The Fleet Street Murders

“Precisely. Inspector Exeter took those as evidence.”

“Did he say of what?”

“No, Mr. Lenox. Not that I can recollect. Exeter and I suspected that whoever did this, if 122 was murdered, tore up the papers to conceal their meaning.”

“No,” Lenox murmured.

“Excuse me?”

“Ah — you’ll pardon me, I didn’t know I was speaking out loud. I doubt it, though, that’s true. A murderer would either have taken the papers or left them. Smalls himself tore them up. Whether meaningfully or not remains to be seen.”

“Inspector Exeter was certainly of the opinion,” said Natt shaking his head with certainty, “that the murderer did it.”

“Would it be easy for a guard or a prisoner to murder someone here, Mr. Natt?”

“Not a guard, certainly.”

“A prisoner, then?”

“Yes, sadly. Before 122’s death we left vacant cells open while their inhabitants were in the yard. It would have been easy to sneak into a cell and lie in wait, I suppose. There’s a great deal of chaos, unfortunately, and since some cells are overcrowded a person might not be missed for — say, half an hour.”

“Then bribe a guard to return to his own cell?”

“Well —”

“I take your point, Mr. Natt. There are also deliveries and so forth to the prison?”

“Yes, sir. All prisoners with sufficient funds may order in food, books, pen and paper, etc.”

“Is the delivery person admitted to the cell?”

“Yes.”

“So again — it wouldn’t be impossible to pretend you were a delivery person and somehow gain access to a cell?”

“Not impossible.”

“Is there a list of incoming deliveries?”

“We have — er — discussed it.”

“I see. Well — may I look over this room?”

“Yes, of course you may.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Lenox began, as was his wont, by searching from the ground up. With a lack of ceremony that plainly surprised Natt, he lay flat on his stomach and took a preliminary look under the bed. Lighting a match from a matchbox in his pocket, he then made a more comprehensive survey of the space. He took enough time for Natt to offer an impatient throat clearing, but in the end the time he took was worth it. Behind one of the bed’s feet he found a pile of coins, stacked in order of size so that they made a small pyramid. He picked it up carefully and spread the coins in his palm.

“A farthing, a halfpenny, a penny, threepence, sixpence, and a shilling. All the coins of the realm up to the shilling,” said Lenox.

“You would be surprised what people hoard in here.”

“Of course. Wouldn’t he have kept money on his person, though?”

“In fact, no. There are frequent incidents of theft and mugging, I’m afraid.”

“It’s to be expected. What could this buy?”

“A pair of trousers?”

“I know what it could buy in our world,” said Lenox, “but in here?”

“Oh — oh. Perhaps five breakfasts? Four suppers?”

“Tobacco?”

“To be sure.”

With this Lenox resumed his search, looking under the nightstand, removing its one drawer and searching for false joints, and trying to pry off its top, until he was convinced it was innocent of further contents. Then he searched the visible floor, then the walls, and after that the ledge of the tiny window.

There was very little else in the cell, and finally he turned his attention to the hook Smalls had died on. It was slightly loose, no doubt from bearing all the weight it had. Lenox couldn’t make much of it but noticed a brown square about a foot below it, the size of another hook.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“There used to be two hooks. Still are, in a few cells.”

“Why did you take them away?”

“They had fallen out of use. From the color of the stain I’d say this one has been gone for three or four years.”

“I see.”

Lenox felt discouraged. He made it a policy to visit the freshest crime scene first but now wished he had gone to Carruthers’s or Pierce’s house instead.

They walked back to the warden’s office by the same grim route, and Lenox felt glad he had been born into a position that made crime an unlikely choice for him. Which was not to say there weren’t men of his station within these walls. Some of them were there because of him.

“Ah,” said Natt when they were in his office, “here is the list of 122’s effects.”

“Thank you.”

It was a short list that Lenox took in his hands. “One suit, gray serge; one piece of paper; one pouch, shag tobacco; one pipe, mahogany and match scarred; one penny blood, Black Bess.”

Lenox knew his compassion ought to be reserved for Pierce and Carruthers, but something about this list struck his easily reached heart. It was the magazine perhaps, the penny dreadful. He knew Black Bess. It was about a legendary highwayman, Dick Turpin, who had in truth been a stupid man, a robber of old ladies, a murderer, but who in these glamorized stories was the owner of a beautiful horse, Bess, on whom he rode the country, bad but never evil, a rogue with a conscience. What appeal would Black Bess have to a man like Hiram Smalls? It seemed to tell its own tale, the man’s choice of what to read.

“Did the paper have any markings or writing on it?”

“There will be a note on the reverse of the sheet if it does.”

“Ah — thank you.”

In fact, there was an addendum. In careful handwriting, a clerk’s probably, it read, “Note dated Dec. 20, no signature or address, beginning ‘The dogcarts pull away’ and ending ‘No green.’ Thirty-two words, nonsense or code.”

Well, this was maddening.

“Is there no way to get hold of the note?”

“You might inquire about it with 122’s mother.”

“Indeed I shall. You have her address, I hope?” Lenox said, trying to contain his ire.

“Here it is, somewhere on my desk.” Natt shuffled through his things. “Ah, yes, here.” He copied the address down for Lenox. “Will that be all?”

“Yes, thank you. I appreciate your help.”

“We strive for transparency, and in particular as you’re now in — in the public eye, as it were…”

So this was why it had been so easy to see the prison. “Yes?”

“If you do make it into Parliament, Mr. Lenox, I can guess you won’t forget us?”

“Of course not.”