Chapter Three

Thackeray submitted to an interview. “I was appointed treasurer for the evening. I usually am. Perhaps I am the most sober among them. They are clever fellows, and I enjoy their company, although sometimes their lowbred habits come out when they have been drinking. I always collect a sufficient amount to cover the costs before the drinking begins. Quite naturally, I remained to the last to settle up with the house.

“The girl was passed out in the room when I went downstairs to locate the landlord. The sot was so inebriated that he could hardly stand. He had no idea how much we owed. The girl who waited on us, apparently a close friend of Dickens and Forster, had vacated the premises.

“I gave the landlord what I thought was fair and left my card with instructions for him to contact me if he felt he had been shorted. It is unlikely he will even remember the conversation. I then left the horrible place without returning to the upstairs room. Is there anything else you gentlemen wish to know?”

Blathers asked, “Does ya know who were servin’ drinks after Jane left?”

“I guess I wasn’t paying attention. I never drink after my meal. Perhaps the serving girl returned, or perhaps it was that foolish young actor, the landlord’s son. I thought I saw him in the taproom as I was leaving. If that is all, good day, gentlemen.” Mr. William Makepeace Thackeray dismissed Blathers and Duff.

****

The questioning of Mr. Dickens and his associates took all of the afternoon. By the time Mr. Thackeray completed his concise statement, it was nearing five o’clock. “I believes we has a bit o’ time to stop back at the Black Lion,” Blathers said. The chill was still in the air, and a little brandy along with a pint of bitter would warm the bones and revive the spirits. Duff agreed because he had discovered the tea at the Black Lion was well brewed, even if the customers were ill bred.

But it wasn’t only the thought of warming beverages that motivated the detective duo to return to the inn. They both, in their own way, had a feeling there was more to be learned from Phil Squod and his family and friends.

“I thinks we needs ta talk wi’ that young Squod.”

While Blathers was hitching up the horse, Duff asked, “Do you think Squod was telling all of the truth?”

Blathers climbed into the gig. “The only one I believes o’ all o’ them are that Mr. Dickens feller. Ho, Pincher, geddyup.”

When they arrived, they found Mr. Dickens and Mr. Forster ensconced in chairs before the fire, each with a brandy in hand. “Ah, the detectives. How does your investigation go?” Dickens asked.

“We is still in the midst o’ the inquires.”

Squod was tending to his customers in the taproom. “Well we has cleaned up the scene o’ the crime, hasn’t we,” he said. “The parish has sent o’er the un’ertaker ’bout noon, and I has two chars up there scrubbin’ away e’er since. That there room is valuable space t’ me. It’s not only fer parties. When we has an overflow o’ lodgers, we put mattresses on the table fer sleepin’.”

“Well, I for one am happy I didn’t know that when I was dining last evening,” Forster said.

Dickens laughed at Forster’s pretense of squeamishness. “By the time you got around to food, John, it looked like you would be taking your meal on your hands and knees off the floor.” Forster raised his arms in the air and wrinkled his brow.

“So the crime scene has been ’rased, has it? Well, never mind. Duff here has seen it, and it is now stored in his mind’s eye. He remembers all he sees.”

“Yes,” Duff said. “I remember there was a playing card stuck to the table with blood. It was the Knave of Spades. It was plastered right there between the girl’s legs.”

Blather asked, “Was there card playin’ at your party, Mr. Dickens?”

Dickens smiled and glanced at Forster. “Now what would a party be without cards, Mr. Blathers? By the way, Mr. Duff, the Knave is now more commonly called the Jack.”

“Right you are, Mr. Dickens, I remember now, it’s called the Jack, but what happened to the remainder of the deck?”

“Damned if I know,” Dickens answered. “Perhaps the killer just left the Jack as a kind of calling card.”

Blathers asked for another brandy, and Duff asked for tea. “You hasn’t yet paid for the drinks ya had earlier or these here in front o’ ya,” Squod said.

“Mr. Squod, we is present on these here premises on business. An’ part o’ that business is ta look after the good name o’ your ’stablishment. Certainly ya wishes to remain in our good graces.” Blathers glared at the landlord, thinking how bold he was to even suggest he and Duff should pay for their drinks.

“I’ll stand the gentlemen’s beverages,” Dickens announced.

Blathers said, “Ah, that’s very decent of you, sir. But never you mind, I is sure that Mr. Squod were makin’ a little joke, and always meant fer our drinks ta be at the compliments o’ the house.” The landlord simply nodded his consent.

“We has stopped by with a few additional questions for you, Mr. Squod.” Blathers, after receiving his free brandy, thought he should, at least, deal with a small amount of business. “Has the victim been identified?”

“She has,” Squod said. “The un’ertaker knows her, and she is on the parish records. Her name be Lizabeth Stride, but on the street they calls her as Little Liz.”

Duff stroked his long thin chin. “Do we understand your son knew her, Mr. Squod?”

“I don’t believes so. Me son is still quite young, only nineteen, and he don’t mix wi’ the likes o’ that tart.”

“Can we speak with your son?” Duff asked.

“’He ain’t on these here premises at this time. I’m not sure when he’ll be back.”

“Good enough, then,” Blathers said, draining his glass. “We’ll stops back another time.”