The Fleet Street Murders Read Online Free Page A

proprietor didn’t pay him any mind, standing instead at the desk in front of his ledger.
    Now, this ledger was famous. It was magnificently large, bound in the same hunter green that the shop was painted, and recorded the preferences and history of every client who visited the shop more than once. As soon as Lenox’s face had appeared in the doorway, the man behind the ledger was riffling through it to find the L section.
    “Hullo, Mr. Berry,” said Lenox.
    “Mr. Lenox, sir,” said Mr. Berry, with a slight nod of his head. “How may I be of service to you?”
    Lenox put his hands in his pockets and frowned, looking around the glass cases that held the sample bottles. “What do I like?” he said.
    In general conversation this would be a peculiar question, but Mr. Berry heard it a dozen times a day. “What are you eating?”
    “Probably beef.”
    “You have two cases of the Cheval Blanc ’62 laid down, sir,” he said.
    Lenox frowned again. “Does Graham know?”
    Graham knew everything about wine.
    “Yes, sir. I believe you purchased it under his advisement.”
    “And I like it?”
    “Yes, sir,” said Mr. Berry. “You took two bottles of it to a dinner party in March. You said it was”—he consulted the ledger—“tasty, sir.” This word repeated with faint disapproval.
    “Well, better give me three bottles.”
    “Straightaway, sir.”
    This business soon transacted, Lenox and Mr. Berry spent a quarter of an hour discussing Scotch whisky, and before he left Lenox had tasted several samples and was feeling distinctly warm in his belly. He left with a bottle of the darkest sample he had tried, Talisker.
    Lenox returned to Lady Jane’s to find her ready and was enjoying a quick sip of the Talisker when there was a knock on the door.
    It was Graham. Because Lenox and Lady Jane lived in houses that adjoined, their servants often popped back and forth to deliver messages.
    “You have a visitor, sir,” said Graham.
    “Damn. Who is it?”
    “Inspector Exeter.”
    “Oh, yes? Well, Jane, do I have time to see him?”
    She looked over at the silver clock that stood on her desk. “Yes, if you like,” she said. “I’ll order my carriage. That should take a quarter of an hour.”
    “I’ll be faster than that, I hope.”
    Exeter was waiting in Lenox’s study. He was a large, physically imposing man, who—to give him his credit—had evinced time and again tremendous physical bravery. Cowardice was never his flaw. Rather, it was that he was so hidebound and resistant to new ideas. He had a stubborn face, adorned somewhat absurdly with a fat black mustache. He was twisting the ends of this with two fingers when Lenox came in.
    Well, thought Lenox, what will it be: a plea for help or a warning to stay out of the case? The two men stood facing each other.
    “Mr. Lenox,” said Exeter with a supercilious smile.
    Here to crow, then, thought Lenox. “How do you do, Inspector? Good evening.”
    “I expect you’ve been following the murders? The Fleet Street murders?”
    “I have, certainly, with keen interest. I hope their solution progresses well?”
    “In fact it does, Mr. Lenox. In fact it does. We have apprehended the criminal responsible.”
    Lenox was shocked. “What? Poole?”
    Exeter frowned. “Poole? How did you—never mind—no, it’s a young cockney chap, Hiram Smalls. He’s a short, strong fellow.”
    “Oh?” he said. “I’m delighted to hear it. How, pray tell, did he move between the two houses so rapidly? He flew, I take it?”
    The smile returned to Exeter’s face. “We expect Smalls to give us his compatriot, after a few solitary days with the prospect of the gallows in mind.”
    “Indeed,” said Lenox and nodded. “How did you find him?”
    “Eyewitness. Always begin, Mr. Lenox—and I say this with the benefit of many professional years of hindsight—always begin with a canvass of the area. Now, that’s something an amateur might find difficult, comparatively, given the