“I shall soon disabuse them of that lunacy,” she said furiously. “I know Dominic far too well. He is not the sort of man even to look at servant girls, much less accost them. He is not some creature of uncontrollable passions. He is a civilized man. Such a thing would not enter into his head.”
Charlotte turned to Dominic and saw for an instant in his face a look of hurt, of deep frustration, as if he had glimpsed and then lost something of inestimable value. She did not know then what momentary dream of sensuality or danger he had seen, and missed.
It was just over an hour later when Pitt returned, this time bringing with him a man Charlotte had not seen before, a man who was very briefly introduced to her as Sergeant Flack. He was a slight man of hardly average height, but looked even smaller beside Pitt. He remained absolutely silent, but his eyes wandered all over the room with consuming interest.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Pitt,” Charlotte said calmly. She was determined not to be ruffled by him, and to dismiss him as soon as possible. “I’m sorry you have taken the trouble to return, since I’m quite sure I can tell you nothing more. However, of course I will answer any questions you wish to ask.” Perhaps that was a little rash. She must not let him be impertinent.
“You would be surprised what is sometimes useful,” Pitt replied. He turned to his sergeant and briefly directed him to the kitchen to question Maddock, Mrs. Dunphy, and Dora.
He looked back to Charlotte. He seemed to be totally at ease, which in itself was irritating. He ought to have been a little. . a little impressed. After all, he was a mere policeman and in the house of those considerably superior to him socially.
“What is it you wish to know?” she said coldly.
He smiled charmingly.
“The name and whereabouts of the lunatic who is garotting young women in the streets of this neighbourhood,” he replied. “Of course that is presuming it is one person, and not a crime, and then another crime in imitation.”
She was surprised into facing him, meeting his eyes.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“That sometimes people hear of a crime, especially if it is a gruesome one, and it gives them the idea to solve their own problems in the same manner: to dispose of someone that is in the way, from whose death they could benefit, financially or otherwise, and,” he snapped his fingers, “you have a second murder, or a third, or whatever. The second murderer hopes the first will be blamed.”
“You make it sound so matter-of-fact,” she said with distaste.
“It is a matter of fact, Miss Ellison. Whether it is this fact or not, I have to enquire-but not until I have exhausted some of the more obvious possibilities.”
“What possibilities do you mean?” she asked and then wished she had not. She did not desire to encourage him. And to be honest, she was a little afraid of the answer.
“Three young women have been garotted in this area over the last few months. The first thing that comes to mind is that there is a maniac loose.”
“I would have thought that was the answer,” she said with some relief. “Why should you imagine any other? Why don’t you take your enquiries to the sort of place where you will find such people-I mean the sort of people who are likely to-” she fumbled for the exact phrase she wanted “-the criminal classes!”
“The underworld?” he smiled a little derisively. There was bitter amusement and a little patronage in his tone. “What sort of a place do you imagine the underworld is, Miss Ellison? Something I find by opening a sewer manhole?”
“No, of course not!” she snapped. “I have no knowledge of it myself, of course. It hardly comes within my social sphere! But I know perfectly well that there is a world of criminal classes whose standards are totally different-” she raked him up and down with a withering stare, “-at least from mine!”
“Oh, very different, Miss Ellison,” he agreed, still smiling, but there was a hardness in his eyes. “Although whether you are referring to moral standards, or standards of living you didn’t say. But perhaps it doesn’t matter- they are not as far apart as the words imply. In fact I have come to think they are usually symbiotic.”
“Symbiotic?” she said in disbelief.
He misunderstood her, supposing she did not know the meaning of the word.
“Each dependent upon the other, Miss Ellison. A relationship of coexistence, of mutual feeding, interdependence.”
“I know what the word means!” she said furiously. “I question your choice of it under the circumstances. Poverty does not necessarily produce crime. There are plenty of poor people who are as honest as I.”
At that he broke into a genuine grin.
“You find that amusing, Mr. Pitt?” she said icily. “I spoke forgetting that you do not know me well enough for that to be any standard. But at least you know that I do not garotte young women in the street!”
He looked at her, at her waist, at her slender hands and wrists.
“No,” he agreed. “I doubt you would have the strength.”
“Your sense of wit is impertinent, Mr. Pitt.” She tried to stare him down, but since he was well over six feet and she was half a foot shorter, she failed. “And not in the least amusing,” she finished.
“It was not intended to amuse, Miss Ellison, nor to be wit. I meant it quite literally.” Now he was serious again. “And I doubt you have ever seen real poverty in your life.”
“Yes, I have!”
“Have you?” His disbelief was quite apparent. “Have you seen children abandoned when they are six or seven years old to beg or steal to keep alive, sleeping in gutters and doorways, soaked to the skin by rain, owning nothing but the rags they stand in? What do you suppose happens to them? How long do you think it takes for an undernourished six-year-old, alone in the streets, to die of starvation or cold? When he has been taught nothing but to survive, when he cannot read or write, when he has been passed from one person to another until nobody wants him, what do you think happens to him? Either he dies-and believe me, I’ve seen a lot of their little bodies lying in the back streets, dead of cold and hunger! — or else he’s lucky, and some kidsman or sweep takes him in.”
In spite of herself she let her pity overcome her anger.
“A kidsman?”
“A kidsman is a man who picks up children like these,” he went on, “and at first takes them in and feeds them, gives them shelter and some sort of security, a place to belong. Then gradually he prevails on their gratitude by teaching them to thieve, at least to thieve with skill. To begin with they go out with some of the older boys, watching them work, something simple to start with. It used to be silk handkerchiefs when they were more fashionable. Later they graduate to something more subtle; the clever ones even progress to inside pockets, watch chains or seals. A really first-class kidsman will run classes. He’ll hang a row of old coats on a line across the room, a silk handkerchief trailing from each pocket, and the boys will take them one by one to try their skill. Or he might use a tailor’s dummy, with bells sewn all over the coat, to tinkle at the slightest disturbance, or even stand with his back to them himself. Those who succeed are well rewarded, while those who fail are punished. A child with courage, or hunger, and nimble fingers can make himself and his master a good living, until he grows too large or loses the agility of his hands.”
She was horrified, and through her distress for the child she was angry with him for making her look at such things.
“What happens then? Does he starve?” she asked. She did not want to know, and yet she could not bear not to.
“Probably he graduates to being a footpad, or if he’s smart, joins a band of pickpockets, the swell mob-”
“The what?”
“The swell mob-the best end of the pickpocketing business, well-dressed, usually having rooms in a moderate neighbourhood, a mistress, which they pick up when they are about thirteen or fourteen, almost always an older girl. Oddly enough they are very faithful and regard it as a sort of marriage. They work in gangs of three to six, each taking his part in the maneuvering and execution of a robbery. They very often rob women.”
“How do you know all this? And if you know about it, why don’t you arrest them, prevent it?”
He snorted slightly.
“We do arrest them. Nearly all of them spend some of their time in prison.”
She shivered.
