natural causes? What was the connection with the tobacconist’s shop in Cleveland Street? Above all, why should John Adinett have cared?
When they reached London, Tellman jumped out onto the platform and turned one way then the other to see Remus. He had almost given up when he saw him climb slowly out of the carriage two ahead of him. He must have fallen asleep. He stumbled a little, then set off towards the exit.
Again Tellman followed, running the risk of being seen rather than that of losing him. Fortunately it was close to the middle of summer, and the long evenings meant that at nine o’ clock it was still sufficiently light to keep someone in sight for up to fifteen or twenty yards or more, even along a reasonably busy street.
Remus stopped at a public house and had a meal. He seemed to be in no hurry, and Tellman was on the point of leaving himself, having come to the conclusion that Remus was finished for the day and would shortly go home. Then Remus glanced at his watch and ordered another pint of ale.
So time mattered to him. He was going somewhere, or he expected somebody.
Tellman waited.
In another quarter of an hour Remus stood up and walked out into the street. He hailed a cab, and Tellman very nearly lost him before he could find one himself, urging the driver to follow him and keep up at all costs.
They seemed to be heading in the general direction of Regent’s Park. Certainly this was not anywhere near where Remus lived. He was going to meet someone, to keep an appointment. Tellman held up his watch to catch the light of the next lamppost they passed. It was nearly half past nine, and growing darker.
Then without warning the cab stopped and Tellman leapt out.
“What’s happened?” he asked abruptly, staring ahead. There were several cabs along the street next to the park.
“That one!” His driver pointed ahead. “That’s the one you want. It’ll be one and threepence, sir.”
This was becoming a truly expensive exercise. Tellman cursed himself for his stupidity, but he paid quickly and walked towards the figure he could see dimly ahead. He recognized him by his gait, the urgency in him, as if he were on the brink of some tremendous discovery.
They were on Albany Street, just short of the entrance to Regent’s Park to the left. Tellman could see the Outer Circle quite clearly, and the smooth grass beyond stretching in the dusk all the way to the trees of the Royal Botanical Gardens, about a quarter of a mile away.
Ahead of him, Remus set out to walk towards the park. Once he turned to look behind him, and Tellman stumbled in his step. It was the first time Remus had taken the slightest notice of his surroundings. There was nothing Tellman could do but continue as if this were the most natural thing in the world for him. He swung his arms and increased his pace a fraction.
Remus resumed his own journey, but now looking around. Was he expecting someone, or afraid of being observed?
Tellman moved closer under the shadows of the trees and dropped back a little.
There were several other people out, some in twos and threes, strolling together, one not far off, a man alone. Remus hesitated in his step, peered forward, then seemed satisfied and moved urgently again.
Tellman went after him as close as he dared.
Remus stopped next to the man.
Tellman ached to know what was said, but they spoke in voices little above a whisper. Even starting forward, hat pulled over his brow and walking within ten feet of them, he caught no distinct words, but he noticed their expressions. Remus was fiercely excited and listened to the other man with total attention, not even glancing around as Tellman passed on the other side of the path.
The other man was extremely well dressed, of more than average height, but his bowler hat was drawn so far forward and his coat collar so high that half his face was hidden. All Tellman could see for certain was that his boots were polished leather, beautifully cut, and his coat was fine and fitted him perfectly. It would have cost more than a police sergeant earned in months.
He continued to walk along the Outer Circle to the turnoff back to Albany Street, then went as far as the next omnibus stop to take him home. His mind was whirling. None of it fitted into a pattern, but now he was certain that there was one. He simply had to find it.
The next morning he slept later than he had meant to and arrived at Bow Street only just in time. There was a message waiting for him to report to Wetron’s office. He went up with a sinking heart.
This was Pitt’s office, even though his personal books and belongings had been removed and replaced already with Wetron’s leather-bound volumes. A cricket bat, presumably of some personal significance, hung on the wall, and there was a silver-framed photograph of a fair-haired woman on the desk. Her face was soft and pretty and she wore a pale lace dress.
“Yes sir?” Tellman said without hope.
Wetron leaned back in his chair, his colorless eyebrows raised.
“Would you care to tell me where you were yesterday, Sergeant? Apparently you found it outside your ability to inform Inspector Cullen …”
Tellman had already decided what to say, but it was still difficult. He swallowed hard. “I didn’t have the opportunity to tell Inspector Cullen yet, sir. I was following a suspect. If I’d stopped, I’d have lost him.”
“And the name of this suspect, Sergeant?” Wetron was staring at him fixedly. He had very clear blue eyes.
Tellman pulled a name out of memory. “Vaughan, sir. He’s a known handler of stolen goods.”
“I know who Vaughan is,” Wetron said tartly. “Did he have the Bratbys’ jewels?” There was deep skepticism in his voice.
“No, sir.” Tellman had considered embroidering the account, and decided it offered too much scope for being caught out. It was unfortunate that Wetron knew of Vaughan. He had not expected that. Please heaven no one
