Belle - Lesley Pearse [47]
Once in the office he felt very scared. There were no blinds at the window and a policeman out on his beat would immediately be suspicious of a small light in a closed office. But on the other hand there wasn’t much to search – the room held only a large desk, two chairs and a wooden filing cabinet almost identical to the one his uncle kept all the paperwork in at the pub.
The drawers in the desk revealed nothing more than pens, pencils, a receipt book and various other notebooks which, although written in, had no meaning to Jimmy. He turned his attentions to the filing cabinet.
There was little in these, just a couple of folders with some papers in them, a bottle of whisky and what could only be a knuckleduster, as it had four holes to slot fingers through. He tried the spiky iron thing on his hand and realized it was clearly made for a grown man with big hands. It made him shudder, for the damage it could do to someone’s face was too horrible to contemplate.
He lifted out the folders and taking them to the candle on the desk quickly flicked through them. In the main they were letters of complaint from various sources about the state of the Core buildings, some of them dating back twenty and thirty years and addressed to a Mr F. Waldegrave. He assumed this was the actual owner of the building, although there were some similar in tone with recent dates, and addressed to Kent. There were substantial numbers of letters relating to various properties in Bethnal Green too, again complaints, mostly about rat infestation, sanitation and overcrowding.
But then he found a letter from a solicitor’s in Chancery Lane, dated just a year ago, which was nothing to do with the Core, but about the purchase of a house in Charing in Kent. This was addressed to Mr F. J. Waldegrave.
Jimmy pocketed this letter. It wasn’t recent enough to be missed and he needed to study it more carefully. As there appeared to be nothing more of interest in the office he decided to get home.
He didn’t leave the same way as he came in, but walked down the stairs and out through the front door which conveniently had one of the new types of lock, which needed no key to get out, and locked it again behind him.
At eight the following morning Jimmy slipped out of the pub, despite not getting to bed until nearly three. His uncle rarely surfaced before ten and Jimmy hoped to get to see Noah Bayliss and be back home long before that.
It was very cold and he ran most of the way to keep warm. Mrs Dumas, Noah’s landlady, seemed rather surprised at her lodger having a visitor so early, but said Noah was having his breakfast and asked if Jimmy would like to sit with him over a cup of tea.
‘I broke into the Falcon’s lair last night,’ Jimmy whispered to Noah the minute he had been shown into the breakfast room and Mrs Dumas had gone off to the kitchen. ‘I found this,’ he said, passing the solicitor’s letter to him.
‘But it’s addressed to a Mr Waldegrave,’ Noah said as he scanned the contents.
‘I think that’s Kent’s real name,’ Jimmy said excitedly, keeping his voice down as there was another lodger sitting at the far end of the table. ‘You see, I found really old letters of complaint about the Core addressed to a Mr F. J. Waldegrave, and then more recent ones to Kent. So I reckon Waldegrave is his real name, not Kent at all, and the earlier letters of complaint were addressed to his father, or another relative. But he don’t have much imagination in picking an alias, do he?’ The boy sniggered. ‘Not if he lives in Kent! I wonder why he needs to have a false name?’
Noah smiled. ‘To do dark deeds under. Maybe I should call myself Warren Street because I live near there.’
‘Or I could be Mr Ramshead,’ Jimmy laughed. ‘But look, we’ve got his address – Pear Tree Cottage, High Street, Charing. He might be holding Belle there.’
‘I can’t somehow imagine it