The Vice Society

by James McCreet

  ‘We will try.’

  ‘What happened to you? Who struck you?’

  ‘Later. We must try to escape.’

  With much assistance, and amidst the terrible cacophony of the raid, Noah managed to descend the stairs and out into that enclosed yard, a grimy brick enclosure where most of the indecent stock of the shop had been piled upon a platform of wooden slats.

  Mr Poppleton was in a state of extreme agitation, made worse now by coming face to face once more with Noah. Then, as the first policemen began to pour into the shop through door and splintered windows, the publisher closed his eyes in resignation and shook his head. He looked to John.

  ‘Burn them. Burn them all.’

  The boy made to light a lucifer match, but at that exact moment Inspector Newsome entered the yard at a run, his face crimson with effort and his truncheon raised.

  He was immediately robbed of the power of speech, however, by the scene before him. For in addition to the expected pile of corrupting filth, he saw there in that piteous quadrangle the wanted publisher Henry Poppleton, the disgraced former-detective George Williamson, and the escaped transportee Noah Dyson, who had not so very long ago threatened the inspector’s life. If the latter looked around suddenly, it was perhaps because he also expected to see Benjamin.

  Surprise or no surprise, his words were decisive: ‘Gentlemen – you are all under arrest.’

  FOURTEEN

  It was difficult for Inspector Newsome to define precisely what it was about Eusebius Bean that he disliked so much. The spy was so quotidian in appearance, so banal in manner, that he barely existed. Yet exist he did, and he had been following the inspector since Sir Richard had ordered it.

  They were sitting in Mr Newsome’s office at Scotland Yard the morning following the bookshop raid and Eusebius was giving his report on what he had witnessed prior to the raid (the second time, incidentally, that he had given such a report – though not to the police). The inspector was only half listening. Instead, he was shuffling the disparate pieces of the case in his mind. These latest developments were quite astounding and had left him at a loss to explain the seemingly endless ramifications of that simple fall from a window seven days before. He certainly dare not go to Sir Richard with these latest developments without first attempting to make sense of them.

  ‘Must you do that with your tongue?’ he interrupted Eusebius.

  ‘Do what, Inspector?’

  ‘That constant licking at the corner of your mouth. It is quite distracting and gives you an air of the insane.’

  ‘A harmless habit.’

  ‘Well, see if you can stop it. To summarize what you have rather long-windedly said thus far: Mr Williamson questioned the waterman while Noah Dyson went into the bookshop. Benjamin waited up the street.’

  ‘Benjamin?’

  ‘The Negro. He is with Dyson.’

  ‘Yes. I saw the waterman (Joseph is his name) pointing at the window above Colliver’s and I deduced—’

  ‘Leave the deducing to the detectives, sir. Besides, we have the gentlemen in custody and we can speak to them at our leisure about what was said.’

  ‘On that subject, Inspector: I do not see how you can hold Mr Williamson, Mr Dyson and the Negro. The former two cannot be convicted of any crime save being in a shop, and the latter was merely waiting on the street.’

  ‘You are quite the lawyer, Eusebius – but incidental evidence points to Mr Williamson being involved in the investigation of this case. That may not be a crime, but I want to know why and what he has discovered – as well as his reasons for involving Dyson. There is something highly suspicious going on here, and if a period in gaol for these gentlemen is my only means of leverage, I will use it.’

  ‘Who is this Noah Dyson and why do you speak of him with such dislike?’

  ‘The man, and his dusky colleague, is a menace – but one I have underestimated before. Gaol is the best place for him.’

  ‘He is a criminal, then?’

  ‘He was a transportee and escaped his captivity in Australia. If it were that simple, he would be back there now. But he has also been a cracksman and has worked for the Detective Force in ... in an unofficial capacity. The situation is complex.’

  ‘From what little I have heard about these men, I fear they are unlikely to be cooperative, whatever you threaten them with. Is it not possible to speak with them frankly and discuss the case? If they have a stake in it, they may be happy to have the assistance of the Detective Force.’

