Even worse, he was being spied on. Plain-clothed policemen! There ought to be a law against it; everybody said so – it was, well, it was unfair. After all, if you saw a peeler walking around, well, maybe you would think once or twice about dipping into someone’s pocket or dipping into something that didn’t really belong to anyone really, when you came to think about it, or just possibly knocking off something from a barrow when the owner wasn’t looking. After all, seeing policemen around kept you honest, didn’t it? If they were going to lurk around like ordinary people they were basically asking you to commit crimes, weren’t they? It was entirely unfair in Dodger’s opinion.
It had been a long night already indeed, but there were things that had to be done quickly, or else he would burst. So he ran through the dark streets until he came to the abode of Ginny-Come-Lately.
She answered the door on the third knock, and in something of a bad temper until she said, ‘Oh, it’s you, Dodger, how nice. Er, can’t invite you in quite yet, you know how it is, don’t ya?’
Dodger, who certainly did know how it was because it was always what it was, said, ‘Nice to see you, Ginny. You know that little package of tools I once asked you to keep for me when I promised Solomon I wasn’t going thieving any more? Still got it?’
She smiled at him for a moment, then ducked back in and came out with a small package wrapped in oilcloth. She gave Dodger a peck on the cheek and said, ‘I’m hearing a lot about you these days, Dodger. I hope she’s worth it!’
But at that point Dodger was already out of the door and running at speed; he had always liked running, which was just as well, since a thief who couldn’t run fast was soon dead, but now he ran like he had never run before. He was running through the streets in what seemed like a frenzy of acceleration, and occasionally an alert peeler, noting that someone was running, would shout or blow his whistle and then feel rather stupid since Dodger was a rapidly dwindling bit of darkness in a city full of the stuff. He didn’t simply run; he sped, legs pounding much faster than his heartbeat. Disturbed pigeons flew away. A man who tried to waylay him as he ran down a useful alleyway was punched and then trodden on, and Dodger kept going, not looking behind him because, well, by now everything was behind him as he channelled rage into his legs and simply followed them . . . and then, suddenly, there it was again. That building.
Dodger slowed down and disappeared into darkness and spent some time in getting his breath back; after all, now he was here, he would have to take his time. By the light of his dark lantern, he unrolled the green baize parcel wrapped in the oilcloth, and the light glistened on all his little friends – the half-diamond pick, the ball pick, and the torsion bar – but of course there were the others; there was always some lock or other which was slightly different, and he had spent many a happy hour with the rakes and picks, bending and filing them into exactly the right shapes. It seemed to him that they were saluting him, ready for combat.
Shortly afterwards, darkness moved within darkness and this particular darkness found, on the more insalubrious side of the building, a metal cover to a cellar. When he had given it just a little bit of oil and a little tinkering, Dodger was in at the enemy’s throat. He grinned, but there was no fun in the grin; it was more like a knife.
The building was mostly in shadows and Dodger just loved shadows. He was pleased to see that there were carpets – not really a sensible choice if you were running an embassy and might like to know if there were some unwelcome people walking about, because marble floors were much to be recommended, as Dodger well knew; sometimes if you stepped on them in the night time they could ring like a bell. Whenever he’d found them, he had always got down and very carefully slid himself over them, so that no sound could be heard.
Now he listened at doors, he stood behind curtains, and he made sure not to go too near the kitchens, as you never knew when a servant might be up. And all the time he stole. He stole in the same methodical way that Solomon made beautiful small objects, and he smiled when he thought that, because now Dodger was making small beautiful things disappear. He stole jewellery, when he found it, and he opened every lock and riffled through the contents of every drawer, in every boudoir. On two occasions he robbed rooms in which he could just make out people sleeping. He didn’t care; it was as if nothing could stop him, or maybe it was as if the Lady had made him invisible. He worked fast and methodically and everything was wrapped up in its own little velvet bag, within the main bundle, so that nothing would ever go ‘clink’ just at the wrong moment because if there was a clink then the clink was where you spent your days until they hanged you. It was a little joke among thieves.
