dens in the city, and students who couldn’t afford homes in the suburbs were being edged out by vendors and streetwalkers.
Blackleg led Hammersmith to a row of tall brownstones skirted by a black wrought-iron fence. The slate-grey building was dotted helter-skelter with small windows, and there was a garden area below street level, sunken behind the fence.
Blackleg pointed down at the garden. It was accessible by a series of stone steps that were partially hidden by potted plants on the walk.
“I was settlin’ in for a doze down there, right?”
Hammersmith squinted at the other man and pursed his lips. It was a credible lie and Blackleg sold it well, but Hammersmith didn’t believe for a moment that he slept on the street or in sunken gardens. No, in all likelihood, Blackleg was an area diver, a criminal who broke into homes through their below-ground-level servants’ entrances and burgled the lower rooms.There was little doubt Blackleg had been casing the townhouse to make sure nobody was home.
Blackleg didn’t miss the accusation in Hammersmith’s expression.
“God’s truth, yer honor. Any rate, I was down there and I happened to spy a thing through the window that’s unsettled me some’at.”
“Looking through the window, were you?”
“Just glanced, is all. I’m not a peep. Just had a little glance as I rolled over on me side to get a good sleep.”
“Of course. Go on.”
“Well, look for yerself. Me, I don’t quite know what to make of it.”
Hammersmith kept his eye on Blackleg as he descended the steps to the sunken area. It was an ideal spot for the criminal to mug him, but if Blackleg intended to harm him, Hammersmith suspected the attack would have come in the alley.
He squatted on a bed of cedar mulch and peered into the room beyond the window. Within the semi-gloom he could make out the distinct shapes of furniture: three chairs, a small table, a sofa, all covered in heavy white cloths. The wall to the left was dominated by an enormous fireplace with a marble hearth that jutted into the first third of the room. Above the mantel and dotting the other walls was a collection of recent Impressionist paintings that looked valuable to Hammersmith’s untrained eye. A Turkish rug was rolled up in the far corner, unfurled at the end so that the deep blues and reds of the carpet’s pattern gleamed in a shaft of sunlight that shot past Hammersmith’s shoulder. He turned and Blackleg was standing by his side, watching the policeman anxiously.
“It appears uncommonly well appointed for a servant’s room, if that’s what it is,” Hammersmith said. “But that’s hardly cause for concern.”
“Look harder, sir. Look over there.”
Hammersmith frowned and looked again at the massive fireplace. The grate was folded to one side and a set of fireplace tools stood neatly against the stones. Hammersmith counted a bellows, tongs, a poker and shovel. A selection of ladles and spoons hung from an iron bar bolted to the bricks, and a toaster, its rectangular slots rusted and black with soot, rested by itselfon the right-hand side of the hearth. Something worked at the periphery of Hammersmith’s vision, and he turned his gaze to the black maw of the fireplace itself.
There.
He drew back and looked up at Blackleg, who nodded.
“Now you see it.”
“What is it?”
“’Fraid it’s a chavy, sir. Too small to be aught else.”
“Why did you go for the police? Why not sod off and leave it be?”
“Told you, sir. I’m right sure it’s a chavy. That ain’t proper.”
Hammersmith nodded and pushed at the pane of glass in front of him. It gave way. The window was unlocked. He felt along the edge of it for damage and ran his fingers over splintered wood. It confirmed for him that Blackleg had broken into the house, but Hammersmith kept that knowledge to himself. There was no sense in scaring the criminal away. Blackleg might still prove to be a useful witness.
Hammersmith swung his legs
Blackleg led Hammersmith to a row of tall brownstones skirted by a black wrought-iron fence. The slate-grey building was dotted helter-skelter with small windows, and there was a garden area below street level, sunken behind the fence.
Blackleg pointed down at the garden. It was accessible by a series of stone steps that were partially hidden by potted plants on the walk.
“I was settlin’ in for a doze down there, right?”
Hammersmith squinted at the other man and pursed his lips. It was a credible lie and Blackleg sold it well, but Hammersmith didn’t believe for a moment that he slept on the street or in sunken gardens. No, in all likelihood, Blackleg was an area diver, a criminal who broke into homes through their below-ground-level servants’ entrances and burgled the lower rooms.There was little doubt Blackleg had been casing the townhouse to make sure nobody was home.
Blackleg didn’t miss the accusation in Hammersmith’s expression.
“God’s truth, yer honor. Any rate, I was down there and I happened to spy a thing through the window that’s unsettled me some’at.”
“Looking through the window, were you?”
“Just glanced, is all. I’m not a peep. Just had a little glance as I rolled over on me side to get a good sleep.”
“Of course. Go on.”
“Well, look for yerself. Me, I don’t quite know what to make of it.”
Hammersmith kept his eye on Blackleg as he descended the steps to the sunken area. It was an ideal spot for the criminal to mug him, but if Blackleg intended to harm him, Hammersmith suspected the attack would have come in the alley.
He squatted on a bed of cedar mulch and peered into the room beyond the window. Within the semi-gloom he could make out the distinct shapes of furniture: three chairs, a small table, a sofa, all covered in heavy white cloths. The wall to the left was dominated by an enormous fireplace with a marble hearth that jutted into the first third of the room. Above the mantel and dotting the other walls was a collection of recent Impressionist paintings that looked valuable to Hammersmith’s untrained eye. A Turkish rug was rolled up in the far corner, unfurled at the end so that the deep blues and reds of the carpet’s pattern gleamed in a shaft of sunlight that shot past Hammersmith’s shoulder. He turned and Blackleg was standing by his side, watching the policeman anxiously.
“It appears uncommonly well appointed for a servant’s room, if that’s what it is,” Hammersmith said. “But that’s hardly cause for concern.”
“Look harder, sir. Look over there.”
Hammersmith frowned and looked again at the massive fireplace. The grate was folded to one side and a set of fireplace tools stood neatly against the stones. Hammersmith counted a bellows, tongs, a poker and shovel. A selection of ladles and spoons hung from an iron bar bolted to the bricks, and a toaster, its rectangular slots rusted and black with soot, rested by itselfon the right-hand side of the hearth. Something worked at the periphery of Hammersmith’s vision, and he turned his gaze to the black maw of the fireplace itself.
There.
He drew back and looked up at Blackleg, who nodded.
“Now you see it.”
“What is it?”
“’Fraid it’s a chavy, sir. Too small to be aught else.”
“Why did you go for the police? Why not sod off and leave it be?”
“Told you, sir. I’m right sure it’s a chavy. That ain’t proper.”
Hammersmith nodded and pushed at the pane of glass in front of him. It gave way. The window was unlocked. He felt along the edge of it for damage and ran his fingers over splintered wood. It confirmed for him that Blackleg had broken into the house, but Hammersmith kept that knowledge to himself. There was no sense in scaring the criminal away. Blackleg might still prove to be a useful witness.
Hammersmith swung his legs
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