The Whitechapel Conspiracy - Anne Perry [79]
“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” Tellman was suddenly unpleasantly aware of the train timetable. “Thank you!” he repeated, and took his leave, sprinting down the corridor and outside, in search of a cab back to the railway station.
He just caught the train, and was glad to sit back in his seat. He spent the first hour writing down all he had learned, and the second trying to concoct in his mind a story for tomorrow that would somehow resemble the truth and still satisfy Wetron that he was on justifiable police business. He did not succeed.
Why had poor Stephen chosen to starve himself to death when he heard the news that the young Duke of Clarence had died? And what interest was that to Remus? It was tragic. But then the man had apparently been judged insane anyway, or he would not have been incarcerated in the Northampton asylum.
And what had it to do with William Crook, who had died last December in the St. Pancras Infirmary of perfectly natural causes? What was the connection with the tobacconist’s shop in Cleveland Street? Above all, why should John Adinett have cared?
When they reached London, Tellman jumped out onto the platform and turned one way then the other to see Remus. He had almost given up when he saw him climb slowly out of the carriage two ahead of him. He must have fallen asleep. He stumbled a little, then set off towards the exit.
Again Tellman followed, running the risk of being seen rather than that of losing him. Fortunately it was close to the middle of summer, and the long evenings meant that at nine o’ clock it was still sufficiently light to keep someone in sight for up to fifteen or twenty yards or more, even along a reasonably busy street.
Remus stopped at a public house and had a meal. He seemed to be in no hurry, and Tellman was on the point of leaving himself, having come to the conclusion that Remus was finished for the day and would shortly go home. Then Remus glanced at his watch and ordered another pint of ale.
So time mattered to him. He was going somewhere, or he expected somebody.
Tellman waited.
In another quarter of an hour Remus stood up and walked out into the street. He hailed a cab, and Tellman very nearly lost him before he could find one himself, urging the driver to follow him and keep up at all costs.
They seemed to be heading in the general direction of Regent’s Park. Certainly this was not anywhere near where Remus lived. He was going to meet someone, to keep an appointment. Tellman held up his watch to catch the light of the next lamppost they passed. It was nearly half past nine, and growing darker.
Then without warning the cab stopped and Tellman leapt out.
“What’s happened?” he asked abruptly, staring ahead. There were several cabs along the street next to the park.
“That one!” His driver pointed ahead. “That’s the one you want. It’ll be one and threepence, sir.”
This was becoming a truly expensive exercise. Tellman cursed himself for his stupidity, but he paid quickly and walked towards the figure he could see dimly ahead. He recognized him by his gait, the urgency in him, as if he were on the brink of some tremendous discovery.
They were on Albany Street, just short of the entrance to Regent’s Park to the left. Tellman could see the Outer Circle quite clearly, and the smooth grass beyond stretching in the dusk all the way to the trees of the Royal Botanical Gardens, about a quarter of a mile away.
Ahead of him, Remus set out to walk towards the park. Once he turned to look behind him, and Tellman stumbled in his step. It was the first time Remus had taken the slightest notice of his surroundings. There was nothing Tellman could do but continue as if this were the most natural thing in the world for him. He swung his arms and increased his pace a fraction.
Remus resumed his own journey, but now looking around. Was he expecting someone, or afraid of being observed?
Tellman moved closer under the shadows of the trees