The Devil's Workshop

“That’s true. Let’s never forget good old Sam Whatsisname. So you didn’t meet any prettier girls on the towpath tonight? Girls without giant bellies?”

“I prefer giant bellies. How did you know I walked along the towpath?”

“I’m sorry, Walter, but you smell like horse manure.”

“That was a choice. I thought you might appreciate a new perfume.”

“If only it were new. Horse manure has become your regular scent, you know.”

“I’ll step in different kinds of manure and get your opinion. We’ll see what you prefer.”

“Please do.” She pulled back and looked at him, serious. “Oh, Walter, you are happy, aren’t you? Or, at least, not too unhappy?”

“I am very happy every waking moment I spend with you.”

“Me, too.”

“I hate to leave you again, but I’ll be back as soon as I possibly can.” He rose and went to the bedroom door, paused with his hand on the knob. “You’ll be all right?”

“We have at least two weeks before the baby’s due, and I have Fiona here if I need anything. Don’t worry. Just be careful and come back to me today. I refuse to raise this baby by myself.”

“Of course.”

“And, Walter?”

“Yes.”

“You might think about putting on your trousers before you leave.”

Day looked down. He was bare-legged, in just his long woolen underpants and socks and garters.

“I thought I might give the other boys at the Yard a show.”

“Let’s save that for another day.”

“Oh, very well.”

Day rushed to put on his trousers, and Claire fetched braces for him. He gave her a quick kiss and dashed out of the bedroom to the stairs. He was reasonably certain he would have remembered his trousers on his own, but his thoughts were completely muddled. He only hoped that Claire hadn’t seen the fear he was hiding from her.

4

Griffin caught up to Napper a quarter of a mile from Bridewell’s walls. The convict was circling a terrace house at the end of a quiet street, its windows dark, its occupants slumbering.

Griffin stopped and drew a big chalk arrow on the stones at the mouth of the lane, then he melted into the shadows under the trees and crept forward. Napper didn’t see him coming. Griffin was able to reach out and grab the other man’s ear between his thumb and the knuckle of his index finger. He twisted hard and Napper yelped.

Napper tried to pull away, but Griffin kicked him hard in the back of his left knee. Napper pitched forward, and Griffin struggled to hold on to his ear. He heard a faint ripping sound and felt blood on his fingers. Napper screamed. Griffin clapped a hand over Napper’s mouth and pulled him backward, Napper scrambling crablike to keep up, into the trees. A light went on above them, and Griffin heard a window scrape in its frame.

He let go of Napper’s ear and got his elbow around his throat, applied slight pressure until the convict began to go limp.

He whispered in Napper’s good ear. “Quiet now or I’ll do you right here.”

Griffin looked up and down the street and smiled. There, at the other end of the row of houses, was a small shack, painted green, with a prominent window in the front. It was a stand for cab drivers, a place for them to enjoy a quick spot of tea during the day when they were not allowed to leave their cabs unattended. Now it was dark and silent, shuttered for the night.

He put his mouth on Napper’s ear again. “Shh. Very good. You’re being very cooperative. Just a few minutes more, you useless perverted git.”

Napper squirmed, testing Griffin’s hold on him, but didn’t try to answer or make any sound. Griffin tightened his arm around Napper’s throat anyway, just a bit, to make the point clear.

Griffin waited until the light went out above them. He didn’t hear the window close again and supposed the householder had decided to let in some air. Or was watching the street from the dark room. Griffin would have to be as quiet as possible so as not to rouse any more curiosity.

He jammed his arm under Napper’s and brought it up so that his hand was against the back of Napper’s neck. He pushed and Napper bent forward. With his other hand he caught Napper’s good ear and pulled. Napper grunted and Griffin shushed him again.

He push-pulled Napper down the street, keeping to the shadows. Griffin paused outside the green shack, stared at it for a long moment, trying to figure out how to keep Napper quiescent while opening the shack. Napper stood patiently, agreeable as long as there was the threat of pain. Finally Griffin surrendered to the inevitable. In one swift move, he removed his hand from Napper’s ear and pushed him forward as hard as he could into the corner of the shack’s wall. There was a terrific thump and Napper went limp. Griffin looked around to see if any more lights would go on in the houses around them, then knelt and examined Napper. The convict was bleeding heavily from a scalp wound, but he was breathing.