following her had been to learn where she was going, and why. The door was closed; if he gained entrance and faced Christina, what could he say? Did he even want her to know he had committed this foolish act of following her here? What could he do about it anyway? Confine her to the house? Withdraw all marital affection from her? Or put her away as a-a what? What was it that she was doing here?
The wild flights of imagining were worse than knowing; he understood himself well enough not to think he could dismiss it and ever again have an unclouded moment. And perhaps he was unjust to her? Perhaps she was innocent of the things now in his mind.
There was a noise behind him in the street. A violent shiver of fear ran through him like a drench of cold water. Had the victims of the Devil’s Acre murderer been strangers like himself-men unwanted here, and hacked to pieces for their intrusion? His hand lifted the knocker and crashed it down violently.
Seconds dragged by. There was the sound of shuffling feet in the street, and the trickle of water. Ross slammed the knocker again and again, then twisted his head to look behind him. Two of the men were closer and still moving toward him. He had nothing to fight them with but his hands; he had not even brought a stick.
Sweat broke out on his body. It crossed his mind to go out toward them, to start the fight himself so at least it would be quick. He would not think of the mutilation afterward.
Suddenly the door opened; he lost his balance and stumbled in.
“Yes, sir?”
Ross collected his wits and peered at the man holding a candle in the dark hallway. He was shabby; his belly protruded over his trousers, his slippers were loose-soled and fraying. He was a big man, and he stood between Ross and the stairs that led upward.
“Yes, sir?” he said again quietly.
Ross said the first thing that came into his head. “I want to rent a room.”
The man looked him up and down with narrow eyes. “All by yerself, are yer?”
“None of your business.” Ross gulped. “Do you have rooms? I saw a young woman come in a few minutes ago, and she most assuredly does not live here!”
“None o’ your business.” The man mimicked his tone with perfect contempt. “People rahnd ’ere keeps their noses in their own muck’eaps and don’t go lookin’ trough nobody else’s, mister. That way vey don’t get nuffin cut orf, like! Nasty fings can ’appen to vem as can’t keep veir eyes and veir marvs to veirselves.”
Ross felt the cold run through him. For a moment, half his brain had forgotten murder. He tried to sound calm, sure of himself. His throat was dry, his voice higher than usual.
“I don’t care in the slightest what she came for,” he said, trying to put a sneer in his voice. “Whom she meets is of no possible interest to me. I merely wish to come to a similar arrangement myself.”
“Well, vat’ll be kind o’ difficult, mister, seein’ as she comes ter see the gent wot owns ’ole row o’ ahses!” He gave a harsh laugh and spat on the floor. “Nah as ’is bruvver’s bin snuffed, like! Reckon as ve Acre’s slasher done ’im a good turn!”
Ross froze.
“Wot’s ve matter wiv yer? Scared? ’Fraid ve slasher’s after you too, eh? Mebbe ’e is an’ all!” He sniggered. “Mebbe yer’d better scarper w’ile yer still got all yer parts-yer dirty little git!” His voice was filled with disgust, and Ross felt his face sting as the hot blood burned up inside him. This creature thought he had come sneaking here to satisfy some appetite that-
Ross straightened up, muscles tight, chin high. Then he remembered the men outside in the street. He crumpled again. He could not afford pride, and he most certainly dare not appear inquisitive.
“Have you rooms or have you not?” he asked quietly.
“’Ave you money?” The man held out a dirty finger and thumb and rubbed them together.
“Of course I have! How much?”
“’Ow long?”
“All night, of course! Do you think I want to be shuffled in and out with someone waiting on my heels and looking at his watch?”
“All by yerself?” The man’s eyebrows rose. “W’y don’tcher lock yer door an’ do it at ’ome? Wotever it is as takes yer fancy-”
Ross dearly wanted to hit him. He resisted the temptation for a moment; then anger, fear, and the scalding wound of Christina’s betrayal exploded inside him. He struck the man hard with a closed fist, sending him hurtling back, head cracking against the wall. He slithered down into a heap on the floor and lay still.
Ross turned and pulled the door open and stepped out into the street. Whoever was there, he had to face them. He had made it impossible to stay here. This time he did not hesitate. His heart was racing, his fists already clenched ready to strike anyone who had the recklessness to molest him. He walked quickly, bumping into a beggar on the corner and knocking him sidewise. The man swore and Ross passed on oblivious. He knew the direction of Westminster, and he was making for well-lit streets and safety.
Footsteps echoed behind him and he increased his pace. It must be only a few hundred yards now. There were people huddled in doorways, both men and women. Someone giggled in the dark. There was a slap of flesh. A pile of refuse fell over with a scatter of rats. He ran.
It was late in the afternoon two days later when the maid came into his study and told Ross that a Mr. Pitt was here and would like to speak with him.
Pitt? He knew no one called Pitt. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, sir.” The maid looked doubtful. “He is a very odd person, sir. Beggin’ your pardon, but he was most insistent. Wouldn’t give no reason, sir, but says as you know ’im.”
“He must be mistaken.”
“’E won’t go away, sir. Shall I get Donald to put ’im out, sir? I daresn’t tell ’im meself. ’E’s sort o’-well, ’is clothes is all any’ow, like they wasn’t properly ’is to begin with, if you know what I mean. But ’e speaks like a gentleman, real proper-”
Suddenly, Ross remembered. “Oh, God! Yes, send him in. I do know him.”
“Yes, sir.” She forgot her curtsy and scurried out, overwhelmed with relief.
A moment later, Pitt came in, smiling casually as if he had been invited. “Good morning, Mr. Ross. Nasty weather.”
“Horrible,” Ross agreed. “What can I do for you, Mr. Pitt?”
Pitt sat down as if the offer had been one of natural hospitality. He pulled himself a little closer to the fire. He must already have given the maid whatever outer clothing he had, because he now wore only dark trousers, a clean but rather voluminous shirt, and a jacket whose pockets appeared to be stuffed with objects of awkward sizes. The whole thing hung crooked and looked to be fastened on uneven buttons.
“Thank you.” He rubbed his hands and held them out to the flames. “A lot of police work is very tedious.”
“I’m sure it must be.” Ross was really not interested. He was unable to be sorry for the man.
“Endless questioning of not very pleasant people,” Pitt went on. “And of course we have certain acquaintances who keep us informed if anything unusual happens.”
“Quite. But I’m afraid I am not one of them. I know nothing that could be of use to you. I’m sorry.”
Pitt turned to look up at him. He had remarkable eyes; the light shone through them like a shaft of sun through seawater.
“I was referring to quite a different sort of person, Mr. Ross. Like the old fellow that told me today of a gentleman looking for rooms in Drake Street, in the Devil’s Acre, a couple of nights ago. Lot of gentlemen do, for reasons of their own. However this particular one, well dressed, well spoken, just like most, got very upset when his reasons were commented on. And that’s most unusual. Most gentlemen using such places are only too glad to be as discreet as possible.”
He appeared to be waiting for an answer. Ross felt suddenly stiff, as if he had walked miles and slept ill. “I suppose they are,” he said awkwardly. His memory flashed back to the dim hallway, the smell of dirt, the man’s enraging, filthy leer. His throat tightened.
“Completely lost his temper,” Pitt went on with a lift of surprise in his voice. “Hit him!”
Ross swallowed. “Was he hurt?”
Pitt smiled, pulling the corners of his mouth down in a tiny grimace. “Pretty good crack on his skull, broken collarbone. He’s certainly very angry about it. Put the word about that if the fellow comes back to the Acre he’s to
