Let Loose the Dogs (18 page)

“I’m grateful, Will. I don’t know anybody I’d trust more than you.”

Briefly, Murdoch patted his father’s hand. He felt almost unbearably awkward with this new softness.

The guard entered. “We’ve got to go to the yard, Harry.”

“I’ll come back as soon as I can,” said Murdoch.

Barker took Harry’s arm and led him out of the room. Murdoch remained where he was.

Chapter Thirty-three

M
URDOCH MADE HIS WAY HOME
in what could only be described as a trance. He was half aware that the wind was cutting and there weren’t many people abroad, but as he was turning onto Ontario Street he realised he had no recollection of getting there. He was like an old horse who follows the same route back to the stable without need of guidance.

“Mr. Murdoch! Mr. Murdoch, wait up a minute!”

The voice was behind him, and he turned to see Samuel Quinn hurrying down the street. He had two dogs on leashes trotting beside him. Havoc gave no sign of recognition, but Princess was flamboyantly happy to see him, letting out her high-pitched yips. Murdoch stopped to allow them to catch up to him and held out his hand to the hound who was straining at her leash in her eagerness.

“Hello, Princess, hello.”

She showered soppy kisses on his face.

“Enough, old girl. I’m going to drown.” He pushed her away and managed to reach Havoc. He was able to give him a quick scratch on the head before the dog ducked away. There was the lifting of the lip and a growl, but to Murdoch it looked more perfunctory than before.

“How’s he doing?” he asked Quinn.

“Good. The abscess is healing nicely. Princess is teaching him some manners, and he’s the better for it. Aren’t you, boyo?”

He bent down and playfully tapped the dog on the nose. Havoc wagged his tail with pleasure.

“Hey. He doesn’t do that with me,” said Murdoch.

“He will. He just has to get to know you. He likes to play.”

Quinn pulled out the remnants of a leather glove from his pocket and dangled it in front of Havoc’s face. The dog pounced on it, and they had a little tugging match.

“Out!” said Quinn, and Havoc dropped his end of the glove at once. His eyes were bright, and his tail wagged wildly. Princess, in the meantime, had seized the opportunity to give Murdoch’s boots and trouser bottoms a minute inspection. Quinn put the glove back in his pocket. “I’m glad to have caught you, Mr. Murdoch. I have some interesting information for you.”

In spite of himself, Murdoch felt a surge of excitement.

“Come on in then.”

Dogs in tow, Quinn followed him into the house. Mrs. Kitchen came bustling out of the kitchen to greet them.

“My, my, what sweet dogs.”

“Mrs. Kitchen, this is Mr. Quinn. You’ve heard me mention him.”

“How do you do, ma’am,” said Quinn, with an old-fashioned bow that obviously won Beatrice over immediately.

“This wicked hound is the famous Princess, and the piece of hearth rug is Havoc,” Murdoch continued.

“Say hello,” said Quinn to his dog, and Princess sat obediently and held out her paw. Mrs. Kitchen laughed and shook it.

“Could I impose on you for a pot of tea, Mrs. K.? And some biscuits, if you have any.”

It might have been his imagination, but Samuel looked peckish. His pockmarked face was reddened by the cold, giving him a rather ferocious expression that was quite at odds with his cheerful nature.

“You can go into the parlour,” said Mrs. Kitchen. “You both look perished, if you don’t mind my saying so. Why don’t I take the dogs to the kitchen and give them a biscuit.”

“Thank you, ma’am, but I do warn you, Princess here is a bottomless pit.”

The hound wagged her tail on hearing her name but seemed to recognise a benefactor when she saw one and trotted after Mrs. K. down the hall. Havoc went with her.

“Give me your coat and hat, Mr. Quinn,” said Murdoch.

Quinn unwrapped his long muffler and unthinkingly wiped his nose on his jacket sleeve.

“Cold out there.”

Murdoch ushered him into the parlour, which was cheery with the fire and lit lamps. Quinn perched on the nearest chair and launched into his report.

“I asked around like you said, Mr. Murdoch, and I hit gold, wood, and you might say, tin.”

“Hold on a minute, let me write this down.” Murdoch took out his notebook and fountain pen. “Go on, if you please.”

