The Cutthroat (Isaac Bell 10)

“H Division?”

“Detective sergeant.”

“Where would I find him?”

“Lincoln’s Inn Fields. He got himself made keeper of the Lock Museum. What would you call that in America? Manager?”

“Or curator. It’s after hours. Where would I find him? Right now?”

“He lives at the museum. They gave him a wee room up in the garret. But I would stay right where you are, if I were you.”

“Why?”

The old copper downed the last of his beer, licked his mustache, and flashed a yellow-toothed grin. “Word’s out, a Yank is asking about the Ripper. Nigel Roberts could never put old Jack out of his mind.”

“Mr. Bell, I presume?”

It was late, and the Parliament members who had run off to vote had returned, looking triumphant, when a striking figure with long white hair and glittering spectacles sidled up to Isaac Bell at the bar. He looked haggard but good-humored, and Bell had the impression of a man vaguely surprised to have awakened one morning to find himself old. There was a restlessness to him, a sign of the sort of impatience that Bell looked for in a top-notch detective.

“Mr. Roberts?”

Roberts returned a cheerful nod. “Servants are addressed by their surname in England. Better call me Roberts.”

“Why does a retired Criminal Investigation Division detective call himself a servant?”

“Coppers are ‘housekeepers.’ Which is to say, Scotland Yard keeps the wrong element out of the right element’s houses.”

“Is that why you retired early?”

“No. Sir-ing my governor because he sucked up to Commissioners born in Mayfair finally reminded me of a lesson I learned as a boy—but ignored when I joined the Yard.”

“What lesson?”

“Power pollutes. Obedience enslaves.”

“Sounds like you were born in Whitechapel,” said Bell.

“Close enough.”

“How did you escape?”

“A rich silk mercer died back in Shakespeare’s day. He left his fortune to found a school for penniless boys.”

Bell said, “I saw you in the pub when I came in. Were you waiting for me?”

“Word got around you were asking about the girl in the cellar.”

“Sounds like the Jack the Ripper case is still alive.”

“To me it is.”

“Did Jack the Ripper put her body there?”

“The newspapers said he did.”

“I’ve read them.”

“Everyone in London thought so, too. Do you know about the dog?”