A moment later the guard’s light went out. Footsteps sounded on stone. Hastings and Quinby were returning, moving swiftly.

Anthony flattened himself into the heavy shadows of a doorway. Hastings burst out of the passage almost running, followed by Quinby, who, unlike his employer, did not appear to be agitated.

Hastings climbed into the cab in which they had arrived. Quinby got in after him. The driver set off at a brisk pace.

Anthony waited a moment longer. Then he took the revolver he had brought with him out of his pocket and cautiously entered the narrow passage.

At the far end a lantern flared to life, throwing the silhouette of a man against the wall. The figure moved quickly toward the opposite end of the passage. Anthony followed, trying not to make any noise on the stone path, but the man must have heard something or perhaps he was simply nervous. He swung around abruptly and yanked a cigarette out of his mouth.

“Who goes there?” he demanded. He held the lantern high, peering into the shadows. “Is that you again, Mr. Hastings? What do ye want now? I told you everything I know, I swear it.”

“Then you can tell me,” Anthony said, moving into the light so that the man could see the gun. “I assure you, I will pay as well or better than Hastings.”

The man’s face contorted with fear. “Here, now, ye’ve no cause to shoot me.”

“I have no intention of doing so. The gun is merely a precaution. I have the impression that this is not the best of neighborhoods. What’s your name?”

There was a short pause.

“Did you mean what you said about paying as well as Hastings?” the man asked warily.

“Yes.” Anthony reached into his pocket and took out some coins. He tossed them down onto the stones. They bounced, spun, and gleamed in the lantern light. “There’s more where that came from you if answer my questions.”

The man looked at the coins with a speculative expression. “What do ye want to know?”

“Your name first.”

“They call me Slip.”

“How did you earn that title?”

Slip grinned, displaying several gaps in his teeth. “I’m good at slipping around without being noticed.”

“Is that what Hastings hired you to do?”

“Aye, sir. I’m a professional, if I do say so, and my work is admired in certain quarters. Hastings put out the word that he wanted to employ a person with my skills. The price was right, so we came to an agreement.”

“What sort of slipping around did Hastings request of you?” he asked.

“Nothing complicated,” Slip said. “I was to keep an eye on a certain gentleman. See where he went. Make a note of his visitors, that sort of thing.”

“What was the address of the gentleman?”

“Halsey Street. But ye can save yourself the bother of calling on him. They carried his body away late this afternoon. Seems he put a pistol to his head. Rumor has it he couldn’t pay his gambling debts.”

“Did Hastings appear disturbed by that turn of events?”

“He already knew about Mr. Thurlow’s death before he came here tonight. Said he’d heard the rumors at his club. He seemed disturbed, right enough. Probably suffers from weak nerves.”

“You sent Hastings a message at his club tonight.”

“Aye, that I did. I arranged for a meeting so that I could give him my final report on Mr. Thurlow’s affairs and collect my fee.”

“What information did you give Hastings?” Anthony asked.

“Weren’t much to tell. Last night Mr. Thurlow spent the evening in the hells, as was his custom. He went back to his lodgings at dawn, drunk as a lord. I watched him go inside. Then I went home. I didn’t return to Halsey Street until two o’clock this afternoon. Figured Mr. Thurlow wouldn’t get out of bed until at least noon or later, so I had plenty of time.”

Slip had arrived after he and Louisa had both left Thurlow’s lodgings, Anthony reflected. That was good news. It meant Slip had not seen Louisa.

“What of the housekeeper?” Anthony asked. “Did she leave while you were watching Thurlow’s door?”

“No. She wasn’t there at all. This was her day off.”

“What did you do after you got to Halsey Street this afternoon?”

“I could see a constable at the front door and a lot of people standing around in the street. Someone said there was a man from Scotland Yard there, too, so I took myself off straightaway. I make it a policy not to linger in the vicinity of policemen. No good ever comes of it.”

“Do you think Thurlow killed himself because of his gambling debts?”

“Doesn’t seem likely,” Slip said. “He won last night and was in a grand mood when he went home. Must have had some other reason for taking his own life.”

“How long did you watch him for Hastings?”

“No more than a day or two.”

“Did he have any visitors during that time?”

“If he did, they didn’t come through the front door.”

“What do you mean?”

“Simple logic, sir,” Slip said. “I kept an eye on Thurlow’s lodgings from across the street. Can’t see the back door from there, now can I?”

The killer had come through the rear door, Anthony thought. Perhaps he had followed Thurlow home last night or maybe he had been acquainted with Thurlow’s routine and knew that his quarry would return to his lodgings quite drunk.

Thurlow had gone to bed, dead to the world because of the sprits he had imbibed. He had probably never awakened, never known that the killer was inside his bedroom.

The murderer had put the pistol to Thurlow’s head and pulled the trigger. Then he had arranged the suicide scene and conducted a very thorough search of the premises before leaving the note and exiting through the back door.

But if Hastings had hired Slip to watch Thurlow, Anthony thought, there was now a gaping hole in his theory that Hastings had murdered the gambler.

25

“Obviously, she was utterly humiliated when you offered assistance,” Emma said. “Judging by your description of her, she was once a gently bred, respectable woman. It was no doubt the remnants of her tattered pride that caused her to refuse your kindness and generosity.”

“I suppose you are right,” Louisa said, thinking about the encounter with the prostitute during the night. “She did seem gravely offended.”

They were seated in the library, drinking tea. The morning had dawned clear, but the fog had crept back early in the afternoon, slinking into the streets of Arden Square and pooling in the small park.

“It is a sad and all-too-common story.” Emma picked up the teapot. “One reads about it frequently in the sensation press. There are so many ways a respectable woman can find herself forced to walk the streets. The death or illness of a husband, bankruptcy, debts, divorce, lack of family—any or all of them can render a woman penniless overnight.”

“I know,” Louisa said quietly.

“Of course you do, my dear.” Emma raised her brows. “But do not forget that although you found yourself in desperate straits on two separate occasions, you managed to land on your feet each time without resorting to streetwalking.”

“Sheer luck.”

“No,” Emma said firmly. “It was not luck at all. You are an extremely resourceful woman, my dear. After your father died and the creditors took everything but his books, you saved yourself by going into trade. Following the horrible situation with Lord Gavin, you came about yet again by changing your name, creating a fictitious character reference for yourself and applying to an agency. It was your own ingenuity and determination that kept you off the streets, Louisa, not luck. Never forget that.”

Louisa smiled wanly. “You are always good for my spirits, Emma.”

Emma looked at her curiously. “What is it that bothers you about the woman you saw in the park last night?”

“I’m not certain, to be honest. I do not believe that she’s been in her present dire circumstances for long. Her cloak appeared to be of good quality and quite fashionable, as were the veil and gloves. If she knew she was going to be facing poverty after the death of her husband, why did she spend so much money on stylish mourning apparel?”