"Do you know, Sheldrake, it concerns me somewhat that you know your way so well around this part of Town." Harry saw a pair of beady red eyes glinting in the shadows and casually used his ebony walking stick to discourage the rat, which was the size of a large cat. The creature vanished into a vast pile of offal that marked the entrance to a narrow alley.

Peter chuckled softly. "In the old days your sensibilities were rarely offended by the notion of how and where I acquired my information."

"You will have to learn to refrain from amusing yourself in places such as this now that you are about to become a married man. I cannot see Claudia Ballinger approving of this sort of outing."

"True. But once I have married Miss Ballinger I expect to have far more interesting things to do in the evenings than dive into the stews." Peter paused to get his bearings. "There's the lane we want. The man we are seeking has arranged to meet us in the tavern at the end of this filthy little street."

"You trust your information?"

Peter shrugged. "No, but 'tis a starting point. I was told this man Bleeker witnessed the fire the night the Saber Club burned down. We shall no doubt discover the truth of that claim soon enough."

The lights of the dingy tavern shone with an evil yellow glow through the small windows. Harry and Peter pushed their way inside and found the interior smoky and overheated by a fierce fire on the hearth. There was a sullen atmosphere about the place. A handful of patrons was sprinkled about the long wooden tables. Several of them glanced up as the door opened.

Each pair of ratlike eyes took note of the shabby cut of the coats and the worn boots Harry and Peter had donned for the occasion. Harry could almost hear the collective sigh of regret as the would-be predators decided the new prey did not look promising.

"There's our man," Peter said, leading the way toward the back of the tavern. "Near the door at the rear. I was told he would be wearing a red scarf around his neck."

Bleeker had the look of a man who had downed far too many bottles of gin in his time. He had small, restless eyes that darted about constantly, never staying focused for more than a few seconds on any one object.

In addition to a red scarf, Bleeker was also wearing a filthy cap pulled down low over his sweating brow. His heavily veined nose was his most prominent feature. When Bleeker opened his mouth to growl a short greeting, Harry saw huge gaps between the man's yellowed, rotten teeth.

"You be the coves what's wantin' to know about the fire at the old Saber Club?"

"You have the right of it," Harry said, sliding down onto the wooden bench across from Bleeker. He was aware that Peter remained on his feet, his gaze moving with deceptive casualness around the stifling room. "What can you tell us about that night?"

"It'll cost ye," Bleeker warned with a foul grin.

"I'm prepared to pay. Assuming the information is good."

"Good enough." Bleeker leaned forward with a conspiratorial air. "I saw the cove what set that fire, I did. I was in the alley across the street from the club waitin' for a likely cully to come along. Just mindin' me own business, ye know. Then I hears this sudden roarin' noise. I looks up and there's flames in all the windows of the club."

"Go on," Harry said calmly.

"How do I know ye'll come across with the blunt?" Sleeker whined.

Harry put a few coins on the table. "You will get the rest if I find the information sufficiently interesting."

"Bloody 'ell, you're a mean 'un, ain't ye?" Bleeker leaned closer, his poisonous breath wafting across the table. "All right, then, 'ere's the rest of it. There was two men come runnin' out the front door o' the Saber that night. The first is clutchin' his stomach and bleedin' like a pig. 'E makes it across the street and falls down at the entrance o' the alley where I was standin'."

"Convenient," Harry murmured.

Bleeker ignored the remark. He was growing increasingly enthusiastic about his own tale. "I stays in the shadows and the next thing I know, this second cove comes rushin' out. Searches the street until 'e finds the poor bleedin' cully, 'e does. Then he goes up to 'im and stands there lookin' down. I could see 'e's got a knife in 'is "and."

"Fascinating. Pray continue."

"Then the poor dyin' cully says to 'im, You've killed me, Ballinger. You've killed me. Why'd ye do it? I'd never 'ave told a bloody soul who ye really was. I'd never 'ave said nothin' about you bein' no Spider." Bleeker sat back, satisfied. "Then the poor sod dies and the other 'un takes off. I got outta there, I can tell ye that."

Harry was silent for a moment as Bleeker came to the end of his story and sat waiting expectantly. Then he got slowly to his feet. "Let us be off, friend," he murmured to Peter. "We have wasted our time this night."

Bleeker scowled in alarm. "'Ere, now, what about me blunt? You promised to pay me for tellin' you what 'appened that night."

Harry shrugged and tossed a few more coins on the table. "That will have to suffice. It is all your lies are worth. Collect the rest of your pay from whoever told you to feed me that tale."

"Lies? What lies?" Bleeker blustered furiously. "I was tellin' ye the bloody damn truth."

Harry ignored him, aware that there was a stir of interest occurring among the tavern patrons as they turned to eye the commotion at the back of the room.

"The back door, I think," Harry said to Peter. "It suddenly looks like a very long way to the front door."

"Excellent observation. I have always been a great believer in the virtue of a strategic retreat." Peter flashed a brief grin and quickly opened the rear door. "After you, sir." He waved Harry politely ahead of him.

Harry stepped out into the alley. Peter was right behind him, slamming the door shut on the angry shouts of Bleeker and the restless horde of tavern patrons.

"Damn," said Harry as he saw the man with the knife looming up out of the reeking shadows.

Moonlight glinted on the blade as the man leaped for Harry's throat.

Harry swept his ebony walking stick up in a slashing arc. The cane struck his assailant's outstretched arm in a savage blow that sent the knife flying off into the shadows.

Harry rotated the stick's handle a quarter turn with a practiced one-handed movement. The hidden blade inside the walking stick leaped out, pressing against the assailant's neck.

"Bloody 'ell." The man jumped — back and promptly stumbled over a heap of garbage. He lost his footing on the greasy stones and fell to the pavement. He flailed wildly and began screaming curses.

"Best be on our way," Peter said cheerfully with only a passing glance at Harry's victim. "I expect our friends will be coming through that door any minute."

"I had no intention of delaying our departure." Harry flicked the walking stick handle back a quarter turn and the blade disappeared as silently as it had emerged.

Peter led the way out of the alley. Harry followed quickly. They raced out into the lane where Peter unhesitatingly turned to the right.

"It occurs to me," Peter growled as they dashed up the lane, "that I have found myself in this sort of situation more than once with you, Graystone. I am beginning to think these things come about because you never leave a decent tip."

"Very likely."

"Cheeseparing, that's you, Graystone."

"I, on the other hand," Harry said as he pounded down the street beside his friend, "have noticed that I only seem to find myself in these circumstances when I have you along as a guide. One does tend to wonder if there is not some logical connection."

"Nonsense. Simply your imagination."

Thanks to Peter's intimate knowledge of the underbelly of the city and the general reluctance of the denizens of the stews to get involved in what looked like trouble, both men soon found themselves standing in relative safety on a busy street.