quiet, if possible. But it would help a lot if I knew the girl’s name.”
The sergeant was skeptical. He regarded Remus with the beginning of doubt. “Cousin, you said?”
Remus had left himself no room to escape. “That’s right. He’s an embarrassment to us. Got a thing about this little girl, Alice Crook. I just hoped it wasn’t her.”
Gracie felt the name shiver through her. Whatever it was, Remus was still on the track of it.
The sergeant’s face softened a little. “Well, I’m afraid it were ’er. Sorry.”
Remus put his hands up quickly, covering his face. Gracie, standing behind him, saw his body stiffen, and knew it was not grief he was hiding but elation. It took him a moment or two to recompose himself and look up again at the sergeant.
“Thank you,” he said briefly. “Thank you for your time.” Then he turned on his heel and walked out rapidly past Gracie, leaving her to run after him if she wanted to keep up. If the sergeant even noticed her, he might have thought she was with Remus anyway.
Remus walked back away from the river, looking to the right and left of him as if he were searching for something.
Gracie stayed well back, keeping at least half behind other people in the street, laborers, sightseers, clerks on errands, newsboys and peddlers.
Then she saw Remus change direction and walk across the footpath to the post office and go inside.
She went in after him.
She saw him take out a pencil and write a very hasty note in a scribble, his hands shaking. He folded it up, purchased a stamp, and put the letter into the box. Then he set out again at considerable speed. Once more Gracie had to run a few steps every now and then to not lose him.
She was delighted when Remus apparently decided he was hungry and stopped at a public house for a proper meal. Her feet were sore and her legs ached. She was more than ready to sit down for a while, eat something herself, and observe him in comfort.
He chose an eel pie, something she had always disliked. She watched with wonder as he tucked into it, not stopping until he had finished, then wiping his lips with his napkin. She had a pork pie and thought it a lot better.
Half an hour later he set out again, looking full of purpose. She went after him, determined to not lose him. It was early evening by now, and the streets were crowded. She had the advantage that Remus had no idea there was anyone behind him, and he was so set in his purpose that he never once looked over his shoulder or took the slightest steps to be inconspicuous.
After two omnibus rides and a further short walk, Remus was standing by a bench in Hyde Park, apparently waiting for someone.
He stood for five minutes, and Gracie found it taxed her imagination to think of something to explain her own presence.
Remus kept looking around, in case whoever he was waiting for came from the opposite direction. He could not help seeing her. In time he had to wonder why she was here.
What would Tellman have done? He was a detective. He must follow people all the time. Try to be invisible? There was nothing to hide behind, no shadows, no trees close enough. Anyway, if she hid behind a tree she would not see whom he met! Think of a reason to explain her being here? Yes, but what? Waiting for someone as well? Would he believe that? Lost something? Good, but why had she not started to look for it as soon as she got here?
Got it. She had only just discovered it was missing.
She started to retrace her steps very slowly, staring at the ground as if searching for something small and precious. When she had gone twenty yards she turned and started back again. She had almost reached her original position when finally a middle-aged man came towards him along the path and Remus stepped out directly in front of him.
The man stopped abruptly, then made as if to walk around Remus and continue on his way.
Remus moved to remain across his path and, from the attitude of the other man, apparently spoke to him, but so softly Gracie, thirty feet away, could not hear more than the faintest sound.
The man was startled. He looked more closely at Remus, as if he expected to recognize him. Perhaps Remus had addressed him by name.
Gracie peered through the soft evening light, but she dared not draw attention to herself by moving. The older man seemed to be in his fifties, handsome enough, of good height and growing a trifle portly. He was very ordinarily dressed, inconspicuous, well tailored but not expensively. It was the sort of clothing Pitt might have worn, had he not a genius for untidiness sufficient to make any garment ill-fitting. This man was neat, like a civil servant or retired bank manager.
Remus was talking to him heatedly, and the man was replying now with some anger himself. Remus seemed to be accusing him of something; his voice was rising higher, sharp, excited, and Gracie could pick out the odd word.
“… knew about it! You were in on …”
The other man dismissed whatever it was with a quick gesture of his hand, but his face was red and flustered. The indignation in his tone rang false.
“You have no proof of that! And if you—” He gulped back his words, and Gracie missed the next sentence or two. “A very dangerous path!” he finished.
“Then you are equally guilty!” Remus was furious, but there was a thin thread of fear clearly audible in his voice now. Gracie knew that with certainty and it sent a chill rippling through her, clenching the muscles in her stomach and tightening her throat. Remus was afraid of something, very afraid indeed.
And there was something in the other man’s body, the angle of his head, the lines of his face that she could
