The Last Pleasure Garden Read Online Free Page A

Webb.
    â€˜So, enough of that, what do you do, eh?’
    â€˜Mr. Boon?’ says Webb.
    â€˜Of course, sir!’
    â€˜My name is Inspector Webb. This is my sergeant, Bartleby.’
    â€˜Ah,’ replies Mr. Boon. His enthusiasm instantly ebbs. ‘I see. You must excuse me. We have been holding auditions and . . . well, an honest mistake. Please, take a seat.’
    â€˜Then I can assume you know why we are here?’ says Webb.
    â€˜I regret I do. That business last night. First, how is this unfortunate girl?’
    â€˜The surgeon says it was a lucky escape; a flesh wound,’ says Bartleby.
    â€˜Well, that is something,’ remarks Boon. ‘I suppose it is the same man that attacked her – the same as the others?’
    â€˜More than likely,’ replies Webb. ‘But, I would like to be quite clear, he has never stabbed someone before?’
    â€˜I hope the police have all the facts, Inspector. There have been three incidents to my knowledge. In each case he only cut away some of the girl’s hair. I must confess, when I first asked for help from Scotland Yard, I did not expect it to come to this. I thought the fellow was merely a nuisance.’
    â€˜I hardly think you can consider us responsible, sir,’ says Bartleby.
    â€˜No, I did not mean that. But if the fellow . . . well, what if he does it again? Does this wretch have a thirst for blood?’
    â€˜Please, sir,’ says Webb, ‘if you’ll forgive me, there is no need to be quite so dramatic. We’ve drafted in ten more men from Westminster. If he tries it again, we will catch him.’
    â€˜I see. You have no clue as to his identity?’
    â€˜I’ve spoken to all the women personally, sir,’interjects Bartleby. ‘Not one recalls anything of value. One thought he was a tall fellow; one thought he was short. I don’t believe any of them even saw him, not to speak of. He picks his moment.’
    Boon sighs, rather theatrically. ‘You must realise, if this continues, I will be ruined. This could be the final straw for Cremorne.’
    â€˜Sir?’ says Webb.
    â€˜You need not be coy, Inspector. You must have read a certain letter that appeared in The Times last month?’
    Webb nods. ‘I seem to recall something rather uncomplimentary.’
    â€˜Uncomplimentary! To say the least! I have suffered the grossest imputations upon my character that one can imagine – you might think I keep the Gardens open specifically for the ruin of young women. And now this!’
    Webb says nothing.
    Mr. Boon frowns. ‘We do our utmost to maintain propriety – you may ask anyone.’
    â€˜I am sure we spied a few females of the unfortunate variety on Saturday night, sir,’ suggests Bartleby.
    â€˜As with any public place of recreation. What theatre or concert-room would be any different? Come, you know how it is. We do not encourage any species of immorality. Quite the reverse.’
    â€˜That is not the Gardens’ reputation, though, is it, sir?’ suggests Bartleby.
    â€˜The result, Sergeant,’ replies Boon, a note of anger in his voice, ‘of the braying of half a dozen narrow-minded puritans, who have hounded me in the press. I’ve half a mind to sue, you know.’
    â€˜I am sure,’ replies Webb with a rather disinterested tone to his voice. ‘Tell me, are you the owner of the grounds, sir?’
    â€˜The lessee, Inspector. I hardly see what difference that makes.’
    â€˜No, quite. And we can assume you have no idea yourself as to the identity of the attacker?’
    Boon shakes his head despairingly. ‘You may as well call him “The Cutter”, Inspector. Everyone else is.’
    â€˜I am not of a melodramatic disposition, Mr. Boon,’ replies Webb. ‘And I do not much believe in monsters or phantoms, not of any variety.’

    The two policemen return to the King’s Road, but the wait