“The Primrose Strangler,” Oliver nodded. “I’ve read of them.”
“Aida Harris was my fiancée. So, I have an even greater need to find the killer to have justice served.”
Oliver wetted his lips. “I see.”
“That Tuesday night, the day Prudence Finch was found. Who was in the Club?” He asked pulling out his notebook.
“C-can I get you some tea?” Oliver asked.
“No thank you. The sergeant and I are fine.” Val said, noting the man looked nervous.
“I’ve some cream biscuits here. They’re delicious,” Oliver told the men.
“Mr. Morris,” Val said quietly.
“I lied to you. Before,” he said suddenly.
“I know,” Val said simply.
“You do?”
“People are my,” he said pausing for the right word, “trade, Mr. Morris. Reading them, talking to them, gleaning the information I need. I knew you were protecting Mrs. Pratt. You have loyalty. I respect that. But there is a murderer with blood on his hands. And no amount of loyalty can cleanse them. So. Who was at the Club Tuesday night.”
Oliver took a deep breath. “They’re a strange lot. They go by code names and that’s how I know them.”
“What do you mean code names?” Val queried.
Oliver looked at both the men. “There’s a Mr. Sage, Mr. Cypress, Mr. Basil, Mr. Willow and Mr. Cedar,” he said checking off the names.
Val felt himself go very still as he recalled the name of the owners of the opium den building. The Association of Herbs.
“Go on,” Val nodded to the older man.
“They keep to themselves. They always ask for a private room and take their meals and drink in the room.” Oliver remembered.
“What did the men look like?”
Oliver tried to focus. “They are well-dressed. I remember that. They are quite well dressed and well spoken. Some of the men that come into Pratt’s are all about appearances but these men really are.”
“What do mean?” Felix asked confused.
“The clothes for instance, Savile Row,” Oliver nodded his head. “I’d bet a month’s wages on it. I can spot a ready-made suit and a tailored suit straight away and these men were tailored.”
Val made a notation in his notebook.
“And the shoes?” Oliver went on. “John Lobb I’ll wager as well. Finest leather from a fine shoemaker,” he nodded and Val suppressed a smile.
“You’ve an eye for detail, Mr. Morris,” Val complimented him.
Oliver shrugged. “It’s my business. I’m a man who studies other men. When you are a steward, you recognize the man who will want more wine with dinner, another whiskey, a lit pipe, a cigar, and you know which men expect to get these things for free and which men will pay for these items. I care about the men who will pay.”
Val smiled then. “Well done.”
“I do remember one item that stood out in my mind. It’s only because my own father loved pocket watches, though his was nothing so grand. But this one—this one was quite a looker.”
Val put his pencil down. “Yes?”
“Once the gentlemen were speaking and they asked after the time. Why they couldn’t cast a glance at the mantelpiece I really can’t say, but one of the gentlemen pulled out his pocket watch. I was pouring brandy at the time and the gold watch caught the light in the room. It was beautiful,” Oliver recalled.