When they’d settled into the hansom, Lloyd said, “I had a note from Inspector Tennant. He asked if I’d make myself available tomorrow. He may need someone who can interpret Cantonese.”
“I was with him this past hour. He called me in to perform a postmortem on a doctor.”
“And I just spent an hour with a live one. Doctor Franklin. He performed some tests, but I’m afraid the results aren’t good.” He shrugged. “I was hardly surprised, but I consulted him at my sister’s insistence and on your grandfather’s recommendation.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Scarlet fever leaves its damage behind. In my case, it’s severe. Still, I’ll depart this world knowing my brother-in-law left his family well-provided.”
“That is a comfort, I’m sure.”
The carriage trundled along. Lloyd broke a silence stretch.
“The source of his family’s wealth always troubled Gareth. They made their fortune in the sugar trade. Tainted money earned off Black backs and the sweat of enslaved labor. That’s why the trafficking of girls like Jin has a tragic resonance for my sister and me.”
“I understand all too well. The Lewis fortune has murky origins. It goes back several generations to a soldier-adventurer in India, so we’ve tried to put some of the money to good use.”
“Well, I hope I can do some good for Inspector Tennant tomorrow.” He touched her forearm to draw her gaze. “My dear, if I weren’t such an old crock with a dicky heart, I’d give your inspector a run for his money.”
Julia smiled with a slight shake of her head.
He took his hand away. “Now, don’t tell me it’s not a race. I have eyes in my head.”
The cab had pulled up to the address on Carteret. Lloyd got out, handed the cabbie a few coins, and directed him to Fieldgate Street.
Before the hansom rattled away, Lloyd leaned into the cab. “He’s a good man, the inspector.” He stepped back and raised his hat in farewell.
* * *
That night, Tennant, O’Malley, and ten officers waited in the shadows.
“The crawling clock,” the sergeant said. “’Tis the worst of it now.”
The inspector dared not risk a light to check his pocket watch. But within a quarter hour, he heard the chimes and counted nine bells from the clock tower at Westminster.
“Damn it to hell. Where are they?” he muttered to O’Malley.
The sergeant touched his sleeve. “Look.”
A carriage had turned left from East Pall Mall, and the lights from its dual coach lamps drew nearer.
“All right, lads,” O’Malley said in a low voice. “Hold your places and get ready.”
The four-wheeler clattered and stopped at the back entrance of the Topkapi Club. In under a minute, someone drew the bolts, the doors swung inward, the carriage rolled forward, and the gates banged shut behind it.
O’Malley clapped a constable’s shoulder. “Go, lad.” The young policeman sped to the wall with his partner. One officer braced himself against the brickwork and gave a leg up to the other copper, who inched his eyes over the top. After a short wait, he held up three fingers.
Three girls had exited the carriage.
Tennant struck a match and drew it in a line. A copper at the corner relayed the signal to three officers in separate hansoms. They sped to St. Giles, Limehouse, and Chelsea. There, coppers waited to raid the brothel, arrest Arnie Stackpole at his rooming house, and take Sidney Allen into custody.
The constable at the wall dropped down. “Two blokes smoking at the entrance. And the driver’s up in the coachman’s seat.”
“Let’s give it a few minutes,” Tennant said.
O’Malley said grimly, “We’ll let the party get started.”
Five minutes later, Tennant sent the pair of constables back to the wall. At O’Malley’s signal, one man got up and over, hung by his hands, and dropped. O’Malley called, “Now, lads,” and eight coppers with drawn truncheons massed outside the gates and waited for the doors to swing open.
