Charles Finch - Fleet Street murders

McConnell’s eyes steadied for a moment and shone with the happiness of a job well done. “Thank you, Lenox,” he said.

“Yet how did Smalls stay up on the wall?”

“I believe I figured that out, too. According to the Yard’s report, his belt was unusually worn-with the buckle in back.”

“His back was to the wall, correct?” Suddenly Lenox thought of the colored square on the wall where a second hook had once been. “They turned his belt around, so it would hitch to the metal bit?”

“Yes.”

“I wonder if Exeter saw that.”

“Perhaps,” said McConnell. “Perhaps.”

“Then what killed the man?”

“I’ve no doubt it was strangulation. I know the coroner who wrote the report. He’s very good.”

“Strangulation that was then made to look as if it were suicide? There’s one problem remaining, of course.”

“Do you mean-what his belt was hooked to?”

“Exactly. Can Natt have been lying?”

“Who?”

“The warden.”

“I don’t know,” said McConnell.

“Well-it was awfully well done, anyway,” said Lenox. “We know what we’re facing now.”

Just then there was a ring at the door. It would be Dallington. Glancing up at his clock, Lenox saw it was just past eight.

But no.

“Lady Jane Grey,” announced Mary and held the door for Lenox’s betrothed.

It was very awkward, because Lenox had strode toward the door of the library when he heard the ring, and as Jane came in she saw only him at first.

“Charles!” she said with high emotion after Mary had closed the door behind her. “I saw you come home.”

“I was just on my way to see you,” he said, “after keeping two short appointments.”

“Hello, Jane,” said McConnell just then, apparently without perceiving her fragile state.

She started. “Why-hello, Thomas.”

“How do you do?”

“Fairly well, thank you. I come from your house.”

Of course she wouldn’t have been in her pale blue study, Lenox thought. She would have been at Toto’s side.

“Yes?” said McConnell stiffly.

With uncharacteristic directness-she was a tactful soul-she said, “You ought to return there this instant.”

“Oh, yes?” he said, looking even more unhappy. “I believe that the household might be more comfortable if-if-”

“Don’t be proud, for the love of heaven. Toto pines for you, and these are the hardest days of her life. Go back to her.”

“Well-I-”

“Oh!” She stamped her foot in frustration. “Men waste half their lives being proud.”

Even in this fraught situation, Lenox felt a burst of pride that she was his-if she was, anyway.

“Well-” said McConnell in a halting voice. “Good day, Lenox. Good day, Jane.”

With that he left the room.

Lady Jane went to the sofa in the middle of the room and sat, a heavy sigh escaping her lips as she did. “What lives we all lead,” she said. “Poor Toto.”

Lenox went to sit beside her but did not embrace her. They were a foot or so apart. “How are you, Jane? Well, I dearly hope? Did you receive my letter?”

“Yes, Charles, it reassured me. Still, these two days I’ve sat at Toto’s bedside-”

Just then there was another ring at the door, and, as Lenox had instructed her to, Mary brought Dallington into the library.

He was a cheerful-looking young man, a carnation in his buttonhole, and genially said hello to Lenox and Lady Jane. There were dark circles under his eyes, the legacy no doubt of a long and debauched night in some music hall or gambling room. He bore fatigue better than McConnell, however, being younger and, because of his long years of carousing, perhaps better used to it.

“I hope I don’t interrupt your conversation?” he said.

“No,” answered Lenox.

Dallington went on, “I’m late, as I daresay you’ll have observed.”

“John, will you say hello to your mother for me?” asked Lady Jane. “I’ve missed her twice in the past two days.”

“Of course,” he answered.

“Charles, I’ll see you in a little while?”

Lenox half-bowed.

“Then I must be off.”

She hurried out of the room, and as she did Lenox thought of her usual movements, how graceful and languid they were compared to the agitation of her carriage now. It was the stress of seeing Toto, he thought, in combination with her doubts about their marriage. Jane Grey had striven for her entire life to act well and honestly, and she felt miserable when she didn’t see the right course ahead. Suddenly a solemn sense of fear overtook Lenox. He had to master himself before addressing the young lord.

“Thank you for your telegrams, Dallington,” he said. “They were most welcome when the newspapers’ information lagged.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“What can you tell me about this young suspect?”

“About Gerald Poole? Well, Exeter arrested him yesterday. You’ve seen the papers?”

“Not yet. I’ve had a steady stream of appointments since getting back this morning.”

“How is the campaign, incidentally?”

The relationship between the two men was a funny one. Not quite friends, they had nonetheless been through more than most friends already-for Dallington had saved Lenox’s life, while Lenox had witnessed many of Dallington’s flaws firsthand; and though student and pupil, they knew too much of each other and moved too closely in the same circles to retain the formality of that connection. It was never clear whether their conversations should stay professional, but Dallington settled the matter by seeing that they didn’t. Still, Lenox never felt entirely comfortable confiding in the young man, whose tastes and habits were so different than his own.

“Well, thank you. It will be difficult to win, but I have high hopes.”

“I once gambled with old Stoke’s boy.”

“Did you?”

“Dissipated sort.”

“What about Poole?”

Dallington offered Lenox a grim smile. “To business already?”

“I’m only here briefly.”

“Well-can that blushing creature of yours fetch a paper?”

Lenox rang for Mary and asked for the morning’s and the prior evening’s newspapers.

Dallington said, “Asking for one is the same as asking for a hundred-they all have the same information. Inspector Exeter placed Gerry Poole under arrest for the murders of Simon Pierce and Winston Carruthers.”

“Have they cottoned on to his father’s history yet?”

“Oh, yes. They all mention the treason.”

“Has Exeter given up on Smalls, then?”

“On the contrary-he’s convinced that they did it together.” Gravely, Dallington said, “In fact, that’s the strongest piece of evidence linking Gerry to the murders. The rest of it is circumstantial.”

“What’s the strongest piece of evidence?”

“About fifty witnesses have Gerald Poole and Hiram Smalls meeting in the Saracen’s Head pub the night before the murders. Even if none of them had seen it, however, he’s admitted it’s true.”

“Hiram Smalls must have been a busy pubgoer, from the sound of things. He met Martha Claes and Gerald Poole both at pubs.”

The papers came in just then, and Lenox perused them without much close attention. They were in concord with Dallington’s account of the matter.

“What’s his explanation for being in the pub?”

“I haven’t been in to see him, and he hasn’t told the papers, but he admitted it readily enough.”

“As an intelligent person would if denial were useless. He went into prison after Smalls had already died there, I take it? No overlap?”

“No, no.” Distressed, Dallington said, “Listen, won’t you, he simply can not have killed anyone.”