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Chapter Fifteen
August 30, 1889
8:20 AM
The next morning, Trevor and Davy set off early in a rented carriage to visit the address
that Jonathan Benson had written in his notebook. After a brief ride to the mouth of a narrow street,
they found themselves standing in front of another rooming house quite similar in appearance to the
one Trevor and Rayley had visited the day before. But the landlord of this new establishment assured
them that there was one large difference; he did not let rooms to “transients,” but rather only to
“gentlemen of standing,” by which Trevor could only assume he meant those who were stationed in
India for long stretches of time. The landlord, profoundly unimpressed by their Scotland Yard
credentials, furthermore refused to tell them the name of the man who had let Room 5, much less grant
them access. If it all hadn’t been so thoroughly inconvenient, Trevor would have admired the man’s
staunch defense of his tenants’ privacy. He could only hope his own landlady back in London would
stand half so firm in guarding his own should a similar matter ever arise. Somehow he rather doubted
that she would.
“So where to now, Sir?” Davy asked as they leaned against the building across the
alleyway from the boarding house.
“Let us give it a little longer,” Trevor said, nibbling at a bowl of breakfast rice he had
bought from a vendor on the corner. “The house seems to be astir with men rising and preparing to
leave for their places of employment. The fellow we seek may present himself on this sidewalk soon
enough.”
“But how shall we know which man resides in Room 5?” Davy asked.
“I suppose we shall have to ask every man who leaves the building for his room
number,” Trevor said. “And hope that they are more intimidated by the mention of the words
‘Scotland Yard’ than their landlord proved to be.”
“We could be stuck here all morning, Sir,” Davy said. “Leave me to do it if you will, so
that you can move on to some other task. Is not Detective Abrams setting out to interview the
Secretary-General?”
“Oh, I believe my time is better spent here,” Trevor said. “The waiting is tedious, I
know, but I think it is possible that the man boarding in Room 5 is also the one who tipped Benson off
about the use of poison. Not only had Benson very carefully recorded this address on the same page
as his dosage chart, but the landlord’s remark about ‘gentlemen of standing’ actually gives me some
hope. Whomever we are seeking at this address has evidently lived in India for some time, at least
long enough to have a better understanding of the local flora and fauna than most Europeans. So I
believe we should –“
And just at that moment the front door of the rooming house opened and a man exited.
He was heavy and ponderous of movement but his clothing indicated that he indeed had lived in India
long enough to develop an understanding of what the climate demanded. He wore a light linen suit, a
deep-domed woven hat and, although the day was cloudless, he carried an umbrella in one meaty
hand.
The minute his foot struck the sidewalk he saw them, and he seemed to know at once that
he was caught. He exhaled sharply, a gesture Trevor saw in the rise and fall of his great shoulders,