  ‘Unlikely. And more complicated than you imagine. My relationship with each of the parties has not been without difficulty; there is a certain degree of ... of animosity.’

  ‘May I suggest a solution, Inspector? The Vice Society has many wealthy benefactors, as you may know. Perhaps I could enquire whether one of them might provide a venue where we and the gaoled men might converse in an atmosphere of neutrality, away from the threat of prison and the force of the law. I know that there is much enthusiasm among my employers for this case to be solved.’

  Inspector Newsome looked at Eusebius sceptically. The very reasonableness of the suggestion made the spy seem even more objectionable – but it was an intriguing idea. He affected to give it some thought.

  ‘I could most likely organize somewhere this very day,’ offered Eusebius.

  ‘All right, all right – see to it. But do not let Sir Richard hear of it. Digressions from procedure disturb him. And let me know as soon as possible where and when we will meet. I will be here waiting.’

  Mr Newsome watched the back of the departing spy with distaste, and some distrust. There was something about the man – something indefinable that made one reticent in his presence. It was as if he were mentally recording everything in order to use later, probably against one. It was a concern that perhaps he should have gone to Sir Richard about, but, alas, the inspector thought he had the better of Eusebius Bean.

  That thought was fleeting, however, and gave way to the more pressing information on the desk before him: the news of Mr Jessop’s brutal end, the report that Mrs Colliver had gone missing, and the apparent murder of someone who the inspector would very much have liked to speak with – someone with whom Mr Williamson had spoken just the previous day. The sooner he could talk to that wayward ex-detective, the better. Fortunately, the opportunity was conveniently at hand.

  A profusion of fresh flowers in vases adorned the opulent reception room in St James’s, filling it with an almost nauseating sweetness. The gentlemen seated there in incongruous comfort, however, did not appreciate the finery of its furniture and décor, for Mr Williamson and Noah wore irons about their ankles and handcuffs on their wrists.

  Though alone in the room, they knew that the constables who had accompanied them from their separate gaol cells were close by in adjoining quarters. Both men were dishevelled and ill-tempered after a sleepless night on a cold stone floor, but their senses were keen and they remained observant. Noah had glimpsed a fine library and a liveried servant through a briefly opened door, while Mr Williamson was reading the room for clues as to whether the residence was that of single or a married man.

  ‘What is this about, George?’ said Noah under his breath.

  ‘I have no idea,’ replied Mr Williamson in equally hushed tones, ‘but I sense Inspector Newsome’s hand in it.’

  ‘Where are we? I could not see clearly from the carriage but I am certain we are close to the park. Is this house part of the Force’s assets?’

  ‘I have never been here before and do not know of it. Did anyone question you at the prison?’

  ‘No. You?’

  ‘No. Evidently that is the purpose of this curious development. I imagine that the inspector knows he cannot repeat his previous tactics with us.’

  ‘What tactics might he have? He has no case and no reason for suspicion – we were merely customers in a locked shop . . . or does he know about your investigation of the Holywell-street case?’

  ‘I have n
o reason to believe so, but we will see. We must be careful what we reveal.’

  ‘The Persephone letter?’

  ‘Perhaps. Let us wait to see what this episode is about. Follow my lead. Have you had any communication from Benjamin?’

  No. I am sure he managed to make his escape. Very likely he knows where we are . . .’

  Noah paused as a handle rattled. The door opened and Inspector Newsome entered with Eusebius Bean following silently behind.

  ‘Mr Williamson, Mr Dyson – welcome,’ said Mr New-some, not quite making eye contact with Noah. ‘I trust you both slept well . . . No answer? Well, I suppose you have reason enough to be discontented.’

  ‘Why are we here, Inspector Newsome? And what is this place?’ said Mr Williamson.

  The inspector and Eusebius took seats opposite their captives before the fire. ‘This is a private residence kindly offered to the Detective Force so that we may speak together in an . . . unofficial manner.’

  ‘Offered by whom, and to whose benefit?’

  ‘That is unimportant, Mr Williamson. What is important to me is your interest in the Holywell-street case and why you should be found together with the elusive Mr Dyson on the premises of a major suspect in that case.’

