The Irregular: A Different Class of Spy by H.B. Lyle

Author:H.B. Lyle [Lyle, H.B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton
Published: 2017-05-17T18:30:00+00:00

13

‘When you first arrive anywhere, Wiggins, set the scene in your mind – the entrances and exits, the loafer in a doorway, the innocent-looking hurdy-gurdy man: the whole milieu. Then, when it changes, you’ll know.’

So said Holmes.

Wiggins squinted down Oxford Street, checked the corners at Berners and Wardour. Milton loomed large in his mind – poor, club-footed Milton. And the sisters, too, Mavis and the little one – what of them? Kell had urged him not to blame himself; Milton had died through his own treachery. And yet … A pair of sailors sauntered past, bright neck tattoos on show. Wiggins leant down and handed his evening newspaper to a ragged child. ‘Back of the Metropole Hotel, they’ll give you ha’penny for it.’

The child took the paper. ‘Ponce,’ he said, and ran off.

Wiggins smiled as the boy stopped at a safe distance and folded the paper carefully under his arm.

‘Always with the newspapers. Why?’ Peter said from the sweet-shop doorway.

‘Information.’

‘Huh! Does fish seek information from fisherman? Foxes from hounds?’

They resumed their walk down the clogged street as Peter went on. ‘Look at all these fools, buying, buying, buying – a fever. Happy life cannot be bought off shelf, wrapped in paper bag.’

‘What are we doing here then?’ Wiggins pointed to the sweet bags Peter had just bought.

Peter laughed. ‘I am human, it is true. I love sweets.’ He thrust an open bag at Wiggins.

‘H, H!’ Wiggins whipped round at the voice. ‘Over here.’

‘Emily?’ Bill’s widow, Emily Tyler, was suddenly before them. She stood arm in arm with a tall, barrel-chested older man.

‘I can’t believe it, here on Oxford Street.’ She smiled.

Wiggins grinned tightly at Emily and avoided Peter’s eye.

‘I thought you might have come. After. I wanted you to,’ Emily went on.

Wiggins glanced at her companion.

‘We’re going to John Lewis,’ she said. ‘Why didn’t you visit?’

‘I couldn’t,’ he said at last.

‘Sorry, this is Robert. Robert, H.’

Wiggins looked Robert up and down and nodded slowly.

Robert frowned. ‘Have we met?’

Emily placed a hand on his arm. ‘Won’t you come to see me, H? Here’s my new address.’

Wiggins looked down at the card in astonishment. ‘Are you marrying again, already?’ He stopped himself saying anything more. Peter sucked so hard on his sweet that Wiggins could hear. Robert was a copper – and like Wiggins, Peter knew police when he saw it.

‘Sorry, Em, I got to go. Be happy.’

He turned, pulling Peter by the arm.

‘H?’ she called after him.

Wiggins and Peter carried on towards the park. He barged his way through the crowds – the women in their dresses and straw hats, the men with hands tucked into waistcoats, elbows jutted. Seeing Emily, her face full and well fed, her clothes neatly pressed and a new man on her arm, enraged him. So soon. Bill not in the ground six months. Would no one honour his name?

Peter plucked at his arm. ‘Down here.’ He pointed to a side street just before the park. ‘Good friends?’ he asked

Wiggins took a breath. Peter’s hand was on his shoulder now.

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