getting anxious; a journeyman trying to play a craftsman’s game. Not for the first time, Warrington wondered whether he’d hired someone too low down the criminal
fraternity. He’d wanted a cheap thug. After all, the target required little skill – just a tart and her baby. The hired man just needed to have a strong stomach, was all. But also, some
thug who could be made to disappear afterwards without much fuss. A low-life without too many friends or contacts who might start wondering why their old colleague no longer seemed to turn up at
his regular haunts.
Tolly, though, seemed to be getting a little too edgy now. Dangerously edgy.
‘Excuse me.’
A whispered voice.
‘What is the word?’
The voice seemed to be right beside his ear. Warrington lurched in his seat. Looked either side of him and saw no one.
‘Tell me, what is the word?’
This time he detected the soft voice coming around the end of the booth divide. He twisted on his seat to look behind him. Above the shoulder-high wooden panelling was a frieze of decorative
frosted glass, and through its foggy mist he could see the dark outline of the back of a head. Perfectly still.
‘The keyword. The word that allowed you to read my message, if you please.’
He’s right there . Warrington could feel his heart skipping a jig.
‘Spirit,’ said Warrington quietly.
‘Very good. Now, best if you settle down. Turn back around. You don’t need to be staring at this partition to hear me, do you?’
Warrington nodded. ‘No, no, of course not.’
He heard the rustle of a newspaper. ‘Do you have a paper to look at while we talk?’
‘Yes.’ Warrington pulled the Illustrated London News from his coat pocket, shook out the folds and opened it up.
‘Splendid. Now, before we discuss the particulars, I’d like to know a little bit about who I’m dealing with.’ Warrington heard the man shuffle slightly on the
other side of the thin wooden partition. ‘I’d like to know a little about you.’
‘My name is—’
‘No, I don’t need a name. It’s best if we don’t exchange real names.’ His voice was a little clearer. He must have shifted position so that his mouth was
just around the edge of the booth. Just a few inches away from Warrington, just around the corner of a thin lip of wood. ‘For the duration of our little discussion, I shall think of you
as, let’s see . . . you seem like a “George”. So that’s what I’m going to call you. And as for me? Well, you have my nom de plume.’
Warrington shook his head with an uneasy incredulity at the man’s lucky guess. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘The sort of people I shall be dealing with, George.’
‘You have dealt with associates of ours before, I believe? In New York?’
‘Indeed. Reliable clients. Settled their fee promptly. I have no complaints. But what about you, George? Are you reliable? Will this particular contract end with both parties
satisfied?’
Warrington swallowed nervously. ‘We’ve been informed you are wholly reliable. Full discretion assured.’
‘Of course, of course. I really wouldn’t come so highly recommended if that were not so. But for my part, I need to know if I can trust you. No half-truths, George, no hidden
arrangements, no contingency plans that I’m not aware of.’
‘Of course not.’
The Candle Man said nothing. Across the station’s busy concourse, a platform attendant blew a shrill whistle to announce the imminent departure of a train.
‘We have a man we paid to do a job for us. And now he’s attempting to blackmail—’
‘The details can come later. Since I’m dealing directly with you, George, I want to know what kind of a person are you. Can you deal with me honestly?’
‘I shan’t attempt to deceive you. We . . . uh . . . we’ve heard stories, rumours, of what happened last time a client tried to . . . uh . . . tried to con you. The cannibalism
story. Whether that particular rumour is true
fraternity. He’d wanted a cheap thug. After all, the target required little skill – just a tart and her baby. The hired man just needed to have a strong stomach, was all. But also, some
thug who could be made to disappear afterwards without much fuss. A low-life without too many friends or contacts who might start wondering why their old colleague no longer seemed to turn up at
his regular haunts.
Tolly, though, seemed to be getting a little too edgy now. Dangerously edgy.
‘Excuse me.’
A whispered voice.
‘What is the word?’
The voice seemed to be right beside his ear. Warrington lurched in his seat. Looked either side of him and saw no one.
‘Tell me, what is the word?’
This time he detected the soft voice coming around the end of the booth divide. He twisted on his seat to look behind him. Above the shoulder-high wooden panelling was a frieze of decorative
frosted glass, and through its foggy mist he could see the dark outline of the back of a head. Perfectly still.
‘The keyword. The word that allowed you to read my message, if you please.’
He’s right there . Warrington could feel his heart skipping a jig.
‘Spirit,’ said Warrington quietly.
‘Very good. Now, best if you settle down. Turn back around. You don’t need to be staring at this partition to hear me, do you?’
Warrington nodded. ‘No, no, of course not.’
He heard the rustle of a newspaper. ‘Do you have a paper to look at while we talk?’
‘Yes.’ Warrington pulled the Illustrated London News from his coat pocket, shook out the folds and opened it up.
‘Splendid. Now, before we discuss the particulars, I’d like to know a little bit about who I’m dealing with.’ Warrington heard the man shuffle slightly on the
other side of the thin wooden partition. ‘I’d like to know a little about you.’
‘My name is—’
‘No, I don’t need a name. It’s best if we don’t exchange real names.’ His voice was a little clearer. He must have shifted position so that his mouth was
just around the edge of the booth. Just a few inches away from Warrington, just around the corner of a thin lip of wood. ‘For the duration of our little discussion, I shall think of you
as, let’s see . . . you seem like a “George”. So that’s what I’m going to call you. And as for me? Well, you have my nom de plume.’
Warrington shook his head with an uneasy incredulity at the man’s lucky guess. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘The sort of people I shall be dealing with, George.’
‘You have dealt with associates of ours before, I believe? In New York?’
‘Indeed. Reliable clients. Settled their fee promptly. I have no complaints. But what about you, George? Are you reliable? Will this particular contract end with both parties
satisfied?’
Warrington swallowed nervously. ‘We’ve been informed you are wholly reliable. Full discretion assured.’
‘Of course, of course. I really wouldn’t come so highly recommended if that were not so. But for my part, I need to know if I can trust you. No half-truths, George, no hidden
arrangements, no contingency plans that I’m not aware of.’
‘Of course not.’
The Candle Man said nothing. Across the station’s busy concourse, a platform attendant blew a shrill whistle to announce the imminent departure of a train.
‘We have a man we paid to do a job for us. And now he’s attempting to blackmail—’
‘The details can come later. Since I’m dealing directly with you, George, I want to know what kind of a person are you. Can you deal with me honestly?’
‘I shan’t attempt to deceive you. We . . . uh . . . we’ve heard stories, rumours, of what happened last time a client tried to . . . uh . . . tried to con you. The cannibalism
story. Whether that particular rumour is true
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