Chapter Eight
Sluefoot Sue’s Report on the search of the alley and thieves’ dormitory
“Well, Mr. Mowgli,” I said companionably as I stood looking upward in an alley strewn with piles of garbage, “It’s not that Ah mind comrades on this-here expedition, but Ah think you’ll find trackin’ in London a mite different from trackin’ in the rukh.” Widowmaker the Second snorted as I let his reins go slack. The horse backed up a few paces to get away from the stench.
Mowgli climbed down from the fire escape where he had been perched when I entered the alley. He wore nothing but a dark dhoti, or loincloth. His tied-back hair fell almost to his waist, shimmering blue-black in the lamplight.
“Tracking in London is different from tracking in Texas as well, is it not?” he said with his disarming, innocent smile. It was around one a.m. the day after the first Alexander Legacy meeting. Bagheera sniffed among the litter with a distaste equal to the horse’s, ignoring us humans for the moment.
“It is.” I wore a plain, dark trailcoat and Stetson. Widowmaker’s tack was also simple and dull black. “A lot smellier, fer one thing.” The great black leopard turned his head and uttered a sound like a gigantic purr over his watered-silk shoulder.
“Bagheera says the smells mean nothing and there are too many of them.”
“Cain’t disagree wi’ thet. But Ah ain’t sniffin’, y’ see, so it’s still possible to find something.”
“How did you know this was the alley where the Campbells were attacked?” Mowgli inquired after I had poked around in silence for a time.
“Because a trail’s been wiped away here,” I replied. “People, dogs, cats -- traffic comes inta alleys all the time an’ ever’thaing leaves a leetle mark, even when it’s been rainin’. But here they’s ever’thaing and nothin’. Why’s ever’ blessed garbage can knocked over? Why’s the garbage plastered on the walls, on ever’ inch a’ pavement and pothole? Mah friend, you seen somebody wipe over a trail with a branch t’ keep y’ from followin’ it, ain’t you?”
“To try to keep me from following it.” Mowgli scratched Bagheera behind the ears.
“Sure, sure. Well, that’s jest how it is here. Somebody wiped down this trail wi’ garbage. You see it now? Works better’n a branch, I’m afraid.”
“Bagheera says there is no sign the boy was ever here, and he knows his scent well.”
“See, but Ah ain’t lookin’ fer sign a’ th’ boy.” I toed over some rotten lettuce and found rotten eggs beneath. All three of us trackers wrinkled our noses and Widowmaker backpeddled farther. “Ah’m lookin’ fer a sign a’ somebody yer big black friend don’t know th’ smell of, or at least don’t know he knows it. Ah know as sure as Ah know there’s a heaven above an’ a hell b’neath thet our Mr. Dodge were here an’ wiped this alley. But th’ onliest sign is thet there ain’t no sign.”
“Yet it is a true sign, just as you say.” He muttered something in Bagheera’s ear, a guttural sound like a cross between a groan and a meow. The leopard slipped out of the alley and began to pace down the deserted street.
“Naow yew know whut Miz Phoebe said ‘bout somebody seein’ him.” I hurried after the cat. “She wuz that upset about y’all takin’ him out in th’ hallway t’ have a sniff b’fore eatin’ time.”
Mowgli laughed low and ran to catch up with the animal. “The boy saw him, and no one believed him. He called him a big dog. Bagheera was insulted, but he knows we are professionals. We are the dreams of wicked minds, Bagheera and I. Here Bagheera finds something, Sue. The boy’s scent is here.”
“I’ll be.” I pushed aside a battered and dented dustbin where Bagheera crouched, sniffing the wall beside it. I traced one particularly deep dent. “All them cans in th’ alley was beat up – new, shiny marks, like a man might do with a stick er club a’ some kind. Here’s jest the same kinda mark. Th’ boy leaned agin th’ wall here, Mr. Bagheera tells us, an’ Dodge was with ‘im, and struck th’ can--” I broke off and touched the wall two feet above the leopard’s nose “ – and by thunder he struck it here, too, while he beat th’ boy. That’s blood in ‘at-there chip in th’ brick.”
