‘No, but he was very distressed and might even be injured, though not badly as far as I could see, at least he was wriggling and yelling enough.’

Frances shook her head. ‘He will not like being in the hands of the police, whatever the matter might be. Poor boy, I will do whatever I can for him. Where did you see him?’

‘Pembridge Villas, being dragged into a cab by two burly boys in blue and screaming fit to burst. Then off they went in the direction of the police station. There were other police about too, and a hand ambulance was being wheeled away with something on it, covered up.’

Frances suffered a growing sense of dread and guilt. ‘I hope I have not been responsible for this. Ratty has been doing some work for me, and it might have led him into danger and perhaps even caused someone’s death.’

‘Now you can’t know that,’ said Cedric reasonably. ‘What was the lad doing?’

Frances explained about the meetings in Pembridge Mews, and all the way to the station Cedric made reassuring noises about the terrible things that could go on in narrow alleyways that might have nothing at all to do with her enquiries.

At the station, Frances and Sarah ignored the protestations of the desk sergeant and hurried towards Inspector Sharrock’s room, where loud howls told them that Ratty was being questioned. The sergeant abandoned his post and placed his wide form in their way, spreading out his arms with an expression of fierce determination.

‘Stand back or there’ll be trouble!’ he bellowed, but Cedric merely leaned forward and said a few whispered words in his ear. The sergeant turned bright red, said nothing more and went back to his desk.

‘You can’t just barge in like that!’ cried the Inspector as Frances and Sarah walked into his office, closely followed by Cedric. ‘Oh no, of course, forgive me, you are Miss “goes wherever she pleases” aren’t you? Well you can’t come in here, I’ve got a murder suspect and he’s very dangerous!’

Ratty looked anything but dangerous. The assured would-be detective who had been trying to look older than his years was now a very scared boy, sitting hunched over in a chair, his arms wrapped tightly about him, pale as a ghost and sobbing loudly.

‘Nonsense!’ retorted Frances, confronting Sharrock. ‘Inspector, how could you? You have young children of your own, would you want them to be treated like this?’

‘My boys wouldn’t go around carving people up,’ protested Sharrock.

‘I din’t, I din’t!’ Ratty wailed, and Frances pulled up a chair and sat beside him.

‘It’s all right,’ she soothed, ‘I’m here now.’ She took a handkerchief and mopped tears and snivel from Ratty’s face.

‘And they wouldn’t go lurking about alleys up to no good!’ added Sharrock.

Frances gave him a hard look. ‘He is working for me. If he was “lurking” as you say, then he was doing it on my behalf. And I can’t believe that he has carved up anyone.’

‘Oh really? Well you ought to pick your people a bit better. He won’t even give me his proper name. Just says he’s called Ratty. What sort of a name is that?’

Frances made an effort to stay calm. ‘It is what he is always called. He doesn’t know his proper name.’ A fresh torrent of tears was assisting her in the cleaning of Ratty’s face which was beginning to blossom into bruises, and there was a cut on his head. His forearms were still pressed tight across his narrow chest, the hands clutching at his upper arms were clotted with drying blood, and his suit was also smeared with red.

‘I din’t ’urt no one!’ gulped Ratty. ‘The gent wuz dead when I saw ’im.’

Frances tried to unlock Ratty’s grasp, without success. ‘I hope the policemen didn’t hurt you.’

‘Hah!’ exclaimed Sharrock. ‘Where did he get that suit, just tell me that? Stole it I expect!’

‘I gave it to him,’ said Frances steadily. Sharrock scowled but was silent.

‘Inspector,’ Cedric addressed him, stepping forward, ‘I would stake my reputation on the boy being honest.’

Sharrock looked him up and down and narrowed his eyes. ‘I wouldn’t recommend that, sir.’

Ratty wiped his nose on his shoulder, an action that improved the condition of neither. ‘Coppers din’t ’urt that much. It wuz the murderer in the alley; ’e comes rushin’ out an’ knocked me over, an’ I think I banged me ’ead, ’cos the nex’ thing I wuz on the ground ’n then I went to look at the gent, but ’e wuz dead. There wuz blood all over! So I went to get ’elp ’n then the copper comes. C’n I go ’ome, Miss?’

‘Yes, of course you can,’ Frances reassured him, carefully avoiding looking at the Inspector, although she could hear him growling, ‘but if there is anything you know that might help catch the criminal, you must say what it is first.’

A constable came in and Sharrock took him aside for a muttered conversation, then grunted and nodded.

Sarah had gone to get a basin of water and a cloth and managed to persuade Ratty to let her bathe his face and hands and examine his bruises. ‘He’s been knifed!’ she called out suddenly as she removed the coat to show that Ratty had been slashed across one arm. His clutching hand had stopped the worst of the bleeding, but it was still oozing badly. Sarah quickly pressed her large fist about the wound.

Sharrock ran out and roared for someone to fetch a surgeon. ‘Soon have him stitched back up again,’ he said as he came back into the room. He gave a loud sniff. ‘Looks like the lad might be telling the truth after all,’ he admitted. ‘No knife on him, and no knife in the alley, just a dead man stabbed in the stomach. Nasty business.’

‘Do you know who it is?’ asked Frances, hoping that the incident might be the result of an altercation between a pair of dangerous criminals.

‘We do, and if you hadn’t come rushing in just now I’d have paid you a visit. He had one of your invoices in his pocket. He’s the headmaster of the deaf school, Mr Eckley. Any idea who might want him dead?’

‘Oh dear!’ Frances thought of the dispute with Dr Goodwin, the pursuit of Isaac Goodwin, the dismissal of the deaf teachers and the children whose hands had been tied in class. ‘He was not a popular man, I am afraid, but I can’t imagine anyone going so far as to murder him.’

Once Ratty’s injuries had been dressed, a process he bore like a man, or perhaps a boy unusually accustomed to pain, and he had been supplied with hot tea, a plate of bread and sausage, and a promise from Cedric that he would be measured for a new suit of clothes at the first opportunity, the transformation from suspect to valued witness was complete.

Calmer now, Ratty regaled the Inspector with the story of his observation of both the school and Isaac Goodwin, with Frances providing explanations.

Pembridge Mews was a location well suited to all kinds of unusual activity. A narrow cut between two walled gardens opened out into an enclosure of stables and cottages, the dwellings of domestic coachmen, servants and their families, then a sharp turn to the right provided further accommodation and also a location completely hidden from the main thoroughfare. There was no suggestion that the occupants of the Mews were anything other than respectable, but as a secluded spot it saw a great deal of coming and going, especially after dark. There were gas lamps in the Mews, but since these were not as good as the ones in the street, there were any number of dull, dark shadows.

That evening Ratty had seen Mr Eckley going into the Mews and had followed him out of curiosity. Eckley had been alone when he walked down the alleyway, crossed the Mews and turned the corner. No one else had been about, but Eckley had the businesslike look of someone on his way to an appointment, consulting his watch and carrying what looked like a letter. Ratty had hovered nearby hoping to hear a conversation, but there had only been an exclamation and the sound of a falling body. He had been about to peer around the corner when a running figure had collided with him, knocking him over. The next thing he knew he was lying on the cobbles and his head was aching. He had the impression that the running figure was taller, heavier and wider than he, but that was all he could remember.