Summon Up the Blood by R. N. Morris Read Free Book Online

day to tell us it’s still missing. I’m afraid we’ve got too much on our plate to go looking for missing moggies.’
    ‘When did she first report the cat missing?’
    ‘You’re going to solve that mystery too, are you?’ said Langford.
    ‘Not much point looking into that, sir,’ advised Sergeant Salt. ‘The beast is dead, if you ask me. I tole her so but she wasn’t having any of it. It was all she had in the world, you see, sir. Very sad, I don’t doubt, but what can you do about it? It’s the Jews what done it, I reckon. It’s the Jews what had them all.’
    ‘What are you talking about, Sergeant Salt?’ demanded Quinn.
    ‘The Jews what came over from Russia. The local cats started going missing after that. We found a lot of them dead. Very nasty business. I reckon it’s a Jew what’s killed your queer, sir. Either that or a Chinky. You should see the knives some of them Chinkies have. I saw a Chinky cook chase after a fellow with a meat cleaver once.’
    Quinn nodded in distracted agreement. In truth, he was scarcely attending to what Salt was saying. He had released the fastener on the cigarette case.
    Quinn felt a dark, furtive excitement. He had glanced inside the cigarette case and read the inscription.
    He closed the lid on it quickly, reluctant to bring it up with Langdon and Salt. It was too important. Indeed, his instinct was to get the cigarette case out of there as quickly as possible. They did not deserve to share in its secrets. The fools had had it in their possession and failed to appreciate it for what it was.
    No one here could make head nor tail of it
, Salt had said.
    There was no doubt in Quinn’s mind that it had come from the murderer.
    More than that, he had the sense that through it the murderer was communicating directly with him. Directly and personally. Quinn was convinced that he alone was capable of understanding the words inscribed inside the lid, in the sense that the murderer meant them.
    To handle the object was to communicate with hands that had bound and slaughtered another human being. Quinn discovered that his heart beat with a more savage, a fiercer throb at the cold touch of the metal. As a detective, he was aware of all the modern developments in crime detection, of which Sir Edward was an enthusiastic proponent. He knew how important it was to handle any piece of evidence as little as possible, in order not to contaminate any fingerprints that might be found on it. But the strange magnetism of the cigarette case was too powerful for his fingers to resist.
    Quinn affected an air of indifference. ‘I believe I have everything I need for now. I see no necessity to take up any more of your time. Good day, gentlemen.’
    His eagerness to be gone did not go unnoticed by Inspector Langdon. It seemed the man set himself to oppose Quinn in everything. ‘One moment, Inspector Quinn. You are forgetting the necessaries.’
    For one startling moment, Quinn thought Langdon was soliciting a bribe. But he made an entry in a ledger book and pushed it across the counter for Quinn to sign. ‘A formality, you understand. But I must insist on it. I saw the way you were looking at that cigarette case. If we don’t watch out, you’ll have it for your private collection, I’m sure.’ The tone was one of forced jocularity, tinged with resentment. Quinn was left in little doubt that Langdon had entertained similar plans for the object, now thwarted.
    Quinn looked up at a sky of unbroken grey. The earlier drizzle had gathered itself into hurtling streaks of rain. The street urchins were nowhere to be seen.
    He dashed over to the Model T, his body stooped over the file protectively. The rain drummed the taut round crown of his bowler. Macadam was evidently dozing in the chauffeur’s seat. The slam of the door and the jolt of the car as Quinn got in woke him.
    ‘All done, sir?’
    ‘Not quite, Macadam. I need you to drive me over to Poplar.’
    Macadam peered out dubiously at the