“True. But have a word with the coppers on the doctor’s beat. Ask them to note Scott’s movements.”
The inspector could hear Chief Inspector Clark.You’re sodding kidding me, Tennant. Cuff links and a kilt? Evidence from a hatmaker turned whore and some Chinese slag?
“We’ve got to catch them in the act.” Tennant opened a folder and tapped the top sheet. “This report from the local coppers . . . the Topkapi Club has been quieter than I’d like.”
“Young Havers on the night beat has sharp eyes on him, so his sergeant is telling me.”
Tennant ran his hand through his hair. “I hope my Topkapi visit hasn’t put the wind up in that quarter. Frightened them into cautiousness.”
“Something will be happening soon—Friday or Saturday, I’ll wager. Promising nights for entertaining, and there’s church coming up on Sunday for contemplating your sins.”
“This foul trade . . .” Tennant set his jaw. “They’re bringing girls into the club by carriage. I’m sure of it.”
“Likely, you’re right, sir.”
“We’ll follow the coach when it leaves the Topkapi. If we can trace it to the house where they keep the girls, we can pounce on both addresses and arrest everyone we find. Catch them all—”
O’Malley grinned. “With their trousers ’round their ankles. We’ll be needing reinforcements.”
The inspector nodded. “A little night duty is in order at the end of the week, and I’ll talk to the chief about assigning additional constables.”
“The A Division coppers will be wanting an invitation to the party. The club is on their turf.”
“Sir?” A constable at the door held up a slip of paper. “A message came in from the Limehouse station.”
“I’ll take it, lad.” O’Malley opened and read it. “Only a line from China Sal, but she’s ready to talk.”
Tennant swung out of his chair. “Let’s hear what the lady has to say.”
* * *
China Sal invited the inspector and his sergeant to sit underneath the canopy in her exotic lair.
O’Malley eyed the rattan chairs warily. “T’will be a pile of matchsticks with me in the middle if I park myself on that.”
Sal cackled. “Give it a go, Sarge, it’s sturdier than it looks.”
O’Malley lowered himself by inches and perched on the edge as if ready to bolt.
China Sal had exchanged her golden phoenix-and-dragon robe for a tangerine version covered with butterflies and lilies. She poured three handle-less cups of tea from a blue-and-white service and handed one to O’Malley. He cradled it gingerly in his sizable fist.
“No fears, luv.” She winked. “It’s easily replaced. Made in Staffordshire, not Shanghai. Drink up.”
Tennant took a sip and eyed Sal over the rim. She fiddled with the tie that secured the flap of her robe and tapped a silk-slippered foot on the platform’s carpet. China Sal no longer seemed the indomitable empress, secure on her wicker throne.
The inspector let the silence play out. Finally, he said, “Our Limehouse colleagues say you have something to tell us.” He sounded only mildly interested.
She crossed her arms. “I don’t want trouble . . . but I don’t want you rozzers thinking China Sal’s not helpful to the police. It’s about that bugger. The one that’s got the gammy lip.”
“Rawlings.”
“I know you’re looking for him. You said so last time youwas here.” She tilted her head. “How much is the sod worth to you?”
Tennant considered. “What’s your asking price?”
“Ten quid.”
“What does that buy?”
