Devil's Workshop

“Because I would have assumed that my opinion was the wrong one.”

“Don’t do that,” Day said. “I want to know what you think.”

Hammersmith nodded, and Day let the matter drop. He was still tense and he didn’t want to take his worries out on the sergeant.

He led the way across the courtyard to the gate, where the same warder looked them over and worked the lock and swung the heavy bars outward so that they could leave. Day wondered whether a prisoner might be able to simply walk out of the place if he laid his hands on a cheap suit of clothes or a constable’s uniform. But he said nothing, only nodded at the warder as they passed. The warder tipped his cap and swung the gate closed after them, locking himself in with the remaining prisoners, his world as small as theirs for the majority of his waking day.

The strip of poorly maintained grass outside the gate was less crowded than it had been when Day and Hammersmith had entered Bridewell. But Blacker and Tiffany still waited there. When he saw them, Blacker tapped Tiffany on the shoulder and hurried over to them.

“You’re still here,” Day said.

“Decided our time was better spent checking in with you, rather than tramping around this place without a clue,” Blacker said. “Please tell me you’ve found us a clue.”

“I think we have,” Day said. He looked at Hammersmith, who flipped through the most recently filled pages in his little pad of paper.

“Best clue we’ve got,” he said, “is this fellow Hoffmann.”

“One of the missing men?”

“Yes. Seems he’s in love with a girl,” Day said. “It’s possible he’d seek her out again, now he’s free to go after her.”

“You don’t think he’d find himself a new girl somewhere?”

“Love knows no bounds.”

“Or logic,” Hammersmith said.

“Precisely.”

“Do we know who the girl is? A name?”

“Her name is Priscilla Murphy.”

Tiffany had his own pad of paper out and was writing as fast as Hammersmith could talk, the tiny stub of a pencil lost in his curled fist. He looked up and raised his eyebrows. “Address?”

“Not an exact address. There was an arrest record, but the details are a bit sketchy.”

“Christ,” Tiffany said. “There must be a dozen Priscilla Murphys in London. Your clue isn’t much of one, is it?”

Hammersmith shrugged. “Take it or leave it.”

“We’ll take it,” Blacker said.

“Good. She’s somewhere on Victoria Road, near New Hampstead. The arresting officer was working that beat and responded to the girl’s screams. So we know the general vicinity.”

“See there, Mr Tiffany?” Blacker said. “That narrows the search down by a good deal. And it’s not far from here, either. It’s a cinch he’d seek out his old girlfriend.”

“She’s his cousin,” Day said.

“Well, I might’ve gone after my cousin, too,” Blacker said, “if she didn’t know me too well to be interested. She’s a proper bit of frock.” He winked and Day chuckled.

“Listen,” Day said, “we’ve no evidence of this, so I’m not telling you a fact here. .”

“What is it?”

Day glanced over at Hammersmith and took a breath. “We’re reasonably certain that we’re looking for five men, not four.”

“Another one escaped?”

“No, they all escaped together, but the prison’s missing the records of one of them. We don’t know what happened or who he is.”

“Probably the same sort of record-keeping that doesn’t bother with proper addresses,” Tiffany said.

“Perhaps. But I think we need to keep our minds open to the possibility that there’s another man out there. We can’t stop when we’ve found four men.”

“But we don’t have a name? Of the fifth man?”

“Nothing at all. As I say, he may not even exist. But watch for suspicious characters. Mr Hammersmith and I will try to find out more.”

“We’ll be off, then,” Tiffany said. He closed the cardboard cover of his tablet and stowed it carefully in his pocket again, along with his miniature pencil. Day noticed that Tiffany’s pad of paper still looked brand-new, despite being well-used. A stark contrast to Hammersmith’s notebook.

“Right,” Blacker said. “Wish us luck, gents. Sun’ll be up soon.”

“Too soon,” Day said. “Godspeed.”

Tiffany didn’t bother to say his good-byes. He was already stalking away down the street and Blacker had to hurry to catch up to him.

“I wouldn’t want to be paired with either of them,” Hammersmith said.

“Blacker’s not so bad,” Day said. “I worked my first case with him. He tends to lighten the drudgery with his quips.”

“So we’ve given them our only good clue,” Hammersmith said.

“We’ll get more,” Day said.

“Of course we will,” Hammersmith said.

“Then let’s get back to it, shall we?”

13