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chances to read them than you have, and some of the minds that I have fathomed were very tangled and convoluted minds indeed.’
Dodger stood back and said, ‘I have never asked you this before, but you know so much and you can do so much. Why then do you spend most of your time fiddling with bits of old jewellery and watches and so on down here in the rookeries when there are many other things you could be doing?’
And Solomon said, ‘That in itself is a convoluted question, but surely you know most of the answer, mmm? I enjoy my chosen trade and receive good remuneration. That is to say, for your benefit, money for doing something that gives me great pleasure.’ He sighed and went on, ‘But I suppose the main reason is that I can no longer run as fast as I once could, and death is, well, so final.’
This last piece of information caused Dodger to sit up straight. But it was a call to arms, the starting of a clock, which meant Dodger wasn’t so free as he had been because now time itself was his master, so he got dressed in a hurry.
He had to be careful about this; there were quite a number of people whom he could trust, but there were, as it were, several stages of trust, ranging from those he could trust with a sixpence to those he would trust with his life. There weren’t all that many of the latter, and it was probably a good idea not to trespass on their goodwill, because: a) goodwill, if trespassed on too often, might have a tendency to lose some of its bloom; and b) because it didn’t do for anyone to know too much about Dodger’s business.
Now he made his way once again to the stall of Marie Jo, who probably wouldn’t be too busy at this time of day, since most of her customers would be out there on the streets, begging, stealing, or – when all else failed – earning enough for their dinner. But she was there, as reliable as the peals of the Bow bells – and Dodger made sure he was reliable too, and paid her the promised few sixpences more for the children’s soup – and then there were not many around to hear them so he lowered his voice and told her what he wanted.
When she laughed and said something in French that he didn’t understand, he said, ‘I can’t tell you why I need to, Marie Jo.’
She looked at his face and laughed again, giving him the expression that a certain type of woman has when they are dealing with a saucy young gentleman such as Dodger, and he recognized this as he had spent a lot of time analysing this in the University of Dodger; it was accusing and forgiving wrapped up together in a complicated parcel, and her eyes twinkled and he knew that she would do anything for him. But knowing that, he also knew that he shouldn’t ask for too much.
Looking him up and down, she said, ‘Cherchez la femme?’ Dodger knew this one, and very carefully looked embarrassed. She laughed, that laugh which somehow came from her childhood, and she insisted that he run the stall and chop up some onions and some carrots while she ran this little errand for him. How embarrassing! In the full light of day, passers-by could see Dodger – yes, Dodger – working on a stall; he was glad that there weren’t too many people about.
Fortunately, Marie Jo soon came back with a small package which he carefully stowed away, and in good faith he spent half an hour cleaning and chopping vegetables and welcomed it, because the attention to detail meant the inner Dodger could think about what he was going to do next, which was to take a walk among the shonky shops and pawnbrokers. He knew what he needed, but was careful not to get it all from one single shop, although he was particularly fortunate in one old shop smelling of not quite properly laundered clothing to find just what he wanted, and the proprietor smelled of gin and appeared not to know Dodger at all.
But the clock was still ticking and he was short of time.
By mid-afternoon, though, after a trip to the Gunner’s Daughter and a couple of pints of porter with a few mates, and one in particular – good ol’ Dodger, never forgot