The VOIDRUNNER'S CODEX is coming! Explore new worlds, fight oppressive empires, fend off fearsome aliens, and wield deadly psionics with this comprehensive boxed set expansion for 5E and A5E!
"Thank you Trevor, I believe I'll take you up on that offer. It will certainly save me something of a walk back to my house." Richard replies. "As Longtree says, it's probably not the night to be roaming the streets.
"Speaking of which, it might be an idea to keep a watch on the morgue tonight. I doubt it'll matter now, but I'd rather know if anyone else decides to wake up..."
Diggory considers the Baron's offer. "I'm fine walking back home, but if ye think it might be better if we stay together, then I'll stay with all of ye. Especially after last time." Jamison shakes his head as he remembers the incident at the Pellgraine Manor.
..."As to you gentlemen, as I said earlier, it wouldn't be too wise to be heading into the East End at midnight. 'Specially Dorset Street. Out of the whole place, that's probably the roughest neighborhood. You fellows have a place to stay for tonight, then?"...
Robinson let out a grunt. "Be dangerous for ye fine folk maybe. It be just fine for the likes of me. Besides, I'd like to see if Mr. McCarthy is still around. 'e be owin' me money 'e does." Robinson gave the address of a boarding house he knew would have a free bed, and gave a clipped bow to the group. "Good night to ye gentlemen."
Robinson let out a grunt. "Be dangerous for ye fine folk maybe. It be just fine for the likes of me. Besides, I'd like to see if Mr. McCarthy is still around. 'e be owin' me money 'e does." Robinson gave the address of a boarding house he knew would have a free bed, and gave a clipped bow to the group. "Good night to ye gentlemen."
"Well," says Inspector Longtree, "now that that seems to be sorted out, I suppose I'd better be off too. My missus begrudges waiting on me, and is no less demanding than Monty's. My house is over in Chapel Street, so I'll be walking partway with you, I suppose."
Longtree and the party leave the Walton Street station, and along the gaslit and for the most part empty streets towards his house at the edge of Buckingham Gardens. The inspector then turns off at No. 48. The others continue on towards Trevor's house in Charles Street.
They arrive there without incident, and bid farewell, for now at least, to Sergeant Robinson, who continues along towards the East End.
*****
Somewhat surprisingly, the night passes without notable incident. The morning comes and the party enjoys a fresh-cooked breakfast before heading into Spitalfields. Trevor looks through the day's edition of the Times while eating. Somewhat excitedly, he points out an article, and one passage in particular, to the others:
MYSTERY IN PIMLICO SOLVED?
Many of you may remember the unfortunate circumstances we reported yesterday of the infants found in a post-carriage in Pimlico. It is no doubt pleasing to many that two arrests were made quickly by a coordination of efforts between the various parts of the Metropolitan Police. The formal arrests were made by Inspector Frederick Abberline of H Division (Whitechapel). The arrested parties were a husband and wife, Percy and Isabel Grubbe. Mr. and Mrs. Grubbe were apprehended at their home in Cable Street, and admitted freely upon arrest that they relieved poor unfortunates, of which Whitechapel has so many, of their unwanted offspring for five shillings each.
It is only a very small relief to know that the Grubbes vehemently denied mistreating the poor infants. According to them, they were kept for a few months and then sold to a mysterious black-clad gentleman, apparently blind, who seemed to have difficulty speaking. The mysterious visitor purchased the infants from the Grubbes for a sovereign each.
Almost at that exact instant, a knock comes at the door. Trevor's butler opens it and is greeted by Longtree himself.
"Begging pardon, sirs," he says, inclining his head towards the group. "Diggory, I forgot to give you these last evening." He produces a file folder. "The articles and documents on the death of Mr. Elias Cartwright. Not much in there, I'm afraid, but it's a start." He tips his hat to the butler and leaves.