“Wood first. That is to say, the plain unvarnished.” He ticked off on his fingers as he spoke. “First, the grey pugs belong to an English gentleman and his son. They haven’t been here too long, but they play when they can. Good dogs, nothing special. Sometimes they win; sometimes they don’t. Owners never wager too high. Steady is the word. No whispers about them so far. The Manchesters, Flash and Tripper, are high dogs. Everybody who’s in the know wants a whelp from them. Newcombe is well known in the Fancy, and is trusted by them that don’t trust many.”

“What’s the tittle-tattle on John Delaney? Was he likely to cheat? Distract a dog that was about to win the match?”

Quinn considered the question carefully, an important one in the gaming circuit.

“His feist was so damn good, he never needed to duck. Then sometimes that brings its own trouble; no man likes to be knocked off his perch. Mr. Murdoch, your, er, your father, was recent here, too. Good dog but …”

He hesitated.

“Go on, you won’t offend me. What did he say about Harry?”

“Bad loser. Wagered too high a lot of the time, but his dog is a game feist and he did get money back often enough.”

Mrs. Kitchen entered at that moment with a tea tray, and he waited while she busied herself putting out the cups and saucers and tea paraphernalia.

“The scones just came out of the oven. Let me know if you need anything else,” she said, and left them alone.

Quinn bit into one of the hot cakes that she had brought. Murdoch had been right, he was hungry, but first he tasted the cake with professional interest.

“A little heavy on the baking soda,” he said, but nevertheless crammed the cake into his mouth. Murdoch waited until he had room to continue and sipped at his own cup of tea, welcoming the strong, sweet brew. He felt as if a chunk of ice was sitting in his stomach.

“Good, Sam. Please go on.”

“Tin next then. A little disappointing, I’m afraid. This Mr. White. My chum knew of him at once. Game little feist, he runs. He’s a swell for sure, from the city, and my friend says he’d lay odds of two to one he’s in the law profession. Odds of four to one, he’s a physician, and odds of ten to one, he’s a banker. He uses various names, White, Green, Brown.” Quinn grinned. “Not too imaginative, is he? According to my pal, he’s a gambling man bar none. He’d wager on anything, horses, dogs, fleas, if they were running.” Quinn flicked crumbs off his moustache and reached for another cake. “He’s not canny though and loses a lot of money. Doesn’t seem to stop him, so he must be born in the silver. Unfortunately, my chum didn’t know what his real name is or where he can be found.”

“Nothing more than that?”

“’Fraid not.” Quinn frowned, trying to come up with something else, but there wasn’t anything. “Sorry.”

“That’s all right. It gives me something to go on. I can check registries. So what was the gold?”

Quinn leaned forward, his hands on his knees.

“My chum has a brother who is a breeder. Not big, just two bitches and one male. Bulldogs. According to brother, in the summer this cull approached him. Said that he was a writer for a newspaper in America, and he was writing an article about bulldogs. He wanted to see how they reacted to rats, for instance, and could he hire his dog. ‘Oh no,’ says brother, ‘you’re not having my prize dog to get all bit up and infected by no rats.’ ‘Oh no,’ says the man. ‘First, he’s no prize.’ Too true, Mr. Murdoch. ‘Second, I’ll pay for any damages that might be incurred, plus a good sum for taking him for the day.’ And it was a good sum; brother couldn’t turn it down. So off they go and the dog – Gargoyle is his name, ugly beast – is returned safe and sound to brother, but the next day not as promised. ‘Got delayed,’ says the cove, and coughed up more dosh. ‘Did you get what you wanted?’ asks brother. ‘Unfortunately, I did not,’ says the cove. ‘Well, I told you right off he wasn’t a fighter,’ says brother. ‘Give him a bear and he’ll go to the death, but he ain’t interested in rodents.’ The cove didn’t answer to that. ‘Won’t you be writing your article now?’ asked brother. ‘No, I won’t’ is the reply, ‘but here’s an extra dollar for your troubles and one more if you keep all this under your hat. Pride, don’t you know.’ Brother didn’t see what was shameful about taking in a dog that wouldn’t do his stuff, but it takes all sorts to make a stew, as we say.”

“Did this man give a name?”

“He did and he didn’t. Brother has found it wiser to forget any information given out to him in certain circumstances.”

“In other words, he wouldn’t say what the man’s name was.”

“That’s it.”

Murdoch tapped the tips of his fingers together. “When did all this hiring and returning take place?”

“Last summer. Early August. Don’t know which day exactly, but I did go and speak to brother myself and near as he could remember it was the first Sunday in the month.”

“Could he describe this man? Or is that also something he won’t do?”

