Three Brothers (22 page)

After the meal was over, Rackham sipped his coffee with evident relish. “I suppose,” he said, “that Limehouse comes into your book?”

“Of course. Sax Rohmer.”

“I have to go there after this.” He put down his tiny cup with a sigh. “A dear young friend of mine has become frightfully ill.”

Daniel was surprised by this coincidence with Sparkler’s sickness in the same neighbourhood—or perhaps it was not coincidence at all. Could this dear young friend also be Daniel’s friend? One of the themes of Daniel’s book concerned the patterns of association that linked the people of the city; he had found in the work of the novelists a preoccupation with the image of London as a web so taut and tightly drawn that the slightest movement of any part sent reverberations through the whole. A chance encounter might lead to terrible consequences, and a misheard word bring unintended good fortune. An impromptu answer to a sudden question might cause death.

Flushed by a gin martini and several glasses of white wine, Aubrey Rackham rose majestically to leave. He caught sight of himself, plump and red-faced, in a mirror by the door of the restaurant. “Just look at me,” he said. “Not the ruins, but the ruins of those ruins. Silly old
cow
.” He put out his tongue at his own reflection.

Daniel decided, at that instant, to travel to Britannia Street. He would wait there and see if Rackham arrived and entered Sparkler’s building. “Are you going straight there?” he asked him.

“Where?”

“Wherever you said you were going.”

“No. I must pick up one or two things from the office.”

When Daniel reached Britannia Street he meditated on where he might conceal himself so that he could watch Rackham
without himself being observed. He found a deserted shop on a corner of the street; from here he had a wide view. The wind on this corner was strong, and scraps of paper were being lifted upwards into the air. Suddenly Daniel saw the nun walking along the street; she looked straight ahead, and seemed uninterested in her surroundings. Daniel knew that she was going to see Sparkler. She went straight up to the door, turned the handle and walked in; he surmised that she must have a key. A few minutes later he saw Aubrey Rackham walking along the street; so he had been right in his assumption, after all.

Daniel walked away from Britannia Street, but he decided to wander through the neighbourhood. After a few minutes he heard music and singing; he walked towards the apparent source of the sound, a building of red brick behind a red-brick wall. A door in the wall was partly open, and he could see a small square yard with a statue at its centre. He could now hear very clearly the words of the song.
Veni Creator Spiritus
. The voices were all female. A nun came into the cloister and walked towards him.

“Have you come about the drains?”

“I haven’t come about anything.”

She looked at him with more interest. “How did you find us?”

“Accident.”

“Oh? That’s interesting.”

“I heard the music.”

“I suppose you did. You should be grateful.”

“Grateful? To whom?”

“To your good spirit.”

Daniel walked out of the courtyard and was just turning a corner when he caught sight of Aubrey Rackham.

“Whoops,” Rackham said. “I hope you’re not following me.”

“No.”

“Shame.”

“After you mentioned Limehouse at lunch, I thought I’d come.”

“Opium dens. Sailors with pigtails. What more could you ask?”

“How is your friend?”

“He is very poorly, I’m afraid.” He sighed. “I don’t know what else I can do. He won’t go into hospital. A nurse comes round in the morning, but—”

“A nun?”

Rackham looked puzzled. “Nun? I don’t think you’ll find many nuns in Limehouse, my darling.”

Daniel visited Sparkler three days later. “Here! I’m here!” Sparkler answered him from the kitchen; there was excitement, even exhilaration, in his voice. Daniel found him sitting at the kitchen table, a plate of biscuits in front of him. He jumped up when Daniel entered the room, and kissed him on the cheek. His face was flushed, his eyes sparkling. “I’m all mended,” he told him. “She said I would come through it. And I have.”

“What do you mean?”

“Can’t you see? I’m better. I’ve been cured. She did it.”

“The nun?”

“Yes.”

“How did she do it?”

“I don’t know. I have to tell you something, Danny,” Sparkler was saying. “When I knew that you fancied me, I thought I could use you. But then I fell in love with you.”

