eligible young men of their set.”
“I am not most women my age, sir.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Do you think you could convince Miss Hill to have you take over Mrs. DeVere’s duties?”
“I don’t foresee a problem. She was sad to see me go to my present position.”
“Excellent. I realize you have other duties, but if you could contrive to attend at least an hour a day, I would be grateful.”
“Do you suspect someone within the Charity Organization Society of having something to do with Gwendolyn DeVere’s murder?” she asked.
“Miss, I suspect everyone in Bethnal Green and several others who haven’t set a foot inside it. It is not time to begin eliminating suspects just yet. I am hunting facts and opinions and I think you might be well placed to deliver both.”
“I expect this to be a paid position.”
“Certainly. I am not one of your charities.”
“What duration shall be my employment?”
“It shall be brief, merely a week or two, until I find the man who murdered Miss DeVere.”
“You think you shall find him in so short a time?” she dared ask.
“I can but cast my net, Miss Potter, but it is a stout old net, and I am an experienced fisherman. We are no longer looking for a white slave ring. Mr. Llewelyn and I have received a letter from a madman whom we believe has stolen and murdered half a dozen young girls in Bethnal Green.”
“My word,” Miss Potter murmured, clutching her throat.
“We learned that Miss DeVere’s escape from the charity was aided by Miss Ona Bellovich.”
“Might I see the letter?”
Cyrus Barker leaned back in his chair and scratched his chin absently, the way he does when deep in thought. He was not inconvenienced in the least that this girl was waiting for him to make a decision.
“Very well,” he finally said, pulling the note from the wide middle drawer of his desk. “I would appreciate your opinion.”
Beatrice took the letter and read it over a few times without comment. Finally, she set it back upon the desk, facedown.
“Do you believe in woman’s intuition?”
“I have no formed opinion. Perhaps.”
She tapped the note with a nail. “This is pure evil.”
Barker nodded but said nothing.
“He’s very…harsh. His taunts must be unbearable to you.”
I realized then how sensitive the girl was. She was actually concerned over my employer’s feelings.
“I can bear them well enough, miss. Do you recognize the hand?”
“I do not.”
“What about the poetry? Is anyone at the charity a writer of poems?”
“Miss Levy is a published poet. Amy’s work has appeared in several journals. Of course, it’s nothing like this. This is quite crude.”
“I shall accept your opinion of it.”
“Do you really smoke an ivory pipe?” she asked suddenly.
Barker sat a moment, then got up and moved to his bookshelves. He opened his walnut smoking cabinet, displaying two racks of pipes.
“Meerschaum, actually,” he said.
“So I see.”
“I am satisfied, Miss Potter. Consider your services engaged.”
“Is there anything I should look for in particular?” she asked.
“Mr. Llewelyn, have you got the list of victims with you?”
I flipped through my notebook, glad for once that he hadn’t called me “lad” in front of Miss Potter. “Here it is, sir.”
“Thank you. I would like to know if the girls on this list came through the C.O.S.”
“As you wish, sir.”
“I hope your enquiry skills are as satisfactory as your manners. The socialism notwithstanding, you give me some hope for the next generation. That will be all.”
He rose, gave a solemn nod, and then exited the way he came. He wasn’t going anywhere save the empty courtyard again, I knew. Perhaps it was all for Miss Potter’s benefit.
“What an unusual person your employer is,” she said under her breath.
“He is that,” I commented diplomatically.
“He really thinks he’ll find Gwendolyn’s killer in so short a time?”
“If he says so, I believe him. He does not make inflated promises.”
15
Cyrus Barker and I went to the Mile End Mission after that, where he spent his time pummeling McClain’s hanging bag while the reverend tried to tear off my head with his hook punch. Handy Andy complained the entire time about his gloves, but I doubt I would have been conscious if he hadn’t worn them. When we were done, he would not vouchsafe that I had learned anything, only that I was “coming along,” whatever that meant. I felt as if something had jarred loose in the back of my head, but I knew by now that complaining wouldn’t do any good.
We slipped down the alley and entered the back door of the warehouse, then climbed the steps to the first floor. As expected, Mac was intent on his vigil. He had one hand propped high against the side of the window and the other on his waist. At rest he looked like a Greek statue, save the yarmulke.
“Has anything of note happened while we were gone?” the Guv asked.
“Yes, sir,” he said, diving into the pocket of his jacket. “Jenkins was here. I’m afraid you received another anonymous note.”
Barker grunted and took the envelope, slitting it open with the stiletto he generally kept in a sheath up his sleeve. I realized my employer had probably been expecting one after Gwendolyn DeVere’s body was found. The note read:
Poor Push is full of woe;
Doesn’t quite know where to go,
A-searching the Green with his Welsh terrier
(The principle is the more the merrier.)
The wee girl’s fodder for the grave.
She should have known how to behave.
Drink your tea and smoke your ’bacca-
You can’t catch me!
Mr. Miacca.
“Welsh terrier,” I commented. When one is small, one is a target for everyone.
“Have you any constructive comments to make, Mr. Llewelyn?”
“No one would write ‘a-searching,’ sir. They might say it, but they would not write it. It sounds like an educated man trying to sound uneducated.”
“Agreed. And?”
“‘You can’t catch me.’ That’s from the old tale of the Gingerbread Man,” I pointed out.
“Another fairy tale? We may have to get a copy of that. Continue.”
“Well, sir, he must know you rather well. He knows you like tea and tobacco and appears to be going out of his way to inform you that he knows what’s going on. Either he is someone with whom we come into close
