A Christmas Promise - Anne Perry [31]
“You have several good points, Gracie,” Mr. Balthasar agreed. “All of which we need to address.” He turned the toast over and filled her mug with fresh, hot tea.
“Thank you,” she acknowledged. The heat was spreading through her now, and she looked forward to more toast and jam. She began to realize just how cold she had been.
“I think it is clear,” he continued, sitting down again, “that the toff does not have the casket, or at the very least, he does not have whatever was inside it. If he did, he would not only, as you say, keep his head down, he would be enjoying the illicit pleasures of his purchase.”
She did not know what “illicit” meant, but she could guess.
“So where is it, then? ’oo’s got it?” she asked.
“I think we must assume that Alf did something with it between speaking to Cob and meeting whoever killed him presumably the toff. Unless, of course, it was not the toff who killed him but someone else. Although to me that seems rather to be complicating things. We already have one unknown person …”
“We ’ave? ’oo?”
“Whoever passed that way just before Alf, and left the casket,” he replied. “Have you any idea who that could be?”
She felt his eyes on her, as if he could will her to come up with an answer. She wished she could be what he expected of her, and even now she wished she could think of something that really would help Minnie Maude.
“Is it someone ’oo knew where Charlie’s stable is?” she asked, wondering if it was silly even as she said it. “Cos somebody ’ad a fight there. We saw the marks, an’ the blood on the floor.”
“Indeed. And do you know if it was there before Alf went out with Charlie the day he was killed?” he asked with interest.
She saw what he was thinking. “Yer mean if it weren’t Alf or Charlie, then it ’ad ter be ter do wi’ the casket?”
“I was assuming that, yes. What does this Stan do for a living, Gracie? Do you know?”
“Yeah. ’e’s a cabbie …”
Mr. Balthasar nodded slowly.
“An’ ’e’s mad, an’ scared,” she added eagerly. “D’yer think Minnie Maude worked that out too?” Her eyes filled with tears at the thought of what violence might have happened to Minnie Maude, if Stan were the one who had left the casket for the toff.
“I think we had better finish our tea and go and speak to Cob,” Balthasar answered, rising to his feet again. “Come.”
“I gotta get me own shawl, please?” she said reluctantly. Compared with the thick red one, hers was plain, and wet.
“I will return it to you later,” he replied. “This one will keep you warm in the meantime. Come. Now that we have so many clues, we must make all the haste we can.” And he strode across the wooden floor and flung open the back door, grasping for a large black cape and swinging it around his shoulders as he went.
Outside in the street he allowed her to lead the way, keeping up with her easily because his legs were twice the length of hers. They did not speak, simply meeting eyes as they came to a curb, watching for traffic, then continuing.
They found Cob on his corner, the brazier giving off a warmth she could feel even when she was six or seven feet away.
Balthasar stood in front of Cob, half a head taller and looking alarmingly large in his black cape. He seemed very strange, very different, and several people stared at him nervously as they passed, increasing their pace a little.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Cob,” Balthasar said gravely. “I must speak to you about a very terrible matter. I require absolute honesty in your answers, or the outcome may be even worse. Do you understand me?”
Cob looked taken aback. “I dunno yer, sir, an’ I dunno nothin’ terrible. I don’t think as I can ’elp yer.” He glanced at Gracie,