At one point, in the middle of the building, in a large desk which took one hell of a long time to yield its secrets to his busy fingers and their little friends, he found ledgers and a series of little books. They had a complicated look about them, and manuscripts and scrolls with red wax on them, which always looked expensive. He recognized the crest on some of the documents, he surely did.
As he stood in this busy, important room, he thought, I wish I could do something, so that they would know. And then knew what he would do. I’ll let them know who it had been, he told himself, because, well, I could have brought the place down in flames. After all, all those oil lamps around? All those curtains? All those stairs and all those people sleeping up there? He was so angry but, in the warm darkness of the room, what he was not – whatever else he had been – was a murderer. I shall make them pay in my own way, he decided, and at that moment all of them were saved from a fiery death, if they only had known it, and were only living because Dodger, silent in this sleeping world, allowed them to.
Put like that, it made him feel a little better. Padding away silently, he thought, I’ve always said I wasn’t a hero, and I ain’t, but if I’ve ever been a hero, then as sure as Sunday I’m a hero now, because I’ve stopped an embassy full of people being burned alive.
And so at last, not long before the first crack of dawn, he was down and outside and into the mews by the side of the embassy. He knew there would be ostlers and grooms hanging about here any minute soon but nevertheless, moving even more stealthily, he found the coach house, and yes, there was a coach there with a foreign crest painted on the side. Dodger carefully knelt down beside it and felt around near the wheels. Close to one wheel it seemed that a length of metal had been thrown up on one occasion and got stuck, scraping on the rim of the wheel. Dodger tried to pull it free, but without any success until a very useful little crowbar caused it to spring out, and Dodger caught it in the air whereupon he straightened up, went to the coat of arms on the coach and scratched, as deeply as he could inscribe them, the words: MR PUNCH.
Then, with his face dark and his purpose iron-clad, he walked from loose box to loose box, driving the occupants into an adjacent mews and carefully shutting the gate behind them, because everybody knew that horses were so stupid that if there was a fire they would rush into their stables because that’s where they thought they would be safe, a habit that showed you why horses didn’t rule the world. They wandered about aimlessly while Dodger struck up a light and dropped it into a large bale of hay and then walked in earnest down the nearest alleyway with the virtuous feeling of having done something right, by virtue of not doing something wrong. He jogged his way towards the river, where the crackling of wood and the shouting of humans grew louder in the distance behind him.
Of course, Solomon shook him awake not long after the usual time, with the certain allowance for the fact that Solomon himself had slept in somewhat, after that wonderful meal. Solomon had also decided to let Dodger sleep on, and meanwhile had taken a look at the contents of Dodger’s useful bag, because he wouldn’t have been Solomon if he wasn’t inquisitive. So that when Dodger did in fact find himself shaken awake, and he came round the curtain, he saw a beaming Solomon sitting at the table with the jewellery in one neat pile on a velvet cloth and some of the books and ledgers beside it.
‘Mmm,
Dodger, I do not know for certain what you think you were doing last night, but I think I can perceive, because as you know Solomon does himself have a certain wisdom of his own, that you thought you had a score to settle with somebody. Though you know that I do not mmm tolerate thievery of any kind, I’ve had a word with God and he agrees with me that in the circumstances you might have wanted to set fire to the place.’
Dodger looked embarrassed for a moment and then said, ‘Actually, Sol, I did torch the stables, because the bloody coach was in there.’
Solomon’s brow wrinkled in distress. ‘Mmm, I trust you let out all the horses.’
‘Of course,’ said Dodger.
‘And, mmm, after all,’ the old man continued, brightening, ‘what is jewellery? Just shiny rocks. And you have an excellent eye. Quite excellent. But I dare say that some of these ciphers and code books might be of considerable interest to the government; there are things here in several languages which would do a great deal of damage in some quarters, and cause a great deal of rejoicing in others.’
