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Perhaps. I have heard good things about his work there. I trust you will now be proceeding directly to Holywell-street and thence to contact whatever witnesses may shed light on this case.’
    ‘Indeed. There is only one other matter that may or may not be of relevance. On the same morning at around five o’clock, the body of a prostitute was found in a passage connecting Holywell-street with the Strand. She had taken prussic acid to end her life.’
    ‘Do you see any connection between the two cases?’
    ‘None, sir. I thought I would mention it.’
    ‘Well, she was a prostitute. Such things happen. On with the case at hand.’
    ‘As you wish.’
    ‘Inspector Newsome – I perceive that you would have me perceive something is troubling you. Are you planning to tell me what it is?’
    ‘Sir . . . this case seems odd in a way that I cannot specify. There are lies; there are secrets; there are private motivations in most lives. But I can see no evidence of a crime here, only of human nature. Why, even the newspaper reporters have shown little interest – and we know how they love a scandal.’
    ‘To express it more frankly: you cannot see why I would assign the investigation of this, a seemingly insignificant case, to such a senior detective? I praise your diplomacy in raising the issue thus, and I suppose I should reveal my reasons. You are aware, I assume, of the Society for the Suppression of Vice?’
    ‘I am. They are based at Lincolns-inn-fields.’
    ‘Quite. What is your opinion of the Society?’
    ‘In truth, they are meddlers of the highest order: holy hypocrites that will be happy only when every person in the country lives the same self-sanctified existence that they do. They are a bane to the working classes and finer sort alike, and their spies are the worst, most degraded people in this city. Even criminals have a code of honour, but those spies are blood-sucking worms.’
    ‘I cannot fault your honesty, and I share some of your views. But the fact remains that the Society counts among its benefactors some of the most important people in this country: aristocrats, judges, Members of Parliament, even royalty. Shortly after this man Sampson fell out of the window, the Society contacted me through a person I am not at liberty to name – a person of considerable significance – and asked that I put my best man on the case. This person has also asked that I keep them informed of our progress. This, Inspector, is the political reality of policing, as you will no doubt discover if you become superintendent.’
    ‘I see. But why this case in particular?’
    ‘It is that street; you know its reputation. Everything that the Vice Society stands against is represented there, and they see it as a core of evil in the city. If there is illegality to be pursued there, they will do so with all their strength – and with any other power open to them. Let us conclude this case as quickly as we can; I am uncomfortable with the attention of the Society upon us. Go now to Holywell-street.’

 
    TWO
     
    London – city of impostors, false beggars, coiners, cheats, sham-goods sellers, double-tongued prostitutes and professional liars. The stranger to these streets can believe little of what he sees, and less of what he is told. Here, a man’s identity is what he says it is, and his trade is whatever you will pay him money for. Nothing is quite as it seems.
    Perhaps you are a generous sort and stricken with pity at the poverty you see. You can spare a few pennies for the beggar, and, if the case is particularly deserving, you might happily part with pounds to ease the sorry sufferings of those who dress in rags. Then the question arises: how does one know if the charity case at hand is genuine?
    Respectable people look to the venerable Mendicity Society to see that their money goes only to verifiable cases. From its offices at unassuming Red Lion-square, the Society’s roving constables – the doughty ‘Red