where Alf’s body had been found. Balthasar looked one way, then the other, seeming to study the bleak frontsof the buildings, the narrow doorways, the stains of soot and smoke and leaking gutters.
“Wot are yer lookin’ fer?” she asked.
“I am looking for whatever Alf was seeking when he came here,” Balthasar replied. “There was something, someone, with whom he wanted to share this casket he had found. Who was it?”
Gracie studied the narrow street as well. There was no pavement on one side, and barely a couple of feet of uneven stones on the other. Yet narrower alleys that led into yards invited no one. The houses had smeared windows, some already cracked, and recessed doorways in which the destitute huddled to stay out of the rain.
“It don’t look like nowhere I’d want ter be,” she said miserably.
“Nor I,” Balthasar agreed. “But we do not know who lives inside. We will have to ask. Distasteful, but necessary. Come.”
They set out across the road and approached the old woman in the first doorway.
Later, they were more than halfway toward the arch and gate at the end of the road when they found something that seemed hopeful.
“Took yer long enough,” a snaggletoothed man said, leaning sideways in the twelfth doorway. He regarded Gracie with disfavor. “I ’ope yer in’t expectin’ ter sell ’er? Couldn’t get sixpence for that bag o’ bones.” He laughed at his own wit.
“You are quite right,” Balthasar agreed. “She is all fire and brains, and no flesh at all. No good to customers of yours. I imagine they like warm and simple, and no answer back?”
The man looked nonplussed. “Right, an’ all,” he agreed slowly. “Then wot der yer want? Yer can’t come in ’ere wif ’er. Put people off.”
“I’m looking for my friend, Alf Mudway. Do you know him?”
“Wot if I do? Won’t do me no good now, will it! ’e’s dead. Yer wastin’ yer time.” The man stuck out his lantern jaw belligerently.
“I know he is dead,” Balthasar replied. “And Iknow he was killed here. I am interested that you know it too. I have friends to whom that will be of concern.” He allowed it to hang in the air, as if it were a threat.
“I dunno nuffink about it!” the man retaliated.
“One of my friends,” Balthasar said slowly, giving weight to each word, “is a tall man, and thin, as I am. But he is a little fairer of complexion, except for his eyes. He has eyes like holes in his head, as if the devil had poked his fingers into his skull, and left a vision of hell behind when he withdrew them.”
The color in the man’s face fled. “I already told ’im!” he said in a strangled voice. “Alf come in ’ere ter see Rose, an’ ’e went out again. I di’n’t see nuffink! I dunno wot ’e done nor wot ’e took! Nor the cabbie neither! I swear!”
“The cabbie?” Balthasar repeated. “Just possibly you are telling the truth. Describe him.” It was an order.
“’e were a cabbie, fer Gawd’s sake! Cape on for the rain. Bowler ’at.”
Gracie knew what Balthasar had told her, but she spoke anyway.
“Wot about ’is legs?” she challenged. She knocked her knees together and then apart again. “Could ’e catch a runaway pig?”
Balthasar stared at her.
“Not in a month o’ Sundays,” the man replied. “Bowlegged as a Queen Anne chair.”
Balthasar took Gracie by the arm, his fingers holding her so hard she could not move without being hurt. “We will now see Rose,” he stated.
The man started to refuse, then looked at Balthasar’s face again and changed his mind.
The inside of the house was poorly lit, but surprisingly warm, and the smell was less horrible than Gracie had expected. They had been told that Rose’s was the third room on the left.
“I’m sorry,” Balthasar apologized to her. “This may be embarrassing for you, but it will not be safe to leave you outside.”
“I don’ care,” Gracie said tartly. “We gotta find Minnie
“Wot are yer lookin’ fer?” she asked.
“I am looking for whatever Alf was seeking when he came here,” Balthasar replied. “There was something, someone, with whom he wanted to share this casket he had found. Who was it?”
Gracie studied the narrow street as well. There was no pavement on one side, and barely a couple of feet of uneven stones on the other. Yet narrower alleys that led into yards invited no one. The houses had smeared windows, some already cracked, and recessed doorways in which the destitute huddled to stay out of the rain.
“It don’t look like nowhere I’d want ter be,” she said miserably.
“Nor I,” Balthasar agreed. “But we do not know who lives inside. We will have to ask. Distasteful, but necessary. Come.”
They set out across the road and approached the old woman in the first doorway.
Later, they were more than halfway toward the arch and gate at the end of the road when they found something that seemed hopeful.
“Took yer long enough,” a snaggletoothed man said, leaning sideways in the twelfth doorway. He regarded Gracie with disfavor. “I ’ope yer in’t expectin’ ter sell ’er? Couldn’t get sixpence for that bag o’ bones.” He laughed at his own wit.
“You are quite right,” Balthasar agreed. “She is all fire and brains, and no flesh at all. No good to customers of yours. I imagine they like warm and simple, and no answer back?”
The man looked nonplussed. “Right, an’ all,” he agreed slowly. “Then wot der yer want? Yer can’t come in ’ere wif ’er. Put people off.”
“I’m looking for my friend, Alf Mudway. Do you know him?”
“Wot if I do? Won’t do me no good now, will it! ’e’s dead. Yer wastin’ yer time.” The man stuck out his lantern jaw belligerently.
“I know he is dead,” Balthasar replied. “And Iknow he was killed here. I am interested that you know it too. I have friends to whom that will be of concern.” He allowed it to hang in the air, as if it were a threat.
“I dunno nuffink about it!” the man retaliated.
“One of my friends,” Balthasar said slowly, giving weight to each word, “is a tall man, and thin, as I am. But he is a little fairer of complexion, except for his eyes. He has eyes like holes in his head, as if the devil had poked his fingers into his skull, and left a vision of hell behind when he withdrew them.”
The color in the man’s face fled. “I already told ’im!” he said in a strangled voice. “Alf come in ’ere ter see Rose, an’ ’e went out again. I di’n’t see nuffink! I dunno wot ’e done nor wot ’e took! Nor the cabbie neither! I swear!”
“The cabbie?” Balthasar repeated. “Just possibly you are telling the truth. Describe him.” It was an order.
“’e were a cabbie, fer Gawd’s sake! Cape on for the rain. Bowler ’at.”
Gracie knew what Balthasar had told her, but she spoke anyway.
“Wot about ’is legs?” she challenged. She knocked her knees together and then apart again. “Could ’e catch a runaway pig?”
Balthasar stared at her.
“Not in a month o’ Sundays,” the man replied. “Bowlegged as a Queen Anne chair.”
Balthasar took Gracie by the arm, his fingers holding her so hard she could not move without being hurt. “We will now see Rose,” he stated.
The man started to refuse, then looked at Balthasar’s face again and changed his mind.
The inside of the house was poorly lit, but surprisingly warm, and the smell was less horrible than Gracie had expected. They had been told that Rose’s was the third room on the left.
“I’m sorry,” Balthasar apologized to her. “This may be embarrassing for you, but it will not be safe to leave you outside.”
“I don’ care,” Gracie said tartly. “We gotta find Minnie
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