Bagheera went hungrily along the wall, making a low wailing sound. Mowgli and I followed eagerly. The cat stopped abruptly over a grating and growled as steam blew upward into his face.
“No, no, no.” I looked down and saw a white and red and dirty thing crumpled on a ledge below. Mowgli pulled Bagheera back by his black leather harness.
“So the boy’s sign ends here.” Bagheera broke free and went back to sniffing, working in an ever-widening circle.
“Mebbe not. Th’ child’s blood jest might give th’ scoundrel away.”
But Bagheera only continued to circle. Finally Mowgli bent down beside him and added his nose.
“Paugh! It is not the smell of blood, or of anything that was ever alive. What is it?”
I hesitated and fumbled with the hem of my skirt, getting hold of the lock to unlimber my knee joint. A faint squealing and hissing accompanied me as I knelt beside Mowgli. “Ammonia.” Mowgli looked blank. “People use it to clean windows and sech. He’s doused th’ whole area in it. So he dodges us agin.”
“The smell is everywhere he was. I remember now. It was thick in the hotel hallway.”
“Does he know we have an animal trackin’ ‘im?” I looked wildly around, putting a hand under my coat and feeling my Colt revolvers. “How could ‘e?”
“He could not have, unless he saw us corner the boy.”
“He cain’t be watchin’ all his people all the time.”
“I believe he was watching this one. It is the only way he could have known about Bagheera. Bagheera would not think the smell of a cleaning chemical remarkable inside a hotel. I did wonder why there was no scent of the man.”
“Ah’m guessin’ then thet he was already in his constable getup before the boy was caught. And he jest moved in as a constable would, answerin’ a call. He didn’t see you-all at the time, but figgered it out later an’ come back to cover his scent here and even at the hotel. And he used the nightstick t’ beat th’ boy t’ death fer failure, mebbe, or tellin’ whoppers ‘bout what he really did see. Well, we know he kin be a copper, a lawyer an’ a businessman. An’ we know he kin wipe out his trail, yet he can’t resist dropping that name Dodge around.”
“And that he will not hesitate to kill those who displease him.”
“Merciful heavens. O’ course. Zambo said thet’s what’s happened t’ some a’ th’ suspects who done disappeared.”
“We must find him quickly, Sue, or many more people will be ensnared and die. The pickpocket was so young.”
“What’s this?” I picked up an object by the doorway of a half-ruined building as they walked back toward the hotel.
“It is the knife the boy used.” Bagheera rooted around the doorway.
“Wow.” The leopard pushed his head against the door. I tried it, then pulled out my clasp knife and inserted it into the space between door and jamb. The door gave at once and we two slipped in.
“Go be shadow, Bagheera,” Mowgli whispered. Bagheera melted away. “He will not let anyone pass without warning us.” We advanced into the building through dust and fallen beams.
“It’s a death hole,” I breathed.
“But the boy was here.” We rounded a corner and came suddenly upon a room crowded with beds like an ocean liner’s steerage, hung on chains, stacked three or even five high. Bundles of rags decorated each and on a tiny cook stove in a corner were a coffeepot and flat pan.
Both of us turned abruptly as an ill-stifled cough broke the silence. Mowgli darted to intercept a figure leaving one of the beds and breaking for the door. He held aloft the squirming, ragged creature and showed me a boy no more than five, looking cadaverous in the dimness. He seemed so weak, yet he fought and kicked and scratched and swore.
“Where are the others?” I demanded. The boy clamped his mouth shut and shook his head, but a coug
h escaped him.
“Out to work,” I answered myself. “It’s about time fer th’ clubs ‘n’ late shows t’ be gettin’ out. Prime pickpocketting time. But yer sick, eh?” I lifted the child’s head and looked closely at him. “T.B.,” I said without emotion. “It’s a wonder he’s kept ‘im.”
“The children would rebel if they knew how lightly he would kill them. They only know someone has been arrested and does not come back. To keep this child -- it would seem to them a kindness.”
“They’ll assume anyone who’s missing’s been sent to another place, like Fun See’s lot in the Green Jade Sea, so’s they won’t be identified,” I mused. “We’ll take this lad an’ see if’n one a’ Miz Rose’s homes kin find a place for him. God have mercy on this man fer makin’ these wretches live in this place. Ah shall not be able t’ show ‘im any.”
