The English Gentleman Read online

ish Gentlema

  by Bryan M. Porter

  Copyright © 2012 Bryan Porter

  ISBN 978-0-9880793-1-1

  In the curious case of the broken window I alluded to the fact that my friend the Count of Samerand was not bound to me for cases. In fact, before I had even met him, he had made a name for himself as a problem solver among the nobility. It was often the case that I would hear of him doing some trivial deed for the nobility or stumble across him in the midst of his investigation. Though there were times the matter was not so trivial.

  It was December 3, 1866 when I placed in charge of what appeared to be to a regular murder, which was not uncommon in whitechapel. At eight thirty the body of a man had been discovered by a group of sailors bound for one of the houses of ill-repute. The victim was a man in his early thirties with a crop of deep black hair and roguish good looks. He wore a felt cap, and what must have once been a fine jacket, now so cached with sweat and grease that it was unsightly. I noted that the victim had been stabbed repeatedly in the chest, and the only thing that had been removed was a apparently a ring based on the red welt around his ring finger.

  “What do you say, sir?” Said Constable Delores

  “Seems very plain to me. While returning home this good fellow was taking by a robber, when he would not freely give his belongings, he was stabbed for his trouble. The thief would have taken more, if he had not been interrupted by the sailors. No, no. I figure if we ask around we will quickly find this man's name.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  The case seemed so plain to me that I could not perceive it being any other way, and after a few formalities, I left the case in constable Delores hands while I continued onto a luncheon I had scheduled with the friend the past week. My friend had reserved a place at Lafterties for twelve sharp, and even though I arrived a good ten minutes early I found my friend seated in a corner table.

  “Really Count, must we always sit in the corner? It is hardly the best seat.”

  “Many a man has realized the folly of sitting with his back left open. I never plan to be one of these, but please sit, sit.”

  Pulling the chair out, I sat across from my friend, his fingers folded over his knee.

  “I must say Count, I am surprised to find you here so early. It is not your usual custom.”

  “Well, I had the chance to be out at the hour.”

  “A bit of business?” Asked I

  “Yes, actually. The favourite son of a duchy has gone missing, I was charged with returning him. A youngish stout man with a crop of black hair and a rugged appearance.”

  I gazed at the Count with a slight smile at the coincidence. “That is really quite singular as, I was just called out to whitechapel to investigate the murder of a man similar to your description.”

  The Count raised an eyebrow at this remark. “Really? Is it possible that the man is one in the same?”

  “Oh. I hardly think so, the man was clearly of a low station from his dress, and I doubt the son of a duchy would frequent whitechapel.”

  “Possible.” Remarked the Count. “But I don't believe in coincidence, so if you don't mind I would like to have a look at this man.”

  I was quite taken aback by the Counts remark, as it seemed obviously absurd to me to consider the young man had visited so squalid an area. We took half an hour to dine before returning to whitechapel by hansom. In the interim, my friend said very little, his expression far away.

  When we returned, constable Delores was questioning one of the sailors who had chanced upon the body.

  “Ho inspector, did you forget something?” Said Delores

  “Not as such. My friend the Count of Samerand has begun a line of inquiry into the disappearance of the son of a duchy, and our John Doe here resembles him to some degree.”

  “Ah, so you are the Count that Inspector McMurdy has been going on about. I dare say you made quite the impression upon him, though I doubt you find much to do with your affair here.”

  “Perhaps, but one should never let such things slip him by or else he might lose the case.”

  My friend knelt by the body and began to carefully examine it, taking the hands and turning them over, examining the fatal wound, and going so far as to sniff the victim's hair.

  “Tell me Wright, you must have some idea about this.”

  “I do in fact. It seems clear to me that this poor soul was the victim of a robbery, when he refused to part with his goods he was stabbed repeated in the chest, his ring stolen before the thief made off.”

  “Interesting.” Said the Count.

  “So you agree with me.”

  “Oh no, you are quite wide of the mark.”

  I must say I was quite offended by the Count's remark though I knew his fashion. “Then perhaps you could give us some light on this matter.”

  “Certainly.” Said the count. “Firstly, examine the hands. Though they are dirty, you will not they are soft much like a ladies, the finger nails clean. This is not the hand of a labourer. Secondly the ring. Whenever a ring is removed you will be able to make out the impress of it from the size of the cutting and bruising. This ring is a might bit larger then a wedding ring, oval shaped, I would guess a signet ring. Next we have the hair, though your sense of smell might be diluted by the pungent aroma of the area, if you were to sniff this young man's hair you would smell the hint of lilacs, hardly something a man of low means would be able to afford. Surely Wright, you must know that a felt cap, and a ruddy jacket do not make a labourer.”

  “I have to admit that I can find no fault with your reasoning, but even so if this man is of high birth like you surmise, why would he be here of all places?”

  “That is the question.” Said the Count. “Though I think the manner in which he is killed speaks to the crime.”

  “How so?”

  “Well look at his chest, man. He has been stabbed at least seven times. This was not a mugging. This man has been the victim of a crime of passion.”

  “But surely he could have been chanced upon by a rogue.”

  “It is not likely.” remarked the count pointing to an adjacent window.

  “If I am not terribly mistaken, this is what you would call a bordello house. As these women are often the victims of assault, they are ever vigilant to it. As he would be likely to be seen, it is more likely that a thief would have waited another twenty paces so he could commit his crime without being observed.”

  “You are correct, especially about the establishment. Really quite an unpleasant place.”

  “Really? I have never found them as such.”

  Standing up from his examination, the Count walked over and loudly knocked on the door of the bordello. It was several minutes before a young petite woman, wrapped in a knitted shawl, answered the door. As I was some distances away from the door I can not say what the count said, but very quickly the madame was brought around to speak with the count. After several minutes the count called for me to come closer.

  “Ah, Wright. You must join me, Madame DuPont as informed me after some wheedling, that one of her girls overheard something last night.”

  I was quite surprised that, not only had my friend acquired the confidence of the madame but also her help.

  We were taking to a small room on the wall facing the crime. A woman of perhaps thirty years, sat upright in her bed, her limbs were long and supple, nose upturned, with a dash of freckles.

  “Madame.” My friend said taking her hand in his making a baisemain with his lips.

  “A right gentleman are ya?” The woman said with a Scottish drawl. “I say that we don't see many of your type in here.”

  “Ah, perhaps that can be changed, but I must profess that I am here for more than
your company.”

  The woman eyed me suspiciously. “I would say that your friend is a bobby, but you don't look the part.”

  “Gladly I am not.” My friend said.

  “Then what interest could you have in the matter.”

  “I was asked by the family to find their son, sadly it seems I have done just that.”

  The woman nodded absently, it was clear beneath the fine features that she was a hard woman.

  “I can't say I rightly know what happened.”

  To this day I do not know what was exchanged, but when the count leaned forward to speak into her ear, I could attest to the fact that this woman of sin blushed a deep scarlet. The woman took a moment to compose herself before speaking, the scarlet dimming to a light rouge.

  “I can't attest to the time, as I had not glanced at the clock for several hours, but I do remember hearing two man arguing. He dressed like the same as we all do but the way he spoke marked him as a toff. Well I couldn't hear much of what was said as I