‘Did you talk to this barman?’ Inspector Feather asked Sergeant Cribbens. They were travelling in a police van to Seven Dials, along with a uniformed constable, to pick up the barman from The Flower Pot pub.
‘I did,’ said Cribbens. ‘His name’s Jake Walker. He said he didn’t see either Joe Wallace, nor this rich-looking bloke.’
‘You think he was lying?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Cribbens firmly. ‘It’s Seven Dials. They lie by nature. I was going to suggest taking him back to Scotland Yard, but we only had the van and the carriage; and I was using the van to take Mr Wilson and the body back to the Yard, and you and Miss Fenton were taking Lily Wallace back to Whitechapel. And then, when we got to the Yard, the boss told us the investigation was over, so there didn’t seem much point in asking any further questions.’
‘Yes, good point,’ said Feather. ‘But now the chief superintendent’s changed his mind, we’ve got orders to pull him in.’
‘He won’t talk,’ predicted Cribbens. ‘They never do.’
‘He might if we throw the fear of God into him,’ said Feather. ‘Or, more exactly, the fear of the scaffold. Daniel suggested he might be guilty of conspiracy to aid a murderer.’
‘Worth a try, I suppose,’ said Cribbens, not sounding very convinced.
The van drew up as near as it could get to The Flower Pot, and Inspector Feather, Cribbens and the constable got out and made for the pub. They were surprised to see a crowd outside the pub, and as they neared it a man in a stained apron detached himself from the crowd and hurried to greet them.
‘That was quick,’ he said. ‘We only just sent for a bobby.’
‘What was quick?’ asked Feather.
‘You. Scotland Yard,’ said the man. ‘I recognised you from this morning when the other bloke was found dead. Luckily, Jake didn’t get done in the privy.’
Feather and Cribbens exchanged puzzled looks.
‘Our barman,’ said the man impatiently. ‘Ain’t that why you’re here? Jake getting killed.’
‘Where is he?’ asked Feather, pushing his way through the crowd to get into the pub.
‘In the storeroom out the back,’ said the man with the apron.
‘And you are?’
‘Eddie Mason. I’m the potman and general washer-upperer here. Someone came and told me that Jake had gone missing. So I went into the storeroom in case he was there, and there he was, dead as a doornail. Knife in the heart, by the look of it.’
‘Who did it? Did anyone see?’
Feather looked around at the crowd, which suddenly seemed to have grown much thinner at the arrival of the police. The few men and women who were left shook their heads.
‘We’re looking for a rich-looking sort of bloke,’ Feather announced to them. ‘He’d stick out like a sore thumb around here. Did anyone see anyone like that? Long coat. Top hat. White scarf wrapped around his face.’
Again, everyone shook their heads, except for one man who asked: ‘Is there a reward?’
‘What’s your name?’ asked Feather.
‘It depends if there’s a reward,’ said the man.
Feather turned to Cribbens. ‘Sergeant, take this man and put him in the van.’
‘What for?’ protested the man loudly. ‘I ain’t done nothing!’
‘This is a murder, the second here today, and I haven’t got time to mess about,’ snapped Feather. He turned to Mason. ‘I’ll need you, too.’
‘Why?’ demanded the potman. ‘What have I done?’
‘You found the body. You’ve got information that may help us find the person who killed your barman.’
‘I ain’t got any information!’ said Mason.
‘That’s for me to find out,’ said Feather crisply.
Mason gestured at the pub.
‘But without me there’s no one to look after it. Me and Jake was the only ones there.’
‘Then lock it up.’ Feather turned to the waiting Cribbens, who was holding the man he’d been ordered to put in the van firmly by the arm. ‘Go on, Sergeant. And tell the driver to keep an eye on him while we get the body of the barman to the van.’ He turned to Mason, who was looking agitated. ‘You can give us a hand to carry him.’
‘I can’t,’ said Mason. ‘I’ve got a bad back.’
‘You’re a potman and washer-upperer, you do plenty of lifting. And you can rest your back when we get to Scotland Yard.’
When they got to Scotland Yard, Feather put the two men in different interview rooms. He left Cribbens to quiz the man who’d asked if there was a reward, while he questioned Eddie Mason, the potman.
‘I don’t know anything,’ insisted Mason. ‘I’m always out the back. Though today I had to look after the bar when Jake went out.’
‘When was this?’ asked Feather.
‘It was soon after that other bloke came in,’ said Mason.
‘What bloke?’
‘One of yours. Wilson, Jake said his name was.’
‘Daniel Wilson?’
‘I don’t know. Jake said this bloke Wilson had been in asking questions and he had to go out. He was only telling me in case this Wilson came back.’