All Dodger could find to say at that moment was, ‘You . . . don’t mind?’ And, ‘You could read them all?’
The old man gave him his most supercilious look. ‘Mmm, I can read in most languages of Europe, with perhaps the exception of Welsh, which I find a tad difficult. One of these documents is a copy of a message about the Tsar of all the Russias, who mmm apparently has done something quite naughty with the wife of the French ambassador – oh dearie me, such goings on; I wonder what would happen if more people knew about it. Dodger, if you don’t mind, I think it would be a very good idea if somebody like Sir Robert was privy to this startling information, which is only one of the many things which Her Majesty’s government would be very interested to know about. I will see to it that he gets them in a mmm covert way.’
He paused. ‘Of course, I see no reason to mention anything to him about the jewellery. Incidentally, it’s worth a king’s ransom, even for the rubies alone. Or perhaps a gift from a prince and his father, mmm? As you know, I am not a fence, but I think I know one or two associates who might take the stuff off our hands, and I am sure I will be able to negotiate an acceptable price. Indeed I shall, because they go to the synagogue as I do, and sooner or later every man has to bargain with the Devil, and in those circumstances God is inclined to help him achieve a good price. You won’t, of course, get the full value, but I believe that after I have negotiated, you will have a second fortune. As a dowry for your young lady, perhaps?’
He plucked one of the documents from the pile. ‘And, mmm all I will ask from you, my friend, is that I am allowed to take this document concerning the Tsar, and quite possibly make some use of it one day, when the occasion ever presents itself, especially if my young friend Karl is still alive . . . Mmm, and incidentally, in another one of these packages is a scurrilous piece of information about a member of our own royal family. I suppose I should throw it into the fire . . .’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘But perhaps I will just keep it in a place of safety mmm, so that it never comes to the attention of unfriendly eyes.’ He grinned again. ‘And, of course, gentlemen like ourselves would have nothing to do with such things, but nevertheless there are times when a little leverage is worth having.’
With that, the old man carefully stowed away both the jewellery and the precious information somewhere inside his voluminous jacket, and turned to his workbench while Dodger sat and stared at nothing. He thought, If you put Solomon in a room full of lawyers, how many would come out, and in what condition would they be as they crawled along the floor?
He took this opportunity. ‘Solomon,’ he asked, ‘could you do a little job of work for me, please? Could you melt out some gold from this haul and make a gold ring? With a decent ruby maybe? And possibly a sprinkling of diamonds to set them off?’
Solomon looked up. ‘Mmm, I would be delighted to do that for you, Dodger, and at my very best price.’ He laughed at Dodger’s expression and said, ‘Honestly, my friend, what must you think of me? You must understand that was just my little joke, and I do not make many of them.’ He added, ‘Mmm, by any chance would you like an engraved inscription?’ His expression looked sly as he went on, ‘Perhaps something relating to a young lady? We can agree the exact wording later, yes?’
Dodger blushed and said, ‘Are you a mind reader too?’
‘Mmm, of course! And so are you, the only difference being that I have had far more chances to read them than you have, and some of the minds that I have fathomed were very tangled and convoluted minds indeed.’
Dodger stood back and said, ‘I have never asked you this before, but you know so much and you can do so much. Why then do you spend most of your time fiddling with bits of old jewellery and watches and so on down here in the rookeries when there are many other things you could be doing?’
And Solomon said, ‘That in itself is a convoluted question, but surely you know most of the answer, mmm? I enjoy my chosen trade and receive good remuneration. That is to say, for your benefit, money for doing something that gives me great pleasure.’ He sighed and went on, ‘But I suppose the main reason is that I can no longer run as fast as I once could, and death is, well, so final.’
