Carey was silent for a moment as his lantern light hit Barnabus’s face. ‘Did Lowther do that to you?’
A long liquid sniff. ‘Yes, sir. It’s a good one, isn’t it?’
‘Any particular reason, or was it just high spirits?’
Another sniff. ‘Yes, sir. He wanted me to confess to killing Atkinson.’
‘And did you?’
The sniff that followed was offended. ‘No, sir. I’m not that stupid. Even if I dun it, which I din’t, I’d never say I did, would I?’
‘Was that all he wanted from you?’
‘Er... no, sir.’
‘Well?’
‘He wanted me to say you’d ordered it and forced me to do it, sir.’
Carey nodded. He didn’t look surprised. Evidently he had thought along the same lines as Dodd.
‘I din’t admit that either, sir.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Carey’s voice was dry.
‘What do you want me to do, sir?’
‘Where were you last night?’
There was an apologetic cough. ‘Well, you wasn’t ’ere sir, so...’
‘You were at Madam Hetherington’s?’
‘Er... yessir.’
‘All night?’
‘After I’d been in Bessie’s for a bit, I was there till this morning when the Castle gate opened and I come in. So I’d be here to serve you when you finished your patrol,’ he added virtuously.
‘Would Madam Hetherington testify that you were with her?’
‘I dunno, sir. She might.’ And then, complacently, ‘Maria will, though.’
‘Unfortunately a notorious French whore is not the best of alibi witnesses.’
‘Well, if I’d known I’d need one, I’d’ve got a better one, wouldn’t I, sir?’
Carey treated that impudence with a measured pause that said he was making allowances, but would not make them indefinitely.
‘Did anybody else see you at Madam Hetherington’s?’
‘I don’t think so, sir, that’d speak for me... Oh, bloody hell, it’s started again.’
‘Try pinching the bridge of your nose, see if that stops it.’
‘I can’t, sir. It’s broken.’
Carey was silent for a moment. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t get you out yet, Barnabus,’ he said. ‘I haven’t the authority. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea anyway.’
‘I know that, sir. Lowther’s on the up and up, in’e?’
‘For the moment.’
‘You’ll be able to sort it, though, won’t you, sir? I mean, the juries round here won’t be any more expensive than London ones, will they?’
Eh? thought Dodd. Carey had winced.
‘Barnabus,’ he asked gently. ‘You didn’t do it, did you?’
Barnabus’s voice was an outraged adenoidal whine. ‘Sir! You know me better’n that!’
‘I seem to recall a fight at the Cock tavern...’
‘That was different. I never done nuffing like this, sir, never, not that I haven’t ’ad offers, mind, I just never would. ’S stupid. There’s better ways of doing it than slittin’ ’is throat in an alley. Besides, it’s wrong.’
‘Quite.’
‘So what do you want me to do, sir?’