“It is a roof, and beds, and hot food,” shrugged Mowgli, showing me a cupboard with tinned ham and bagged bread. “More than they had before, I am sure. In the cities of India children sleep in the gutter rolled together in balls like the wolf pups and no one gives them anything. They are beaten for stealing garbage.”
Bagheera sat curled in a black corner licking between his toes when we re-emerged from the hiding place. The black leopard stretched out and padded off ahead of us. The tiny boy gasped, coughed and fainted.
Mowgli and I stopped and bent over the boy. “Sue, he is dead.”
“Poor little devil. Must’a been further gone than Ah thought.”
“No, look at this.” Mowgli took a crumpled paper from the dead child’s hand. Inside the packet we found a few grains of greenish powder. Mowgli sniffed it, and even Bagheera had a try. “It smells like the ammonia you told us of.”
“It does,” I said softly. “People use it sometimes as a smelling salt – you know, faintin’ women and sech. Maybe the boy thought it would help him – like some kind of medicine. But it killed him.”
“I believe these children are taught to kill themselves if they are caught,” Mowgli murmured. “See, it is in his mouth, not his nose. He ate of it.”
“Who is this devil Dodge?” I growled.
After the trackers had finished their report we all sat in stunned silence for a few moments. Then a thought occurred to me. “I understand people being willing to wound or kill to prevent capture. But to kill themselves? And a child so young?”
“It seems incredible,” Madame Phoebe admitted. “What else are we to conclude? Doctor Twist, have you been able to analyze the sample they brought back?”
“It’s got ammonia in it,” Twist piped up. He produced a small dish and passed it around. “Be very careful not to touch it. Just take a small whiff. I’m not a botanist, but I turned up some kind of strong vegetable alkali. I don’t know what it would be but a poison.”
“Could it not be as Sue suggested -- That he was told it was a medicine?” I persisted. “The indicators do not add up to suicide. The child was kept there as an example of Dodge’s kindness -- his provision for these wretches. Mowgli said they were brought in off the street, given beds, warm food. They must have been full of hope, of courage, of loyalty.”
“Loyalty to a man who kidnaps them, sells them, ships them around the world?” Edward queried. “I don’t understand. Prisoners are housed and fed, but they still try to escape or give in to despair and become suicidal.”
“People in despair and hopelessness commit suicide, it is true,” I admitted. “But there cannot be such a state in such a small child warmed and filled and given medicine for his illness, even if it was a deception.”
“The Bohemian speaks truth,” Zambo nodded. “Many who live in cultures where slavery is common still treat their slaves well. They teach them skills, clothe them, educate them. These slaves rarely rebel. In fact, they will often sacrifice everything for their master.”
“Is this not one of the most effective means of breaking the prisoner’s will, of creating a willing slave?” I pressed on. Heads were beginning to nod all around the table. “Zambo speaks of kind masters, and there are some, for whatever reason unwilling or unable to set the slaves free. I do not believe Dodge has noble motives in making loyal slaves or that he intends to make them better as some masters truly do. Instead, Dodge dominates by creating dependence, a feeling that only he cares for them, only he will protect them, even the littlest, the weakest of them.”
“That substance, whatever it was, killed that child, didn’t it?” Oliver Twist suddenly seemed very uncertain himself on that point.
“From what Prince Florizel has said, does it really matter?” Madame Phoebe admitted. “He has proposed something I have not thought of before. We assumed Dodge was subjugating people to enrich himself by their thievery, making them violent and brutal. Sue said something in our first meeting that has just now sunk in. ‘The whole way of life is changing for them.’ Couple that with Zambo’s example of masters who educate and clothe their slaves. What if Dodge is actually making a new underclass? What if he has filled their heads with hope of rising above their current poverty? He might be planning some kind of a class uprising.”
“That’s a real possibility,” Twist exclaimed. “Do you think that drug could have been something to control them? Maybe just a mild sedative, or something that adds to the feeling of well-being?”
““It is something to consider,” Madame Phoebe agreed. “We know that Dodge is also involved in drug trafficking. It is another avenue of control he might be able to exert.”
