of names in his head.
“He’s the fellow who put me in prison.”
“Ah, the fellow you batted for at university,” the Guv stated, docketing him into a specific slot. “And just what do you intend to do?”
“Why, confront him, of course.”
“Is that wise?”
“I owe him a beating. That blackguard killed my wife!”
“As I recall, she died of consumption.”
“Yes, but he kept me from buying the medicine and beat me up while his two mates held me down. And he had me arrested!”
I was talking to Barker, but in front of my eyes all the memories of that terrible time were flashing by. I remembered the feel of Clay’s fist in my stomach and the iron taste of blood. Most of all, I remembered the vision of Jenny, my Jenny, wasting away in a verminous bed, with the dark circles under her eyes and red stains on her handkerchief.
“It is in the past, lad,” Barker stated. “We have no reason to confront him in this case.”
“But, sir,” I said, “this is obviously not his usual neighborhood, and he appears to be taking flowers to someone.”
“In Bethnal Green?” Barker asked, tapping his chin with the handle of his umbrella. “He married last year, you know. The announcement was in The Times. ”
“Yes, I saw it, and I do not believe he and his bride have set up housekeeping in Cambridge Road. He’s got himself a mistress one year into his marriage. That’s just the sort of caddish thing Clay would do. We should speak to him.”
“Mmm,” Barker grumbled, which in this case meant Don’t press me.
“Look, we can’t know if there’s a connection to the case until we ask,” I said. “We should question him in the interest of thoroughness.”
“Oh, very well, but you must promise me you will not issue him a challenge.”
I had wanted to do just that. In fact, I wanted to skip the entire questioning stage and punch him on that pointed chin of his. Over and over again I saw my two knuckles connecting with his jaw and him falling backward.
“Yes, sir,” I said. “I promise not to challenge him.”
“Very well, let us go.”
I controlled myself, walking behind Barker, letting him lead, instead of charging the building like the Light Brigade. It was much better kept than most in the area, a mews which had been divided into flats. My employer ascertained that it wasn’t merely one house by glancing through the hall window, and he opened the outer door in that way he has, very silkily for a large man. We were faced with the problem of which flat Clay was in, but the answer came from a single petal in front of one door, as scarlet as sin. I expected Barker to give the door a solid thumping as he had done Mrs. Bellovich’s, but instead he chose a discreet knock upon the wood.
The door opened and there he was, the Honorable Palmister Clay, as sneering and officious as ever. I hated his smug good looks and air of superiority. Let Barker handle this, I thought. I put my head down, adjusting my bowler.
“Who in hell are you?” he demanded. That was Clay. He hadn’t changed a hair since our days at university.
Barker snapped one of his cards out in that way he has and passed it over, still saying nothing.
“I don’t need a private enquiry agent.” He tried to close the door in our faces, but the Guv moved his boot forward, insinuating it against the frame.
“I am not soliciting custom, Mr. Clay.”
“Who is it, Palmsy?” a feminine voice said behind my old enemy. Palmsy?
A girl’s head peered around his shoulder. Not a woman’s, a girl’s. No more than thirteen, I should say, but in a frothy dressing gown, her hair up, and very adult-looking pearls in her ears. She was a child trying to act like a woman. This was the paramour his wife did not know about? My eye flicked down her arm. There was no ring on her finger. I wondered what Mrs. Clay looked like. She must be close to twice this young chit’s age.
“Nobody,” Clay told her flatly. “Get some decent clothes on,
“He’s the fellow who put me in prison.”
“Ah, the fellow you batted for at university,” the Guv stated, docketing him into a specific slot. “And just what do you intend to do?”
“Why, confront him, of course.”
“Is that wise?”
“I owe him a beating. That blackguard killed my wife!”
“As I recall, she died of consumption.”
“Yes, but he kept me from buying the medicine and beat me up while his two mates held me down. And he had me arrested!”
I was talking to Barker, but in front of my eyes all the memories of that terrible time were flashing by. I remembered the feel of Clay’s fist in my stomach and the iron taste of blood. Most of all, I remembered the vision of Jenny, my Jenny, wasting away in a verminous bed, with the dark circles under her eyes and red stains on her handkerchief.
“It is in the past, lad,” Barker stated. “We have no reason to confront him in this case.”
“But, sir,” I said, “this is obviously not his usual neighborhood, and he appears to be taking flowers to someone.”
“In Bethnal Green?” Barker asked, tapping his chin with the handle of his umbrella. “He married last year, you know. The announcement was in The Times. ”
“Yes, I saw it, and I do not believe he and his bride have set up housekeeping in Cambridge Road. He’s got himself a mistress one year into his marriage. That’s just the sort of caddish thing Clay would do. We should speak to him.”
“Mmm,” Barker grumbled, which in this case meant Don’t press me.
“Look, we can’t know if there’s a connection to the case until we ask,” I said. “We should question him in the interest of thoroughness.”
“Oh, very well, but you must promise me you will not issue him a challenge.”
I had wanted to do just that. In fact, I wanted to skip the entire questioning stage and punch him on that pointed chin of his. Over and over again I saw my two knuckles connecting with his jaw and him falling backward.
“Yes, sir,” I said. “I promise not to challenge him.”
“Very well, let us go.”
I controlled myself, walking behind Barker, letting him lead, instead of charging the building like the Light Brigade. It was much better kept than most in the area, a mews which had been divided into flats. My employer ascertained that it wasn’t merely one house by glancing through the hall window, and he opened the outer door in that way he has, very silkily for a large man. We were faced with the problem of which flat Clay was in, but the answer came from a single petal in front of one door, as scarlet as sin. I expected Barker to give the door a solid thumping as he had done Mrs. Bellovich’s, but instead he chose a discreet knock upon the wood.
The door opened and there he was, the Honorable Palmister Clay, as sneering and officious as ever. I hated his smug good looks and air of superiority. Let Barker handle this, I thought. I put my head down, adjusting my bowler.
“Who in hell are you?” he demanded. That was Clay. He hadn’t changed a hair since our days at university.
Barker snapped one of his cards out in that way he has and passed it over, still saying nothing.
“I don’t need a private enquiry agent.” He tried to close the door in our faces, but the Guv moved his boot forward, insinuating it against the frame.
“I am not soliciting custom, Mr. Clay.”
“Who is it, Palmsy?” a feminine voice said behind my old enemy. Palmsy?
A girl’s head peered around his shoulder. Not a woman’s, a girl’s. No more than thirteen, I should say, but in a frothy dressing gown, her hair up, and very adult-looking pearls in her ears. She was a child trying to act like a woman. This was the paramour his wife did not know about? My eye flicked down her arm. There was no ring on her finger. I wondered what Mrs. Clay looked like. She must be close to twice this young chit’s age.
“Nobody,” Clay told her flatly. “Get some decent clothes on,
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