That left the subject of Rupert who waited at the door as the cab I had called for earlier had arrived. He had most definitely earned his supper and breakfast the night before.
He shot out the door when I opened it, then proceeded to take care of some morning business before planting himself at the kerb.
I recognized the driver from previous occasions.
“The Strand, miss?” he asked as I climbed aboard and Rupert followed.
Instead, I gave him the address in Holborn where I hoped to find someone.
A person who might be able to provide information about that case ten years earlier.
Mr. Conner had been with the MET for very near thirty years, then was forced to retire because of an injury.
He lived on a small pension due to that injury, other income including work from Brodie, and additional work that Brodie described as‘assistance’for others. That frequently included security work at the docks and‘other things’that he didn’t explain and I didn’t ask about.
A fellow Scot, he knew the streets as only one who had walked them for many years and had encountered all sorts of criminals. He lived alone and frequented a tavern near where he kept a flat.
He was gruff and could be as hard as the streets of the East End, but he was loyal to Brodie and I liked him very much. With his connections, it was very likely he already knew about the warrant Abberline had put out for Brodie’s arrest. Very possibly he knew about that old case, and might well know where Brodie was.
I could have sent a message round by one of the messenger services, but it might not have been delivered for some time. He didn’t have a telephone. Consequently, the only way to find him was to go there.
It was very near midday when I arrived in Holborn. There was no answer at his flat. A man who occupied the flat next door informed me that Mr. Conner had been out most of the night, which might mean anything.
“You might ask at the Black Bull, across the way.”
The Black Bull Tavern was in a narrow space between a dry goods shop and an engraver’s. I might have missed it, except for the sign over the door, that of a black bull.
I stepped inside. The musty smell of cigarette smoke, along with stale beer and equally stale bodies filled the room, along with an enthusiastic shout over the sound of dice being slammed down at a table. Tables lined one side of the tavern with the bar at the back.
I was not unfamiliar with the inside of taverns and pubs—in fact I had been in my fair share in our past inquiries. Unfortunately, I often drew unwanted attention. I suppose part of it might have been the sight of the hound.
That enthusiastic uproar of drink and gambling immediately fell silent, a dozen or more faces staring at me, including the one I was looking for.
Mr. Conner was tall, with close-cropped white hair, his brown eyes staring back at me from one of those tables.
He spoke to his companion, then rose, and approached me.
“Miss Forsythe, yer not something this sort usually sees in here,” he commented in that unmistakable Scot accent. “I won’t say that I’m not pleased.”
He could be quite engaging. “I trust ye’ve come about the arrest warrant Abberline has out for Brodie.”
It seemed that he was indeed well informed. “I do need to speak with you about it.”
He nodded. “Not here. These fellows can’t keep something private to save themselves, and all they know how to do is gape at a pretty young woman.
“We’ll go down the way to the public house. They won’t be crowded yet this time of the late morning. And I suppose we must include that filthy creature.” He looked down at Rupert.
The ‘filthy creature’merely grinned.
The public house where one might find a meal was much like the one across from the office on the Strand.
“The filthy beast is with me, Mr. Finlay,” Mr. Conner told the man behind the counter as we entered. “He won’t bother.”
Mr. Finlay nodded. “Keepin’ strange company are ye nowadays?”
Mr. Conner ordered coffee, then escorted me to a table in the back, some distance apart from the only other customer.
He waited until Mr. Finlay brought the coffee.
