“Yes sir. I’m sorry, sir. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, you did well to put the question to me. But what I wish you to do now, Jeremy, is return to the room of Catherine Tiddle and find out all you can about her from the bits and pieces in her room. Can you do that, lad? Don’t allow anything to slip through your fingers.”
“I can, sir, of course. I’ll give the afternoon to it.”
With that and a quick goodbye, I started from the room.
“There was but one other matter,” said he, calling after me.
“And what is that, sir?”
“Would you accompany Clarissa to her destination? It seems that she happened to run into a friend from Lichfield. She said that you knew about this?”
“That is correct, sir.” He meant Elizabeth Hooker, of course. I recalled that they had arranged to meet that day that they might reminisce and do what other foolish things girls do at such an age.
“I understand that it’s quite near your own destination- in one of those courts off St. Martin’s Lane-the better part. Still, it is St. Martin’s and quite near Seven Dials, so your company with her would be appreciated. You might make arrangements to walk back with her, too.”
So it was decided for me. I mounted the stairs quickly and collected Clarissa from the kitchen. She had brought the leftover pot roast up to the point where it needed only to be popped into the oven. As I entered, she was sitting, her cloak over her arm, waiting for me. She took but a moment to throw the cloak round her shoulders and announce that she was ready to go.
Then, out in the street, we walked close together with barely a word between us for the length of Bow Street-or perhaps even farther. At last, Clarissa, who abhors silence, could endure it no longer. She turned to me all of a sudden and demanded to know why I was not speaking.
“Why I was not?” said I in a most defensive manner. “I hear nothing from you, do I?”
“I was quiet because you were. Besides, I asked you first, didn’t I?”
We could have gone round-about in such a way for an hour or more. And, a year or two before, we would have done just that. Yet now, as both of us attempted, with some success, to act in a more mature manner, such behavior hardly seemed appropriate.
“Oh, all right,” said I, “to tell the truth, as we are now sworn to do, Sir John gave me a proper burning, then sent me off to accompany you to your friend’s place. And by the way, where is it?”
“Dawson’s Alley,” said she, “number five.”
“Should be easy to find.”
“So you were-oh, how to put it? You were licking your wounds-mentally, that is.”
I thought about that a moment. I understood the picture perfectly, but still. .
“Not exactly the image I would use,” said I. “Nevertheless, that sums it up pretty well.”
“Well, forgive me,” said she. “But is there nothing I can do to help?”
“No, not really. I deserved it, you see.”
“Truly so? Wouldn’t it help to talk about it?”
“Perhaps not as much as you think,” said I uncertainly. Yet it was my uncertainty that led me to tell her all that had passed between Sir John and myself as she waited in the kitchen for me. Yes, I told her all and offered comments along the way regarding my responses and his own. To my surprise, it did indeed help to restore my equilibrium. The telling of it all, her comments as well as my own-all of this took a good deal longer than I expected. In fact, by the time the story was done, we had reached noisy St. Martin’s Lane where the usual crowd of hawkers and barrow-sellers did congregate. ’Twas then just round the corner to Dawson’s Alley and number five.
It was a larger, more imposing building than most of those there on the narrow little alley. Built of brick and three stories tall, number five was impressive by any measure.
“This is where her mother lives?” I asked. “Does she own this grand structure?”
“Ah, no, she rents out the rooms, fixes the meals, and does all that needs to be done. The owner collects the rents. I gather it’s all quite respectable.”
“It certainly looks respectable-more in the nature of a prison than a lodging house. You’re expected, of course?”
“Oh yes.”
“Well, do keep in confidence all that I told you on the way here, won’t you?”
“Oh, I will,” said Clarissa. “Let me repeat that I think you did right to remind Sir John that if he had suspicions earlier, he should have asked to see Mistress Tiddle most immediate.”
“He admitted as much.”
“We’ll talk of it later, shall we?”
“Perhaps. In any case, I’ll come by for you in about two hours, give or take a bit.”
“Two hours it is.”
With that, she left me, crossing to the door and banging upon it with the brass hand-knocker that had been there provided. No more than a minute later, Elizabeth appeared, threw her arms round her visitor, and pulled her inside. Clarissa barely had opportunity to wave goodbye to me. My duty then discharged, I set off in the direction of Seven Dials.
I had not been a great deal of time in Katy Tiddle’s untidy room, not much more than an hour, when I received a considerable surprise. I had thrown open the curtains which covered the window, certain that to do the sort of thorough search Sir John had asked of me, I should need plenty of light. And, indeed, it was so. What the abundance of daylight revealed were bits and pieces of paper scattered here and there round the place. Most of them were of no importance. Mistress Tiddle, it seemed, was in the habit of pulling the labels from all sorts of bottles-chemist’s, whiskey bottles, even French wine bottles (though how and where she had found that last I have no idea). I collected them all, assuring myself that if they had significance of any sort, I would more likely discover it through careful study at Number 4 Bow Street. Yet it may well have been that the labels had no significance at all.
The pile of numbered tickets and stubs I found in the single drawer of her bedside table was another matter entirely. Could Katy Tiddle read or write? Not likely. Did she know numbers beyond the ten digits she found upon her hands? These, I was sure, were more interesting and of much greater significance-if I could but determine what that significance might be.
Interesting as these might be-and they did, in the end, prove so-they were not the “considerable surprise” to which I referred a few lines back. That came, as I said, a little over an hour after my arrival. By that time, I had looked near everywhere-through her clothes, under the bed, et cetera. As I remember, I was standing in the middle of the room, checking the corners, looking about for new places to search, when I heard a noise from the front of the room. I had closed the door after me when I came in to search the place, and, at first, I thought what I had heard was someone unknown to me trying a key in the lock. But no, a moment later the tumbler turned, and I understood that it was not the door to Tiddle’s, but rather the one to Alice Plummer’s, that had just been unlocked. When it swang open, creaking and complaining, I was sure of it. Could it be Plummer come back?
There were firm steps upon the floor of the room just beyond the south wall. The door had been left open. That meant, perhaps, that whoever had entered had no intent to stay long. If I wished to detain and question that person I had best act quickly and decisively. I tiptoed quickly to Tiddle’s door and opened it. Stepping out into the daylight, I was immediately aware that all my efforts at quiet had been quite unnecessary, for the person in the next room was making a great racket on his own. It was a man. I was near certain of it. Only a man would throw things around and stamp about in such a way. I was in no wise prepared for this sort of interruption and would have liked the opportunity to think through my course of action, but, of course, there was no time for that. If I were to act, I should have to do so immediately.