we haven’t a fair supply on hand already,” he had added before leaving Edward alone. “Still, it is good business, is it not, to have an ample supply. Coffins are a long-term investment, are they not?” He had chuckled, which Edward found disquieting, but there were so many things about Mister Carfax that gave him pause that this chuckle seemed a minor intrusion.
“Too true,” Edward said to himself as he looked out the window and down onto the warehouse floor where several dozen elaborately carved coffins were stacked. He had been thinking about Carfax’s remark all evening— that coffins were a long-term investment; he had decided that in its way, the observation was witty. Coffins always got used, eventually. Another load of them and the warehouse would be more than half-filled, and that load would arrive in a matter of hours.
Edward was considering lighting up his pipe when a sharp rap on the entry door claimed his attention. Surely the ship had not yet off-loaded the cargo for Mister Carfax. When the knock was repeated, he bolted from the office, running noisily down the stairs as he called out, “In half a tick!” Opening the door, he found himself facing a man he had never seen before, but knew at once, though the man wore a suit instead of a uniform, that he was a member of the police. Edward blanched but held the door steadily. ”Good evening.”
“Good evening. Am I addressing Mister Carfax?”
“No,” Edward answered, wondering what the police wanted with the tall, foreign gentleman. “‘He’s away just now. I’m his… assistant. Edward Hitchin.” He could not make himself ask what the police were doing here, so he waited while the policeman stepped inside.
“Do you have a little time to spare, Mister Hitchin? I am Inspector Ames of Scotland Yard.”
This polite inquiry, along with being called “Mister” caught Edward off-balance. “Sure enough,” he said after he thought about it.
“You’ve been here all evening?” The policeman took a notebook from his inner breast pocket, and a pencil from his outer breast pocket, and prepared to write.
“Is this official, you taking down my answers and all?” Edward asked, trying to conceal his anxiety.
“Should it not be?” Inspector Ames asked so mildly that Edward had to resist the urge to spring from the room. “Now, have you been here all evening?”
“Since eleven in the morning. I came in late because I have to be here late to receive a new shipment of… stock.” He indicated the dimly lit warehouse.
“The sign over the door says
“Yes,” said Edward. “The bills of lading are in the office. What you see here comes from Varna, most of it. Very elaborate carving they do in that part of the world—very elaborate.” He pointed to the nearest stack of coffins. “These are the simple ones. There are fancier toward the back. We even have some with bells to be secured above in case someone should be buried alive, and need to be dug up again.” He had been told to mention this desirable feature even though he thought it ghoulish.
“Do you open them, or—” the inspector began.
“Oh, no,” said Edward hastily. “It’s not… seemly.”
“Um. Very prudent,” said the policeman indifferently, and handed a card to Edward. “Will you be good enough to tell Mister Carfax that Inspector Uriah Ames is desirous of speaking with him at his earliest convenience?”
Edward took the card, holding it gingerly. “May I tell him what this is about?” he asked, curiosity and dread warring within him.
Inspector Ames coughed diplomatically. “A body was found washed up on the Isle of Dogs. It has no identification, no clothing. It is likely the deceased was the victim of foul play. The dead woman has not been claimed or anyone of her description reported missing.” He watched Edward closely. “We are asking all businesses along the docks, for it is likely that she was thrown into the water somewhere in this area, and we are hoping that someone noticed something.” He paused, his pencil poised over his well-thumbed notebook. “Have you noticed any suspicious activities in this area in the last week or so?”
Edward shook his head. “I have been in the office, or on the floor, making an inventory for Mister Carfax. I take my tea inside.” He shrugged apologetically. “I wish I could tell you something more.”
“Provide me with your direction, and I suppose that will do for now,” said Inspector Ames.
“Edward Hitchin, Beeks House, White Horse Road, Stepney,” he said promptly, knowing that the address was far from impressive.
“Lived there long, have you?” Inspector Ames asked as he wrote.
“M’Mum and I have been there for ten years and more.” He did his best not to sound defensive.
“Your Mum still there, is she?” Inspector Ames asked.
“Yes; she’s not in good health.” It was a convenient mendacity, for the melancholy which held her in its grip seemed as crippling as any misfortune or disease.
“Sorry to hear that,” said Inspector Ames with the habitual sympathy of one used to bad news. “Stays in, does she?”
“Most of the time. I tend to her needs,” Edward informed Inspector Ames, at once proud and wary.
“And you work here for long hours,” said Inspector Ames.
“I am well-paid for my time,” Edward insisted. “Mister Carfax is a generous employer.”
“Worked for him long, have you?” Inspector Ames seemed disinterested in the answer, but Edward knew enough about the police not to be deceived by this ploy.
“Not long, no. Mister Carfax is a foreigner but recently arrived in London. He keeps a house somewhere in the country, but he has a place in London, probably in the toffy part of town— Mayfair, or Berkeley Square or some such. He’s rich enough, and he has the manner.” He felt that volunteering this information would show his willingness to cooperate with the police inquiries. “He comes here three or four times a week to tend to business and to instruct me in my duties.” “Then you expect to see him shortly,” said Inspector Ames.
“Tomorrow, about four or five,” said Edward promptly.
“Then you will give him my card and pass along my message, and I shall expect a call from Mister Carfax before the end of the week.” This affable request, Edward knew, was an order. He nodded.
“I’ll attend to it, first thing he arrives,” Edward said, and tried to contain his fidgets.
“That’s good of you,” said Inspector Ames as he put his pencil and notebook away, and with an uneasy glance at the stacked coffins and caskets said, “I’ll let myself out.”
By the time Carfax arrived the next afternoon, Edward had become distressed about what the Inspector had told him; dead women, murdered women, brought back memories of the Ripper, and with it, other, more personal recollections, as well as the uncomfortable awareness that the Ripper had never been brought to justice. So Edward was nervous when he passed on Inspector Ames’s card and request. “The police are nothing to fash with, Mister Carfax,” he added when he finished explaining the situation. “When there are dead bodies involved, the police are… are persistent.”
“Ah, yes. English police. We hear many things about them in my native land,” said Mister Carfax, examining the inspector’s card. “What does he want of me, this Inspector Ames? You say there is a body—what has that to do with me?”
“There’s an investigation into the woman’s death. The police are gathering information about the circumstances,” said Edward, wondering how Mister Carfax would doubt that: foreigners were unaccountable.
“What has that to do with me?” Mister Carfax repeated with supreme indifference. “1 know nothing of this woman. Why should the police need to know that?”
“They want you to go along to the station and tell them what you can. You may know nothing, but they will want to hear of it from you.” Edward tried not to sound too apprehensive, but he suspected he failed.
“But I have nothing to tell them. Dead women do not interest me.” His accent grew stronger, as if his emotions had loosened his control over the English tongue. “It is most unseemly, to have to answer to the police, a man of my position.”
Although Edward was not sure what that position might be, he said, “They just need to have you tell them you were not on the docks when the woman was killed—that’s all.”
Carfax looked indignant as he pulled himself up to his full, and considerable, height. “It is for the police to wait upon me. Send this Ames word that I will receive him the day after tomorrow in the early evening.” He looked toward the newest arrivals. “How many in this load?”
