Bruce Alexander - The Price of Murder

“Good. Then it’s agreed, ain’t it? Oh, but one more thing. When we first met, you had a pistol you was carryin’ about. You recall, you took it from that Tiddle woman.”

“I recall right enough.”

“Bring it along again, would you?”

“Why? Are the places we’ll visit today so dangerous that we must enter them armed?”

“No, not so. I’ve got a notion about that pistol, so bring it along. I’ll tell you about it when I see you in the Haymarket. And bring along that last pawn ticket, will you? That’s part of my notion.”

I spent the length of our walk to Number 4 Bow Street bringing Clarissa to date on aspects of the case. She wanted first to know all I could tell her about Walter Hogg-which, in truth, was not much.

“What is most interesting about him,” said I to her, “is that he has appeared quite unexpectedly twice since he first doffed his hat to Deuteronomy Plummer here in Covent Garden.”

“But, as I said earlier, Jeremy, there are no coincidences.”

“Well, no doubt they are rare, but surely this is one.”

“Perhaps-but I doubt it. Do you think he and Mr. Deuteronomy are acquainted?”

“I doubt that very strongly. You recall I offered to introduce him to Mr. Deuteronomy? Well, it seemed to me then that the fellow was truly in awe of the jockey. Look upon it so, Clarissa. We may see Deuteronomy as no more than one who rides upon racing horses-though having seen him at it, I can well believe that he is the very best there is-nevertheless, Mr. Hogg sees him as something more, a source of money, dependable income. I doubt not that Hogg makes more by betting upon Mr. Deuteronomy each Sunday than he does from laboring the rest of the week for his embalmer.”

Clarissa gave that some thought. “Do you mean, Jeremy, that there is so much to be made from wagering upon horses?”

“I’d say there was no question of it. Why, I saw near as much cash changing hands at Shepherd’s Bush a day past as I saw of an evening at Black Jack Bilbo’s Gaming Club.”

“Really? I’d no idea.”

“And bear in mind,” I continued, “that the meet in Shepherd’s Bush was by no means one of the grand races-nothing, that is, compared to what’s held at Newmarket out on the heath. You heard what Hogg had to say about that, didn’t you?”

“That all the best from all the counties would be there-horses, presumably.”

“Horses indeed! And they’ll be there to run because the prize money is grandest there-though Mr. Patley insists that for the owners and breeders it’s the honor of winning that means most.”

’Twas when this was said that we left the Garden and struck off down Russell Street on our way to Bow Street, just round the corner-that much I recall exact, though I am not near so certain of the precise words of Clarissa that followed. I believe, however, that they went something like this:

“Jeremy?”

“Yes, Clarissa, what is it?”

“That King’s Plate race in Newmarket-that’s next Sunday, is it not?”

“So it is.”

“Will you be going to it, as you did to Shepherd’s Bush, in order to keep an eye on our Mr. Deuteronomy?”

“I doubt it,” said I. “First of all, Newmarket is quite some distance north-near Cambridge it is. And then, too, Deuteronomy has been so cooperative the last day or two that I, personally, think there’s no need to keep a close watch on the fellow.”

“But say you were to go up there,” said she. “Since this is an all-England event, might it not be that there would be an even greater number of bettors, and consequently greater sums wagered?”

What was she getting at, I wondered. “That would be a probable result,” said I.

“Well then, Newmarket offers a great opportunity.”

“An opportunity of what sort?”

“Just think of it. If we were to combine your money with mine-we each have a little, after all-the combined amount would be, well, no longer just a little, but more than that.”

“Yet still not a lot!”

“Nevertheless,” she declared, “it could be enough to win us our fortune, given favorable odds.”

“ Favorable odds? Dear God, Clarissa, are you seriously proposing that we gamble away the little money we have in pursuit of making a fortune for ourselves? Why, that’s. . that’s laughable.”

“Not with favorable odds and the right attitude.”

Though what she said was silly, somehow she did not appear silly saying it. No, the expression she wore on her face was one of quiet conviction. She believed profoundly in what she said.

“And what, pray tell, is the right attitude?”

“Prayerful and submissive.”

At that I threw up my hands in dismay. “Oh, Clarissa, be serious, won’t you?”

“I am being serious-and never more so. This is our future we’re discussing, is it not? Don’t you see? We could be married!”

Arriving as I did in the Haymarket Coffee House only minutes after my departure from Number 4 Bow Street, I expected to pass a quarter of an hour or more sipping my favorite Jamaica brew before the arrival of Mr. Deuteronomy. Had I not hurried the distance that I might enjoy myself thus? Some men can spend a day drinking their good English bitter, others will consume gin or rum as long as they are upright. Yet my passion had been and always would be to drink coffee. It is in every way superior to those alcoholic beverages, for while they stupefy him who partakes of them, coffee quickens and sharpens the senses and improves the function of the brain. Let all who doubt me note that coffee is the favored refreshment in all such places as Lloyd’s and the Old Bailey, in which the leaders of commerce, business, and the law do gather. Now, the Haymarket’s patrons, while in no wise leaders in such fields, were in no wise in the same class as the louts, criminals, and drunkards, who frequented the dives and grog shops in Bedford Street and Seven Dials. It was, however, as one might suppose, just the sort of place that might be frequented by one such as Deuteronomy Plummer.

And he was here already, having preceded me by half-a-mug of Jamaica brew. He was all for leaving at the moment of my arrival that we might continue our search for his sister. But pleading an early rising time and the need to discuss his new notion regarding the pistol taken from Katy Tiddle, I managed to convince him that it would be best to discuss the next step to be taken before taking it. I ordered a coffee for myself.

“Did you bring that pistol along?” he demanded. “The one I asked you to?”

“Certainly I did,” said I, and, having said that, lifted it carefully out of my pocket and placed it on the table between us. The server came just then with my mug of coffee, and his eyes widened as he beheld the thing on the table-yet he said not a word. Indeed, it was a rather lethal-looking piece, was it not? Yet, it had a certain beauty to it, too-the engraving upon the hammer, the butt, even the barrel; and, of course, the evident signs of skill and craftsmanship that were to be seen in every detail of its construction.

“And what about the pawn ticket? Have you brought that, too?” he asked in a manner most insistent.

“Yes, of course.”

I produced it and laid it down beside the pistol.

“Good, that’s very good indeed. See here,” said he, looking about the coffee house and lowering his voice, “what I got in mind is this: The pawn ticket here ain’t no real pawn ticket at all.”

“Then what is it?”

“Why, it’s the sort of ticket you’re given in any sort of shop that serves the gentry when you bring in something that needs repair-to a tailor, a dressmaker-or to a gunsmith.”

“I don’t understand,” said I. “What is it put you in mind of this?”