  ‘I have expressed no interest in the case you speak of, though I have read of it in the Times. As for being in a shop, might not a man visit a bookshop without suspicion?’

  ‘Let us not be childish. You have attempted to question Mrs Colliver on the matter at her coffee house; you were also seen and heard yesterday discussing it with the waterman on Holywell-street – and you have recently questioned a prostitute of Haymarket. What is your interest, Mr Williamson – and how is Mr Dyson here involved?’

  Mr Williamson hoped that the rush of blood from his features was not visible. The thought of policemen observing him with Charlotte at Haymarket was an outrage, a humiliation that left him momentarily speechless.

  Noah perceived the shock of his co-captive and, pointing to Eusebius, addressed Mr Newsome with his customary lack of fear. ‘Who is this fellow sitting beside you like a faithful dog, Inspector? I see from his stature that he is not a policeman.’

  ‘Who he might be is of no consequence to you, Mr Dyson. I am asking the questions. Among them is why you were found in the courtyard of Mr Poppleton’s shop amidst a pile of indecent literature and with a fresh injury upon your head?’

  ‘I entered to purchase a book and was struck on the head when a number of policemen battered in the storefront. On regaining consciousness, I was quite amazed to see that a fellow customer was George Williamson, previously of the Detective Force. I understand you were instrumental in his dismissal.’

  ‘Nonsense!’

  ‘My story is nonsense? Or my comment about Mr Williamson?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘Prove it.’

  Colour rose in the inspector’s face and he seemed ready to explode. Eusebius leaned closer to him as if to offer a whispered comment, but was waved vigorously away as if an insect. Mr Newsome breathed deeply and turned once more to Mr Williamson.

  ‘I have no interest in prosecuting either of you. I simply want to know of your interest in this case. If you are seeking a solution, there is no reason why we cannot share what we know to our mutual benefit.’

  ‘That would require reciprocal trust,’ interjected Noah, ‘and I have seen no reason that you can be trusted.’

  ‘You are an escaped convict and could be shipped back to the Antipodes any time I see fit!’

  ‘I believe we have an agreement on that subject, Inspector.’

  ‘An agreement, you say? Do you mean that you have threatened my life if I pursue the matter? That is neither legal nor an agreement, Mr Dyson.’

  Noah gave a lupine smile. ‘I have no idea what you mean.’

  ‘So it was a different Noah Dyson who entered my private address a few months past and left a dagger under my pillow?’

  ‘It must have been.’

  ‘What made you seek out this man, George?’ said the inspector, turning to Mr Williamson. ‘I am sure you do not need his help as an investigator.’

  ‘You have seen fit not to tell me about your colleague sitting beside you there,’ said Mr Williamson. ‘In return, I feel no obligation to explain why I am reacquainted with Mr Dyson. And if we are talking about trust, I think a measure of it might be achieved if we were not sitting here in irons.’ Mr Williamson held up his wrists with a rattle.

  Inspector Newsome nodded and took a ring of keys from his waistcoat pocket. He handed them to Eusebius. ‘If you will be kind enough.’

  ‘I know you,’ said Mr Williamson as he offered his bonds to be unlocked. ‘You were patrolling Holywell-street just prior to the raid. If you are not a detective – and I am sure you are not – you are certainly a habitual observer of some variety. Indeed, I will venture that you take your usual payment from the Society for the Suppression of Vice. Am I right?’

  Eusebius’s face remained as blank as if he had heard nothing.

  ‘Astute as always,’ answered Mr Newsome with a forced smile.

  ‘I am curious what causes that Society to work so closely with the Detective Force, Inspector. I would have thought that Sir Richard was against their spies. Indeed, I wonder if he knows of your methods of prying into my business as a private citizen?’

  ‘In turn, I am curious about your interest in my case, Mr Williamson. Are we going to speak about it, finally – or merely chat around the subject as ladies do?’

  ‘Before we offer any comment at all,’ said Noah, ‘I would be interested to know under what terms we participate in this discussion. As prisoners? As suspects?’

