“That’s right.”
Inspector Rickaby turned Crane’s card over and back as though he expected to find a clue on it. “Earl Crane. Shouldn’t there be an ‘of’ in that?”
“No. It’s like Earl Grey.”
“The tea?”
“The lord.”
“Ah. Do you suppose the Earl Grey has many friends in Wapping?”
“I’ve no idea.” Crane noted the detective’s correct use of the definite article. “I’ve never met the man.”
“I just wondered. If earls usually have friends in these parts of London.”
“I couldn’t speak for other earls,” said Crane. “I have several friends in this part of London. I lived in China between the ages of seventeen and thirty-seven, Inspector. I only came back to England eight months ago. Most of my acquaintances in this country are either Chinese or old China hands. People very like Rackham.”
“Not so dead, I hope.”
“No, most of them are hardly dead at all.”
The inspector tilted his head. “Good friend, was he?”
“I knew him for a long time.”
“You don’t seem upset.”
“I’m reasonably upset. I just found him in small pieces.”
“Most distressing, my lord. Was the deceased expecting you?”
“He was, but not at a specific time,” Crane said. “I’d promised him a loan. I came here on my way to my office to drop off the money.”
“But he didn’t answer the door when you knocked.”
“No. Obviously not.”
“So how did you get in?”
“I opened it. It was unlocked.”
Rickaby nodded. “Again, my lord, forgive my ignorance, but as an earl, would you normally go round trying people’s doors on the off chance? Because most of us, if our friends don’t answer the door, we walk away, we don’t see if we can let ourselves in.”
Crane paused, attempting to give the air of a man with a moral dilemma, then spoke frankly. “Inspector, you’ll understand that I’d rather this didn’t get about more than it has to, but Mr. Rackham was an opium addict. It was entirely usual for him not to lock his door. I expected to find him asleep in bed, I wanted to drop off the money and get to work, so I tried the door, and found—as you saw.”
“Do you have many friends who are opium addicts, my lord? As an earl?”
“As a China man, yes, I do.”
“Who do you think killed him?”
“An animal. Or a lunatic.”
“An opium addict?”
Crane pretended to think about that. “Possible, I suppose.”
“Do you take opium, my lord?”
“No, Inspector, I don’t. Nor do I butcher people.”
“No need to be defensive, my lord, I’m just asking the questions. Now—what is it, Gerrard? Can’t you see I’m busy?” Rickaby glared at the young constable standing just inside the door.
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir. It’s them, sir.”
“Them? Which them is that, lad?”
“The funny ones, sir.”
The inspector’s face stilled. Then he said, “Where are they?”
“Up there, sir, in the room. Sorry, sir. Not sure how they got past Motley, sir.”
Rickaby took a deep breath. “Well, why don’t you ask them to come down here, then.”
“No need.” Esther Gold strode into the parlour. There was blood on the hem of her long skirt. Stephen followed. He had dark patches on his knees and was wiping his hands on an unpleasantly stained handkerchief. His glance flicked over Crane, without obvious recognition. “A word, please, Inspector.”
The word took several minutes. Crane waited in the hallway, as requested, taking the opportunity to marshal his thoughts and prepare his story. The inspector had been uncomfortably perspicacious, evidently sensing something off about Crane’s account of events, and although his spotless clothing surely absolved him from serious accusation, his relations with Rackham would not bear close investigation.
Finally the door opened. “Up to you, Mrs. Gold,” said Rickaby, as he prepared to walk out. “But you know my mind.”
“Thank you,” came Esther’s voice as the inspector passed Crane without a word. “Lord Crane, could you come in?”
Crane shut the door behind him, facing Esther and Stephen. “I feel like a schoolboy coming in to see the Head. What’s happening?”
“We’ve asked the police to leave the investigation to us,” Stephen said. “Rickaby’s not very happy.”
“Can you do that?”
“Yes,” said Esther. “Tell me what happened.”
“I came to see Rackham. He was dead.” Crane shrugged. “That’s it. I saw nothing that isn’t still there. I sent Merrick for the police and for you.”
“The inspector told us his door was unlocked,” Esther commented. Stephen said nothing, didn’t look at Crane. He was paler than usual.
Crane made sure he addressed Esther. “No, it was locked. Merrick picked it for me. I didn’t share that with Rickaby. I felt a locked-door mystery was more than he needed.”
“I dare say. Why did you break into his room?”