‘You two are persistent gents. I’ll say that for you.’
‘We found this.’ Adam showed the boy the scrap of cloth. ‘We were wondering if there is some connection between your employer and this lodging house in Golden Lane.’
‘Might be. Or might not be.’ Simpkins gulped at his gin and made a smacking noise of appreciation, like a wine connoisseur savouring a particularly fine vintage. Walter and his two companions had moved away from the bar and taken seats by the window where they continued to talk cheerfully of whitebait and champagne.
‘Does your employer have some secret that we should know?’ Adam asked.
‘Well, if it is a secret, I ain’t being paid to keep it one.’
‘So, enlighten us.’
‘I might like to be paid to tell it, though.’
‘I’m sure you would,’ Adam acknowledged. ‘But, if you recall, a half crown has already passed from my possession into yours. A
half crown is a substantial sum of money. It should buy a deal of information.’
‘That was for letting you into old Jinks’s office. I reckon this is a whole new transaction.’
‘Well, Mr Simpkins, I’m sorry to have to say that my friend and I’ — Adam gestured towards Quint who was glaring at the young clerk with a peculiar ferocity — ‘we reckon otherwise. We reckon it’s all part of the same transaction.’
Simpkins glanced at Quint and decided against prolonging the discussion.
‘All right, guv’nor. Worth asking but no offence intended. A man’s got to make his way in the world, ain’t he? Ain’t nobody going to help him but himself, I reckon.’
‘I see you are a disciple of Mr Smiles, Mr Simpkins.’
Simpkins looked puzzled.
‘A gentleman who is an advocate of self-help.’
The clerk still looked puzzled. ‘A man’s got to help himself,’ he repeated.
‘Precisely. And the way you can help yourself in the present circumstances is to tell me all you know about Jinkinson and this Bellamy’s Lodging House.’
‘Don’t know much.’
‘Nonetheless, you can tell me what you do know. Has Jinkinson spent time there? Or does he own the place? Does it have any connection with the young lady, Ada, whom you mentioned earlier?’
Simpkins held up his hands as if to ward off the questions. ‘I tell yer, I don’t know much. All I know is Jinks has a few hole-ups. Places where he goes when people wants to find him and he don’t want to be found.’
‘And this Bellamy’s is one of them?’
‘I reckon so. Last year, round about July time, he went missing just like he done now. Some lawyer from the Temple was interested in a-talking to him. On account of Jinks’d took a guinea from him to track down a gent. And then gone and done bugger all but drink it.’
‘And your master chose to lie low for a while?’
‘ “Simpkins,” he says to me one morning, “it’s time for me to go to ground.” And that’s the last I sees of him for a week. “But,” he says before he goes, “a letter addressed to The Count at Bellamy’s Lodging House, Golden Lane would likely find me.” ’
‘The count? Who is the count?’
‘Search me. Never seen any kind of count round the office, that’s for sure.’
‘And did you need to make contact with your master during the week he was gone?’
The clerk shook his head. ‘Nah. The lawyer gent comes round a few times, swearing like a bargee and threatening ’e’d ’ave the peelers on us. But I reckoned old Jinks wouldn’t want to know about that. Anyways, ’e come back before the week’s out.’
‘Did the lawyer ever have his money returned?’ Adam asked, curious to know what had happened.
Simpkins gave a short laugh. ‘You’re joking, ain’t you? A guinea? Jinks’d have sawed his own leg off rather than give a guinea back. The lawyer gent still comes round once ev’ry month or so. A-shouting and a-yelling. But it’s more of a game now, if you see what I mean. ’E knows his guinea’s gone.’
Simpkins downed his drink and held the glass up to the light coming in through the window, angling it this way and that as if searching for one small droplet of liquor that might still be lurking within it. Adam turned to the barman and ordered another tumbler of gin for the young clerk.
‘What about this young woman Ada you mentioned?’
‘Ada’s all right. For a tart. It’s her mother what needs the watching. She’d have the hair off a man’s head if she could get a penny a pound for it.’
‘Her mother?’
‘Fat old witch,’ said Simpkins unchivalrously. ‘Round the office all the time, poking and prying.’
‘So Ada’s mother was looking to make money out of your master?’
Simpkins laughed. ‘Do dogs bark at cats? Course she was.’
‘You could see that she was intent on extorting as much cash from Mr Jinkinson as she was able?’
‘Course I could.’
‘And you said nothing to him?’
The clerk shrugged. ‘Weren’t much I could say. If the old fool wants to make ducks and drakes of his sovereigns and throw them all away, then he ain’t goin’ to stop just cos I’ve said something.’
‘Was your master not aware himself of how venal Ada’s mother was?’
Simpkins looked at Adam in bewilderment.
‘Couldn’t ’e see she was out to fleece him?’ Quint interpreted.
‘He ain’t going to see it,’ the clerk said. ‘He’s too busy casting sheep’s eyes at Ada. Anyways, he has as much idea about women as a donkey has of Sunday.’ The clerk spoke with the assurance of a practised and worldly observer of the opposite sex. ‘I tell you, between them they had old Jinks’s ballocks in a cloven stick. And the old hag at least was out to squeeze ’em. But ’e couldn’t see it.’
‘Maybe this girl Ada has been hawking her mutton on the streets. There’s plenty what’s forced to do it. On the other hand, she might not be a regular tart at all, whatever the boy says. She might be just some dollymop out for a good time. With an older gent what pays her way for her.’ Quint had settled himself at one of the tables in a chophouse on Chancery Lane. He looked across at his master who had lowered himself onto the bench opposite him.
‘Who can tell? She may be a veritable Thais, for all we know,’ Adam remarked. ‘Although old Jinkinson makes a poor Alexander, it has to be said. But it’s most likely that she does sell herself somewhere on the streets.’
He gestured to the waiter, who approached and took their order.
‘Perhaps we should look to find this woman,’ he continued. ‘The boy Simpkins may be correct. Jinkinson may have gone off with her.’
‘We’ve lost old Jinks already. Now we’re going to find a tart?’ Quint sounded disbelieving. ‘’Ow we going to do that? London’s full of ’em.’
‘Agreed. The Cyprian corps is everywhere. If a man walks from the top of the Haymarket to the top of Grosvenor Place, he will receive two dozen invitations to stray from the path of virtue in the course of five minutes.’
‘Well, Ada ain’t likely to be among those doin’ the invitin’ in the ’aymarket. More chance she’s in some backstreet case-house somewhere.’
‘You know best, Quint. I shall leave the job of finding her to you. I mean it as no insult when I say that you know the backstreets of the city better than I do. You should consider it as a compliment.’
Quint’s expression suggested that he thought it a backhanded compliment at best. His eyes brightened when the waiter materialised silently at the table with their drinks. Quint raised his tankard immediately to his lips and took a long pull on it. Then he placed it with a flourish on the table.