was a telegraph message:
BIRMINGHAM CONSTABULARY, JULY 20TH
RE YOUR INQUIRY JULY 19 CONFIRM THAT MISSING PERSONS REGISTER INCLUDES TWO BRICKMAKERS STOP DANIEL IVES 47 HEIGHT 5 FEET 2 INCHES WEIGHT 9 STONE HAIR BROWN AND THIN STOP LEFT HOME DECEMBER LAST STOP THREE CONVICTIONS DRUNKENNESS STOP THOMAS QUINTON 38 HEIGHT 5 FEET 9 INCHES WEIGHT 12 STONE HAIR REDDISH BROWN STOP DESERTED WIFE APRIL THIS YEAR STOP TWO CONVICTIONS COMMON ASSAULT STOP AWAIT YOUR FURTHER ADVICE.
The second was postmarked Rainham, Essex:
Radstock Hall.
19th July, 1880
Further to my Report of 16th Inst. I have the honour to submit the following account of subsequent developments.
July 17th. I passed this day in abject discomfort, the direct consequence of the two ounces of Glauber’s salts administered to me the evening before. I was awakened at six by D’Estin, who ordered me to strip and then advanced on me with horsehair gloves and rubbed my flesh into an inflamed state. The cold bath that followed cooled me somewhat before the rubbing began afresh. Then a two-mile walk outside the grounds, which in other circumstances I should have enjoyed. On this occasion it was with some relief that I returned to the Hall. Breakfast followed, consisting of a broiled cutlet of mutton, stale bread and strong tea. D’Estin then took me in hand again, the morning’s programme consisting of alternating showers and massage. After the midday meal, for which I was served roast beef, stale bread, a mealy potato and a small portion of greens, I was allowed to move about gently until nature had been complied with, and then to the gymnasium. Much barbell work and some sparring with the sack, all under D’Estin’s direction. Then more rubbing, another shower, and a slow walk through the grounds. Two lightly boiled eggs and dry toast for tea.
I did not see Mrs. Vibart at all during the day. The Ebony I met briefly at tea, but found him uncommunicative. He was not present at all during the evening when I played billiards with D’Estin. I retired soon after eleven, but no sooner had I drawn on my nightshirt than the water jug commenced to vibrate and rattle so noisily that I began to suspect a poltergeist was at work. When I raised the jug from its position on the commode, I found that I could hear the real origin of the vibrations. From somewhere in my wing of the house came the strains of organ music, some fugue of Bach so inexpertly rendered that I at once set the water jug down, where its rattling drowned the sound for the next forty minutes. Vibart, it seems, has a chamber organ in his bedroom and is accustomed to practise before retiring. Others in the house may find his playing conducive to sleep; I lay awake long after he had stopped.
Wednesday’s programme was identical to Tuesday’s, even to the composition of the meals. But after tea I was asked to report to Mrs. Vibart in the drawing room, Edmund Vibart also being present. Mrs. Vibart inquired about my progress, and seemed pleased enough with the answers I gave. She then informed me that a “test” was being arranged for me this coming Saturday. Edmund has contracted for a local man to spar with me in the yard of the Fox and Grapes, commencing seven o’clock. It is not to be an articled contest, but a hat will be passed round after, and the contributions shared between us. I am to be attended by Vibart (bottleholder) and D’Estin (second). My instructions are to let the fight run for ten rounds and then to try to finish it. My opponent is said to be well- made and strong, but not so spry as I am.
Mrs. Vibart asked whether I had any questions regarding the fight, and I thought it timely to inquire whether I should be allowed to spar with Morgan (the Ebony) to sharpen my preparation. This elicited a significant response, both Mrs. Vibart and her brother-in-law spiritedly resisting the suggestion. When the time was right, they informed me, I should go into the ring with Morgan, but I should on no account face him before. Since sparring was all that I suggested, the agitation in their refusal surprised me somewhat.
