Bedford Square - Anne Perry [22]
He caught a horse-drawn omnibus, running after it the last few paces as it drew away from the curb and swinging himself onto the step to the great disapproval of a fat woman in gray bombazine.
“Yer’ll get yerself killed like that, young man!” she said critically.
“I hope not, but thank you for the warning,” he replied with politeness, which surprised both of them. He paid his fare to the conductor and looked without success for a seat, being obliged to remain standing, holding on to the post in the center of the aisle.
He got off again at High Holborn and walked the two blocks to Red Lion Square. He found the haberdasher’s shop easily and went inside with the receipt in his hand.
“Mornin’, sir,” the young man behind the counter said helpfully. “Can I show you anything? We have excellent gentlemen’s shirts at very agreeable prices.”
“Socks,” Tellman answered, wondering if he could afford a new shirt. Those on display looked very clean and crisp.
“Yes sir. What color, sir? We have ’em all.”
Tellman remembered the socks the dead man had been wearing. “Gray,” he answered.
“Certainly, sir. What size would you be requiring?”
“Nine.” If the dead man could afford socks, so could he.
The young man bent to a drawer behind him and produced three different pairs of gray socks in size nine.
Tellman selected the pair he liked best, glanced quickly at the price, and produced the money, leaving himself sufficient for his bus fare back to Bow Street but unfortunately not enough for lunch.
“Thank you, sir. Will that be all?”
“No.” Tellman held out the receipt. “I’m a policeman. Can you tell me who bought these gray socks five days ago?”
The man took the receipt. “Oh, dear. We sell a lot of socks, sir. And gray is a popular color this time o’ year. Lighter than black, you see, and better looking than brown. Always look a bit country, brown, if you know what I mean?”
“Yes. Think hard, if you please. It’s very important.”
“Done something wrong, has he? They were paid for, that I can swear to.”
“I can see that. Don’t know what he did, but he’s dead.”
The young man paled. Perhaps it had been a tactical error to have told him that.
“Gray socks,” Tellman repeated grimly.
“Yes sir. What did he look like, do you know?”
“About my height,” Tellman said, thinking with an unpleasant chill how much he resembled the man on the step. “Thin, wiry, fairish hair receding a little.” That at least was different. Tellman had dark hair, straight and still thick. “And mid-fifties, I would guess. Lived or worked outdoors, but not with his hands.”
“Sounds like two or three what come here often enough,” the young man said thoughtfully. “Could be George Mason or Willie Strong, or could be someone as never came but the once. Don’t know everybody’s name. Can’t you tell me anything else about him?”
Tellman thought hard. This might be their only chance to identify him.
“He had a long knife or bayonet scar on his chest.” He indicated on himself the place where it had been, then realized the futility of telling the salesman such a thing. “Could have been a soldier,” he added, more to defend his remark than anything else.
The salesman’s face brightened. “There was one gentleman come in, and I think he did buy several pairs, thinking on it. Had a bit of a conversation, ’cos he spoke about being a soldier, and how important it was to keep your feet right. I remember he said, ‘Soldier with sore feet is use to neither man nor beast.’ That’s why he sold bootlaces himself, now he’s fallen on hard times. But I can’t tell you his name or where he lives. Don’t recall as I ever saw him before. An’ didn’t see him that well this time. It were a fine evenin’, but he was muffled up, said he had a chill. But he was thinnish and about your height. Couldn’t say dark or fair.”
“Where did he sell his bootlaces?” Tellman asked quickly. “Did he say?”
“Yes, yes, he