‘You was asking Pradd about the count,’ he said.
‘You have good hearing, sir.’
The man made a vague gesture as if shyly acknowledging a compliment.
‘Them walls at Bellamy’s are so thin you can practically see through ’em, never mind ’ear,’ he said. ‘Anyways, I was stood by Pradd’s office door on purpose. A-listening, like.’
‘You were eavesdropping upon us, then.’
The tattered man made no attempt to deny Adam’s accusation. He merely ignored it.
‘He’s a gent, the count,’ he went on. ‘A real gent. He can talk up a storm as well. He can flash the patter, the count can. Never heard a man like him.’
‘He is a man of eloquence and education,’ Adam acknowledged. ‘And we need to find him. Do you know where he might be?’
‘You ain’t got nothing to do with the bluebottles? Or the debt collectors?’
‘My dear sir, we are merely the count’s friends. We have not seen him for some time and we are concerned about his well-being.’
‘Cos the count’s a gent,’ the man repeated, still looking suspicious of their intentions. ‘I ain’t wanting to see him in trouble.’
‘He is more likely to be in trouble if we don’t find him.’ Adam felt in the pockets of the fustian trousers he had borrowed from Quint and found a sixpenny piece. He held it out to the man. ‘Maybe this will prove a token of our good intentions.’
The lodger seized the coin so swiftly that Adam scarcely registered that the man’s hand had moved to take it.
‘I don’t want you thinking that I’d be telling you this just for the tanner.’ Adam indicated that no thought could have been further from his mind. ‘But, if you’re looking out for the count, you might ask after him down the tabernacle.’
‘The tabernacle?’
‘The Tabernacle of the All-Conquering Saviour is what Dwight calls it.’
‘And what is the Tabernacle of the All-Conquering Saviour?’
‘Bunch of interfering busybodies,’ the man said, in tones of disgust.
‘But busybodies who interfere with the activities of the count?’
‘’E went to their meetings a few times. Quite a few times. But ’e liked his liquor. Them meddlers don’t ’old with liquor.’
‘Abstainers, eh? Not to be trusted, then.’
‘They don’t ’old with anything a man might do for a bit of fun. And every man needs a bit of fun.’
The lodger was evidently a champion of a man’s right to do as he wished, unhampered by either busybodies or Tabernacles.
‘Fun is very definitely something we all need,’ Adam agreed. ‘Where might one find this Tabernacle?’
‘Just round the corner, ain’t it? In Whitecross Street. Can’t miss it. Sign’s outside. And that oily bastard, Dwight, is always greasing his way around.’
‘And Dwight is?’
‘’E calls hisself a reverend,’ the lodger said in tones that suggested he was willing to dispute Dwight’s right to do so. He continued to stand in the path as if half-expecting another coin to come his way. When he realised that none would be forthcoming, he took a step or two backwards and touched his forefinger to his ancient billycock. ‘I’ll be leaving you two gents. If you finds the count, tell him Ben Madden was asking after him.’
‘We will and I thank you for your information, Mr Madden.’
The man made another vague gesture of farewell, then turned and began to trudge down Old Street towards Aldersgate. Adam and his manservant watched him depart.
‘If ever a bloke looked as if ’e’d gone and ’opped ’is perch and was still walking around to save the funeral expenses, there he goes,’ Quint remarked after a moment.
‘He does look like a gentleman who has seen better days, does he not?’
‘He soon had your sixpence, though.’ Quint spoke in an accusatory tone of voice. ‘He was on to it faster than a tom-tit on to a horse turd. And he ain’t the first.’
Adam glanced sharply at his manservant. He was in no mood to indulge Quint’s impertinence.
‘It is true that, ever since we began our investigations, I have been doling out coin of the realm to the deserving and the not-so-deserving like Lord Bountiful. But they are my coins to dispense as I wish, Quint, so I will not listen to criticism from you. I am confident that one day my generosity will bring me my just rewards. Perhaps Ben Madden’s information will prove worth a sixpence.’ Adam paused before continuing, his tone now more conciliatory. ‘What do you suppose the Reverend Dwight’s Tabernacle is?’
‘Just another mission. There’s one down every street in this neck of the woods.’
‘And they all attract a congregation?’
‘Most of ’em do. Not that folk round here are that choosy. They’d as soon be Turks if you give ’em a bowl of soup and a hot potato.’
‘Which the Reverend Dwight does.’
‘Prob’ly.’
‘You seem well informed about these missions, Quint. For a man not noted for his donations to charity and the poor.’
Quint shrugged. ‘I’m not one to dole out pennies to every shivering Jemmy as sits bare-arsed in the street, if that’s what you mean,’ he said with marked emphasis.
‘Mr Madden was neither bare-arsed nor sitting,’ Adam reminded him.
‘Ain’t the point. I could prob’ly have told you about the missions and saved you a tanner.’
‘True enough. You are a positive almanack of miscellaneous information, Quint. Sometimes I wonder that one small head can carry all you know.’
‘It ain’t so small,’ Quint said, aggrieved.
‘Perhaps we should visit the Tabernacle of the All-Conquering Saviour.’ Adam thought for a moment. ‘No, there is no need for you to accompany me. Make your way back to Doughty Street. I shall visit the establishment alone. Today is Sunday, of course. The reverend’s busiest day. Who knows? Perhaps Jinkinson will be amongst the congregation.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The mission house was not an imposing building. A single storey of plain red brick, it was set back slightly from the others in Whitecross Street. On the opposite side of the street, a two-storey building had just recently been demolished. Nothing of it remained but one wall, the spectral outlines of staircases, floors and ceilings still visible on its crumbling bricks. Huge pieces of timber were propped against the remaining houses in the row in order to prevent them tumbling into the streets. As he approached, Adam could see that a service of some kind had recently come to an end. The Reverend Dwight’s congregation was emerging into the Sunday afternoon sunshine. Adam was surprised by its numbers. At least fifty men and women had exited the Tabernacle, and in gloomy silence were going their separate ways. Adam recalled Quint’s earlier remarks about soup and hot potatoes and decided that the reverend must have provided a generous supply of both. He hoped the congregation had had some bodily sustenance because they looked as if they were starved of the spiritual variety. Certainly, any they had received had given them little joy or uplift.