They passed through the crowd outside, ignoring the questions shouted at them, and swiftly walked away.
"You should have foreseen this, Richard," advised the poet, his voice uncharacteristically grim. "Oliphant read your notes."
"I know. Confounded fool that I am!" cursed Burton. "I never considered that the bastard would come here first and do away with the poor little soul. How the hell could I have overlooked the possibility? I'll never forgive myself!"
"Don't be an idiot. You overlooked it because infanticide is unimaginable," offered Swinburne. "No one normal would consider such an option. But Richard, when I say you should have foreseen it, I don't mean to censure you because you didn't; I mean to suggest that this new role of yours requires a different way of thinking. You have to attune that phenomenal intellect of yours to deviant possibilities like this."
"You're right, Algy, but I must confess: I'm doubting myself. First Monty Penniforth, now Billy Tupper; how many more innocent lives are to be lost due to my negligence?"
Swinburne suddenly hopped up and down and screeched: "For crying out loud, Richard, you didn't gut the cabbie or stab the child! Others did-and you have to stop them before they commit further atrocities!"
"All right! All right! Come on, let's check the missing boys' rooms. Maybe we can get some idea of why they weren't returned like Tupper and the others."
The second address supplied to Burton by the Beetle was less than half a mile away, on Tainted Row, which, despite its name, was a fairly respectable street of once handsome Georgian houses, now mostly divided into flats and individual chambers. Their destination was a three-storey residence that stood on the corner. Its various rooms were rented out by the landlord, Ebenezer Smike, to the League of Chimney Sweeps.
Smike was a careworn-looking individual, with a sallow complexion and uneven eyes, gaunt cheeks, and a long asymmetrical jaw, all of which gave his face a peculiarly bent quality. The fact that he regarded his visitors from the corners of his eyes, with his face slightly turned away, accentuated this impression. He wore a long threadbare dressing gown of a bilious green hue, and beneath it a pale yellow shirt, black and white chequered trousers, and a pair of worn tartan slippers.
"The League is still paying rent on the rooms," he explained as he led them up the stairs, "though they stand empty. I ain't touched 'em. Here you are."
He opened a door, revealing a small chamber containing a bed, a table and chair, a wardrobe, and a water basin.
Burton stepped in and surveyed the room; looked at the clothes in the wardrobe-a shirt, a waistcoat, a pair of trousers, and a pair of soft shoesand at the comb, tin soldier, and bag of bull's-eyes on the table. A sootstained flannel hung over the edge of the basin. A well-thumbed penny dreadful-Robin Hood's Peril-lay on the bed.
"This was Benny Whymper's room," said Smike.
Two small boys had appeared and were standing behind the landlord, watching the proceedings.
Swinburne smiled at them and asked, "Are you lads sweeps, too?"
"Yes, Mister," said one.
The next room, Jacob Spratt's, was almost identical to the first. A pair of slippers poked out from beneath the bed; a mirror leaned against the wall over the washbasin; a tattered notepad containing childish drawings, mainly of locomotives, lay on the table.
Swinburne examined himself in the mirror and groaned.
"I've modelled for the Pre-Raphaelites," he muttered, "but I don't think they'd want to paint me today. I look awful!"
The final room, which had belonged to Rajish Thakarta, contained a great many toy soldiers which the boy had cleverly carved from pieces of wood. His penknife was on the table, alongside a tattered book embossed with Sanskrit lettering. Burton recognised it as the Bhagavad Gita.
The wardrobe contained rather more clothes than those in the other rooms, including a small sherwani, the long coatlike garment common to South Asia. The boy obviously clung to his roots, though an orphan and far from his homeland.
As they moved back into the hallway, Burton stopped and looked thoughtful. He glanced at Swinburne, then at the two little chimney sweeps who were sheltering shyly behind Ebenezer Smike, then went into each of the three rooms once again and looked at the footwear in each.
He came out and suddenly squatted on his haunches and smiled at the two boys. Swinburne grinned, amazed at the way his friend's habitually ferocious expression seemed to melt away.
"I have two shillings, lads," said Burton. "Would you like to earn them-a bob apiece?"
"Not half?" they both hollered enthusiastically. They pushed past their landlord to stand before him.
"What do we have to do, Mister?" asked one.
"What's your name, son?"
"Charlie, sir; this is Ned."
"Well, Charlie and Ned, all you have to do is answer a question."
"Yes, sir?"
"Were the three boys who occupied these rooms tall?"
"Oh yes, sir!" they chorused.
"Regular giants, they were!" cried the youngster named Ned.
Burton nodded. "So older, eh?"
"No, not a bit of it! Just big 'uns, is all, sir!"
"Good lads," encouraged Burton. "Now, I have another question. If you think carefully about it and answer it truthfully, I'll add a sixpence each."
"Crumbs!" breathed Charlie.
"First of all," said Burton, "do you know the other boys who've disappeared recently?"
"Yes, Mister."
"I'm aware that most of them have come back. It's the ones who haven't that I want to ask you about."
"That'll be Jacob, Raj, and Benny, and Paul Kelly, Ed Trip, Mickey Smith, Lofty Sanderson, Thicko Chris Williams, and Ben Prentiss," said Charlie, counting the names off on his fingers.
"And Aubrey Baxter," added Ned. "He was snatched the other night."
"And those boys," said Burton, "were they tall, too?"
"I say! They certainly were!" cried Charlie excitedly. "They're some o' the tallest sweeps in the League, ain't that right, Ned?"
"Excepting Aubrey, what's a nipper like us, yes; beanpoles, the lot of em!" responded Ned.
"Thank you, boys-here are your wages."
He placed the coins in their eager little hands and rose to his feet, turning to Ebenezer Smike as the children scampered away as if afraid he might change his mind and demand the money back.
"Thank you, Mr. Smike. We won't take up any more of your time."
"You've seen all you need?"
"Yes, I believe so. We'll leave you in peace."
Smike accompanied them to the front door and, as they stood on the step and shook his hand, asked, "The young 'uns, sir-will they be back?"
"That I can't answer, I'm afraid," replied Burton.
He and Swinburne took their leave and strolled toward New Kent Road, intending to pick up a cab there.
"Interesting," muttered Burton. "It's the tall boys who aren't returning. What does that mean, I wonder?"
"But I say!" cried Swinburne. "What the dickens put you on that particular track?"
"You did! When you were looking into the mirror in Jacob Spratt's room I realised that it was leaning against the wall at an angle exactly suited to someone of your height; considerably taller than little Ned and Charlie. I then checked the shoes and slippers in the rooms and saw that they were all of a comparatively large size."
"Auguste Dupin!" screeched the poet excitedly, jumping around the older man like a whirling dervish.