He did not want to smile, but he could not help it. Suddenly there was a joy beside the fear, a fierce, warm ache he never wanted to lose.
Tellman did not even consider remaining by the flower market pursuing the stolen goods. It was still early. If he went straightaway he might find Remus and be able to confront him and discover, either by threat or persuasion, exactly what he knew. For Pitt’s sake he must find out what connection it had with Adinett—for everyone’s, if Remus really knew the identity of the most fearful murderer ever to strike London, or possibly anywhere. All other names of terror paled beside his.
He walked rapidly away, head down, not looking right or left in case he caught the eye of anyone he knew. Where would Remus be at this hour? It was not yet five past nine. Perhaps he was still at his home? He had been out late enough last night.
He caught a hansom, to save time, giving the driver Remus’s address.
If he were not there, then where would he be? Where would he go this morning? What pieces of the puzzle were left to find?
What did he know already? It had something to do with a coach driver called Nickley, who apparently had driven his master’s carriage around Whitechapel searching for those five particular women, and then when he had found them, someone had butchered them in the most horrific manner. Why these women and not others? Why had he stopped with five? They had been ordinary enough, prostitutes of one sort or another. There were tens of thousands like them. Yet, according to Gracie, whoever it was had asked after at least one ofthembyname.
The cab jolted him along the street without interrupting his concentration.
So it was not a maniac simply out to kill. There was purpose. Why had Annie Crook been taken from the tobacconist’s shop in Cleveland Street, and apparently ended up at Guy’s Hospital? And attended by the Queen’s surgeon! Why? Who paid for it? If she was insane it was hardly a surgical matter.
And who was the young man who had been taken from Cleveland Street at the same time, and also under protest?
He arrived, paid the driver but asked him to wait five minutes while he went and knocked on the door. The landlady told him Remus had gone out ten minutes before, but she had no idea where to.
Tellman thanked her and went back to the cab, directing the driver to the nearest railway station. He would take the underground train to Whitechapel, then walk the quarter mile or so to Cleveland Street.
Through the journey he sat turning the problem over in his mind. If Remus was not there, and he could not find him, he would have to start asking around himself. There did not seem any better place to begin. It all appeared to start with Annie Crook. There were several other pieces that so far had no connection, such as why was it important that Annie Crook had been Catholic?
Presumably the young man was not, and either his family or hers had objected. And her father, William Crook, had ended up dead in the St. Pancras Infirmary.
Who was Alice, that the coach driver had nearly run her down, not once, but twice? Why? What kind of a man wants to murder a seven-year-old child?
There was definitely a great deal more to learn, and if Remus knew any of it, then Tellman must get it from him, one way or another.
And who was the man Remus had met in Regent’s Park, who seemed to have been giving him advice and instruction? And who was the man he had quarreled with at the edge of Hyde Park? From Gracie’s description, a different man.
He got off at Whitechapel and walked rapidly to Cleveland Street, turning the corner and striding briskly.
This time luck was with him. He saw the figure of Remus less than a hundred yards ahead, standing almost still, as if uncertain which way to go.
Tellman increased his pace and reached him just as he was about to turn left and go towards the tobacconist’s shop.
Tellman put out his hand and grasped Remus’s arm.
“Before you go, Mr. Remus, I’d like a word with you.”
Remus jumped as if he had been frightened half out of his wits.
“Sergeant Tellman! What the devil are—” Then he stopped abruptly.
“Looking for you,” Tellman answered the question, even though it had not been completed.
Remus effected innocence. “Why?” He started to say something more, then thought better of it. He knew about protesting too much.
“Oh, a lot of things,” Tellman said casually, but without letting go of Remus’s arm. He could feel the muscles clenched under his fingers. “We can start with Annie Crook, go on through her abduction to Guy’s Hospital and whatever happened to her, and the death of her father, and the man you met in Regent’s Park, and the other man you quarreled with in Hyde Park…”
Remus was too badly shaken to conceal it. His face was white, fine beads of sweat on his lip and brow, but he said nothing.
“And we could go on to the coach driver who tried to run down the child, Alice Crook, and then threw himself into the river, only he swam out of it again,” Tellman went on. “But most of all I want to know about the man inside the coach that drove around Hanbury Street and Buck’s Row in the autumn of ’88, and cut the throats of five women, ending up disemboweling Catherine Eddowes in Mitre Square, where you were last night …” He stopped because he thought Remus was going to faint. He retained his grasp on him now as much to hold him up as to prevent him from running away.
Remus was shuddering violently. He tried to swallow, and nearly choked.
“You know who Jack is.” Tellman made it a statement.
Remus’s whole body was rigid, every muscle locked.
Tellman felt his own breath rasping. “He’s still alive … isn’t he?” he said hoarsely.
Remus jerked his head in a nod, but in spite of his fear there was a light returning to his eyes, almost a brilliance. He was sweating profusely. “It’s the story of the century,” he said, licking his lips nervously. “It’ll change the world … I swear!”
Tellman was doubtful, but he could see that Remus believed it. “If it catches Jack that’ll be enough for me,” he said quietly. “But you had better do some explaining, and now.” He could not think of a sufficiently effective threat, so he did not add one.
The challenge returned to Remus’s eyes. He snatched his arm loose from Tellman’s grip. “You won’t prove it without me. You’ll be lucky if you ever prove it at all!”
“Maybe it isn’t true.”
“Oh, it’s true!” Remus assured him, his voice ringing with certainty. “I just need a few more pieces. Gull’s dead, but there’ll be enough left, one way or another. And Stephen’s dead too, poor devil … and Eddy, but I’ll still prove it, in spite of them.”
“We,” Tellman corrected him grimly. “We’ll prove it.”
“I don’t need you.”
“Yes you do, or I’ll blow it wide open,” Tellman threatened. “I don’t care about making a story, you’re welcome to that, but I want the truth for other reasons, and I’ll get it, whether I make your story or ruin it.”
“Then come away from the shop,” Remus urged, glancing over his shoulder and back again at Tellman. “We can’t afford to wait around here and be noticed.” He turned as he spoke and started off towards the Mile End Road again.
The air smelled like thunder, damp and heavy.
Tellman hurried after him. “Explain it to me,” he ordered. “And no lies. I know a great deal. I just haven’t worked out how it all connects up … not yet.”
Remus walked a few paces without answering.
“Who is Annie Crook?” Tellman asked, matching him step for step. “And more important, where is she now?”
Remus deliberately ignored the first question. “I don’t know where she is,” he answered without looking at him. Then, before Tellman could become angry, he added, “Bedlam, by now, I should think. She was declared insane and put away. I don’t know whether she’s still alive. There’s no proper record of her at Guy’s, but I know she went there and was kept there for months.”