As they hail a cab, Diggory flips through the files. Unfortunately, the Times articles say nothing more than that Mr. Cartwright wandered in front of a carriage near the British Museum and was struck and killed. The police documents are even less interesting. Apparently the cause of death was evident, and the autopsy revealed nothing unexplained. Lost in reading, Diggory hardly notices the cab has begun moving and before he knows it, they are parked in Bishopsgate Street. "Won't be goin' no further," the cabman replies, "Don't trust this place even in the day." With that, he drives off, leaving Diggory, Hewitt, Miller, and Trevor to find their way to Robinson's boarding-house. Trevor, evidently a high-class gentleman, draws some almost distasteful looks as they navigate the streets, but nothing untoward happens.
As they walk through the streets, it is noticable that people look haggard and irritable, almost more than normal.
McCarthy's still there. He wasn't asleep when you called on him - in fact, no one in his family was, and you got the impression much of the district was still awake. He's given you the money he owed you.
"Blast. These articles are damn near useless. If I can't get solid information from the Times, where can I get it?" Diggory sighs. His mind, meanwhile, races. I hate to be suspicious, but how much do we really now about Inspector Longtree? No. Never mind. He's been nothing but help to us the whole time we've been muddling through this thing.
Diggory is lost in thought and somewhat distracted as the group arrives at Robinson's boarding house, and then makes their way into Dorset Street. The narrow little street - barely more than an alleyway - is packed with beggars, the homeless, malnourished unfortunates, and general shiftless layabouts. The street reeks with the smell of so many bodies packed together, and that smell is mixed with... well, the five decide they'd probably rather not know what the smell is.
In a scant few moments, they reach McCarthy's door and knock on it sharply. After a moment, a balding brown-haired man answers the door. Blearily, he looks up. "I done told you coppers everythin' I be knowin' five years ago," he says, taking note of Diggory. Then he sees Robinson among the men at the door. "These men be friends of yours, Will?" When the sergeant nods, McCarthy has them come in and sit down.
McCarthy, like everyone else on the streets, looks quite haggard and has a tired look in his eyes. "Coffee, or tea, for you fellers?" he asks. He sighs and asks, "Now what do you fellers be wantin'?"
"Coffee, please, Mr. McCarthy." Diggory looks around the room carefully. "As to what we'd like, we were wondering if ye could be giving us a bit of information about a police matter. I know ye've said that ye've told us 'coppers' everything ye know. I'll be wanting ye to repeat it fer our benefit. Our interests are...slightly broader than yer run of the mill policemen."
...McCarthy, like everyone else on the streets, looks quite haggard and has a tired look in his eyes. "Coffee, or tea, for you fellers?" he asks. He sighs and asks, "Now what do you fellers be wantin'?"
"Nothin' fer me thanks." Robinson looked at McCarthy with a critical eye. "Ye look trashed man. What be going on 'ere? Everybody looks like the King just declared poor illegal."
"As to what we'd like, we were wondering if ye could be giving us a bit of information about a police matter. I know ye've said that ye've told us 'coppers' everything ye know. I'll be wanting ye to repeat it fer our benefit. Our interests are...slightly broader than yer run of the mill policemen."
Mrs. McCarthy comes out a moment later with a pot of coffee, which she sits down on the table. "Ahh. So's I can take it this ain't 'bout that Ripper feller?" McCarthy pours himself a cup, and gives one to Inspector Diggory and anyone else who may want one. "So what are ye about, then?"
ShortAssassin said:
"Nothin' fer me thanks." Robinson looked at McCarthy with a critical eye. "Ye look trashed man. What be going on 'ere? Everybody looks like the King just declared poor illegal."
"I'd be tellin' ye, Will, if'n I knew meself. Ye saw when ye came by last night, nobody in my house was sleepin'. Terrible dreams as soon as we'd drift off. Ye also might've noticed not too many other folks in this 'ere couple blocks was sleepin', either. Everybody back there in Miller's Court-- " he jerks his thumb towards the back of the house " --they all been tellin' me the same thing, too. Ain't none of them slept a wink last night. Strangest thing."