“What?” Daniel was seized by panic. He did not want to be loved by him. He went over to the window and glanced down into Britannia Street; he thought that he could see the
nun on the opposite side of the road. She was looking up at him.

He returned a week later, and found Sparkler still shining. “I saw him,” he said. “The jackdaw. I thought I
would
see him again. It’s not a very big world, is it? I was just idling along the Gray’s Inn Road, as you do, getting acquainted with the neighbourhood hounds, when I saw him. As large as life. In an old blue coat. Where he got
that
from, I don’t know and don’t want to know. Then he clocks me. He smiles in a queer sort of way, sticks two fingers up, and disappears down Baldwin’s Gardens where the pump is. I follows him smartish of course. He turns left down Leather Lane at a fair rate of knots, and then sort of loses himself in the crowd. There was a market, I’m sure of it. It weren’t a market day but there
were
a market. Otherwise where did all the noise come from? Anyway I just keep my eyes on that old blue coat and stick to him. When he gets to the Clerkenwell Road he stops and looks back at me and makes a sign which is too disgusting to repeat. Then he turns right. This is when these ideas just come to me. He’s heading for the river, I say to myself. River? What river? Then I think to myself, maybe he wants to hide in the orchard. But there is no orchard, is there?”

“I don’t know the area.”

“Where can you find an orchard in London? There is no such animal.”

“So why did you say it?”

“Most likely my sickness. I am still invalid.”

“An invalid.”

“That’s what I said. So then I thought he was going up Saffron Hill, but he turned left down Herbal Hill. More hills in London than in Scotland. He went into Ray Street and then crossed the Farringdon Road. I stopped at the corner there.
Where the pub is. Coach and Horses. I could hear the sound of running water coming from the grating. Funny what you remember. Sewer probably. Then I’m on the chase again, and I follow him down to Clerkenwell Green. A lot of people were demonstrating there. Flags and such like. So he slides right through them. He’s more like a fish than a jackdaw. Off he goes down Jerusalem Passage with me in pursuit. I hear music. I look up and see an old man smiling and nodding at me. What’s that all about?

“He scarpers across the open space there and goes towards the old gate. I forget what it’s called. I must have been sweating by now, and I swear that the ground felt hot beneath my feet. It was like walking on fire. And then do you know what happened?”

“What?”

“He
vanished
. Just like that.”

“He probably turned a corner. Or ran down some alley.”

“I know that’s what he
ought
to have done. But I swear he just vanished. Well old mate, I said to myself, you are up a gum tree.”

“Oh well.” Daniel looked around the room incuriously, as if he were simply exercising his eyes.

“You are not really interested, are you?”

“Of course I am.”

“No you’re not. And I think I know the reason. You’re not really interested in me.” Daniel stared at him, not knowing what to say.

An absolute brick

S
AM HAD
no reason to think that anything was wrong. Asher Ruppta had telephoned the office the previous day, and asked for certain papers to be brought to his house in Highgate.

“I can’t go,” Julie said. “It’s my day off. I’ve earned it. I’m visiting my sister in Folkestone. Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh. I
love
Folkestone.”

“I’ll go.”

“There’s a good boy. I’ll get the address for you.”

“What if he’s out?”

“The keys are in the filing cabinet under Q. In case of burglars.”

So it was Sam who had the task of delivering the papers to his employer. He set off with them on the following morning, and made his way by bus to Highgate. The road in which Ruppta lived was quiet, lined with large and solid houses of various styles. It was a reassuring, a comfortable, street. He soon found the house, surrounded by high brick walls and two electric gates. Sam pressed the entry button, but there was no response; so he took out the keys and tried each one in turn before eventually unlocking the gates. He walked up the gravel drive, his attention momentarily distracted by a large
crow that hopped along the brick wall nearest to him. It was scrutinising him with evident interest.

The front door was locked but not bolted; Sam hesitated before entering it, nervous of entering the private domain of Asher Ruppta. His first impression of the hallway was one of quiet order; flowers in vases, figurines of marble placed on two cabinets of polished wood, a painting of a bridge over a river. A wide staircase, carpeted in scarlet, led from the hall; Sam looked up at the first landing, and saw it. It was lying there in an unusual position, with the left arm trapped beneath the back.