In the evening, after billiards, D’Estin applied lemon juice to my face to toughen the skin, and pickled my hands as usual. Then to my disquiet he insisted that I took a Seidlitz powder before retiring, a quite superfluous inducement to my system. The consequences of this, and an hour or more of the “Old Hundredth” abominably rendered by Vibart on his organ combined to reduce my sleep to a minimum.
Today, Thursday, has followed the same sequence of events, although my activity has tended to be more intestinal than gymnastic. I hope, if I have recovered somewhat by this afternoon, to take a training walk to Rainham, and there to post this report. I shall, if asked, tell D’Estin that it is a letter to my future fiancee. I have been quite unable so far to induce him to discuss the pugilists who trained previously at the Hall. I have not forgotten your instruction to begin a systematic search of the building, but the opportunity has not arisen, for they rarely leave me alone. I searched my room for possible evidence of an earlier occupant, but found nothing.
I shall continue to send reports when I can. It should be possible, if you wish, to pass a message to me at the bout on Saturday evening.
In some haste, Your obedient servant, H. Jago, P.C.
“I feel for him, reading that,” said Thackeray, returning the report to Cribb. “It almost goes beyond the call of duty, suffering of that kind. I’m not sure I could face it.”
“After two ounces of Glauber’s salts and a Seidlitz powder, you’d answer the call, Thackeray, depend upon it,” Cribb assured him breezily. “You saw the telegraph. We’re making progress at last. If Jago hadn’t got the tip about the Midlands, we’d still be looking for our pug.”
“You think this Quinton may be the headless man, Sarge?”
“Think? I’m sure of it. Everything’s right-age, size, colour of hair-even the convictions. Common assault has often simply meant a prize fight before now. I’ve got the widow coming down to look at the clothes. With luck, she’ll identify them.”
“What made you pick Birmingham, Sarge?”
“I didn’t particularly. All the forces up there got my inquiry: Leicester, Northampton, all of them. Brum was likeliest to turn something up, though, once we had the word to try the Midlands. Several of the bare-fisted division live there, or in Wolverhampton. Usually they fight with gloves these days, but some make exceptions.”
“Charlie Mitchell?” suggested Thackeray.
“You’re becoming quite a Corinthian, Constable. Would you care to see a fight on Saturday?”
“Seven o’clock, Fox and Grapes? I wouldn’t miss it, Sarge.”
“Nor I. We’ll need to look a trifle different from last time, though. Can’t be known as regulars. Tweeds and deerstalker for me. You’re easy. You just shave off your beard.”
Thackeray started back in horror.
“My beard, Sarge?”
“Yes. Soon grows again. Jago’s suffering in the cause of duty. Must show solidarity, eh, Constable?”
It was disturbingly unreal, wholly unlike the setting for Meanix and the Ebony. The declining sun, impossibly red, made a woodcarving of the yard and its occupants. Probing light and deep shadow chiselled trivial details, doorframes, eaves, coach wheels, into sharp significance. Old men seated at tables with tankards had their nutcracker faces picked out grotesquely.
Jago stood in his corner. He had lost the toss and faced the light. The shadow of his opponent spanned the ring and was touching his feet. Vibart and D’Estin worked vigorously at his thighs and calves. Around the ring, but at a decent distance, the spectators waited, some seated, others in groups, all with mugs in hand. There was no tension here, no scramble to place bets. This was a local affair and if money changed hands, it was between friends. The crowd was small for a fist fight-perhaps eighty-and not much more than the usual attendance at the Fox on a Saturday.
Jago examined his hands. They were well prepared for their ordeal, hardened by vinegar and lemon, nails trimmed, knuckles greased. He was feeling fitter than he had all week, after forty-eight hours without aperients. And what he had lost in excess flesh he had replaced in muscle fibre.
The difficulty lay in forcing himself to believe he was actually about to toe the scratch for a knuckle fight, to flout the law he had been trained to uphold. After a week at Radstock Hall even Sergeant Cribb seemed a remote figure, as alien to this setting as his boxing coach at school. Certainly there was no sign of Cribb or Thackeray among the crowd. What would happen if the fight was raided by the local police, and they arrested him? Could Cribb