‘And did he?’
Mason shook his head. ‘Not while I was doing the bar. Then Jake came back.’
‘Did he say where he’d been?’
‘No.’
‘How long was he gone for?’
‘I don’t know. About an hour, I think.’
‘When did you last see Jake alive?’
‘About an hour or so after he came back. I was feeling hungry, I hadn’t eaten all day, so I told Jake I was going to get a bun from the baker’s up the road. I went up there and got it, and stayed up there while I ate it. I knew if I came back, Jake would be on at me to do something and I wouldn’t be able to eat the bun. Not enjoy it, anyway. They’re really good buns. They got currants and things in ’em.’
‘And when you got back?’ prompted Feather.
‘Jake wasn’t in the bar, so I went into the storeroom to see if he was there, and he was. Only he was dead.’
‘Were there any customers in the bar when you got back?’
‘No, nor when I left. That’s why I knew it was all right to go to the baker’s, because there weren’t any customers to look after.’
‘And what did you do when you found Jake’s body?’
‘I went out in the street and told this little kid, Archie his name is, to go and fetch a copper.’
‘Who’s Archie?’
‘He does errands for people.’
‘Did he see who’d come in the pub?’
Again, Mason shook his head. ‘No. He wasn’t there when I went out to get my bun. I don’t know where he was before. He just turned up as I came out of the pub.’
‘Do you have an address for him?’
Mason looked at the inspector in disbelief. ‘Address? You’re joking. He’s one of the street kids. They sleep on the roofs of buildings all over the place.’
Feather nodded, yes, he knew about these kids. Runaways or orphans, mostly. They gathered together in gangs for safety, and they slept on the roofs of buildings for the same reason, as well as being able to keep warm by being close to the chimney stacks.
Sergeant Cribbens was having even less success with Arnold Dibble, the man who’d asked if there was a reward.
‘I never saw nothing,’ he insisted. ‘All I saw was this crowd outside the pub, so I went over to see what was going on, and that’s when they told me a bloke had been killed in there. That’s all I know.’
‘So why did you ask if there was a reward for information?’
‘A bloke’s got to look after himself.’
‘But you’ve just said you hadn’t got any information.’
‘And I haven’t. But if someone tells me what they want, maybe I can find it. You know, ask around. All I need is a few coins to grease a few palms. A shilling or two.’
‘You’ll get any money that might be going if you come in with some good information that leads us to catch the bloke who killed the barman,’ said Cribbens firmly.
‘Well, that’s no good,’ protested Dibble. ‘People want money up front, not promises of it later.’
Sergeant Cribbens fixed Dibble with a firm look. ‘Listen, my old son,’ he said. ‘I’ve been in this game a good few years and I know when I’m being taken for a monkey. If your information’s any good, I’ll see what we can do about paying you. But we are not – and I repeat not – paying you on a promise. So nose around by all means. You’ll find our blokes will be doing the same.’ He leant forward to Dibble and told him: ‘We are not a charity, Arnold. Payment by results, that’s the order of the day.’
After both men had been allowed to leave, Feather and his sergeant swapped notes.
‘My one was a dead loss,’ said Cribbens. ‘He’s a chancer. He saw nothing, but he says he’ll find out, if we pay him up front.’
‘I assume you put him straight?’ groaned Feather.
‘I did,’ said Cribbens. ‘How about yours?’
‘Nothing. He was out buying a bun when the barman got killed. We’ll have to flood the area with local bobbies asking questions, see what they come up with.’ He sighed. ‘Now to go and tell the chief superintendent about this latest killing. He’s not going to be pleased.’
Feather was right, Armstrong wasn’t pleased at all when the inspector told him about Jake Walker being stabbed to death.
‘Another one!’ he exploded in red-faced fury. ‘We started off with two dead women. Then we had that bloke …’ He struggled to remember the name.
‘Edwin O’Tool,’ said Feather.
‘Then Joe Wallace has his throat cut. And now the barman at the same pub.’
‘Jake Walker,’ said Feather.
‘Who gets stabbed to death. That’s five people murdered, Inspector. Five!’ He let out a groan. ‘The commissioner’s going to go mad when he hears about this. And the home secretary!’
‘Do they have to be told, sir?’ asked Feather.
‘It’ll be in the papers,’ barked Armstrong. He got up. ‘I’d better go and see the commissioner and tell him this latest before he reads about it in tomorrow’s papers.’ He looked at Feather, anguished. ‘This could cost me my job, Inspector.’
‘Surely not, sir.’
‘Five dead and no suspects? They’ll be looking for someone to blame. Unless we can lay our hands on this maniac before he kills anyone else.’