This last piece of information caused Dodger to sit up straight. But it was a call to arms, the starting of a clock, which meant Dodger wasn’t so free as he had been because now time itself was his master, so he got dressed in a hurry.
He had to be careful about this; there were quite a number of people whom he could trust, but there were, as it were, several stages of trust, ranging from those he could trust with a sixpence to those he would trust with his life. There weren’t all that many of the latter, and it was probably a good idea not to trespass on their goodwill, because: a) goodwill, if trespassed on too often, might have a tendency to lose some of its bloom; and b) because it didn’t do for anyone to know too much about Dodger’s business.
Now he made his way once again to the stall of Marie Jo, who probably wouldn’t be too busy at this time of day, since most of her customers would be out there on the streets, begging, stealing, or – when all else failed – earning enough for their dinner. But she was there, as reliable as the peals of the Bow bells – and Dodger made sure he was reliable too, and paid her the promised few sixpences more for the children’s soup – and then there were not many around to hear them so he lowered his voice and told her what he wanted.
When she laughed and said something in French that he didn’t understand, he said, ‘I can’t tell you why I need to, Marie Jo.’
She looked at his face and laughed again, giving him the expression that a certain type of woman has when they are dealing with a saucy young gentleman such as Dodger, and he recognized this as he had spent a lot of time analysing this in the University of Dodger; it was accusing and forgiving wrapped up together in a complicated parcel, and her eyes twinkled and he knew that she would do anything for him. But knowing that, he also knew that he shouldn’t ask for too much.
Looking him up and down, she said, ‘Cherchez la femme?’ Dodger knew this one, and very carefully looked embarrassed. She laughed, that laugh which somehow came from her childhood, and she insisted that he run the stall and chop up some onions and some carrots while she ran this little errand for him. How embarrassing! In the full light of day, passers-by could see Dodger – yes, Dodger – working on a stall; he was glad that there weren’t too many people about.
Fortunately, Marie Jo soon came back with a small package which he carefully stowed away, and in good faith he spent half an hour cleaning and chopping vegetables and welcomed it, because the attention to detail meant the inner Dodger could think about what he was going to do next, which was to take a walk among the shonky shops and pawnbrokers. He knew what he needed, but was careful not to get it all from one single shop, although he was particularly fortunate in one old shop smelling of not quite properly laundered clothing to find just what he wanted, and the proprietor smelled of gin and appeared
not to know Dodger at all.
But the clock was still ticking and he was short of time.
By mid-afternoon, though, after a trip to the Gunner’s Daughter and a couple of pints of porter with a few mates, and one in particular – good ol’ Dodger, never forgot his friends now he was in the money after his exploits with the Demon Barber – he was ready, though Solomon chuckled rather too much for his liking.
Dodger had heard that God watches everything, although he thought that around the rookeries, He tended to close his eyes. If God wasn’t available today, and since people didn’t look too much, just in case they saw anything, possibly only a watcher on the moon would have seen an elderly lady – an extremely pitiful one, even by the standards of the rookeries – shin down a length of rope, land like an athlete and then, very slowly, hobble away.
Dodger wasn’t particularly bothered about this bit; there were only a few places you could stand to see the rope in any case, but being an old lady meant that you couldn’t travel fast. Regrettably, little old ladies – rather unwashed ones, at that – didn’t often have enough money to hire a growler, but since he would be damned before he hobbled all the way to the river, the old lady did manage, by the frantic waving of her walking stick, to hail a cab. Unusually, given the pitiful condition of the old girl, who seemed to be a jolly playground for warts, thanks to the theatrical help of Marie Jo, the growler captain, thinking about his old mum, carefully helped the old girl up and didn’t short-change her.
Indeed, she was a very pitiful old lady; she smelled six days away from a good wash. And warts? Never before had he seen such terrible warts. She wore a wig, but that wasn’t unusual knowing the sensitivities of old ladies, and goodness, he thought, it was a terribly bad wig even so, about the worst a shonky shop could offer.
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