Whitechapel Conspiracy

“Afternoon, sir.” The tobacconist dismissed Tellman from his mind and looked to the new customer. “What can I get yer, sir?”

The man hesitated, glanced at Tellman, then back at the tobacconist. “That gentleman was before me,” he said politely.

“ ’E’s bin served,” the tobacconist answered. “Wot will it be fer you?”

The man looked at Tellman again before replying. “Well, if you’re sure. Half a pound of tobacco …”

The tobacconist’s eyebrows shot up. “Half a pound? Right you are, sir. What kind’ll it be? I got all sorts … Virginia, Turkish—”

“Virginia,” the man cut him off, fishing in his pocket for his money.

It was the voice that Tellman recognized. It took him a moment or two, then he knew where he had heard it before. The man was a journalist named Lyndon Remus. He had followed Pitt around asking questions, probing, during the Bedford Square murder. It was he who had written the piece which had done so much damage, implying scandal.

What was he doing here in Mile End? Certainly not buying tobacco, half a pound at a time! He didn’t know Virginia from Turkish, or care. He had come in for something else, then changed his mind when he saw Tellman.

“Thank you,” Tellman said to the tobacconist. “Good day.” And he went out into the street and along about forty yards to a wide doorway where he could stand almost unseen and watch for Remus to come out.

After about ten minutes he began to wonder if there were a way out of the shop and into a back street. What could Remus be doing in there so long? There was only one answer which made any kind of sense—Remus was there for the same reason he had come himself, scenting a story, a scandal, perhaps an explanation for murder. It must be to do with John Adinett. There could hardly be two murderers tied to that small tobacconist’s shop.

The minutes went by. Traffic passed along the street, some towards the Mile End Road, some the other way. After another ten minutes Remus came out at last. He looked to left and right, crossed the road and walked south, passing within a yard of Tellman, then realizing who he was, stopped abruptly.

Tellman smiled. “Onto a good story, Mr. Remus?” he asked.

Remus’s sharp, freckled face was a total blank for a matter of seconds, then he recovered his composure. “Not sure,” he said easily. “Lot of ideas, all disconnected at the moment. Since you’re here, maybe it does mean something.”

“Humbug,” Tellman said with a smile.

“Oh no … I don’t …” Remus began.

“Mint humbugs,” Tellman clarified. “That’s what I bought there.”

Remus’s expression smoothed out.

“Oh! Yes, of course.”

“Better than tobacco,” Tellman went on. “I don’t know one tobacco from another. Neither do you.”

“Not your beat, is it?” Remus said, shifting the subject back to Tellman. “Still on the Adinett case, are you? Interesting man.” His eyes narrowed. “But why bother? You got your conviction. What more do you want?”

“Me?” Tellman said, affecting surprise. “Not a thing. Why? What more do you think there is?”

“Motive,” Remus said reasonably. “Did Fetters ever come here?”

“What makes you think that? Did the tobacconist say he had?”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “I never asked him.”

“So it’s not Fetters you’re after,” Tellman deduced.

Remus was momentarily taken aback. He had let slip more than he’d intended. He recovered, looking at Tellman with a sly smile. “Fetters and Adinett … it’s all the same thing, isn’t it?”

“You didn’t say you were after Adinett,” Tellman pointed out.

Remus pushed his hands into his pockets and started to walk slowly in the direction of the Mile End Road, allowing Tellman to keep pace with him.

“Not exactly news now, is he?” he said thoughtfully. “For me or for you. He’d have to have had a really interesting reason for killing Fetters for me to bother to write it up. And I reckon it would have to be connected with another crime, a pretty big one, before you’d still be following it too … don’t you think?”

Tellman had no intention whatsoever of allowing him to know anything about Pitt. “Sounds sensible,” he agreed. “Presuming I wasn’t just after a mint humbug.”

“Humbug, maybe,” Remus said with a twisted smile, and increased his pace slightly. They walked in silence for a few moments, crossing an alleyway leading towards the brewery. “But be careful! There’s a lot of very important people’ll try to stop you. I suppose Mr. Pitt sent you here?”

“And Mr. Dismore sent you?” Tellman countered, remembering what the cabbie had said about Adinett’s going to Dismore’s newspaper after leaving Cleveland Street the last time.

Remus was momentarily nonplussed, then again he disguised his emotions and replied blandly. “I’m independent. Don’t answer to anyone. I thought you would know that … a sharp detective like you!”

Tellman grunted. He was not sure what he believed, except that Remus thought he was onto a story which he had no intention of sharing.

They reached the Mile End Road, and Remus said good-bye and plunged into the stream of people going west.