Bruce Alexander - Person or Persons Unknown

“And vehicles? Riders?”

“Well, none passed by, but I saw one behind me, which surprised me, as I had seen none before when I passed that way.”

”Behind you? What caused you to look?”

“It was the footsteps before I came to the passage. I turned round and looked, for after dark on these streets you should always keep an eye out. But I saw nothing, no one, except the wagon, and I saw it but part — halted in the Garden.”

“Could you have failed to notice it before?”

He thought. “Yes, I s’pose I could. After all, a wagon — how many does a man see in a day?”

“Hmmm, well… yes. But, sir, you might very well have heard the fleeing footsteps of the murderer. Has that not occurred to you?”

“No, sir, I can’t say that it did.”

“What about the wagon? Was there anything unusual about it — what you saw of it, that is?”

“No, sir, it was just a wagon. I didn’t see it well, just the shape of it. The light is none too good there” — he pointed — “as you can see yourself.” Then, realizing his embarrassing error: “Oh, but you can’t see, can you? Sorry, sir. I forgot.”

“Many do,” said Sir John, with perhaps a modicum of irony. “But tell me, sir, how long did it take you from the time you ducked into the passage to realize the girl was dead and call for help from Constable Bailey and Jeremy?”

“Not long, a minute or two, not much more.”

Sir John turned to me. “Would that be about the length of time it took to walk from Bedford Street — or just this side?”

“That would be about right, sir.”

“In that length of time, say, when you were called by Mr. Tolliver, did you see any part of that wagon?”

“No, sir, I did not.” Of that I was sure.

“So in that brief space of time the murderer could have made his escape. Isn’t that likely?”

“Well… it might be so, sir.”

“It might indeed.” Sir John gave a firm nod. “I have but one last question for you, Mr. Tolliver, and it is this: Did you know the girl you found dead?”

“Know her in what way?”

“In any way, sir.”

“I saw her on a few occasions in the Garden. She bought from me two or three times in the past months.”

“You knew her by name?”

“Oh no. I never asked it, and she never gave it.”

“Was she a girl of the streets? A prostitute?”

“I don’t know — p’rhaps, probably. So many are hereabouts. I saw her once in conversation with a man beneath a streetlamp in such a way.”

“Was that, by any chance, here on Henrietta Street?”

He thought about that a moment. “Why, so it was — right at the comer of Bedford.”

“Very well then, Mr. Tolliver. There will no doubt be an inquest into this death sometime in the future. I cannot yet fix the date, but I would like you to come and repeat what you’ve told me.”

He frowned and nodded. “I understand.”

“But you are now free to go.”

Mr. Tolliver wasted no time on speeches. “Thank you, sir. And goodbye to you, Jeremy.”

He turned and stalked off down Henrietta Street.

“Mr. Bailey?” Sir John called out to his captain. “You have that man’s address?”

“Aye, sir — and of course he’s at his stall in the Garden every day but Sunday.”

“Good. I shall want to talk to him again, sometime soon. There’s something not quite right there. Either that, or he is the worst witness I have come across in quite some time. Both — or either — are possible.”

“Here’s the Raker back with Mr. Donnelly,” said the constable. “And I see Cowley’s lamp swingin’ this way in the passage.”

“In a few minutes more then, we’ll be able to leave. Jeremy,” he added to me in a low voice, “I almost wish that I’d not come out at all.”

As it happened, I missed the better part of Sir John’s inquest into the death of Priscilla Tarkin, for I had been appointed to write and dehver an advert describing the girl discovered in the passage by Mr. Tolliver the night before. It was an appeal to any and all who might know her to come and identify her body. Because of the conditions under which I viewed her, I found it difficult to write a description of any sort. She had not a distinctive face, so far as I could remember, and the bad light had made it most difficult to retain a clear impression of it. And so, knowing not what else to do, I set off for Mr. Donnelly’s surgery that I might have a better look at her.

Arriving a bit before eight, I knocked upon his door. When it opened, again he expressed his surprise at seeing me there, but in no wise did he make me feel unwelcome. He bade me enter, and I explained my mission. All was well, but he reminded me, checking his timepiece, that he would have to leave in an hour’s time to attend Sir John’s inquest. Then he brought me into his examination room, where the body of the unknown girl lay upon a long, narrow table beneath a sheet.

“I have not cut into her as yet,” said he. “She is as she was when you saw her last night, though she has gone stiff during the hours since then.”

“How should I begin a description?” I asked.

“Why, with height and weight, I suppose. I have measured her at five feet tall, and I reckon her weight at not much more than seven stone. Though not a starveling, I would say she was not well fed for some time — perhaps had never been.”

I noted height and weight down with my pencil on the paper I had brought, and I began to study her face.

“Her hair is plain brown,” he continued, “and her face long and oval. She has three missing teeth in back, two on the left side and one on the right. There were no scars I could detect, except one on her left cheek — half-moon shaped, as a ring might have left an impression from a blow to the face. The two missing teeth are directly below the scar. As for her age, I’d give it as fifteen or sixteen.”

All this, as well, I duly noted down.

“These women,” said I, thinking of Mariah, “these girls — they lead hard lives, don’t they, sir?”

“They do indeed, and for that it is men must take the blame.”

“I… I see what you mean, sir.” I continued studying her face, hoping for some inspiration; none came. “How do you describe a face?” I asked.

“Ah, that is a question, is it not?” said Mr. Donnelly. “What is it makes one different from another? Aside from it being long and oval-shaped, what is there about hers that makes it different from all others in London? It is a great mystery to me that God has endowed each of us with a physiognomy quite unlike any other. I have heard it said that each of us has, somewhere in the world, a double — a twin bom of a different father and mother. Yet I have traveled some in this world, and I have seen no evidence to support that. In short, Jeremy, I fear I cannot help you much. I have neither the wit nor the art to describe a face properly.”

During all this he had stood opposite me, looking down upon her as I did. But then, of a sudden, he glanced up at me, declaring, “I must prepare for my session with Sir John. If you will excuse me?”

“Of course,” said I, “and if you will permit me. Til go to the writing table in the next room and see can I compose an advert that might satisfy us both.”

Thus I took leave of him, sat where I said I would, and sought to write what must be writ. I wasted sheet after sheet in the effort. In the next room I heard the surgeon splashing and humming as he readied himself for the day. At last he came forth, clean-shaven and properly dressed, and I held out to him the latest (though not necessarily the final) version of the advert.