Page 101 of An Artful Dodge
His expression softened. “Well, God knows, we all make mistakes.” Despite my wariness of a Yard man, I felt my heart tip toward trust.
A knock at the door was followed by the appearance of the desk sergeant’s face. His eyebrows were as high as they could go. He was having quite a morning.
“That jackanapes Mr. Fuller’s here, sir, and he says you’re wanting to see him!” He shook his head in disbelief. “I told him you wouldn’t—”
“But I do, Jurgens. Thank you.”
Jurgens blinked in bewilderment.
“And please send my sister in with him. She’s sitting on the bench,” I added.
No doubt Jurgens felt even more surprise at receiving a command from me, but the poor man’s eyebrows couldn’t go any higher up his forehead. The surprise settled in his nose instead, which scrunched up so high that dark nose hairs emerged. “Good lord,” he muttered. Then, at Mr. Stiles’s gentle cough, he said, “Yes’m,” and vanished. A moment later, Mr. Fuller and Sarah entered the room together.
Mr. Stiles saw that Sarah was nervous, and after greeting Mr. Fuller, civilly but with restraint, he asked Sarah if she’d like some hot tea and drew out a chair for her, trying to set her at ease. She nodded and thanked him, and he left.
I pulled my chair closer to Sarah and took her hand.
With a glance at Mr. Fuller, she gently drew it away and clasped her hands in her own lap.
“I’m Mr. Fuller,” he said, his voice subdued. “I heard about your ordeal. Are you all right?”
“I am,” she said. “Thank you, Mr. Fuller.”
I’d never been so proud of Sarah as I was at that moment. She held herself with dignity, waiting until Mr. Stiles returned with her tea. She thanked him and took a sip, then set the cup in the saucer with nary a jitter.
Mr. Fuller remained silent as Mr. Stiles settled in his chair.
“Now, Miss Jimeson,” he began, his voice kind. “I understand you have something to tell me. I’m going to take notes so I don’t make mistakes, and please take your time in answering. There’s no hurry.” He took out a piece of foolscap and a pen from a drawer in the table, then asked her name, her age, where she lived, and where she was employed—simple questions, which Sarah answered with growing confidence. At last, Sarah explained what she’d seen that night in Mayfair and where exactly she’d been when she saw Billy Winston and Tommy Finch.
“Did they see you?”
“No,” she replied. “I knew they didn’t belong there, so I turned my face away, hiding inside my bonnet and stepping away from the gas lamp.”
His pen hesitated. “But you’re certain about who it was?”
She nodded. “I am. I saw their faces, though they wore hats. Billy has round, burly shoulders, a heavy way of walking, and a deep, rumbly cough, which I heard that night. Tommy has always followed Billy, doing whatever he said, and he’s thinner and has a limp from his right leg being a bit short, from when he broke it falling off a ladder years ago when climbing on Mrs. Wickford’s roof. And most of all, I heard Tommy speak to him, in his high-pitched voice. It was those two, I’m certain of it.”
These specifics seemed to assure Mr. Stiles.
“You’ve known them how long?” he asked.
“Since as far back as I can remember,” she said. “I’m fourteen now. Nearest I can recall, I first knew their names when I was eight. I’ve seen them hundreds of times at Elephant and Castle.”
“What do you know of their characters?” he asked. “These are serious charges, theft and murder. Do you truly believe them capable of it?”
She considered for a moment. “It’s impossible to know what other people might do,” she said at last. “But my first memory of Billy Winston is him beating a dog in an alley. I don’t believe he has a heart.”
I stared. Sarah had never told me that story.
“Good lord,” Mr. Fuller muttered.
The door opened, and a stern-faced man asked, “Stiles, how much longer? We’ve that serious matter to attend to this morning.”
I kept my face expressionless, but I had a feeling I knew what the serious matter was.
God bless the speedy London post.
“We’re nearly finished,” Mr. Stiles said pleasantly, and I found myself admiring him all the more for not being rattled by this other man’s agitation.