This was the body of Asher Ruppta. His throat had been cut, and the scarlet carpet was soaked in his blood. The rictus of sudden death was upon his face, but it gave him the appearance of smiling. At the sight of that smile, Sam became suddenly calm. He looked around for a telephone, and walked into the room nearest to him. This room was bare except for a long table on which various artefacts had been placed—a flute, an intricately carved casket, a figurine with a long face, a perforated stone, a knife carved out of amber. He looked at each in turn.

When a telephone rang, he walked towards the sound. It was in another room on the opposite side of the hall. He took up the receiver, and heard the voice of someone talking softly in a foreign language. “I cannot talk to you now,” he said, and put down the receiver. Then he called the police.

They did not question him for long. His story was consistent and truthful, although he did not tell them about the muttered voice on the telephone. The sergeant had taken one look at the gaping wound in Ruppta’s neck. “A sharp knife,” he said. “Very neat. Almost perfect, really. You have to take your hat off.”

Sam nodded. “There is a knife in the next room.” So they
retrieved the amber knife, and placed it carefully in a transparent plastic bag.

When Sam was allowed to leave, he went down the gravel path and found the crow still perched on the high brick wall. He did not know if it was the same crow but he hoped that it was. The bird put its head to one side, and seemed to be listening intently to something that Sam could not hear.

When he had been in the presence of Ruppta’s body, he had remained calm and careful; he had not surrendered to panic or alarm. Now that he was outside the house, he felt an overwhelming urge to run and to shout news of the event to anyone he passed. Instead he walked quickly down the road, and then took a bus to London Bridge. He wanted to see his mother as soon as he could. He had to tell
someone
.

When he arrived she was sitting in the back garden, leaning forward, looking speculatively at a patch of soil and considering what to plant there. He bent over to kiss her cheek. “Ruppta is dead,” he said.

She fell back in her chair. “What?”

“Murdered.”

“Oh my God.” She put her hand up to her neck.

“His throat was cut.” She put down her hand. “I found him, Mum. I think he must have been pushed down the stairs first. There was blood all over the place.”

She stared at him. “Did you say that his throat was cut?”

“Yes. Right across.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“It’s true.”

“No. I can believe it. When?”

“I’ve just come from the house.”

“From Ruppta’s house?”

“Yes.”

“Who did it? Sorry. Stupid question.” She bowed her head,
and then suddenly she looked up at him with bright eyes. “What about his will?”

“I don’t know about that.”

“But do you know his lawyer?”

“Julie will know. She’s worked with him for years.”

“Good. I must speak to her.”

“Why should you be interested?”

“I have known Ruppta for a long time. And I have a special reason.” Sam could see that she was trembling, and that she did not want to look at him.

“I see.”

“You don’t see, Sam, but soon you will.”

On the following day Sam went into the office very early. He had not been able to communicate with Julie Armitage; he did not have her telephone number, and she had never given him her address. It was likely that she did not know about the death of her employer; she never read the newspapers, and rarely listened to the radio.

She came in at the usual time; her quick step down the corridor was familiar to him, and he stood up before she entered the room. She glanced at him as she put her raincoat on a wooden peg behind the door. “What’s up with you,
Samuel
? You’re not normally so polite. It makes me feel very ladylike. Very feminine.” She was wearing a dress that looked like a dustman’s sack. “Tea for two at Claridge’s?”

“Ruppta is dead.”

She looked at him almost without expression. “I don’t believe you just said that.”

“He was murdered.”

She sat down or, rather, she fell into a chair and put her head in her hands. She remained in that posture for a minute or so, completely still. “Well,” she said eventually. “I always
knew he would have a bad end. Ruppy’s finally had it, has he? My word. Gordon Bennett.”

“The police will want to talk to you, Julie.”

“And I will want to talk to them. He had a lot of enemies, Ruppy did. They could have been queuing up to shoot him.”