“What has become of the pickpockets who live in the nest Mowgli and Sue discovered?” I asked, fearing the answer.
“We went back, and it was swept clean as with a branch,” Mowgli responded. “Everyone, every evidence of habitation was gone.”
Zambo’s report of the meeting with Mr. Guppy
“Reverend Ferrars,” the nervous little man said as Brother Edward and I filled up his tiny office in chancery court. Guppy was a law clerk. He wore a faded black suit that looked as if it could sprout moss or lichens, so greenish was it around the edges. Guppy’s pale hair was thin and badly cut and his glasses bore a strip of mending tape over the nose. “I don’t know what should have prompted a gentleman of the clergy to ask for a meeting with a humble law clerk such as myself. However, I am at your service.”
“Mr. Guppy,” Edward said with a nod. “This is my associate, Zambo. We have heard an interesting story about you from Doctor Oliver Twist.”
“Whereas I can freely attest, without fear of self-incrimination, that I have seen the gentleman in question about,” Guppy said, even more nervously, looking sideways at me. I hardly seemed to acknowledge his existence, but stood with my arms folded staring over Guppy’s head. Guppy shrank beneath my apparently mild, unfocused glance. “I cannot think what evidence he might be in a position to present regarding myself that would interest you.”
“Our associate has discovered that you have done some copywork recently which connects to the disappearance of a fairly large number of people in London. It concerns an advocate for whom you sometimes do work,” Edward said. “A Mr. Dodge.”
“Dodge? Dodge?” Guppy turned remarkably red and began to choke as he pushed the litter of papers about on his untidy desk. He looked warily up at me as my eyes followed Guppy’s movements. I removed the leather flail from my belt and stirred the papers with it, trying to take an impression of every scrap of paper just as Oliver Twist might have done with his image-capturing devices.
“That Oliver Twist has been making inquiries about Mr. Dodge I already know,” Edward said patiently. In our brief period of association the Alexander Legacy Company had swiftly learned of the power of Oliver Twist’s top hat with the glowing blue stone and his bronze clockwork tablet. Oliver Twist went everywhere, recorded everything.
The angelic young man struck terror in the hearts of London’s network of “grey enablers,” those like Guppy who helped criminals without thinking themselves tainted by crime. “What I am asking you is whethe
r you have in fact done work for Dodge.”
“I am not in a position to deny it, sir,” Guppy responded. “In fact, I am in a position to confirm it. Whereas there have been documents given to me as work which bear the imprint of the gentleman referred to as Mr. Dodge.”
“A group of refugees from various African nations came to England and were given sanctuary in local churches.” I spoke for the first time. “These people were threatened with death for being Christians in their own countries. Missionaries arranged for their escape. They came here with the knowledge and permission of the British government, and were awaiting processing to become legal residents.”
“Yes, yes, nobody in the legal profession what hasn’t heard all of this,” Guppy nodded. “They came, and they came, and they came, and suddenly the government realized too many was coming, and couldn’t afford to process ‘em all.”
“There was no expense to the British Government,” I rumbled. “Donations funded every cent of this immigration. The report in the newspapers and wireless that these people would overwhelm the taxpayers and be a burden to the country was a falsehood.” I lifted the flail and pointed it at Guppy.
“This Dodge’s name entered the controversy,” Edward said, touching my arm to calm me. “It was claimed that he worked some sort of legal magic to see all these people provided with sponsors and work. There was said to be a great deal of paperwork associated with this miracle of Dodge’s, and that you had a part in the process.”
“Have you any such documents in your possession at this time?” I asked. The flail nearly made contact with Guppy’s nose, and the tails brushed his chest.
“Sir, I may freely and fully state that I do not,” Guppy answered, appearing much relieved. “And so I presume we have no more to talk about? I am very busy at present.”
“You do not keep on file copies of work you do for advocates?” Edward asked.
“Copies, copies, yes, indeed,” Guppy replied. “Normally I would. But in the particular case of Mr. Dodge he requires that all materials be returned to him and that the clerk keep no copies or records. It is unusual, but Mr. Dodge is an unusual advocate.”
“You have dealt with him frequently?”
