What Alice Knew Read Online Free PDF

to whisk them away?

Chapter 6
    The administrative headquarters for the London police was situated among other unimposing gray buildings surrounding a barren courtyard. The one exception to the drab scene was a large, well-appointed barouche parked in front, the letters CW carved in gilt on its door. William assumed the barouche belonged to Sir Charles Warren, the London police commissioner.
    As William entered the foyer of the building, he noted that the paint was peeling from the walls, and the gas fixture on the ceiling was crooked and emitted very little light. The general air of shoddiness surprised him. In America, the police headquarters for a major city, no less the country’s capital, would be immaculately maintained, a signal to the citizenry of a zealous and energetic attitude toward the eradication of crime.
    “I’m here to see Commissioner Warren,” he explained to the officer seated behind a battered desk.
    “Sir Charles is in conference,” the officer responded curtly, barely glancing up from his paperwork.
    William took a step forward and cleared his throat. “I am Professor James of Harvard College with an appointment to meet with Sir Charles Warren. I have just made the crossing from America at his request.”
    The response was immediate. “Terribly sorry, sir!” The officer pushed his papers aside and spoke obsequiously. “I’ll inform Sir Charles at once.” He scampered off, supporting William’s hypothesis that, for the English, the propensity to be supercilious was equaled by the propensity to grovel, and that both behaviors emanated from the same place.
    The man returned quickly and ushered William into a room very different in its appearance from the shabby outer area. Two men were seated at a polished mahogany table. There were gilt-framed portraits on the walls and a green and gold damask drape on the window. The table had been set out with a silver tray, on which was placed a bottle of whiskey and an assortment of sandwiches.
    The man at one end of the table had a red face, a large, overly waxed mustache, and a well-tailored uniform with a profusion of ribbons and medals. He was seated comfortably in an upholstered chair, pouring himself a glass of whiskey as though he was in his club or at home in his drawing room. William was reminded of the pictures he’d seen of British officers camping out in style in the African bush.
    On the other end of the table sat a small man with a neatly trimmed mustache. He wore shirtsleeves slightly worn at the cuffs. It was hard to tell from his expression what he was thinking, but his back was very straight, and there was the slightest suggestion, given his position on the edge of the chair, that he wished to be off doing something else.
    “Ah, the American professor,” said the large man, raising himself partially from his seat and extending a hand, not very far, so that William had to lean forward to reach it. “Charles Warren here. We greatly appreciate your willingness to cross the Atlantic to assist us. I was just telling Inspector Abberline here that we would do well to send more men to interrogate in the East End, where, I’m sure, our perpetrator lurks in some tawdry hovel or musty cellar. My own speculation leads me to assume that he is a barber or perhaps an indigent surgeon or butcher, given the testimony of Dr. Phillips, our esteemed police surgeon, on the expert way in which these poor women were dispatched.”
    William thought he saw a grimace skim the features of Abberline.
    “Be that as it may, our attorney general has instructed us to pursue even the more remote avenues of possibility. To this end, we sent for you. Inspector Abberline spoke highly of your work in…the area in which you work…and assures me that your expertise could, conceivably, be helpful. We must, in short, leave no stone unturned.”
    William nodded his head. “Your obedient stone,” he said gravely and caught a flicker of amusement cross the face of