“He didn’t mind that. Said he was a nondescript sort of fellow. Not too tall, quite stout, maybe just past thirty. Said it was hard to tell if he was a workingman or not. Softish hands but his clothes were quite decent.”

“He didn’t mention a streak of white hair in front?”

“No. As I said, he was hard put to describe the man at all. ‘Bland as blancmange’ was the very words he used. Except for one thing … he had the tip of his middle finger missing. Left hand. Said he’d got it caught in a rat trap.”

Murdoch frowned. “Did Pugh get somebody to negotiate for him, I wonder? He definitely told Newcombe the dog was his. He said he’d had him two weeks.”

“Well, that’s a nailer. Brother would never part with that cur. Not for any price. Hire him out, yes; sell, no.” Quinn gulped down his tea. “I’ll tell you what I think, Mr. Murdoch. If you would like my opinion, that is.”

“I would indeed.”

“There’s always some silly culls who want to be one of the Fancy no matter what, but they don’t really care to do the work: the breeding and the training. It’s not just instinct, you know. You have to get the dogs moving faster than they would normally, and they have to ignore the rats they’ve killed. That’s not natural to a terrier. Fellows like this one, they’re the kind who’d enter a donkey in the Queen’s Plate with the Thoroughbreds just so they could say they’ve done it. Anyway, that’s my view.”

“You’re probably right. He certainly didn’t seem to mind that he lost every round. I suppose his story to your friend could also be true.”

“Actually, brother didn’t believe that at all. He said he’d lay even money that was just thrown out to give the whore a hat.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Sorry, Mr. Murdoch. I meant, to make things look more respectable than they are.” He wiped his lips with his fingers and replaced the cup and saucer on the trolley. “I’ve got to get going. I’m due in at noontime.”

“Thank you very much, Sam. I much appreciate your help.”

“Nothing to it. A raisin, we might say, in the cake. I owe you my life, don’t forget. What do you think you’ll do now?”

“I’m not a gambling man, but I’m going to go with the best odds. If your friend thinks Mr. White is in the legal profession, I’ll start there. And I assume the best place to find a lawyer is in a court of law.”

Quinn slapped himself on the leg. “The Rossin is not too far from the courthouse. Come by and see me. If you want to splurge and have a meal, make sure you ask for Joseph for your waiter. I’ll tip him off. He owes me a few favours. He’ll keep the cost down.”

“Thank you, Sam. I think what I’ll do is ask Vince Newcombe of the Manchester if he’ll accompany me. He knows what White looks like.”

“That is savvy thinking.” Quinn got to his feet. “Time waits for no man, least of all a baker. No, stay where you are. I’ll let myself out. I’ll just collect the dogs. Don’t worry about Havoc. You’ve got enough on your plate, and it’s not cakes, if you don’t mind my joke. I’ll bring him back when he’s better. You can call on me at any time for consultation if you need to.”

He shook hands heartily and left. Murdoch sat for a moment staring into the fire, watching the flames dip and dance around the coals. He felt as if he was not making progress at all. The information about Pugh and the hired dog didn’t seem relevant. On the other hand, he knew that in any investigation, one of the best ways to proceed was to follow the lies, the way a hound follows spoor. You were bound to end up with some kind of prize.

He stood up, fighting off a feeling of desperation. He didn’t have too much to go on. One way or the other, he wanted to know for certain if his father was John Delaney’s killer. No, “wanted” was too pallid a word. He
had
to know.

Chapter Thirty-four

T
HEY WERE ALL GROUPED AROUND
Margaret’s bedside as if it were her deathbed. She was propped up on her cushions, her eyes closed. Adelia looked at the gaunt face, the distorted hands that were resting on the hot water bottle lying on the quilt. How she wished her father would stop maintaining the fiction that Margaret was an active participant in family affairs. For many years now she had increasingly retreated into a world of her own, driven by unremitting pain and the dependency she had developed on her opiates. She was very different from the pretty, vivacious woman that Adelia remembered from her childhood.

On the bedside table there was a delicate, painted porcelain lamp, which had started to smoke badly. Charles stopped in mid-sentence to stare at it.

“The chimney needs a good wash, Carmel,” he said in a mild voice.

