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just so they would have something to tell their grandchildren. And the newspapers were already churning . . . another ‘ ’orrible murder!’ would be front-page news tomorrow, oh yes.
It was indeed a very strange evening for Dodger; he was interrogated several times by different policemen, who were themselves watched like a hawk by Charlie. It was embarrassing when some of the policemen came up to Dodger to shake his hand, not because the Outlander had now been captured – after all, who could believe that a girl could be a dangerous assassin, after all? – but because of Mister Todd, and how Dodger now appeared to be a hero in more ways than one, even though a young girl had died. And all the time the fog spilled over everything, finding its way in everywhere, silently changing the realities of the world.
They took away the Outlander and her accomplice. Then the coroner’s officer came and the coroner as well, and there were coaches and carts, and everywhere there was Charlie, and eventually the last remains of the poor dead girl were put into a coffin for the eventual destination at Lavender Hill.
The coroner, said Charlie afterwards, had taken the view that since the girl had no friends or relatives to speak of, except a young man who clearly loved her very much and a lady who had kindly given her shelter and tried to stop her following other young girls down the wrong path, then surely this was an open and shut case if ever there was one. Even if there were a few little mysteries.
The killer was now under lock and key, despite the fact that the wretched woman now denied shooting anybody, an assertion belied by her confederate who, it must be said, was talking his heart out in the hope of salvation.
Dispatches were sent to Downing Street, along with the ring for examination, once the crest on it was noted, this being political. And indeed the word ‘political’ seemed to hover like the fog over the case as a warning to all men of good will, with the meaning that if your masters are satisfied, so you had better be as well.
Now it was nearly midnight, and there was only Charlie and Dodger. Dodger knew why he himself was there, but since Charlie had already filed his copy to the Morning Chronicle, he had no idea why the other man was still there.
Then, in the gloom of midnight, Charlie said, ‘Dodger, I think there is a game called Find the Lady, but I am not asking to play it. I simply wish to know that there is a lady to be found, in good health, as it might be, by a young man who can see through the fog. Incidentally, both as a journalist and as a man who writes things about things and indeed people that do not exist, I rather wonder, Mister Dodger, what you would have done if the Outlander had not turned up?’
‘You were watching me all the time,’ said Dodger. ‘I noticed. Did I give very much away?’
‘Amazingly little. Am I to assume that the young lady we all saw so emphatically dead did not die by your hand, if you will excuse me for being so blunt?’
And Dodger knew that the game was up but not necessarily over, and said, ‘Charlie, she was one of those girls that drowns herself in the river and no one cares very much. She will get a decent burial in a decent graveyard, which is more than she would have got in other circumstances. And that’s the truth of it. My plan was simplicity itself, sir. Simplicity would have excused herself, being a very “shy lad”. Alas, she would have wandered into the sewers where I would rush to find her. In the dark there would be a great noise of a scuffle and a scream as I fought valiantly, I’ll have you know, as I came to blows with an unknown man who must have heard of our little excursion and may even now be still at large. Whereupon I would rush to meet yourself and the others and implore you all to help the dying Simplicity, and not least chase the dreadful assassin through the sewers. It would be a terrifying but fruitless pursuit.’
‘And where would the living Simplicity be, pray?’ said Charlie.
‘Hidden, sir. Hidden in a place where no one but another tosher would ever find her – a place we