‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that, sir. There’s a little life in us yet. A few paths we can stroll down to see what’s at the end of ’em.’ Pulverbatch, Adam thought, continued to sound appallingly cheerful. ‘Now, one of the few things Brindle is saying is that this man Jinkinson was renting a room here in the Cat. He says as how Jinkinson come here to drink. Used to drink a lot, the late gentleman did, according to Brindle. “I’ve seen him so grogged he was down in the street and lapping the gutter.” Those was his exact words, I seem to recall.’
Pulverbatch paused, as if he expected Adam might say something.
‘The room’s up those stairs over there.’ The inspector gestured through to the billiard room where a rickety flight of stairs disappeared upwards. ‘Now, as I say, Brindle’s got as many faces as a churchyard clock. I’d trust him about as far as I could fling a bull by its tail but I’m not sure he’d lie about that. Why should he? Ain’t no crime in renting out a room. So what say you and I go and take a peek in Mr Jinkinson’s hidey-hole?’
Adam was about to reply when, behind the inspector’s back, the door to the bar opened and a boy of about twelve entered. He began to make his way furtively towards the body on the billiards table. Adam merely gazed at the scene and could hardly bring himself to draw Pulverbatch’s attention to the intruder. There was no need.
‘Hook it, you young prig,’ Pulverbatch roared over his shoulder. ‘Ain’t nothing here for the likes of you. If I sees you still there when I turn round, you’ll be in quod before you can remember what your name is.’
The boy made a gesture of contempt in the policeman’s direction, but deciding that discretion, in this instance, was definitely the better part of valour, he beat a swift retreat. Pulverbatch remained in his seat, his hands still resting on the table. Adam was left to wonder how he had known the boy had come into the bar.
‘Always the same with a dead body and young cubs like that,’ the inspector said. ‘Like a honeypot for bees. They always wants to take a look.’
With a sudden sigh, Pulverbatch lifted his hands from the table-top and hauled himself to his feet. Adam, his limbs now aching from his exertions by the river, did the same. The two of them made their way into the adjoining room, skirted the billiards table with its white-sheeted burden and climbed the stairs to the next floor.
Two doorways opened off the first-floor landing, one to the right and one to the left. Without hesitation, Pulverbatch opened the one on the right. The room they now entered was surprisingly spacious. It had no floor covering other than a small square of drugget in the middle.
The bed stood behind a dirty chintz curtain in one corner. The only other item of furniture was a battered chest of drawers in the opposite corner, above which hung a small looking glass in a chipped gilt frame. The inspector went over to it. He began to pull out the drawers one by one, peering into them.
‘What does Brindle say of Jinkinson?’ Adam asked, now determined not to surrender to his tiredness. ‘Why did he offer him refuge?’
‘According to him, he was acting like the Good Samaritan did.’ Pulverbatch continued to examine the contents of the chest of drawers. ‘Him in the Bible as picked up the man by the roadside and dusted him down and took him home to heal his wounds.’
Adam pushed the chintz curtain to one side and sat down on the bed.
‘So Jinkinson came to him in trouble and Brindle, out of the goodness of his heart, said to him, “I have a room above my tavern, my good man. For the payment of a small sum per week, you may have the use of it.” ’
‘That’s about the size of it, according to Brindle.’
‘I don’t think that can be what happened, do you, Inspector? Mr Brindle does not seem the type of man to do things out of the goodness of his heart.’
Pulverbatch paused before he slid the final drawer back into place, a smile playing briefly across his face. He was clearly amused by the possibility, however remote, of Brindle acting with good intentions. But his expression hardened once again.
‘Lord love us, Mr Carver,’ he said. ‘We both know gammon when we hear it, and that’s pure, unadulterated, one hundred per cent gammon. Brindle had some other reason why he was a-helping Jinkinson. And it weren’t one the Good Samaritan would have recognised.’
‘I ’ope you ain’t goin’ to believe everything that shark Pulverbatch tells you.’ The remark emerged from the darkness outside the Cat and Salutation as Adam left the pub to make his way back to Doughty Street. It was followed by the substantial figure of Jabez Brindle, who trundled into the light still shining from one of the ground-floor windows. ‘’E’d lie as soon as look at you.’
The fat man looked as weary as Adam felt but he was still grinning gamely. His ugly little white terrier was still at his heels even if it seemed to have lost much of its earlier aggression. It made no attempt to bite at Adam’s ankles but stood cocking its head towards its owner as if listening for what he might have to say.
‘That is more or less what the inspector said of you, Mr Brindle.’
‘Thought ’e might. Pot calling the kettle black arse, if you ask me.’
The publican was wearing a battered chimney-pot hat which wobbled unsteadily on his head. He reached up to right it and then seized Adam by the arm. The young man tried to shake him off but Brindle’s grip was like a vice. He began to guide Adam away from the Cat and Salutation.
‘Which is why,’ Brindle added, ‘I thought as ’ow it might be useful for you and me to have another chat before you went back west.’
The steps of both men echoed across the cobbles. It was well after midnight and the only other person in sight was a street scavenger who was standing under a gas lamp and ladling manure into his cart.
‘I am more than willing to hear you out, Mr Brindle, but I must insist that you leave hold of me.’
The publican grinned again and dropped Adam’s arm.
‘No offence intended, Mr Carver. It is Carver, ain’t it? Old Jinks mentioned your name.’
Adam brushed the sleeve of his coat where Brindle’s sweaty fingers had impressed themselves on the material.
‘You knew Jinkinson well?’ he enquired.
‘Poor old Jinks.’ Despite his words, the fat man looked serenely untroubled by the private investigator’s departure from the world. ‘Known him for years. ’E’s been coming down the Cat since you was just a young nipper caterwauling in your ma’s arms.’
‘So he knew you well enough to confide in you?’
‘Don’t know as ’ow you’d call it that. But ’e often come to the Cat when he wanted to lie low for a bit.’ Brindle shrugged. ‘ ’E paid me well enough for the room so I ain’t going to be too partickler about what he wants to lay low from.’
‘And that’s why he was with you tonight?’
The publican nodded.
‘Turned up a couple of nights ago. Said ’e needed a room to stay in to keep out of trouble. Someone was after ’im, ’e thought.’
‘After him?’
‘That’s what ’e says. Somebody like yourself. Of a gentlemanly nature.’
‘I cannot believe that it was I he feared.’
‘No, you ain’t much for anybody to fear,’ Brindle agreed. ‘Not even for Jinks.’
‘Did anybody visit him while he was with you?’ Adam asked, ignoring the implied insult. He began to wonder whether he and Pulverbatch had misjudged the publican. Perhaps there was no further mystery about Brindle’s motives for sheltering Jinkinson. He did it because he had known the enquiry agent for many years and Jinkinson paid him money for the room. The Cat and Salutation was like Bellamy’s Lodging House. A refuge when Poulter’s Court became a place to avoid. ‘Did he see anyone other than your regular drinkers?’