“So I see,” replied his sister-in-law. She didn’t add a complaint about how much work she had to do, but the reproach was clearly there in her voice. She was seated on the other side of the bed, across from Adelia, who avoided looking at her as much as possible. Carmel was Margaret’s younger sister by six years. She was inclined to be stout, and her light brown hair was turning mouse grey. Whatever resemblance there may have once been between the sisters was long vanished, except in the colour of their eyes, which were a peculiar green-blue. Adelia thought that her aunt had been complimented far too often on her fine eyes when she was younger because she still frequently and inappropriately cast flirtatious glances at any person in trousers who came to call. As she was so fond of saying, she could have had her choice of several suitors but had sacrificed the pleasures of matrimony for the duty of family loyalty. When Margaret had become debilitated by severe arthritis when she was less than forty years old, Carmel had come to nurse her and take care of her poor children and husband. She had stayed ever since.

“Perhaps you could take charge of cleaning the lamps, Adelia. It would help lighten your aunt’s burden,” said Charles.

“No, Brother-in-law, I wouldn’t dream of it. My niece has plenty to do, and she is always willing to help me if I ask.”

Adelia flushed. It was not true what her aunt said. She hated doing housework and never helped out with a good grace. She preferred to spend her days practising her recitation pieces. Besides, she knew Aunt Carmel was kind only in front of her father.

“Very well, then let us recap the situation and discuss the various choices that are before us,” said Charles.

Still stirred by the previous remarks, Adelia spoke with unusual directness. “I thought you told us we had no choices, Papa.”

He waved his hand impatiently. He didn’t like to be interrupted in his judiciary.

“We’ll see, we’ll see. Now, James, recount your tale again.”

Craig Junior had brought in a dish of oysters and his after-lunch glass of port. He took a gulp before he answered.

“I was in the music room, as Mrs. Delaney insists on calling it, accompanying Miss Kate on my flute when he came in. He said he was with Newcombe and had come to see the dog, but I knew him right away.” James looked slightly discomfited. “He was in court at the same time I was. He’s not a man you forget easily.”

“Oh, James, what trouble you caused us,” said Adelia.

Her father held up a warning finger. “Enough has been said on that topic. I believe James learned his lesson.”

Adelia’s assertiveness disappeared, as short lived as a struck match.

“You are certain this officer didn’t recognise you?” asked Carmel.

James hesitated. “I can’t be absolutely sure. He acted as if he didn’t, but I thought there was something there when he first saw me.”

“And you gave no indication yourself?”

James grinned. “Not a wink. Mr. Irving himself could not have done better.”

“If he was not passing by innocently as he claims, why was he there?” asked Adelia, her voice low.

“I wish you would speak up, Addie,” said her brother with considerable irritation. “We have to strain to hear you all the time. It’s most aggravating.”

“Adelia’s question is most pertinent,” interrupted Charles. “In fact, it is
the
question. Why indeed is a policeman paying a visit to the Delaneys at this late date?”

Margaret opened her eyes. “Charles, do we have to move again?”

“I am not sure, dearest. We are discussing the matter at this moment.”

She turned her head, wincing at the pain of the movement. “If so, I would like to go where it is warm.”

“I know, my sweeting. We will, of course, take that into account.”

Craig continued, his voice measured and pensive as if he were contemplating a fine point of philosophy as he had done when he was a student at Oxford.

“The answer to the question is that we do not know at present why he was there. Does he have Newcombe under observation? A trifling matter of keeping a gaming house? Or is it more sinister? Does it involve us?”

“We can’t assume that, Papa,” said Adelia. “Surely he cannot know. I beg you not to make us move again. I have been preparing for my Christmas recital. I really cannot bear the thought of leaving right now.” Her voice was shaky with held back tears, and Craig frowned.

“You must not be selfish, Adelia. There are others to consider. Your mother would benefit from being in a warm climate, Florida perhaps. Moreover, we cannot risk that, in fact, this officer is on our trail. Do you agree, James?”

“I think we must. If it is a false alarm, we can always return.”

“Carmel?”

“I suppose so. We really have no choice as I see it.”

“Precisely.”

Charles leaned over and patted his daughter’s arm.

“Don’t fret, child. We won’t go all at once. That would look very strange. I am suggesting that James and I leave immediately. We will announce that my mother is very ill. Margaret, I’m afraid you will have to stay here until we know how the land lies. But I do promise you at the very least a long holiday in the sun in the new year.”

“Thank you,” murmured his wife. She appeared to be drifting into sleep.

“You can’t go alone,” said Carmel. “You are both as helpless as newborn lambs when it comes to looking after yourselves. I will come with you. Adelia is quite accustomed to taking care of her mother.”

