Stephen Reed entered the Sun inn’s ill-lit and deserted snug about half an hour later.
He’d left papers and his briefcase on the map table. No one had been in to light the gas, and the only illumination came from the passageway behind the bar.
He started to gather his few effects together, and then he seemed to lose heart. He kicked out the chair and sat, heavily.
Sebastian said, startling the officer a little, “Is this your first murder?”
Reed recovered himself. “No,” he said.
“But your first with children.”
He peered at Sebastian in the gloom. Sebastian moved forward, the better to be seen.
“Sebastian Becker. I’m the special investigator for the Lord Chancellor’s Visitor in Lunacy.”
“Oh?”
“You had me arrested for trying to protect your evidence. What happened to the camera I was holding? Please tell me you didn’t let those boys interfere with it.”
“That was a camera?” the detective said.
“I believe so.”
“It was like none I’ve ever seen.”
“Where is it now?”
“Over in the assembly rooms, along with the bodies. Everything’s there.”
“It’s a slim chance,” Sebastian suggested, “but the plate may carry an image from those girls’ last hour. Has anyone been stupid enough to open it?”
Stephen Reed’s distraction fell away, and his sense of purpose seemed to return.
“Oh, Lord,” he said. “I hope not.”
He went out onto the street. A reasonably bright-looking child in a cadet’s uniform was passing, and Stephen Reed collared him. He sent him at a run with a message for the man on the door at the hall. Then he came back inside.
“You’re not a policeman?” Stephen Reed said.
“I used to be.”
“But you work for the Lord Chancellor now.”
“For his Visitor in Lunacy. Sir James Crichton-Browne.”
“What does that mean?”
Sebastian took out the letters of authority that he always carried with him.
“When the sanity of a man of property is questioned,” he said, handing the letters over, “it’s the Visitor’s duty to determine whether such a man is competent to manage his own affairs. Sometimes the mad can be devious in concealing their madness. I investigate those cases.”
Stephen Reed looked at the papers.
He said, “Insanity in our town? I’d say your investigation has implications for mine.”
“If there is evidence to support such a notion, trust me to share it. There’s a telephone across the way. Call the Bethlem Hospital. They keep an office for me there. If you’re in any doubt as to my character, they will confirm what I’m telling you.”
Stephen Reed handed the papers back to Sebastian.
“I jumped to a hasty conclusion,” he said, while managing not to seem too unhappy about it.
“No apology required,” Sebastian said, aware that none had been offered. He returned the papers to the inside of his coat. “Are they definitely the girls you were looking for?”
“I believe so. But I can’t say for certain until we reach Mister Bell to arrange a formal identification. It’s not a thing I can ask of a mother.”
“I heard say that Bell’s a judge in town.”
“A barrister. Florence was his daughter and Molly her best friend. Molly’s parents are abroad. Bell won’t be here until morning and I can tell you, that will not be an easy hour of any man’s life. Their faces have been disfigured.”
“Do you have children of your own?”
“Not even married. Which does not make it any less hard to look upon.”
Sebastian said, “It’ll go well with your superintendent if you can offer a theory.”
“I know,” Stephen Reed said. “Some clothing is missing. I’m thinking this may be a crime of child-stripping gone too far. These were well-dressed girls. Except …”
“What?”
Stephen Reed shook his head, fully aware that his theory was not a good one. He seemed about to say as much when his young messenger reappeared in the doorway. The boy seemed reluctant to cross the threshold into licensed premises.
“Well?” Stephen Reed said.
“Your man on the door says to tell you that someone’s in there looking at the girls.”
Stephen Reed was shocked. “He was to open the room to no one,” he said, and the boy could do no more than look helpless.
“He says it’s Sir Owain, sir.”
Stephen Reed set off for the hall, with Sebastian following close behind.