“I believe someone alerted Sidney Allen, as well.”
The publisher was their second failure. Allen had slipped out the servants’ entrance of his house, emptied his bank account at a Chelsea branch, and vanished.
“We’ve sent word to all the ports,” Tennant said. “My bet is on Dover.”
“Doing a moonlight flit to the Continent? Likely, I’d say.” Clark scowled at his junior. “Do you think Allen killed those women and Doctor Scott?”
“That is the question.”
“I want a sodding answer, damn it,” Clark shouted. “Lean into Rawlings and Stackpole. Put the squeeze on all the little fish you netted with them.” Clark waved him to the door. “Get on with it, man.”
* **
Late Saturday evening, Julia regarded a bleary-eyed Inspector Tennant as he sat across from her grandfather in their library.
“It doesn’t take a medical degree to prescribe a good eight hours of sleep. What do you say, Grandfather?”
“I concur. That’s two doctors telling you what you already know, Richard.”
The corner of the inspector’s mouth ticked up. “I haven’t managed that over the past three days together.”
Mrs. Ogilvie brought in a tray with sandwiches and a pitcher of beer and placed it on the table next to Tennant.
“I bet you’ve eaten as little as you’ve slept,” Julia said.
“You’d win that wager.” Tennant reached for a sandwich. “Thank you, Mrs. Ogilvie.”
Julia had never seen him so hollow-eyed and exhausted. He looked as if he’d aged ten years. Frustration had added to the toll: Sidney Allen was still at large, and Herbert Rawlings had been cooperative only up to a point.
“The man stumbled over himself to tell us all he knew about Allen’s prostitution scheme,” Tennant said. “Bringing in girls from China, tricking and drugging locals, trolling the streets of the East End looking for pretty children because one of the gentlemen preferred the very young.”
Dr. Lewis said, “And all this was happening at the Topkapi?”
“There was a club within the club, conceived and orchestrated by Allen with the club chairman’s connivance, Reginald Bruce. Seven members had rooms along the back corridor with a convenient separate entrance. Among themselves, they called it the Harem.”
Julia said, “How utterly revolting.”
“Allen catered to their tastes. The very young. Asians—whatever the members’ predilections, Sidney Allen supplied it.Two girls were artists’ models, groomed the way they’d ensnared Kathleen Morris and the other shopgirls who went missing.”
“So Chief Inspector Clark should have combined the cases from the beginning,” Julia said.
Tennant nodded. “All the girls shared one characteristic: they were virgins. Freedom from venereal infection was the paramount concern. That and . . .”
“And what?”
“According to Rawlings, several gentlemen enjoyed the fear and pain a forced deflowering inflicted.”
“Barbarous,” Dr. Lewis said. “I’ve met Reginald Bruce. Dined in his company at the Athenaeum. Did you take the brute into custody?”
“He was in Scotland during the raid. Still, I’m confident I can make a case against him. I’ve recommended that the Scottish police arrest him. It’s gone up the chain of command.”
“Recommended?” Julia said. “Surely, Rawlings’s evidence and that of the girls removes all doubt.”
Tennant’s head dropped against the chair back and he said, tiredly, “We shall see.”
Julia asked, “What about Franny Riley and Margot Miller? What has Rawlings said about their deaths?”
“Nothing. Nothing to the purpose, that is.”
