CHAPTER FIFTEEN

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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Quipp had a varied collection of apparel to suit all occasions as was necessary in his line of work. He never tried to pass himself off as a gentleman though, for clothes do not the gentleman make and he knew his limits.

For his visit to the Phoenix Club he needed to pass unnoticed in its clientele of cut-throats, thieves, and inebriated lower classes; in fact, the dregs of society.

He chose garb that, by its very stench, must be kept separate from any other apparel. It made his skin crawl to wear it, but it might be the very thing that would save him from a stiletto between the shoulder blades.

The shabby coat, which stank of stale liquor and other odours which Quip did not want to think about, had deep inside pocket where he could conceal a pistol. He finally donned a greasy slouch hat and set off on foot for his destination.

The Phoenix Club was quite a distance off, near Shoreditch way, but Quipp knew London well; all its back alleys and out-of-the-way streets. Yet it took him an hour to reach it.

He hung about on the other side of street for a while, watching the various shabby figures that strutted in and who would undoubtedly later stagger out.

One or two hansom cabs paused at the door as he watched when better dressed men stepped down and entered the club. It took all sorts, Quipp thought.

When he was satisfied that it was safe to enter he strolled across the road, a slight roll added to his walk to give the impression that he was a tad inebriated.

On entering the main room he was surprised. From its dark reputation he had expected filthy floors and ratted furnishings. On the contrary, the floor was clean and any spillage happening was quickly mopped up by a youngish lanky individual. The smell of fresh paint still lingered, just detectable among the other odours.

Quipp sat at the bar and ordered a beer, keenly watching all about him. A fair crowd had gathered. Some drifted into side rooms where gaming tables could be glimpsed. There was a steady passage of men up and down the stairs where Quipp assumed the jaded drabs waited in their tawdry rooms for customers.

Quipp knew he needed to be very careful who he chose to quiz. Men who asked too many question did not live long.

Quipp decided at last on the man with the mop. He was obviously employed at the club, at least on a temporary basis. And he did not look too intelligent.

Quipp was deliberately careless with his glass of beer and it overturned on the bar and splashed down onto the floor.

'Hoy!' He shouted above the din and waved at the man with the mop. 'Clear up this 'ere slop.'

As the man shambled over, pushing his way through the throng, Quipp studied him keenly. There was no sign of annoyance or churlishness in his pallid face at being hailed in such an uncouth manner, and Quipp took him to be subservient.

Yet he was a rough-looking individual with an unshaven face, which sported a scar that ran from brow to chin. What made him stand out from the scruffy customers around him was a down-and-out shabbiness that bordered on despair.

Here was a man who lived literally from hand to mouth, Quipp decided. It would make him amenable to any chance of earning an extra penny.

'Sorry, mate,' the man said as he used the mop. 'Didn't see it.'

'That's all right, mate,' Quipp responded. 'Dirty job you got. I wouldn't like it.'

'It just about keeps body and soul together,' the man said meekly. He had a shifty gaze which would not meet Quipp's eye.

'I wonder you stick it,' Quipp pressed.

'Hard to get work with this 'ere physog of mine,' the man said simply.

Quipp held out a hand. 'Jim is my moniker,' he said. 'What's yours?'

'They call me Jake,' the man said.

'Jake what?

'Just Jake. Never knew my last name, see,' Jake told him. 'Orphaned when I was but a baby. Knocked around the streets since.'

Quipp felt a moment of pity, but squashed it. Sentiment was a weakness that could get a man killed.

'Well, you're lucky then,' Quipp said jocularly. 'You can take any name you like. For instance, you could call yourself after that gent as was plugged in this club by Silas Taplow.' Quipp paused, finger to his chin. 'Now what was the gent's name...?

'Wellesley,' Jake said promptly. 'Sir Edward Wellesley. I was here. It was me as took the message to her ladyship.'

Quipp was nonplussed for a moment. Had he struck gold so soon?

'Her ladyship?'

Jake stepped back, a look of wariness on his face, and Quipp realised he had pushed ahead too quickly and had asked the wrong question.

'I best get on,' Jake said. His shifty gaze now scanned the room and Quipp wondered who he was afraid of.

'Well, it was nice meeting yer, Jake,' he said louder than need be and got up from the bar stool.

Surreptitiously, he pressed a coin into Jake's hand. It was half a sovereign.

In a low voice he said. 'There's more where that came from, Jake.' Louder he said to the room in general. 'Well, I'm off now. Meeting a mate at the Pig and Thistle.'

With that he shouldered his way through the throng and left the club. But he did not go far. He walked down the street for a few steps and then crossed the road obliquely under cover of a passing carriage and retraced his steps on the other side.

He observed the club as before but no figure emerged that disturbed him. When he was satisfied that he was not to be followed he repaired to the Pig and Thistle to wait and see if he had hooked his fish.

It was over an hour before Jake shuffled through the pub door. Quipp stood up and approach him, leading him to an empty stall at the back of the pub. He signalled a serving man to bring two beers.

'You got away early then, Jake,' Quipp said as they sat down on wooden benches facing each other.

'Paid old Billy Spooner two pennies to take my place,' Jake said, and gave a grunting laugh.

