Page 28 of A Case of Possession
“An animal. Or a lunatic.”
“An opium addict?”
Crane pretended to think about that. “Possible, I suppose.”
“Do you take opium, my lord?”
“No, Inspector, I don’t. Nor do I butcher people.”
“No need to be defensive, my lord, I’m just asking the questions. Now—what is it, Gerrard? Can’t you see I’m busy?” Rickaby glared at the young constable standing just inside the door.
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir. It’s them, sir.”
“Them? Whichthemis that, lad?”
“The funny ones, sir.”
The inspector’s face stilled. Then he said, “Where are they?”
“Up there, sir, in the room. Sorry, sir. Not sure how they got past Motley, sir.”
Rickaby took a deep breath. “Well, why don’t you ask them to come down here, then.”
“No need.” Esther Gold strode into the parlour. There was blood on the hem of her long skirt. Stephen followed. He had dark patches on his knees and was wiping his hands on an unpleasantly stained handkerchief. His glance flicked over Crane, without obvious recognition. “A word, please, Inspector.”
The word took several minutes. Crane waited in the hallway, as requested, taking the opportunity to marshal his thoughts and prepare his story. The inspector had been uncomfortably perspicacious, evidently sensing something off about Crane’s account of events, and although his spotless clothing surely absolved him from serious accusation, his relations with Rackham would not bear close investigation.
Finally the door opened. “Up to you, Mrs. Gold,” said Rickaby, as he prepared to walk out. “But you know my mind.”
“Thank you,” came Esther’s voice as the inspector passed Crane without a word. “Lord Crane, could you come in?”
Crane shut the door behind him, facing Esther and Stephen. “I feel like a schoolboy coming in to see the Head. What’s happening?”
“We’ve asked the police to leave the investigation to us,” Stephen said. “Rickaby’s not very happy.”
“Can you do that?”
“Yes,” said Esther. “Tell me what happened.”
“I came to see Rackham. He was dead.” Crane shrugged. “That’s it. I saw nothing that isn’t still there. I sent Merrick for the police and for you.”
“The inspector told us his door was unlocked,” Esther commented. Stephen said nothing, didn’t look at Crane. He was paler than usual.
Crane made sure he addressed Esther. “No, it was locked. Merrick picked it for me. I didn’t share that with Rickaby. I felt a locked-door mystery was more than he needed.”
“I dare say. Why did you break into his room?”
“Because I wanted to talk to him. I thought he was either doped up or ignoring me on purpose.”
“Why did you want to talk to him?”
“This is sounding not unlike an interrogation,” Crane observed. “And I’m reasonably sure I don’t come under your jurisdiction.”
“Here’s my problem,” Esther said. “How many of you old China hands and Java men are there in London? All these people who lived on the other side of the world and know each other?”
“I don’t know. A couple of hundred, all told?”
“Mmm. And a week ago one of you is stabbed, and another kills himself, and now a third is ripped to shreds by rats, just like two more Chinese down in Limehouse. Would you normally expect to lose three members of your club by violence in less than a fortnight?”
