Long Spoon Lane - Anne Perry [117]
When Tellman at last returned to his lodgings, he was so cold he could not feel his hands and feet. Light rain had made the footpaths slick and the gutters gleamed wet and black. He found Pricey waiting for him. He looked warm, pleased with himself, and only his shoulders and the top of his hat were damp.
“I followed you,” he explained, seeing Tellman’s sodden appearance and dour expression. “You don’ look ’appy, Mr. Tellman. Didn’t catch anybody?”
“I was busy making sure you weren’t caught!” Tellman said sharply. “Did you find anything?”
“Oh yes, oh yes indeed.” Pricey rubbed his hands together. “A very valuable piece of information it is. Nice ’ouse, you might say. Bit new fer my taste. Like old stuff, got a bit of a story ter it.”
“What did you find?”
“Statements, Mr. Tellman. Confession ter rape of a young woman. Not a good girl, but not a bad one neither. All got a bit out of ’and like. Witnesses all tied up proper. Would ’a made a nasty scandal, that. But nobody did nuffin’. ’Ushed up, it were.”
“By whom?”
“That yer ’ave ter pay fer, Mr. Tellman. ’Oo done it, an’ ’oo knows ’e done it, an’ kept it ter their selves.”
Tellman was shivering. “Come inside,” he ordered, and turned to the door. Upstairs in his room, he went to the drawer where he kept all the money he could spare. “That’s it, Pricey.” He held out ten gold coins. He hated to part with it; had there been any other way he would not have. But if what Pricey had found could finish Wetron, it was a small cost to pay. “Now let me see it first.”
“Ten pounds, eh?” Pricey looked at it with enthusiasm. “That yer own money, then, Mr. Tellman? Yer must want it real bad.”
“You’ll need a friend one day, Pricey, even if it’s me not coming after you when I’ve a fair idea who’s behind something. I’m a better friend than enemy, I can promise you.”
“Are yer threatenin’ me, Mr. Tellman?” Pricey said indignantly.
“This is too important for games,” Tellman answered gravely. “I can get this easy, or hard. Friends or enemies, Pricey?”
Pricey shrugged. “I guess ten nicker clean is more’n twenty wi’ dirt in it. ’Ere y’are.” He handed over the papers. “ ’Oo’s ’ouse was it, then? Tell me that, eh?”
“You don’t want to know that, Pricey. It’ll give you bad dreams.” Tellman looked at the papers Pricey had given him and unfolded them carefully. The top one was a witness’s account of a girl flirting with, and then being raped by a young man too drunk and too arrogant to believe that anyone as ordinary as he thought she was could refuse him. It was a stupid, violent, and ugly scene.
The second paper was a confession to the rape, in detail, which made it obvious it was the crime described in the first paper. It was signed by Piers Denoon, and witnessed by Roger Simbister, superintendent at Cannon Street Police Station.
“Thank you, Pricey,” Tellman said sincerely. “I’m warning you, for your own sake, you’d be better never to mention this to anyone at all, drunk or sober.”
“I can keep a still tongue in me ’ead, Mr. Tellman.”
“You’d better, Pricey. You stole this from Superintendent Wetron’s home. Remember that, and remember what it would be likely to cost you if he ever found out.”
“Gawd Almighty! Wot yer let me in fer, Mr. Tellman?” Pricey looked distinctly pale.
“Ten pounds, Pricey, and my gratitude. Now leave here, and go about your business. You were asleep in bed last night, and you know nothing about anything.”
“On my life, I don’t!” Pricey swore. “Don’t take it personal, but I think mebbe I don’t never want ter see yer agin!”
Pitt held it in his hand with a sense of blinding realization. He was in his own kitchen, where he had been all night since getting home from Denoon’s house. He had spent half the time at least pacing the floor back and forth, worried sick about Tellman.
“Piers Denoon,” he said slowly. “Wetron almost certainly blackmailed him into providing