chap?”
Langton nodded.
“You think he’s connected with Glass?”
“Possibly. What do you know?”
“Only that Doktor Glass is the worst of all of ’em,” Forbes said. “Springheel Bob’s gang is bad enough, the Caribs no better, but nobody will speak of Doktor Glass out of fear. If he really is involved with your faceless man, you’ve got your work cut out for you.”
At that moment, as if on purpose, a maid opened the door, saw the two men, and gave a start, almost dropping the white linen folded over her arm. “Sorry, sirs. I was told to start setting the tables.”
“Give us just a minute, please,” Langton said. Then, when she’d left, he asked Paterson, “You know nothing about him?”
“I wish I did. I hate cruelty, especially to the old and the weak. His arrest would comfort many, not to mention solving at least three murders, maybe more.”
“How do you mean?”
Paterson said, “You can’t always depend on when someone is going to die. Only the Lord himself knows that. That interferes with Glass’s schedule, so he’s been known to speed the course of action.”
“He’s murdered the victims?”
“I’m sure he has.” Paterson got to his feet and reached for his empty glass. “Proving it is another thing altogether.”
Langton thought for a moment, then stood and swallowed his beer.“I can think of one way to catch him. It would be difficult, possibly immoral, and definitely dangerous.”
“How?”
Langton said, “We set a trap.”
* * *
B Y THE TIME Langton left the public house, the streets had filled with people. Homeward-bound commuters huddled beneath the tram stop glass shelters; office workers, clerks, and secretaries hurried along with heads bowed against the cold. At street level, most of the snow had melted. Wet pavements reflected yellow gaslight.
Langton checked his watch and then searched the congested roads for a hansom cab. He walked up Castle Street and all the way to Dale Street before he could flag down a driver. “Gladstone Crescent, and hurry.”
“Do the best I can, sir.”
As the cab lurched away into the stream of traffic, Langton hoped Doctor Redfers would wait for him. Langton hadn’t expected to spend so much time with Paterson. Had it been a waste? Paterson had confirmed what Mrs. Grizedale, Sister Wright, and the Professor had all stated: The Jar Boys existed. Now Langton had no option but to accept them as a fact.
But he’d had no right to ask Paterson to consider setting a trap. After all, the Jar Boys might play only a small part in the case of the murdered Kepler. Hand on heart, Langton knew he should not have asked Paterson to consider such a dangerous and possibly immoral trap. It might be different if the whole case pivoted on them, but Langton had to admit that it would be for Sarah’s benefit and for his own peace of mind. He almost asked the driver to turn the cab around.
“Gladstone Crescent, sir.”
Langton paid the driver and climbed the steps of the three-story town house set opposite a well-tended park bordered by iron railings.He rang the brass bell and waited. Most of the house lay in darkness, with not even a glimmer in the transom above the door, but one dim light glowed in a room to the left. Redfers’s consulting room.
Langton rang again. No answer. Obviously, Redfers had left for the evening or did not wish to be disturbed. That didn’t explain why the maid didn’t open the door. Langton hesitated, looking up and down the quiet crescent, then tried the door handle; it turned in his hand.
“Redfers? It’s Langton.”
The cold hallway led into darkness. Slipping inside, Langton eased the door shut and stood there, listening. The tick of the grandfather clock. No voices. No murmurs. No movement.
The narrow central strip of carpet on the parquet floor silenced Langton’s steps. He tried to remember the layout of the house from his last visit. He pushed open the first door to his right and saw the
Langton nodded.
“You think he’s connected with Glass?”
“Possibly. What do you know?”
“Only that Doktor Glass is the worst of all of ’em,” Forbes said. “Springheel Bob’s gang is bad enough, the Caribs no better, but nobody will speak of Doktor Glass out of fear. If he really is involved with your faceless man, you’ve got your work cut out for you.”
At that moment, as if on purpose, a maid opened the door, saw the two men, and gave a start, almost dropping the white linen folded over her arm. “Sorry, sirs. I was told to start setting the tables.”
“Give us just a minute, please,” Langton said. Then, when she’d left, he asked Paterson, “You know nothing about him?”
“I wish I did. I hate cruelty, especially to the old and the weak. His arrest would comfort many, not to mention solving at least three murders, maybe more.”
“How do you mean?”
Paterson said, “You can’t always depend on when someone is going to die. Only the Lord himself knows that. That interferes with Glass’s schedule, so he’s been known to speed the course of action.”
“He’s murdered the victims?”
“I’m sure he has.” Paterson got to his feet and reached for his empty glass. “Proving it is another thing altogether.”
Langton thought for a moment, then stood and swallowed his beer.“I can think of one way to catch him. It would be difficult, possibly immoral, and definitely dangerous.”
“How?”
Langton said, “We set a trap.”
* * *
B Y THE TIME Langton left the public house, the streets had filled with people. Homeward-bound commuters huddled beneath the tram stop glass shelters; office workers, clerks, and secretaries hurried along with heads bowed against the cold. At street level, most of the snow had melted. Wet pavements reflected yellow gaslight.
Langton checked his watch and then searched the congested roads for a hansom cab. He walked up Castle Street and all the way to Dale Street before he could flag down a driver. “Gladstone Crescent, and hurry.”
“Do the best I can, sir.”
As the cab lurched away into the stream of traffic, Langton hoped Doctor Redfers would wait for him. Langton hadn’t expected to spend so much time with Paterson. Had it been a waste? Paterson had confirmed what Mrs. Grizedale, Sister Wright, and the Professor had all stated: The Jar Boys existed. Now Langton had no option but to accept them as a fact.
But he’d had no right to ask Paterson to consider setting a trap. After all, the Jar Boys might play only a small part in the case of the murdered Kepler. Hand on heart, Langton knew he should not have asked Paterson to consider such a dangerous and possibly immoral trap. It might be different if the whole case pivoted on them, but Langton had to admit that it would be for Sarah’s benefit and for his own peace of mind. He almost asked the driver to turn the cab around.
“Gladstone Crescent, sir.”
Langton paid the driver and climbed the steps of the three-story town house set opposite a well-tended park bordered by iron railings.He rang the brass bell and waited. Most of the house lay in darkness, with not even a glimmer in the transom above the door, but one dim light glowed in a room to the left. Redfers’s consulting room.
Langton rang again. No answer. Obviously, Redfers had left for the evening or did not wish to be disturbed. That didn’t explain why the maid didn’t open the door. Langton hesitated, looking up and down the quiet crescent, then tried the door handle; it turned in his hand.
“Redfers? It’s Langton.”
The cold hallway led into darkness. Slipping inside, Langton eased the door shut and stood there, listening. The tick of the grandfather clock. No voices. No murmurs. No movement.
The narrow central strip of carpet on the parquet floor silenced Langton’s steps. He tried to remember the layout of the house from his last visit. He pushed open the first door to his right and saw the
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