A Christmas Promise by Anne Perry Page A

rag and bone man, in the street, albeit a quiet one, perhaps a small alley, and you wished to take away the man’s cart in order to search it, what would you do to avoid drawing attention to yourself and having everybody know what you had done?”
    She knew she had to think and give him a sensible answer. She had to try not to think of Minnie Maude and the trouble she was in; it only sent her mind into a panic. Panic was no help at all.
    “Cos I di’n’t want nobody to look at me?” she pressed, seeking for time.
    “I don’t care if they look,” he corrected. “I don’t want them to see.”
    “Wot?” Then suddenly she had an idea. “Nobody sees rag an’ bone men, less they want summink. I’d put ’is ’at on an’ drive the cart meself, so they’d think I was ’im!”
    “Magnificent!” Balthasar said jubilantly. “That is precisely what a quick-thinking and desperate man would do! In fact, it is not necessarily true that he was killed where his body was found. That too could have been carried a short way at least, and left somewhere to mislead any inquiry. Yes, that is truly a great piece of imaginative detection, Gracie.”
    Gracie glowed with momentary pride, until shethought of Minnie Maude again. Then it vanished. “’as ’e got Minnie Maude?” she asked, afraid of the answer.
    “I don’t know, but we will get her back. If he took her, it is because he still doesn’t have the casket, so he will not harm her until he does. We must find it first.”
    “Well, if the toff don’t ’ave it, then Alf must a given it ter someone else between Cob an’ wherever ’e were killed.”
    “Indeed. And we must find out where that is. It is unfortunate that we know so little about Alf, and his likes and dislikes. Otherwise we might have a better idea where to begin. Perhaps we should assume that he is like most men—looking for comfort rather than adventure, someone to be gentle with him rather than to challenge him. Tell me, Gracie, what did Minnie Maude say to you about him? Why did she like him so much? Think carefully. It is important.”
    She understood, so she did not answer quickly,knowing her response would dictate where they would begin to look, and it might make the difference in terms of finding Minnie Maude in time to save her. It was silly to think Minnie Maude couldn’t be hurt. Alf was dead—and they knew the toff was out there. She could well believe that the powder he was addicted to had driven him mad to the point where he had tasted evil, and now could not rid himself of it.
    “’e were funny,” she said, measuring her words and still skipping the odd step to keep up with him. “’e made ’er laugh. ’e liked ’orses an’ dogs, an’ donkeys, o’ course. An’ ’ot chestnuts.”
    “And ale?”
    “Cider.” She struggled to recall exactly what Minnie Maude had said. “An’ good pickle wif ’am.”
    “I see. A man of taste. What else? Did she ever speak of his friends, other than Jimmy Quick? Tell me about Bertha.”
    “I think as Bertha is scared.”
    “She may well have reason to be. Who is shescared of, do you think? Stan? Someone else? Or just of being cold and hungry?”
    She thought for a few moments. “Stan… I think.” She thought back further, into her own earlier years, to when her father was alive. She remembered standing in the kitchen and hearing her mother’s voice frightened and pleading. “Not scared ’e’d ’it ’er, scared o’ wot ’e might do that’d get ’em all in trouble,” she amended aloud.
    “And Bertha is frightened and tired and a little short of temper, as she has much cause to be?”
    “Yeah …”
    “Come, Gracie. We must hurry, I think.” He grasped her hand and started to stride forward so quickly that she had to run to keep up with him as he swung around the corner and into a narrower street, just off Anthony Street—the way Jimmy Quick’s route would have taken them. They were still two hundred yards at least from