Not so intelligent but sufficiently cunning, Quip thought and was pleased at his choice of quarry to pump.

The serving man brought the beers and Quipp paid him. When he was gone Quipp took a sovereign out of his pocket and laid it on the table.

Jake's eyes widened and he looked enquiringly into Quipp's face. 'How come you have so much loot?' he asked.

'It ain't mine,' Quipp lied. 'It belongs to my employer. He's a gent as is willing to pay top bung for good information.'

Jake looked longingly at the coin. 'I got lots to tell,' he said hopefully.

'Well, let's see,' Quipp said. 'Tell me about the night Sir Edward Wellesley got plugged.'

'Like I said, I was there and I seed it happen.' He sniggered again. 'Never seen the Phoenix Club empty so fast,' he said.

'The law was sent for then?'

Jake shook his head. 'No, not for a while. The old gent's carcass was taken out to the yard at the back and up to the rooms over the stables.'

'For why?'

Jake shrugged again. 'I dunno, but I was sent to fetch Mr Granville.'

Quipp felt giddy for a split second. He had hit on a gold mine after all.

'What? Mr Frederick Granville of Hanover Square?'

'That's the cove.

'What has Mr Granville to do with the Phoenix Club?'

Jake scratched his head, his gaze on the sovereign wistful.

'I dunno, but he do come there. Never inside the club, mind, but he often meets gentlemen in the rooms over the stables.'

Quipp smiled. 'You're doing well, Jake. Nearly earned your sovereign.'

Jake's hand reached out to take the coin but Quipp snatched it up first.

'Not yet! Now, what do you know about the rooms over the stables?'

'I sleeps in the stables, see,' Jake explained. 'I sees Mr Granville go in there from time to time, usually of a morning with important looking gents.'

'Can you hear what is being said?'

Jake shook his head. 'No, except this very morning I heard him talking to a gent on the outside staircase. They was coming down from the rooms.'

'What was said?

'Well, this other gent...I don't know his moniker but I have seen him before.'

'Where?'

'At the courts. I follows the trial of Silas Taplow, you see, whenever I can,' Jake said. 'The gent I seen this morning is one of the lawyers on Taplow's side.'

Quipp began to feel his mouth water; not for food or drunk, but for the pleasure of the chase.

'You heard what?'

'Well, this lawyer gent says that Mr Granville will have the deeds and documents of ownership in his hands within days.'

Quipp frowned. He could not make much of that. Perhaps he was following the wrong thread.

'Never mind that now,' he said brusquely to Jake. 'Tell me more about her ladyship and the message you took her.'

Jake brightened, obviously pleased to be able to offer more.

'After the corpse was taken out Mr Granville tells me to get down to a lodging house in Shoreditch where the old gent was living and ask to speak with Miss Eleanor Wellesley.'

Quipp gave a sigh of contentment. At last.

'And you found her?'

'Yes. A real lady she is; looking out of place in that house,' Jake said admiringly. 'Beautiful, too with her red hair flowing down over her shoulders and her in her night clothes...'

'What happened then?' Quipp interrupted.

'I tells her her old man is dead. Cut up she is. Then Mrs Possimer tells me to hop it.'

'Mrs Possimer?'

'The lodging keeper.'

Quipp nodded is head approvingly. 'You've done well, Jake. My employer will be pleased.'

He reached for his glass to swallow the remainder of his beer in preparation of leaving.

'There's more,' Jake said. 'Mrs Possimer tells me to leave, but I has other ideas. I goes down to the kitchen. I knows the skivvy there and I thought I could find a bit to eat.'

'It's all right, Jake. You've earned your sovereign,' Quipp said.

'I tell you there's more, guv,' Jake persisted. 'I was coming up from the kitchen later when I heard the front door open and a gent comes in. None other than Mr Granville.'

Quipp sat forward with a jolt. 'What?'

'He didn't see me but I saw him. He goes upstairs and I hears him talking with her ladyship. Then, all of a sudden, there's this terrible scream like somebody is being murdered.'

'Go on, go on!'

'Mrs Possimer rushes down to tell the skivvy to go and fetch a surgeon. Mr Granville has been hurt.'

Quipp stared at his informer speechless for a moment, and then pushed the sovereign towards Jake who grabbed it up swiftly lest Quipp change his mind.

'Where is this house in Shoreditch?' Quipp asked at last. 'I'd like...my employer would like me to talk to this Mrs Possimer.'

'She ain't there no more,' Jake said. 'Mr Granville took it into his head that she'd been gossiping about what happened that night and slung her out on the street.'

'How could he sling her out of her own house?'

'It's his house,' Jake said. 'Now it's a...cat house, if you get my drift.'

'Really?'

Quipp took another sovereign out of his pocket and pushed it across to an astounded Jake.

'You deserve that, Jake,' Quipp said. 'And if you can find out for me the whereabouts of Mrs Possimer while keeping your lips buttoned there will be more coins of the like.'

'Rely on me, guv,' Jake said eagerly. 'Where can I reach you?'

'Here,' Quipp said. 'Just leave a message with the landlord and he will get it to me.'

Jake nodded eagerly. 'Right, guv.'

'Remember,' Quipp said as he stood up to leave. 'Buttoned lips.'

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