brought him.”
“He’s been valuable, has he?” asked Lenox.
Crook nodded. “To be sure.”
“What do you think our next set of handbills should be?”
“You didn’t like the last ones? The five promises, Mr. Lenox?”
“I do like them, but I worry that Roodle’s signs are more direct, more effective.”
“
“Hm.”
“How about
“I like that. Or
“Folks care more about their wallets than their interests, I reckon.”
“
“That’s much better. Roodle will hate it.”
“It’s not quite his, is it?” said Lenox.
“It don’t do to be too fine in politics.”
“No,” Lenox said with a smile.
“We’ll print a few hundred more of the five promises and add in some of the more blunt handbills, then?”
“Glad it’s decided.”
“You’ll need to go back to the printers in the morning.”
“Graham can do it.”
“I’ll think about it overnight, see what I can come up with. I like
“So do I,” said Lenox.
“We’ll call it settled, then.”
“And tomorrow?”
“A speech at the theater. That will be crucial. In two days’ time you have the debate, of course. The debate will be crucial, too, Mr. Lenox.”
“I debated at Harrow.”
“Sir?”
“At school.”
Suddenly the gap between them was tangible; perhaps only to Lenox, after his long supper. Talking politics leveled their perspectives, however, and he was glad to have work in front of him.
“Then you’ll do well,” said Crook. “Johnson, another half of stout?” He flew off down the bar.
Lenox stood and realized that he was bone tired. It had been the longest two days he could remember; all he wanted was sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
In the morning there was a telegram from Dallington. Lenox had had his breakfast with Crook and Nettie and was again in his room, eating an apple, when Graham brought it in. It was the first Lenox had seen of him since the night before.
“How was dinner with the lads?” he asked.
“Productive, I hope, sir.”
Good. “Thank you.”
Graham nodded and withdrew. Lenox tore open the telegram and read it with curiosity.
EYEWITNESS PLACES SMALLS AT PIERCE HOUSE AT TIME OF MURDER STOP WIDOW IN HOUSE ACROSS LANE STOP SMALLS WALKED UP TO HOUSE RAN AWAY MOMENTS LATER STOP IMPOSSIBLE TO SEE DOORWAY FROM WINDOW ONLY STREET BUT MAN SHE SAW MATCHES STOP SEE EVENING PAPERS STOP HOPE IT HELPS STOP GOOD LUCK THERE STOP DALLINGTON
Dallington was profligate in his style of telegram, but on this occasion Lenox was glad. It was confirmation of what that coded letter to Smalls had already implied, but, he hoped, more conclusive. Unfortunately it drew the noose a little tighter around Gerald Poole’s neck. With a guilty start Lenox crumpled the paper and threw it into the wastepaper basket. He took a final bite of his apple and tossed the core on top of the telegram. With a moody sigh he stood up. Another day of campaigning.
The speech at the theater went moderately well. It was on the opposite side of Stirrington and drew a different crowd than his speech in Sawyer Park had. There were a few lively questions afterward, which Lenox parried as well as he could, and encouragingly several men stopped by the stage to meet the candidate and promise him their vote. Two of these men asked to be remembered to Graham, and Lenox silently marveled at the man’s energy. He seemed to have met more people in Stirrington in twenty-four hours than Lenox had in a week. Another gentleman, though, came up and with a rude smirk vowed that only Roodle could possibly win the hearts of his “local brethren.” A prominent abstinence pin on the man’s chest meant he probably didn’t care about the beer tax.
“Only a handful of days to go now,” said Crook. “The debate tomorrow is important.”
“Have we got the new handbills yet?”
The bartender shook his head. “He’s working all night. We should have them in the morning. They’ll work a treat, I reckon.”
“I hope so.”
“Roodle’s had a bad day, too.”
“How so?”
“He gave a speech and didn’t get much of a crowd. Those who did go were all being paid. You’re more of a novelty, it would seem.”
“Whether that bodes well for election day is anyone’s guess. Novelty wears off.”
Crook shrugged. “If the novelty gets them in the door, it’s up to you to get them to your side of things.”
“True enough.”
As Dallington had directed him to do, Lenox took in all of the evening papers and looked at them, but the news of Smalls’s guilt had yet to reach Durham and the north, and he had to content himself with rehashed stories from the papers he had read on the train that morning. It was dreadful to be beyond the reach of information — how he depended on it, how vital it seemed when he couldn’t have it!
One of the evening papers had an article that caught Lenox’s eye. It was about George Barnard — Lady Jane’s former suitor, the Royal Mint’s former Master, and Lenox’s bete noire. The thief of — Lenox was certain — nearly twenty thousand pounds from the mint. Apparently Barnard was on a tour of French foundries, in preparation for a report to Parliament. Shaking his head with disgust, Lenox thought of all the crimes he had proved Barnard guilty of — though only to his own satisfaction. The evidence was too tenuous for the courts, but Lenox recognized the same hand behind various thefts and shakedowns, many of them in connection with the Hammer Gang. What was he doing up here in Stirrington, he wondered doubtfully. Wasn’t his place among the criminals of London? At Gerry Poole’s side? Investigating George Barnard, as he had off and on for a year? Was it simply vanity, this candidacy?
No — he wanted to make a difference. He must remember that. It would be crucial to have the confidence of his beliefs the next afternoon at the debate.
It was about ten thirty now, and the Queen’s Arms was packed. Every ninety seconds or so the bell over the door signaled another entrance or departure, more often the former than the latter. The line to get drinks at the bar was three or four men deep, and the high chatter of voices was more like silence than noise, so used had everyone