“Frequently is a strong word, sir. Not one I would choose myself. Say occasionally and you’d be nearer the mark. If I was to speak as under oath I’d say only a few irregular times. In point of fact I feel compelled to say--”
“Do you know the man by sight?” I broke in, exasperated by Guppy’s legal rambling. The head of the flail prodded Guppy’s prominent Adam’s apple. “Do you know where he lives? Where his offices are?”
“Mr. Dodge, sir? No sir. None of the afforementioned,” Guppy replied. “The work is brought to me by a messenger. I do not even know whence the messenger comes. It’s work, it pays handsome, and I do it on the gentleman’s terms.”
“Do you know beforehand when work is to be delivered to you?” Edward asked.
“No, sir, and that’s a matter I’ve complained of, to no avail. It is brought to my dwelling, never here, at odd hours, sometimes when I’m long in bed, and must be done on the spot. The messenger waits for it. Very unseemly way of doing business, but when you consider the clients the gentleman represents I suppose not too surprising.”
“What clients was he representing in that particular case?” Edward asked.
“Only his own foundation was mentioned as being concerned,” Guppy answered. “Dodge, Ltd. He has fingers in every pie in London and lots of other places. That he does. He is mighty successful, I’ll say. Settles all his cases before they ever come to court. A genius at paperwork, if I may hint at honest admiration for a fellow legal mind without fear of recrimination. I have heard it hinted that he lives up to his name, sir.”
Edward and I exchanged glances. “Tell me about these refugees,” Edward said. “One moment the papers screamed about an invasion, a collapse of the economy, illegal goings on of every sort. Then the cries were choked off and the people vanished.”
“Your clerical work in this matter may have resulted in the enslavement of scores of innocent people who came here for freedom and safety,” I said. “Elderly, women and children.”
“I merely copied the paperwork, sir,” Guppy corrected, suddenly very nervous again. “As to the doing, whatever it was that was done, that was all Mr. Dodge. Enslavement, sir? Surely not, sir. They was all to be sponsored and placed and given schooling and employment where appropriate, was what the papers said.”
“It is my understanding that Mr. Dodge never even brought these people before a judge,” Edward said.
“Slick,” Guppy beamed. “Excuse my slang, sir, but I was that floored, sir, when I saw the documents. Every loophole was tied up as neat as a pretty girl’s hair-ribbon. It were a work of art, that brief.”
“And every living soul disappeared in a few hours,” I recalled. “The ministers and volunteers and sponsors assembled to help them could not find a trace of them.”
“Mr. Guppy, you say you have no records of your work done for Mr. Dodge. How is it that in all of the chancery there is nothing in writing to confirm the existence of the man? Everyone has a story connected with his brilliant defenses, everyone knows his name, yet in an institution where papers are available by the barrow load on every possible subject not one scrap mentions Mr. Dodge. Yet this seems not to trouble anyone.”
“Mr. Dodge is a very freehanded gentleman,” Guppy said uneasily.
“He must be,” Edward said, looking sternly at Guppy. “Does it also not trouble you that these people have disappeared without a trace, and the same is true of many clerks who have done his work?”
“That can’t be so,” Guppy choked. “How can you know that?”
“You do know that what Reverend Ferrars said about his records is true,” I said. Guppy nodded dumbly. “Then I see by your face it would not take such a great load of proof to convince you the other is true as well.”
I was almost reluctant to speak his next words, but I forced them out, stuffing my flail back into my belt. “Guppy, your life may be in danger.”
“From speaking to you gentlemen?” Guppy breathed.
“Many have disappeared that we never spoke to or knew of,” Edward replied. “It is because you serve evil that you are in peril, not because you speak to those who wish to do good.”
“Merciful heavens, what shall I do?”
“Is there no help you can give us in finding this man?” Edward asked more gently. “It is in your interest to assist us. Anything at all that might be used to stop him.”
“Can you protect me?” Guppy demanded.
“What can you tell us that will help us to find this Dodge?” I demanded.
“I – I got that irritated by this messenger in the middle of the night business. I followed the fellow when he left me last time,” Guppy replied. “I don’t know how it helps, but he passed off the papers to a sort of bow-legged fellow in black with preposterous side-whiskers and a top hat far too large for him. It hid his whole face, though I could see that he wore some peculiar bronze goggles.”
