Peter Tremayne - An Ensuing Evil and Others

“The dredgers will have got to him before now.”

“Not so. This man is young. His body appears in good health and better dressed than most people in these parts. What dredger do you know who would leave the possibility of a reward for finding the body even if they have taken everything from the pockets? A rich person would obviously need an inquest, and there would be the fee from the coroner if they took it along. No, the man was killed, and the killer went through the pockets before tipping the body in the river. Ah-”

Dickens suddenly pulled from an inside waistcoat pocket what appeared to be a piece of narrow ribbon. It formed a small circle, tied in a bow.

“A woman’s ribbon?” asked Collins with a frown.

Dickens held it under the lamp. “A piece of red ribbon. Mean anything to you?”

Collins shook his head. “A lady’s hair ribbon?” he guessed.

“Come, man…” Dickens was indignant. “Think of law. This is the sort of ribbon a legal brief is tied up with. You’ll see this ribbon is still tied in a bow as if it has been slipped off a rolled document, a brief, without being untied, and thrust into our man’s waistcoat. Now look at the suit he wears; it appears to be black broadcloth. The man is without doubt a lawyer of some type.”

Collins gazed at his father-in-law in astonishment. “Next you will be telling me his name,” he observed dryly.

“Easy enough-Wraybrook.”

“Oh, come!” sneered Collins. “I can see the logic which leads you to guess that the man is a lawyer… that has to be proved, by the way… but where do you get the name Wraybrook from?”

Dickens held the lamp up so that Collins could see that he had loosened the corpse’s starched high white collar.

“Laundresses are invaluable these days. One of them has had the goodness to write the name on the underside of the collar with some indelible marker.”

He refastened the collar and completed his search before standing up.

“Poor devil. A young lawyer, his skull smashed in and thrown into the Thames. I wonder why.”

“Robbery? That’s the usual form.”

Dickens stood frowning down for a moment.

There was a noise from the lane as a figure came hurrying around the corner of the tavern and down the slipway toward them. It was the figure of a heavy man. As he came into the light of their raised lantern, they could see he was dressed in the uniform of the Metropolitan Police. He carried a torch, which he shone on them both.

“I’m told there was a body discovered here?” he said gruffly.

Dickens smiled. “And you are?…”

“Sergeant, sir. Sergeant Cuff of Thames Division.” The sergeant suddenly peered closely at him. “Beg pardon, sir, aren’t you-?”

“I am.”

“Did you-?”

“No. The landlady of the Grapes called us to have a look. A young man, Fred, found it. He works in the taproom of the inn.”

“Ah, just so.” The sergeant nodded. “He came to the station to tell us, so I cut along here smartish while he made a statement.” The torch moved down to the corpse at their feet. “No need to bother you further, then-you and Mr.-?”

“My son-in-law, Charles Collins.”

“Right then, sir. I’ll take charge from now on.”

“Then we shall leave you to it, Sergeant-?”

“Sergeant Cuff, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“They reentered the Grapes and returned to the Cozy, and as Dickens handed back Miss Mary’s lantern, he informed her that a police sergeant had arrived to take charge of things.

To their surprise, a moment later Fred came in. He smiled with some relief. “Gave ‘em the statement and they told me to go,” he announced in satisfaction.

Dickens nodded with a frown. Then he turned to Miss Mary and asked: “I don’t suppose you have a Kelly’s Post Office Directory to hand?”

“Matter of fact, Mr. Dickens, I do have such a volume,” she said, and turning behind her bar, extracted the volume from beneath the counter.

Dickens took it into the snug, sat down, and began to turn the pages.

“Looking for Wraybrook the solicitor, I suppose?” observed Collins, finishing the decanted port and peering at his empty glass with regret.

“Except he is not listed. Lets see, this is last years and would have been compiled the year before. That makes it two years out of date. Perhaps our man, Wraybrook, only established himself within the last year or two.”

“Perfectly logical.”

Dickens put down the directory, pages open on the table, and sighed.

Miss Mary entered the snug at that moment.

“I just came to see if you needed a new decanter, gentlemen.” Her eyes fell on the directory. “Did you find what you were looking for, Mr. Dickens?”

Dickens shook his head. “Regretfully, I did not.”

Miss Mary glanced slyly at the open pages. “Lawyers, eh? Well, if you are in need of lawyers, there are plenty to choose from there. Personally, I always prefer to steer clear of them. My late husband said-”

“We were looking for a lawyer who does not seem to be listed there,” interrupted Dickens, who had no desire to hear the wisdom of Miss Mary’s late husband.

Collins nodded sympathetically. “Perhaps you can call in at the offices of Kelly’s. They might have a listing for Wraybrook in their next year’s edition.”

Miss Mary started and stared at him. “Wraybrook, you say, sir? You don’t mean Mr. Eugene Wraybrook?”

Dickens frowned suspiciously at her. “Do you know a lawyer named Wraybrook?”

“He’s a young gent, sir. A solicitor right enough. But he’s only been in the country six months. They say he’s from India. Not that he’s Indian, sir. Oh, no, English, same as you and me. Pleasant enough young man. He has rooms at the top end of Narrow Street here, and one of them is his office. Not that he gets much work, I’m told. Decent enough and polite and pays his bills promptlike.”

“Would you recognize Mr. Wraybrook?”

“I would, six.”

“And young Fred?”

“Fred, sir? I don’t think so. Fred works in the evenings, and Mr. Wraybrook only comes here for lunch now and again.”

“Did you take a good look at the body on the slipway?” asked Dickens curiously.

Miss Mary shook her head. “Not I, sir. Can’t stand the sight of corpses and… Why do you ask, sir?” She frowned, and then her eyes widened suddenly. “You don’t mean that… that…?”

Dickens rose quickly. “Do you know where this Wraybrook has his rooms? What number in Narrow Street?”

“I only know it’s the top end, sir. But-”

“Would you give us about fifteen minutes, Miss Mary, and then go out and tell the policeman who is loitering outside with the corpse where we have gone?”

Dickens hurried from the tavern with Collins hard on his heels.

At the darkened top of Narrow Street they came to a cluster of tall tenement buildings crowding over the cramped lane and shutting out all natural light. A few gas lamps gave an eerie glow, and beneath these were some street urchins playing five stones. For a threepenny piece, one of them indicated the tenement in which he knew the solicitor resided. The rooms were on the second floor. There was a single gas burner on every landing, and so it was easy to find a dark door on which was affixed a small handwritten card bearing the name E. Wraybrook, Bachelor of Law .

Dickens tried the door, but it was locked.

Collins watched with some surprise as Dickens reached up and felt along the ridge at the top of the door and grunted in dissatisfaction when his search revealed nothing. He stood looking thoughtfully.

“What is it?”

“Sometimes people leave a key in such a place,” Dickens said absently. “I expect Sergeant Cuff to be here soon, and I do not want to force the door. Ah…”