All of us went silent.
“Barker, can you make head or tail of this?” the inspector asked.
“Plain as a pikestaff. Mr. Han has a personal relationship with Miss Petulengro, and he lives above her shop, but she feels she is still able to…to…What phrase would you use, miss?”
She thought about it a moment. “Entertain better offers.”
“Exactly. She went out this evening with Thomas, in what I assume both agreed was business, but which may have had some private moments as well. After dinner, he took her home-”
“Actually, I took her to a coffeehouse first,” I put in.
“Thank you, Thomas,” Barker said with what might have been a withering stare behind the lenses of black glass. “So, you took her back to her rooms over the shop. Did you go in?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you kiss her?”
“I say, that is rather personal, is it not?”
“It is pertinent to the case. Did you kiss her?”
“Yes, I did.”
Hettie smiled slyly at me but said nothing.
“And you, Mr. Han. Were you not in the rooms upstairs?”
“Hai.”
“And did you see him kiss her?”
The Chinaman looked downcast. “He no kiss her. She hurry up kiss him.”
“I see. What did you then, sir?”
“Run out back door, chop chop. Follow his cab.”
“Afoot? It is several miles.”
“Nobody give ride to Chinaman, mister.”
“You came to a house in Newington.”
“I watch him go in big house. I no know what to do. I walk in front of house for ten minutes, then I go ’round back.”
“You wished to confront Mr. Llewelyn?”
“No, no. Have chalk. Leave message on gate, ‘Stay ’way from girl.’ That will show him. I think maybe he stay ’way then, but coppers catched me.”
“He didn’t do any harm,” Hettie insisted. “He was just going to write a message.”
“Destruction of property,” Poole spoke up.
“Destruction, my bonnet,” Hettie replied. “Soap and water would have taken it off in a tick. And anyway, he didn’t even get started.”
Barker turned to the Chinaman. “Do you have the chalk?”
Han reached into the pocket of his jacket and produced a piece of chalk. Either he was telling the truth or was a very ingenious liar.
“When did you arrive in London, Mr. Han?”
“Two year ago, November.”
“I see. When did you meet Miss Petulengro?”
“Two days later,” Hettie answered for him. “He and the boys from the Agamemnon had gone through their money already, as sailors will. He wanted to sell a jade ring. He was about to go to the Strangers’ Home, which is fine if you’re ninety. I thought him rather attractive.”
Her remark made me angry, I admit, but I noticed that Poole was taking it even worse than I. His lips were in a grimace of disgust.
“You offered him a bed,” the Guv continued.
“No, I’m not that kind of girl. My uncle did, in the cellar. He did odd work for him, and attracted other sailors to the shop.”
“Did your relationship…develop?”
“That’s none of yer business, Mr. ’Tec. Oh, sorry, Mr. Private Enquiry Agent.”
I almost laughed out loud but stopped myself. She did a very serviceable imitation of Barker.
“Stow the lip, girl,” Poole warned. “I have a little cell waiting for you if I need it.”
The girl looked ready to take up his challenge, but Barker went on, glossing things over in the process.
“My apologies, miss,” Barker said, “Your private life does not interest me, save when it intersects a murder investigation.”
“Who said nothing about a murder?” she challenged.
“May I continue? Mr. Han, were you acquainted with Inspector Bainbridge?”
“Yes, suh. He say I no can stay with Hettie after Mister Uncle die. It is unseemly. He lock me up for vagrancy. I get out, get job delivering betel nut, but he ’rest me again. No permit. Lock me up. I get out, get permit, go back work. Here he come again. Papers not in order. Lock me up again.”
“He was bullying Charlie something terrible,” Hettie threw in.
“Then Mister Uncle be killed. Who is number one suspect? Charlie Han, that’s who. I carry flail. ’Spector say is murder weapon.”
“Do you have it now?” Barker asked.
“Always have it. Always. Betel nut is dangerous business, need protection.”
“Let me see it.”
Charlie Han reached into his baggy trousers and pulled out what might be considered a weapon. It was two sticks, each a foot long and about an inch across, with a cord connecting them at one end. They looked harmless enough, I thought, but Poole did not. He took it away from Han, then stepped into the hall to berate his subordinates for allowing a suspect to come into the questioning room without being properly searched.
“This could leave a mark like the one on Petulengro’s neck,” Barker said.
“’Spector say I killed him, but I no did it. I spend most of night with friends from Blue Funnel. Everybody throw party, so we throw party. Lunnon have two New Years, they say. Mister Uncle got robbed and killed that night. He have terrible temper sometime, but have no reason to kill him.”
“One could say that with Mr. Petulengro out of the way, you might gain a great deal,” Barker said. “You could gain control of Miss Petulengro’s money were the two of you to marry.”
“You’re thinking like Bainy now,” Hettie said. “You don’t know nothing. Charlie ain’t that kind of boy. He’s not the low-class criminal the Yard is making him out to be. He was just a sailor who came here looking for work.”
“It is legal to sell betel nut,” Han said in his defense. “Plenty plenty people use it.”
“So, in essence, you’re saying that Inspector Bainbridge was harassing Mr. Han.”
“That’s right,” Hettie said. “He didn’t have no cause.”
“If he had no cause, why do you suppose he was harassing him?”
“Here, now,” Poole butted in. “Nevil Bainbridge was a competent officer. He would not pin a crime on a fellow who didn’t give him just cause.”
“I dunno,” Hettie said, looking up at Barker. “I dunno why he did it. He had it in for him.”
Barker stepped forward and loomed over the pair of them.
“I think you do know, Miss Petulengro.”
She snapped then. Had Barker not seized her wrists, she would have torn his spectacles off and scratched his eyes out, but her claws looked small and useless in Barker’s big hands. Poole got himself in the enviable position of having his arms around her, one hand clasped in the other.
“I believe that will not be necessary, inspector,” Barker said. “Miss Petulengro will cooperate. Won’t you, miss?”
Hestia Petulengro looked very unlikely to cooperate, but she stared hard into those round spectacles of Barker’s, the two of them locked in a struggle of wills.
“There is a saying,” he continued. “The truth shall set you free.”
All fight went out of her then. She sagged into a chair. Barker did not menace her further, but left her to calm down. He poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the table and gave it to her. After a few minutes she looked more composed.
“Let us start again, Miss Petulengro. Do you have a suspicion of who killed your uncle?”
