The Price of Murder by Bruce Alexander Read Free Book Online

waiting for me. She took but a moment to throw the cloak round her shoulders and announce that she was ready to go.
    Then, out in the street, we walked close together with barely a word between us for the length of Bow Street—or perhaps even farther. At last, Clarissa, who abhors silence, could endure it no longer. She turned to me all of a sudden and demanded to know why I was not speaking.
    “Why I was not?” said I in a most defensive manner. “I hear nothing from you , do I?”
    “I was quiet because you were. Besides, I asked you first, didn’t I?”
    We could have gone round-about in such a way for an hour or more. And, a year or two before, we would have done just that. Yet now, as both of us attempted, with some success, to act in a more mature manner, such behavior hardly seemed appropriate.
    “Oh, all right,” said I, “to tell the truth, as we are now sworn to do, Sir John gave me a proper burning, then sent me off to accompany you to your friend’s place. And by the way, where is it?”
    “Dawson’s Alley,” said she, “number five.”
    “Should be easy to find.”
    “So you were—oh, how to put it? You were licking your wounds—mentally, that is.”
    I thought about that a moment. I understood the picture perfectly, but still . . .
    “Not exactly the image I would use,” said I. “Nevertheless, that sums it up pretty well.”
    “Well, forgive me,” said she. “But is there nothing I can do to help?”
    “No, not really. I deserved it, you see.”
    “Truly so? Wouldn’t it help to talk about it?”
    “Perhaps not as much as you think,” said I uncertainly. Yet it was my uncertainty that led me to tell her all that had passed between Sir John and myself as she waited in the kitchen for me. Yes, I told her all and offered comments along the way regarding my responses and his own. To my surprise, it did indeed help to restore my equilibrium. The telling of it all, her comments as well as my own—all of this took a good deal longer than I expected. In fact, by the time the story was done, we had reached noisy St. Martin’s Lane where the usual crowd of hawkers and barrow-sellers did congregate. ’Twas then just round the corner to Dawson’s Alley and number five.
    It was a larger, more imposing building than most of those there on the narrow little alley. Built of brick and three stories tall, number five was impressive by any measure.
    “This is where her mother lives?” I asked. “Does she own this grand structure?”
    “Ah, no, she rents out the rooms, fixes the meals, and does all that needs to be done. The owner collects the rents. I gather it’s all quite respectable.”
    “It certainly looks respectable—more in the nature of a prison than a lodging house. You’re expected, of course?”
    “Oh yes.”
    “Well, do keep in confidence all that I told you on the way here, won’t you?”
    “Oh, I will,” said Clarissa. “Let me repeat that I think you did right to remind Sir John that if he had suspicions earlier, he should have asked to see Mistress Tiddle most immediate.”
    “He admitted as much.”
    “We’ll talk of it later, shall we?”
    “Perhaps. In any case, I’ll come by for you in about two hours, give or take a bit.”
    “Two hours it is.”
    With that, she left me, crossing to the door and banging upon it with the brass hand-knocker that had been there provided. No more than a minute later, Elizabeth appeared, threw her arms round her visitor, and pulled her inside. Clarissa barely had opportunity to wave goodbye to me. My duty then discharged, I set off in the direction of Seven Dials.
     
I had not been a great deal of time in Katy Tiddle’s untidy room, not much more than an hour, when I received a considerable surprise. I had thrown open the curtains which covered the window, certain that to do the sort of thorough search Sir John had asked of me, I should need plenty of light. And, indeed, it was so. What the abundance of daylight revealed were