A Christmas Odyssey Read Online Free PDF

knew such places. Then the idea seemed absurd, and Crow was just the same amiable “would-be” doctor he’d known for years.
    “We better tell Mr. Rathbone that we can’t findwhat happened to Lucien Wentworth,” Squeaky said aloud. “He could’ve gone anywhere—Paris even, or Rome.”
    “There’s no need to give up,” Crow argued. “We’ve a fair chance of finding him.”
    “Course we have!” Squeaky responded. “An’ what damn good will that be? Best if his father never hears the kind o’ company he kept. If he went to these places—an’ I have heard of them, no matter what you think—then he isn’t coming back. They don’t need to know that.”
    Crow was silent for several moments. “Is that what you would want?” he said finally.
    Squeaky was indignant. “How the hell do I know? As if I had children what should’ve been gentlemen.”
    “I think we should tell them the truth,” Crow replied thoughtfully. “At least tell Mr. Rathbone the truth. Let him decide what to tell Lucien’s father.”
    “Soft as muck, you are!” Squeaky shook his head. “And about as much use. What’ll he want to know that for? Tell him Lucien’s gone to Paris, and he’ll stop looking.”
    “Then don’t tell him,” Crow replied. “I will.”

L ate in the afternoon, only eight days before Christmas now, Squeaky and Crow together alighted from the hansom cab on Primrose Hill. They walked by the light of the street lamp across the pavement and up the path to Henry Rathbone’s house. It had taken a certain amount of inquiring to find out where he lived, and they were later than they had intended to be. Squeaky felt nervous, and—in spite of the fact that Crow hid it well—he knew that he did too. This was a quiet neighborhood and eminently respectable. They were both ill-fitting strangers here. Added to that, they carried with them news that would not be welcome. It was really a message of defeat.
    Squeaky hesitated with his hand on the brass knocker. He was furious with himself for being such a coward. He had never been in awe of anyone when he was a businessman, selling women to those who wanted or needed to buy. He had despised them and was perfectly happy that they should know it. It was a straight exchange: money for the use of a woman.
    Well, maybe it was not quite that simple, butclose enough. There were never any questions of honor or embarrassment in it. Violence, now and again, of course. People needed to be kept to their side of the arrangement. They tended to slip out of it if you allowed them to. Let yourself be taken advantage of once and it would happen again and again.
    “Are you going to knock, or stand there holding that thing?” Crow asked peevishly.
    Squeaky picked it up and let it fall with a hard bang.
    “Now look what you made me do!” he accused, turning to glare at Crow.
    The door swung open, revealing a calm-faced butler.
    “Good afternoon, gentlemen. How may I be of service to you?”
    Squeaky swallowed and nearly choked.
    “We would like to speak to Mr. Henry Rathbone, if you please,” Crow answered, while Squeaky tried to collect himself and regain his composure.
    The butler blinked and looked confused.
    “Mr. Rathbone asked Mr. Robinson here to perform a service for him,” Crow continued. “We have come to report our findings so far, and see what Mr. Rathbone would like us to do next.”
    “Indeed?”
    The butler still seemed uncomfortable. It was hardly surprising. Squeaky was lean and snaggletoothed, and had long gray hair falling onto his collar. Crow had a charming smile with far too many teeth. His hair was black as soot, as was his bedraggled coat with its flapping tails. And—simply because he had had no time to return home and put it down—he still had his doctor’s Gladstone bag with him.
    Squeaky drew in his breath to try a better explanation.
    Perhaps because of the length of time they had been on the step, Henry Rathbone appeared in the hall behind the