“Where did you see them meet?” I took a step forward. He seemed to be trying to fold himself up to escape.
“Guppy, come with us now,” Edward said. “You will never be back here, and you will never visit your lodgings again, but we must not let it be immediately known that you have left. Take nothing. Not a scrap of paper, not a shirtcuff.”
“Have you any relatives or friends depending upon you?” I asked, mindful of the mishap with Gertie.
“My aged mother died a year ago,” Guppy managed to say. “Due to a crushing affair of the heart which left me without ‘ope or prospect of ‘appiness, there is no one else. I am not to get any of my things?”
“You are going to get your life, man,” Edward said sharply. He snuffed Guppy’s lamps and hung out the sign that indicated Mr. Guppy would “Return At Two.” I pushed the clerk out the door. Edward followed, locking it behind us. We
glanced cautiously up and down the deserted street. He dangled the office key over a steaming vent and let it fall and vanish with a series of clank and thuds. We hustled Mr. Guppy away.
“Where did this Guppy say he saw Dodge?” I asked. Zambo named the corner.
“That is very near where the boy attacked the Campbells,” Edward murmured.
“And not terribly far from where Sue and Mowgli found the den of pickpockets,” Phoebe added.
“None of these sites are very far apart,” Twist said. “The theatre, the hotel, the alley, the thieves’ dormitory. Our Mr. Dodge is a hands-on sort of fellow on his home turf.”
“Have none of these poor souls been found?” I asked in horror. “Not one?”
“Not one,” Zambo replied bitterly.
“And we have no other leads?” I had to ask that final question. “Have we seen this Dodge’s hand anywhere else?”
“We cannot pick up the thread anywhere,” Madame Phoebe admitted. “We still have the chance that the arrival of Lady Anne may net us a new lead, at least, to follow, but that is not for a few days still.”
“The trapdoor spider sometimes pulls in her door and does not seek victims for a little while,” Mowgli murmured. “Until she hungers again. Dodge will open his door and come forth where we can see him again. The patient hunter takes the prey. Do not fret, Bohemian, just because your turn to hunt has not yet come.”
I was indeed fretting. I had done so little in the Legacy Company. At least, I had seen little fruit from the advice Madame Phoebe had praised. The others had been active and I had sat back and only been able to offer a few insights on their activity.
“Speaking of spiders,” Oliver Twist announced, “I’ve been working on something that we might be able to use if we ever do have a chance to get close to Dodge or his people again.”
He placed on the table something small and shimmering. We all came closer to have a look. Some sort of insect with gossamer wings sat there. Then we saw in its translucent midsection the clockwork ticking.
“A bug? Sue snorted.
“Exactly!” Twist grinned. He tapped his ubiquitous tablet and the thing on the table took wing and flew to a perch on Sue’s Stetson. The stone on Twist’s top hat paled and an image of Zambo’s face briefly appeared in it.
“You see, Zambo is standing right in front of Sue, and my bug picked up his image and transferred it to me. It can work from a distance. I’m not sure how far, or even how far the bug can fly. Still testing, but it might give us an eye inside if we can find someone to attach it to who has contact with Dodge.”
“We should all have one of those.” The words popped out of my mouth. I did not even know why I would consider wearing a clockwork insect in public, but something made me say it.
“We should ... Have a bug on us?” Edward frowned at me.
“Of course we should!” Madame Phoebe smiled broadly at me. “We are looking for Dodge, we are engaging his enablers, we are finding places where he has been. It would be an excellent precaution in case we become disoriented, in case we are taken captive or injured--” she paused just a moment while we all considered that very real possibility “ -- If for any reason there must be a record of where we have been or what we have seen. If necessary, we could even send it after someone we are pursuing but cannot catch, could we not, Doctor Twist?”
“I -- It’s not perfected yet--” he stammered. “But I see I need to get to work in earnest to make it so.” He got up from the table and started to wander off with his clockwork insect cupped in his hands.
“Let us close in prayer, first, shall we?” Edward called out, clearing his throat. Oliver started and turned back.
“Oh, certainly,” he grinned.
A Dodge, a Twist and a Tobacconist Page 11
