walls seeming to reflect on how they might escape. Many must have come from the sewers, for the stench was terrible.
Ratty leaned forward. “They’re about to begin. Nothing like the good old sport. Care to place a bet, Mr. Holmes?”
“I am not familiar enough with the dogs to make a wager.”
“I could give you some good counsel. It’s only for small stakes here—a pound or two is a big bet. And it’s all honest and above reproach, more so than with the horses.”
Holmes shrugged, then reached into his pocket and withdrew a sovereign.
Ratty turned to his companion who had been listening silently but attentively to the conversation. “What do you say, Moley? Which dog will it be?” He put his hand briefly on the other man’s thigh then quickly withdrew it. I had an odd sensation at the back of my neck.
Moley’s voice was a rolling basso profundo which contrasted with Ratty’s shrill tenor. “Curly is the favorite, but Prince Albert is ’ere tonight and looks ’ungry. I says Albert.”
Ratty nodded. “Albert it is.” He took two gold coins from his coin purse and beckoned to the burly former pugilist. “Put these three sovereigns on Prince Albert, Jack.”
The pugilist nodded, stepping into the crowd.
“Tell me,” Sherlock said, “earlier you mentioned something about prostitutes.”
Ratty frowned and nodded. “Someone’s stirring them up. I own several houses myself, as you know. There’s no man neither rich nor poor in London that can’t get a bit of satisfaction. If a bloke has only five shillings, there’s a place not half a mile from here, and if he’s got a few pounds, well, I’ve got nice clean, high-class girls. They’ll give him a night he’ll never forget, and all in well-furnished, respectable homes in the West End.” He shifted his glance from Holmes to me. “If your German friend here would care for a bit of gratification...”
Outraged, I gave him a look of absolute disgust, which he severely misinterpreted. “Of course, if you’re of the other persuasion, I could...”
“I am a married man!” I exclaimed.
Holmes frowned, and I tried to get hold of myself. The smoke and the din made my head hurt, and Ratty and Moley were like two creatures from a bad dream.
“I mean...
Holmes nodded. “Mr. Verniger is newly married, so he reluctantly declines your generous offer. He comes from a very respectable background for a person of his occupation.”
Ratty nodded. “Ah. Well, he’s lucky then. I’ve had to work hard to pass in more respectable circles, and they still look down on me—and especially Moley. I don’t care anymore. I’ve finally understood that they’re no better than me. Let them loiter in their finery at Ascot. The boys and I know how to have a bit of fun at a fraction of the cost. Nothing like a night of drinking and ratting, huh, lads?” He clinked glasses with Moley, and all his henchmen voiced their cheery agreement. “As for you, Mr. Holmes, my offer still stands: a night at my very best house with my star performer, a veritable legend—Miss Jeanne du Baisers. It’s an offer worth a good hundred pounds.”
Holmes face stiffened, but he forced a smile even as he shook his head. “No. As I have told you before, I have certain moral scruples.”
Ratty shook his head sadly. “A pity that. I must admit I cannot understand moral scruples, but I respect them all the same.”
“We have wandered off the subject. You said someone is stirring up the prostitutes.”
Ratty frowned and nodded. “Someone is putting most peculiar ideas in their heads, telling them that they shouldn’t work for men like me—that it’s a disgusting profession because men are disgusting—or worst yet, that they should set aside their earnings and retire as soon as possible! All sorts of oddities. Then there’s all the blackmailing.”
Holmes nodded emphatically. “Ah—there has been an increase.”
“Most assuredly! Such news travels fast, and it’s very bad for business indeed. Your police and the average citizen don’t understand, but running a brothel is like running any other business. Why, I don’t mean to boast, but I am one of the largest employers in London. Do you know how many women would be starving in the streets if not for me?” He must have noticed the expression on my face. “Think what you will, Mr. Vinegar. I treat my girls far better than most employers. Visit one of those textile mills if you doubt me—machines going day and night, with all those poor females working as hard and fast as they can for the paltriest of wages! If one of my girls is good at her trade, she can move up the ladder to a better house. Why, one of my best girls took up with a royal relation and retired happily! I was sorry to lose her, but...”
“We were discussing blackmail,” Holmes said.
“Ah—yes, and as I was saying, it’s very bad for business—just as is roughing up the customers. Volume and happy customers are the key to my success. I want the man who visits one of my houses to go away smiling and eager to return. I want him to tell all his friends about my girls. Sure, you might make a few quid blackmailing some bloke, but word gets around—it always does—and then trade drops off. That’s why any girl who robs a customer or tries a bit of blackmail is out the door at once. And that’s why I’m concerned, Mr. Holmes. I’ve had to dismiss three times as many girls this past year as before, and that’s most unusual. Until now, the rate always stayed about the same, and I’ve been involved in the trade for twenty years.”
Holmes’ fingers stroked his chin. “Curious. Have you...?”
His words were cut off by the boisterous applause greeting a fat man who had stepped up onto a rickety chair. He had a huge gray mustache and wore a purple velvet vest. “Welcome, gents! Welcome, one and all, to the Sportin’ Tavern, and now it’s time for our sport. Everyone placed their bets? If not, see Fred over there in the corner. Raise yer hand, Fred. Now let’s get to it. You all know the rules. Whichever dog kills the most rats in two minutes wins the grand prize. First up’ll be the current champ, Curly Joe.”
A toothless old man at the front held up a truculent little brown bulldog whose face had many folds. Curly’s partisans cheered loudly. The dog nearly writhed from his master’s arms, so desperate was he to get at the rats. I had a sick feeling in my stomach and took a swallow of the foul stout. I did not care for rats, but I did not enjoy seeing any creature slaughtered.
Holmes started to question Ratty again, but his eyes were fixed on the ring. “Hold off, Mr. Holmes. I want to watch Curly. He was a wonder in his prime, but he’s a bit old now. He’s put on weight, hasn’t he, Moley?”
“A regular little pig,” rumbled his companion.
The master of ceremonies had withdrawn a gold watch and raised his hand. “Ready—set—
Curly fell upon the rats like an avenging angel, catching them by the throats and shaking them. One he caught by the hindquarters and flung against the wall. The rats raced about, vainly attempting to escape. Some tried to work their way into the crack between the wall and the floor. One of the bolder ones leaped at Curly and clamped his teeth into the dog’s ear. The dog released another rat and gave a howl, then shook his head wildly. The rat swung about, his long pink tail whipping through the air, but his teeth held their grip.
Ratty’s smile was fierce. “He’ll never win now. Too slow by far.”
Seeing that shaking would not dislodge the rat, Curly changed his tactics and swung his head around, smacking the rat against the wall. With a squeal the rat let go, and Curly was on him at once.
“Time!” The man in the vest raised his hand.
“’Ere, Curly.” With some difficulty, the elderly owner managed to pull the dog from the ring.
Two men in black aprons stepped into the circus and began gathering the dead or dying rats, while the master of ceremonies conferred with another man.
“Twenty-one rats it is for Curly!”
There was some feeble cheering, but the groans of disappointment were louder.
“No, he’ll never win now. I recall one time he killed nearly fifty. Of course, that was the best night of his life.”
I drank my stout and glanced at the men all around me, their faces hot and flushed from drink and excitement, and I felt, as never before, the incredible gulf between us. How could anyone enjoy this spectacle? It was so vile, so base and vicious. The Roman crowd at the Coliseum must have resembled this mob. My stomach twisted, and for a moment I feared I might vomit. I wanted to stand up and flee, but that was foolish. Getting away from Underton alive would be difficult enough even with Holmes’ aid.
