'In fact, under the Privacy Act of 1467, it is an—'
'There's only old boots and stuff. And some paper.' She reached down and picked up a crudely made book. It was merely a wad of irregular shaped bits of paper sandwiched together between card covers.
'That belongs to Captain—'
She opened the book and read a few lines. Her mouth dropped open.
'Will you look at this? No wonder he never has any money!'
'What d'you mean?'
'He spends it on women! You wouldn't think it, would you? Look at this entry. Four in one week!'
Carrot looked over her shoulder. On the bed, Vimes snorted.
There, on the page, in Vimes' curly handwriting, were the words:
Mrs Gafkin, Mincing St: $5
Mrs Scurrick, Treacle St: $4
Mrs Maroon, Wixon's Alley: $4
Annabel Curry, Lobfneaks: $2
Annabel Curry couldn't have been much good, for only two dollars,' said Angua.
She was aware of a sudden drop in temperature.
'I shouldn't think so,' said Carrot, slowly. 'She's only nine years old.' .
One of his hands gripped her wrist tightly and the other prised the book out of her fingers.
'Hey, let go!'
'Sergeant!' shouted Carrot, over his shoulder, 'can you come up here a moment?'
Angua tried to pull away. Carrot's arm was as immovable as an iron bar.
There was the creak of Colon's foot on the stair, and the door swung open.
He was holding a very small cup in a pair of tongs.
'Nobby got the coff—' he began, and stopped.
'Sergeant,' said Carrot, staring into Angua's face, 'Lance-Constable Angua wants to know about Mrs Gaskin.'
'Old Leggy Gaskin's widow? She lives in Mincing Street.'
'And Mrs Scurrick?'
'In Treacle Street? Takes in laundry now.' Sergeant Colon looked from one to the other, trying to get a handle on the situation.
'Mrs Maroon?'
'That's Sergeant Maroon's widow, she sells coal in—'
'How about Annabel Curry?'