What was he doing here in Mile End? Certainly not buying tobacco, half a pound at a time! He didn’t know Virginia from Turkish, or care. He had come in for something else, then changed his mind when he saw Tellman.

“Thank you,” Tellman said to the tobacconist. “Good day.” And he went out into the street and along about forty yards to a wide doorway where he could stand almost unseen and watch for Remus to come out.

After about ten minutes he began to wonder if there were a way out of the shop and into a back street. What could Remus be doing in there so long? There was only one answer which made any kind of sense-Remus was there for the same reason he had come himself, scenting a story, a scandal, perhaps an explanation for murder. It must be to do with John Adinett. There could hardly be two murderers tied to that small tobacconist’s shop.

The minutes went by. Traffic passed along the street, some towards the Mile End Road, some the other way. After another ten minutes Remus came out at last. He looked to left and right, crossed the road and walked south, passing within a yard of Tellman, then realizing who he was, stopped abruptly.

Tellman smiled. “Onto a good story, Mr. Remus?” he asked.

Remus’s sharp, freckled face was a total blank for a matter of seconds, then he recovered his composure. “Not sure,” he said easily. “ Lot of ideas, all disconnected at the moment. Since you’re here, maybe it does mean something.”

“Humbug,” Tellman said with a smile.

“Oh no… I don’t…” Remus began.

“Mint humbugs,” Tellman clarified. “That’s what I bought there.”

Remus’s expression smoothed out.

“Oh! Yes, of course.”

“Better than tobacco,” Tellman went on. “I don’t know one tobacco from another. Neither do you.”

“Not your beat, is it?” Remus said, shifting the subject back to Tellman. “Still on the Adinett case, are you? Interesting man.” His eyes narrowed. “But why bother? You got your conviction. What more do you want?”

“Me?” Tellman said, affecting surprise. “Not a thing. Why? What more do you think there is?”

“Motive,” Remus said reasonably. “Did Fetters ever come here?”

“What makes you think that? Did the tobacconist say he had?”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “I never asked him.”

“So it’s not Fetters you’re after,” Tellman deduced.

Remus was momentarily taken aback. He had let slip more than he’d intended. He recovered, looking at Tellman with a sly smile. “Fetters and Adinett… it’s all the same thing, isn’t it?”

“You didn’t say you were after Adinett,” Tellman pointed out.

Remus pushed his hands into his pockets and started to walk slowly in the direction of the Mile End Road, allowing Tellman to keep pace with him.

“Not exactly news now, is he?” he said thoughtfully. “For me or for you. He’d have to have had a really interesting reason for killing Fetters for me to bother to write it up. And I reckon it would have to be connected with another crime, a pretty big one, before you’d still be following it too… don’t you think?”

Tellman had no intention whatsoever of allowing him to know anything about Pitt. “Sounds sensible,” he agreed. “Presuming I wasn’t just after a mint humbug.”

“Humbug, maybe,” Remus said with a twisted smile, and increased his pace slightly. They walked in silence for a few moments, crossing an alleyway leading towards the brewery. “But be careful! There’s a lot of very important people’ll try to stop you. I suppose Mr. Pitt sent you here?”

“And Mr. Dismore sent you?” Tellman countered, remembering what the cabbie had said about Adinett’s going to Dismore’s newspaper after leaving Cleveland Street the last time.

Remus was momentarily nonplussed, then again he disguised his emotions and replied blandly. “I’m independent. Don’t answer to anyone. I thought you would know that… a sharp detective like you!”

Tellman grunted. He was not sure what he believed, except that Remus thought he was onto a story which he had no intention of sharing.

They reached the Mile End Road, and Remus said good-bye and plunged into the stream of people going west.

Tellman decided on the spur of the moment to follow him. It proved more difficult than he had expected, partly because of the amount of traffic which was trade carts and wagons rather than hansoms, but mostly because Remus very apparently did not wish to be followed and was aware of Tellman behind him.

It took him a succession of very rapid sprints, a good deal of bribery, and a little luck not to lose him, but half an hour later Tellman was in a hansom crossing London Bridge. Just beyond the railway terminus, Remus stopped ahead of him and got out. He paid his fare, then ran up the steps of Guy’s Hospital and disappeared through the doors.

Tellman alighted also, paid off his driver and went up into the hospital as well.

But Remus was nowhere to be seen.

Tellman walked over to the porter and described Remus to him, asking which way he had gone.

“Asked after the offices,” the porter replied. “That’s that way, sir.” He pointed helpfully.

Tellman thanked him and went the same way, but search as he might, he found no further trace of Remus, and finally after nearly half an hour of wandering corridors, he left the hospital and took the train north over the river again. He found himself at Keppel Street just before six o’ clock in the evening.

He stood at the back door for several minutes before he summoned enough courage to knock. He wished there were some way he could see Gracie without having to encounter Charlotte. He was embarrassed by the fact that he had done nothing to help Pitt. He was sure she was going to be distressed, and he had no idea what to say or do.

It was only the very vivid imagination of Gracie’s total scorn for him that stopped him from turning around and hurrying away. He would have to face her sometime. Putting it off would only make it even more difficult. He took a deep breath, then let it out again, still without knocking. Perhaps he should find out more before he spoke to her. After all, he didn’t have very much. He had no idea why Remus had gone to Guy’s Hospital, not even a guess.

The door opened and Gracie let out a shriek as she almost ran into him. The saucepan she was holding slipped out of her hands and fell onto the step with a crash.

“Yer stupid great article!” she said furiously. “Wot d’yer think yer doin’ standin’ there, wi’ a face like a pot lion? Wot’s the matter with yer?”

He bent down and picked up the saucepan and handed it back to her. “I came to tell you what I’ve found out,” he said tartly. “You shouldn’t drop the good saucepans like that. You’ll chip them and then they’ll be no good.”

“I wouldn’t ’a dropped it if yer ’adn’t give me the fright o’ me life,” she accused. “Why din’t yer knock, like any ordinary person?”

“I was about to!” That was not really a lie. Of course he would have knocked any moment.

She looked him up and down. “Well, yer’d better come in. I s’pose yer’ve got more ter say than can be done on the step?” She whisked around, her skirts swirling, and went back inside, and he followed her through the scullery into the kitchen, closing both doors behind him. If Charlotte were at home, she was nowhere to be seen.

“An’ keep yer voice down!” Gracie warned, as if reading his thoughts. “Mrs. Pitt’s upstairs reading ter Daniel and Jemima.”

“Jemima can read herself,” he said, puzzled.

“O’ course she can!” she said with an effort at patience. “But ’er papa’s not ’ome anymore, an’ we ’aven’t ’eard a thing from ’im. Nobody knows wot’s goin’ ter ’appen, if ’e’s bein’ looked after, or what! It does yer good ter be read to.” She sniffed and turned away from him, determined he should not see the tears spill down her face. “So wot ’ave yer found out, then? I s’pose yer want a cup o’ tea? An’ cake?”