‘Well, I found the right Ada. Found out she was spending time in that knocking-ken. So I told Fadge you had a liking for a shy tart. That Ada’d tickle your fancy.’
Adam laughed. ‘Well, I am not certain that I approve of your decision to impute particular tastes in women to me, but I cannot see the difficulty.’
‘I said as how you’d pay a bit extra for extra time with her.’
‘But he allowed us hardly any time at all. And none of it in private.’
‘In fact, I give ’im some extra rhino. A sov.’
‘You gave that man a sovereign?’ Adam was aghast.
‘Don’t worry, guv.’ Quint held out his hands in a placatory gesture. ‘It was a crooked sov.’
‘Aha, a light begins to dawn. Do you think that perhaps, in the interval between allowing us to pass into the cellar and descending the stairs himself, Mr Fadge had discovered that he had been cheated?’
‘Could be,’ Quint acknowledged reluctantly.
‘Do you think passing a crooked sovereign to a former prize-fighter was a good idea?’
‘I thought it was safe enough.’ Quint was indignant. He sounded as if he was outraged that Adam was questioning his judgement. ‘There ain’t too much milk in Harry Fadge’s coconut. He was on the wrong side of the door when brains was being handed out, wasn’t he? Then what few he ’ad were knocked from ’ere to ’Ounslow and back in the ring. I didn’t think he’d notice it was bent.’
The two men turned into Long Acre. The streets were busy with people and they were obliged to dodge their way through the crowds. Many were dressed for the theatre. A sandwich man, with boards back and front advertising the latest comedy at the Gaiety, trudged mournfully past. Two small boys, eager to take advantage of the sandwich man’s inability to retaliate, followed him, jeering and aiming kicks at the board on his back. He ignored them. He looked as if he was so lost in melancholy contemplation that he had not even noticed their presence.
‘My throat is parched, Quint. There is a coffee stall over there. Let us stop for refreshment.’
The two men crossed Long Acre to the point where it was met by Bow Street. There stood a wooden hut, open on one side and tented over with tarpaulin, from which a large-faced woman dressed in a man’s greatcoat was selling coffee. A line of people waited to be served. Adam and Quint queued for a few minutes and then were able to hand over a penny each for a tin mug of oily black liquid. Adam sniffed suspiciously at the drink.
‘So, having found her, what was your opinion of Miss Ada, Quint?’ he asked.
‘She’s a nice bit of goods. Ain’t no surprise if Jinks was sweet on her.’
‘I think perhaps he was. Although, I suspect his original motives in approaching her were more mercenary than amorous.’
Quint’s face arranged itself into an expression that said, as clearly as if he’d spoken, ‘I ain’t got a bleedin’ clue what you’re talking about.’
‘He thought she might have information he could use to make money,’ Adam said. ‘By the by, the boy Simpkins spoke of a mother. Ada’s mother. Did you locate her during your investigations?’
‘Ain’t seen no sign of her. But Ada spoke of her when I first found her. Far as I can tell, she’s too fond of the lush. Any penny she earns goes on gin. And any penny Ada earns.’
Quint took a drink and almost immediately spat most of it onto the ground.
‘Jesus Christ, that’s like cat’s piss.’
‘Probably more acorn than coffee bean in it,’ Adam commented. He sniffed his own mug again and then, turning from the stall, poured its contents into the gutter. ‘We have now spent two pennies and a counterfeit sovereign this evening, and we have received very little benefit from our financial outlay.’
Quint was still making elaborate moues of distaste. He spat twice more on the ground. Adam placed the two mugs back on the counter of the coffee stall and bowed to the proprietress, who was scowling at them.
‘In all likelihood, it’s the mother who insists that her daughter continues to sell her body, then?’
‘Maybe, maybe not.’ Quint had finally recovered from his mouthful of coffee. From personal experience, the manservant was much better acquainted with life on London’s streets than his master. He doubted that Ada and her mother had much choice when it came to earning their money. ‘We ain’t no closer to finding out where old Jinks has gone, though.’
‘I think that the girl probably does know where he is but, out of loyalty, she has no intention of telling us.’
‘She didn’t tell us much about anything.’
‘Ah, but what she didn’t say may tell us something. I am certain that she once worked for Lewis Garland. Her face betrayed her when his name was mentioned.’
‘Maybe she did. Maybe that’s why Jinks was after her in the first place.’
‘My conjecture exactly. We are two minds with but a single thought. I believe Garland had his way with her and then cast her onto the streets. Jinkinson discovered this while he was following the man at Creech’s behest, and sought out Ada in order to gather more incriminatory material on the fellow. Either on behalf of Creech, or for his own benefit after Creech was killed.’
The two men left the coffee stall behind them and walked towards Drury Lane. Crowds of theatregoers swirled around them. In the noise and bustle of the London evening they had to shout to make themselves heard.
‘You reckon Jinks was blackmailing this Garland bloke?’ Quint roared.
‘Why else would they have met in that pub yard? And yet there is something more. I am sure of it.’
‘What sort of something?’
‘Something that is linked with the Greek name in Creech’s notebook. Even Ada mentioned Euphorion. Who else could the mysterious foreigner “Yew Ferrion” be? Why does his name keep recurring in our search?’
‘You’ve got that Greek bloke on the brain,’ Quint said, deftly dodging a drunk who came careering along the pavement towards him. ‘But ’e ain’t at the bottom of this, if you asks me.’
‘Well, I do ask you, Quint. Who or what is at the bottom of this?’
‘Rhino. Sovs,’ Quint shouted, patting his pocket. ‘Money. Creech was after it from them toffs and now Jinks is after it.’
‘You may be right, I suppose.’
‘Of course I’m right.’
‘In which case, I think perhaps my next task should be to speak to those “toffs” you mention.’
‘’Ow you going to do that?’
‘Send in my card to them. When they are at the House, perhaps. Or in their homes. I can think of no reason why they should not see me.’
Adam recalled his earlier doubts about the advisability of seeking out the three men in the Houses of Parliament. They now seemed overly finical. Speaking about Garland and Oughtred to Mr Moor-house at the Marco Polo had proved interesting enough, but the time had come to seize the bull firmly by the horns. He should face them on their own ground and learn, once and for all, what they knew about Samuel Creech and his activities.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Any new developments in the case of that poor man Creech?’
In the smoking room of the Marco Polo, Mr Moorhouse was once again sunk in the depths of his favourite leather armchair. He gave the impression that he had not stirred from there even once in the days since Adam had quizzed him about Lewis Garland. He had merely accumulated ashtrays which were positioned around him like fire irons around a hearth. Adam, who had joined the old man after lunch, watched him aim his ash at one of them and miss.
‘The police have taken a man named Stirk into custody,’ he said.
‘They’ve got the murderer, then?’