  ‘Ah yes – Mr Dyson and his terms. You give nothing for nothing, isn’t that so? In fact, you are both free to go. I apologize for my precipitate incarceration of you both. But it seems quite evident that we may be of help to each other. I accept that our dealings before have been . . . well, have been not ideal. On this occasion, however, there is no threat – just an exchange of information. Do those terms seem acceptable to you, Mr Dyson?’

  Noah looked to Mr Williamson, who nodded slightly and addressed the inspector: ‘I would say that our treatment so far is evidence enough of your trustworthiness . . . but perhaps we might tentatively agree to those terms.’

  ‘Then speak. What is your interest in my case?’

  ‘Hmm. The story is a complex one.’

  ‘I would expect nothing less.’

  ‘You know, of course, about Katherine’s death.’

  ‘Naturally. A tragic occurrence, but years ago and part of your past.’

  ‘And you know that I was never convinced of the verdict of suicide.’

  ‘Mr Williamson . . . George, you know that there was insufficient evidence—’

  ‘No. Regardless of what beliefs I have held these passing years, the fact of the matter is that, shortly after the Holywell-street incident, I received information that Katherine’s death was indeed murder and that the solution to that crime was the same as that behind Mr Sampson’s accident . . . if an accident it was.’

  ‘Preposterous! How could there possibly be any connection? There is no similarity whatsoever, apart from a fall from height. How did you receive this information? From whom?’

  ‘It was an anonymous, hand-delivered letter. No return address.’

  ‘And you believed it? George, your judgement has been clouded by your personal feelings. Where is this letter? I am sure it is a hoax.’

  ‘It has been my business of late to know a false letter from a true one, and I believe this one is true. I have it in a secure place.’

  ‘May I see it? If there is information relating to my case—’

  ‘There is no other detail. The contents are exactly as I have told you, but it suggests the Holywell case is no accident. Is that right?’

  ‘I am not at liberty—’

  ‘Wait,’ said Noah. ‘That is not in the spirit of our terms, is it, In
spector? Do you suspect murder or not?’

  Mr Newsome pursed his lips and gripped the arms of his chair. ‘All right. The evidence points to murder, but we have no ideas about suspects or motives. There are multiple clues and mysteries, but no clear conclusions. The investigation is ongoing.’

  ‘So what do you know?’ asked Mr Williamson.

  ‘Ah – now we get to the heart of the matter. What do you know?’

  ‘Hmm. We know what we have read in the newspapers and heard on the street: the fall, PC Cribb, Mr Sampson’s incoherent words, the drunken mariner Ned Coffin, the unknown young man and his carriage – as you say: many clues but few conclusions.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘How could I know more? Did you not instruct all constables that they were not to cooperate with me under any circumstances and on any case? I am no longer a detective – I have no authority to question people. Mr Dyson here has offered merely to offer advice.’

  ‘Do not take me for a fool, Mr Williamson. You have been pursuing your own case and interrogating people, that aged waterman on Holywell-street included. Who, for example, is Persephone?’

  Noah and Mr Williamson managed by an effort of will not to turn to each other, but the weight of the silence that followed the name was enough to tell Inspector Newsome of its significance. Eusebius, who until this point had been sitting quite placidly, flicked a tongue at the corner of his mouth and shifted position.

  ‘Come now,’ said Inspector Newsome, ‘I told you we have spoken to that street girl you visited at Golden-square. You may assume we have learned all that was discussed, so let us not pretend otherwise.’

  ‘You have been following me,’ said Mr Williamson with barely suppressed emotion. ‘On what authority? Am I a suspect? Who do you have watching me and why?’

  ‘It was purely coincidental. As I said before, you were seen by a constable at Haymarket. He overheard your conversation. You know how the men gossip, and so I heard the news.’

  ‘I think not. You said earlier that I met the girl at Hay-market. Now you say Golden-square. Do you think I would not have noticed a uniformed constable near me at Hay-market? There was none. I was clearly followed.’