why she was doing it: he had never entertained any interest other than friendly in Charlotte. Sarah must know that. Women frequently did odd and inexplicable things; it was usually an obscure way of laying claim to attention, and after a little flattery they were back to normal. Whatever Sarah wanted this time, she was making rather too much of an issue of it. He was bored with it, and becoming genuinely angry.
He dined at his club again two evenings later. It was on the third occasion that he fell into conversation with four other men who lived within a mile or two of Cater Street. At first he had done no more than overhear, but his interest was drawn when they began to discuss the murders.
“. . wretched police all over the place, and they don’t seem to be accomplishing a damn thing!” one complained.
“Poor devils are as lost as we are,” someone else argued.
“More lost! Don’t even belong in our world, part of a different social class. Don’t understand us any more than we understand them.”
“Good God! You aren’t suggesting this lunatic is a gentleman?” There was amusement, incredulity, and the edge of anger in this voice.
“Why not?”
“Good God!” he was stunned.
“Well, we’ve got to admit it. If he were a stranger he would have been noticed by now.” The man leaned forward. “For the love of heaven, man, the way everyone feels at the moment, do you think any stranger could go unobserved? Everyone is looking over his shoulder; women daren’t even go next door alone; the men are all watching and waiting. Delivery boys practically clock in and out; they want themselves timed to prove where they were and when. Even cabbies don’t like coming to Cater Street any more. In the past week, two have been stopped by constables, only because they were strange faces.”
“You know,” the man opposite him frowned, “it’s just come to me what that old fool Blenkinsop was talking about the other day! I thought he was rambling at the time, but now I realize he was saying in a roundabout way that he suspected me!”
“Quite! That’s the most damnable thing about it: having people looking queerly at you, not precisely saying anything, but you know cursed well what’s going on in their minds. Even errand boys are getting above themselves.”
“You’re not alone, old fellow! Left my carriage for my wife and was out late. Had to get a cab home. Wretched cabbie asked my destination. I told him and the man had the impertinence to refuse me. ‘Not going to Cater Street,’ he said. I ask you!”
One of them caught Dominic in his peripheral vision. “Ah, Corde! You’ll know what we’re talking about. Dreadful business, isn’t it? Whole place turned upside down. Creature must be insane, of course.”
“Unfortunately it isn’t obvious,” Dominic replied, sitting down in the proffered chair.
“Not obvious? What d’you mean? I would have thought it could hardly be more obvious than to run around the streets garotting helpless women!”
“I mean it does not show in his demeanour at other times,” Dominic explained. “In his face, his actions, or in anything else. He must look exactly like anyone else, most of the time.” Charlotte’s words came back to him. “For all we know, he could be here now, any one of these extremely respectable gentlemen.”
“I don’t care for your sense of humour, Corde. Misplaced. Poor taste, if I may say so.”
“To make jokes about murder at all is poor taste. But I wasn’t joking; I was perfectly serious. Even if you don’t believe in the intelligence of the police, with feeling running as it is, if this man were visible for what he is, surely one of us would have spotted him before now?”
The man stared at him, his face turning purple, then paling.
“Bless me! Shockin’ thought. Not nice having one’s neighbours think-”
“Has it never crossed your mind about someone else?”
“I admit it occurred to me. Gatling behaved a trifle odd. Caught him being overly solicitous to my wife the other day. Hands where they had no business, helping her with a shawl. Said something to him at the time. Never thought of it-perhaps that’s why he was so offended-thought I meant-oh well, all past now.”
“Damned unpleasant, though. Feel as if no one tells me what they mean anymore. See meanings behind meanings, if you understand me?”
“Thing I can’t stand is the maids looking at one as if one were. . ”
And so it went on. Dominic heard the same views over and over again; the embarrassment, the anger, the bewilderment-and, something worse, the almost inevitable sense that somewhere close, to someone they knew, it would happen again.
He wanted to forget it, to go back for a few hours to the way it was before the first murder.
Dominic was delighted a week later to see George Ashworth, dressed very formally, obviously ready for a night out.
“Ah, Corde!” Ashworth slapped him on the back. “Coming for a night’s entertainment? As long as you don’t tell Sarah!” he smiled, meaning it as a joke. It was unthinkable, of course, that Dominic would say anything. One did not mention such things to women,
Dominic made up his mind instantly.
“Exactly what I need. Certainly I’ll come. Where are we going?”
Ashworth grinned. “Bessie Mullane’s, to end with. Perhaps one or two other places beforehand. Have you eaten yet?”
“No.”
“Excellent. I know a place you will like, quite small, but the best food and the most entertaining company.”
And so it proved. It was certainly a little bawdy, but Dominic had never eaten a richer, more delicately cooked meal, or enjoyed such free wine. Gradually he forgot Cater Street and all those who lived there-or died there. Even Sarah’s present foolishness disappeared from his mind with the good spirits and conviviality of the company.
Bessie Mullane’s proved to be a cheerful and extremely comfortable bawdy house where they were lavishly welcomed. Ashworth was obviously not only known, but quite genuinely liked. They had not been there above half an hour when they were joined by a young swell, extravagantly dressed and a little drunk, but not yet objectionable.
“George!” he said with evident pleasure. “Haven’t seen you in weeks!” He slid into the seat beside him. “Good evening, sir,” he inclined his head towards Dominic. “I say, have you seen Jervis? Thought I’d take him out of himself a bit, but can’t find him!”
“What’s the matter with him?” Ashworth enquired pleasantly. “By the way,” he indicated Dominic, “Dominic Corde, Charles Danley.”
Danley nodded.
“Silly fool lost at cards, lost rather a lot.”
“Shouldn’t play more than you can afford,” Ashworth said without sympathy. “Stay with your own level of game.”
“Thought he was,” Danley curled up the corners of his lips in disgust. “Other fellow cheated. Could have told him he would.”
“Thought Jervis was pretty comfortable?” Ashworth opened his eyes indicating it was something of a question. “He’ll recover. Have to curtail his entertaining for a while.”
“That isn’t it! He was stupid enough to accuse the bastard of cheating.”
Ashworth grinned. “What happened? Did he call him out for a duel? Should have thought after all that scandal with Churchill and the Prince of Wales five years ago he’d have steered clear of anything like that!”
“No, of course he didn’t! Apparently the cheating hadn’t been particularly well done, and he was able to expose it without any effort-which he was idiotic enough to do!”
“Why idiotic?” Dominic interrupted from sheer curiosity. “I would have thought if a man were crass enough to cheat, and do it badly, he deserved whatever came to him?”
“Naturally! But this was an extremely ill-tempered fellow, and with some weight of influence. He’ll be ruined, of course! Ultimate sin, to cheat badly. Implies you don’t even have the respect for your fellows to do it well! But he’ll make damned sure he takes poor Jervis with him.”