Craig beamed at his sister-in-law. “How generous of you, Carmel. That would certainly be the best arrangement. Margaret won’t have to be disturbed at this time, and Adelia can go to her recital. Is that agreeable with you, child?”

Adelia’s hands were clasped tightly in her lap, but she had had too many years of training to reveal what she felt, how resentful she actually was, and underneath that how hurt.

“I’m sorry you won’t see me perform,” she said.

Craig stood up and bent over her to place a kiss on the top of her head.

“And I know I am speaking for all of us when I say that we, too, are sorry. You must give us a private demonstration.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“That’s settled then. James, will you go down to the railway station at once and make arrangements.”

“Yes, Papa.”

Adelia looked up at her brother. “And what will you say to poor Kate Delaney? She had already gone into one decline because of you. Will you send her to her grave now?”

James laughed. “Don’t be so melodramatic, Addie. I will write her a tender note informing her that my beloved grandmother in America is desperately ill, and I am accompanying my father to her bedside. Shortly, dear grandmother will recover some of her health but be precarious. I will write letters of increasing scarcity, but eventually I will inform Kate that another has won my heart and that will be the end of that.”

“No, you won’t,” said Craig, his voice sharp. “One letter to say we are leaving, and that’s it. Letters can be traced.”

“Yes, of course. Sorry, Papa.”

“How can you be so callous, James?” Adelia burst out. “You break their hearts like a boy smashes robins’ eggs just to see what’s inside.”

“My, my, don’t tell me you have become attached to somebody, Leila? Is that really why you are riding me so? Has Mr. Pugh won your heart? He has, I see. Look how she blushes, Papa.”

Craig scrutinised his daughter. “Is that the case, Adelia? Is that why you are being so obdurate?”

“No, Papa. I am upset that my brother has developed the morals of a tom cat.”

James burst out laughing, rather pleased with her words. “She’s fibbing, Papa. She is in an amour with the cheeky Mr. Pugh.”

Adelia didn’t respond, but her knuckles had turned white with the pressure of her grip.

Craig spoke soothingly. “We really don’t have a choice, Adelia. It is not impossible that this officer recognised your brother. What if he pursued the matter? What would happen to your mother if we were ever to be discovered and prosecuted? How could she face years of her beloved husband and son incarcerated? And don’t forget, my child, disagreeable as it is to your nunlike soul, you also are implicated. You don’t want to be in the Mercer, I assume, with women who are of the very foulest kind.”

He always used this elaborate language, and Adelia thought it was like gold braid on a filthy coat. She stared at her own thin, pale fingers and hated him with all her heart.

“Very well then. James and I will go on the first train. We will head to Chicago and will send you a telegram to the post office, the usual code.”

“Are you going to leave the plates here?” asked Adelia.

“Of course. Given that this policeman might be on to us, it would be most foolish for James or I to carry them with us.”

“What if they demand to search the premises?”

“They are well hidden in the usual place and will never be found. In the highly unlikely event that they are, you all will plead complete ignorance. Not a hint; not the slightest deviation. Do I make myself quite clear, Adelia?”

She nodded, sullenly.

“I will send you word when it is safe to move them.” “Do we have enough money to live on?” asked Carmel.

“For a while.” Craig sipped again on his wine. “But I am thinking it is time one of my children made an advantageous match. A wealthy American heiress, for instance. What do you say to that, James?”

His son shrugged. “All the same to me. As long as she’s pretty and not a bore, I’ll marry her. The problem is we haven’t stayed long enough in any one place for me to court anybody.”

“I haven’t noticed that to hinder you, James. You seem capable of cementing a friendship with quite amazing rapidity as far as I can tell.” He looked over at his daughter. “We won’t talk about it now, Adelia, but you must start to consider your duty to your own flesh and blood. You are an attractive girl when you want to be. Next year I want you going out in society much more than you do. As the poet says, why be ‘a violet born to blush unseen … on the desert air’?”

“What about Aunt Carmel?” burst out Adelia. “She’s still single. She could marry a rich widower.”

“Don’t be silly, child. Carmel has long given up such notions. Isn’t that so, Sister-in-law?”

“Long ago, Brother Charles. I have no other wish but to tend to my sister and her children until the time I am no longer needed.”

The lie sat in the air, thick and cloying as the smoke from the oil lamp. Adelia felt as if she was choking.