Well, take a seat man, and have some brandy, for the pain.”

  “I don't mind if I do, sir.” He poured me the brandy himself, a full measure, while Miss Mayhew watched appalled. I wasn't sure whether by my injuries o
r by the fact that I was drinking in front of my employer. After I had taken a sip of Mr Soames's brandy, I produced the letter that Bart Tobin had given me and handed it over to the master of the house.

  “Do you recognise it, sir?” He took it eagerly with trembling hands.

  “This is one of my letters. Thank you Mr Brodie.”

  “I have not read any of it, sir.”

  “I would never have suspected that of you, Mr Brodie. There was no need to even mention it.”

  “Thank you, sir. It would seem that I have made some progress in this case.”

  “Where are the rest?” There was a strange eagerness in his voice, and a hint of embarrassment too when he looked at Miss Mayhew, which I did not understand.

  “I believe I can get them for you this evening, if you wish it, sir.”

  “Where did you get the letter, Mr Brodie?” Miss Mayhew asked.

  “I would rather not say, Miss. I have my reasons for that. I'm sure your uncle understands what they are.”

  “But I do not, Mr Brodie.”

  “Now, Amanda. There's no need to be rude to Mr Brodie. He's only doing his job.”

  “I'm sure Miss Mayhew did not mean anything, sir.”

  “I want to know what Mr Brodie has been doing, uncle,” she said, in a manner quite different from the one she usually used. I got the impression that she talked to Mr Soames more that way when they did not have visitors though, for he seemed accustomed to it. They exchanged stares for a while and it was Mr Soames who tore his gaze away first. He gestured with his hand to indicate that I should proceed. Miss Mayhew looked at me, curious now to see what I would say.

  “I got the letter from a man who was most likely a thief. He gave them to me as an earnest of good faith, if such a description can be applied to a man in his profession.”

  “Good faith? For what?”

  “To show that he could put me in contact with the people who stole your uncle's papers.”

  “Do you mean an informer?”