“I’m sure you’ll do what’s right. Jack.”
With that, we left, going by way of Russell Street — I hoping to catch no glimpse of the evil fellow who had laid that evil proposition before me, and mercifully having my hope fulfilled. As we tramped along Russell, I found myself looking among the imposing structures for the one which housed Mrs. Gould’s notorious bagnio. I had been there once to deliver a letter. I remember thinking it a great joke to be among all the ladies walking about in their shifts. I no longer thought it so funny. What might I have thought then had I heard Mariah’s screams resounding through the place? All that I knew now of her life in London burdened me greatly.
Entering Covent Garden, I urged him to the left that we might walk its perimeter, rather than attempt to traverse it. There was a bit of light from the windows in the surrounding buildings, and the moon was out. Nevertheless, I was glad to have the lantern Mr. Baker had given me. I held it high with one hand, and the other I had fixed round the butt of the pistol on my hip.
Sir John moved with me, step for step, his left hand upon my right shoulder. He had little to say, which surprised me somewhat. I thought perhaps to volunteer my views on the matter of this latest homicide, yet decided against burdening him with them, for he seemed deep in thought. At one point, after we had turned right in the direction of Henrietta Street, I heard the murmur of voices from the stalls. Sir John must have felt me tense in response, for he spoke to ease my apprehension.
“Women and men together,” said he. ”I doubt there’s much to fear from them.”
“As you say, sir.”
“How many will be there when we arrive?”
I named them all, including Mr. Tolliver.
“You’ve neglected one,” said he.
“Oh? Who is that. Sir John?”
“The corpus. Let us hope she has a thing or two to tell us.”
Thus we came to Henrietta Street with the passage now well within sight. There I saw an unmistakably familiar wagon and team.
“There’s a surprise,” said I.
“What do you mean, Jeremy?”
“Just ahead on Henrietta, by the passage — the Raker’s arrived. I see his wagon.”
“No doubt he was called to some house nearby,” said Sir John. “He’s rather an unfortunate creature, is he not?”
I considered that a moment. “I suppose that he is. Yet he seems to like his work, repulsive though it may seem to us. He has his own little kingdom there in that barn of his,” said I, again echoing Mr. Donnelly. “He rules his house of the dead.”
“Would you not call such a one an unfortunate creature?”
“I see your point, sir.”
All except Mr. Cowley were gathered at the entrance to the passage. He, I learned, had been sent up the passage with his lantern to search for the murder weapon. There was a great quarrel in progress between the Raker and Mr. Donnelly as we approached. Remembering their previous meeting, I was not in the least surprised.
“Ah, there you are, Sir John,” called out Mr. Donnelly. “Perhaps you will settle this for us.”
“I will if you gentlemen will let me.”
“Aye, you’re the man to do it, sir. I was tellin’ this gent here, this phy-si-cian, that the way it was always done before was, you’d look at a body, say it was murder or wasn’t, and I’d haul it away. They ain’t no need for him to grab this one, take her away, and go messin’ up her inwards. That’s insultin’ to the body. It don’t show respect.”
“You are correct as to your account of how things were done in the past,” said Sir John. “But you will recall that up to five or six years ago, Sir Thomas Cox would convene his coroner’s inquests and often required you to deliver a corpus to one medico or another that he might give testimony at the inquest.”
“Aye, so it was.”
“Well, we are back once again to that.”
“And who is the new coroner?”
“I am — until a proper one be appointed.”
“So this here phy-si-cian gets the body?”
“I fear that is the case, sir.”
“Well, then, if that be so, I reckon I’ll just be on my way with the old party I collected up Half Moon Passage — no marks on him, and his landlord said he was at his bedside when he passed.”
“But that is what we argued about!” said Mr. Donnelly. “He said he would wait about only so long as it took you to decide who had claim to the body. He now refuses to wait the few minutes more it will take me to communicate my preliminary findings to you. He has a wagon standing by that is near empty. If he takes it away, we shall have to rent a wagon and team from a stable, or Jeremy and I must carry her body through the streets to my surgery.”
“Now, that does not seem reasonable, does it, sir?” said Sir John to the Raker.
“Well, it’s like I said. Sir John,” said the Raker, sulking. “Cutting them open and poking round inside don’t seem right to me — shows a lack of respect, it does. It’s not the sort of thing I wants to be part of.”
“Come now, sir, have I not heard you say on more than one occasion that the dead don’t care?”
“Well… yes, but that was different times — not the same thing.”
“I’ll not argue the point with you. You and I have worked together satisfactorily in the past. Let it be done as a favor to me.”
“When you puts it so, sir, I can’t hardly say no.”
“Good. Mr. Donnelly and I will conclude our business quickly, and then you may be on your way.”
With that, the group shifted a bit. The Raker went off to grumble to his gray, ghostlike nags. Mr. Donnelly took Sir John to one side that he might discuss with him, and I — in no wise barred from their talk — followed close with Sir John. Mr. Tolliver, who had waited through the wrangle with the Raker, showing signs of growing impatience, was pulled farther away by Mr. Bailey so that he might have no chance of overhearing what was said between surgeon and magistrate.
Mr. Donnelly’s report was brief and concise. He told Sir John that the dead girl seemed to be no more than fifteen or sixteen. She was killed in the same manner as the first victim, Teresa O’Reilly, and apparently with the same weapon. He had examined the butcher’s knives at Mr. Bailey’s urging, but none was of a size to inflict such a small wound. The body had been warm when it had been found, and still warm when first examined by Mr. Bailey. Since Mr. Bailey had checked his timepiece when summoned at half-past seven, that would place the time of death at not much earlier than a quarter past. In his opinion, the girl had been killed where she had been found, though the young constable who had gone off to search the passage at Mr. Bailey’s direction might possibly discover evidence to indicate otherwise.
“That is all you have for me?”
“At the moment, yes. The autopsy may yield something more.”
“Well, that little you have given me is sufficient to shift suspicion from our friend, Yossel — who is, by the bye, our overnight guest at Number 4 Bow Street. He seemed rather glad to accept our hospitality, seeing that there was a mob in hot pursuit of him.”
“That hideous broadsheet?”
“Exactly. As I see it, because of the matter of time.
Yossel could not have murdered this young girl, for at the time of her death he was in our custody and under lock and key. Since the weapon which killed her was almost certainly the one that was used to kill the first victim — the Irishwoman, O’Reilly — that probably eliminates him also as suspect in that homicide. Which leaves us only with the second in the series, the one for which he was brought to our attention — and we may find him alibi for that one. Sir John paused but a moment, then cocked his head curiously. “Tell me, Mr. Donnelly, could this knife with the narrow blade — I believe it was described to me as a ‘stiletto’ — could such a knife have been used to cut the throat of the Tarkin woman?”
The surgeon hesitated. “Well, I would have to consult my notes on her autopsy, but I would say possibly so — but quite unlikely. The mutilation was accomplished with a serrated blade; I’m almost certain the same knife was used on her throat.”