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rouged madam – into a corner where squeals and shrieks were emitted along with the dulcet tones of, ‘I’m not giving you’s a penny, not a damn penny, you’s rascalian, Italian, dough-faced, fat arsed …’ Another shriek, followed quickly by, ‘Iris waslike a daughter to me … how dare you’s insinuate that I would touch a hair on her head …’ The sound of a furious thump had followed, and the well-bosomed lady seemed to be all of a swoon and displaying a great deal of purple petticoat. Out of good manners, Hatton quickly averted his eyes, but not before seeing the Italian doff his hat again, but this time towards the Inspector, which appeared to be some sort of signal known only to each other. Hatton, being new to this pair, was at a loss what to do next and simply watched, dumbfounded, as the Inspector appeared to wink and then run his index finger across his own lily-white throat like a … well, in retrospect, like a surgical knife.
    Grey had steered Hatton away from the fracas with, ‘I brought him with me from Cardiff. Rarely go anywhere without him, you understand, because Mr Tescalini’s a marvel, Professor, a marvel but he speaks very little English. He can understand us perfectly well though, can’t you?’ Grey had looked over his shoulder, raising his voice as if he was talking to a child. ‘Can’t you, Mr Tescalini? He listens. Others speak, which can be useful, but
ma il suo inglese è terribile
, signore.
Dobbiamo assolutamente ripassare il passato remoto.
And yes, thank you, Mr Tescalini, but that’s enough now. That’s quite enough now, so pleeeeassse … put the lady down.’ The inspector had turned duly back to Hatton with, ‘Anyway, I’ve called you here because such is the nature of this prostitute’s many influential customers, an arrest must be made quickly and to help me …’ Another wink followed, this time for Hatton. ‘I shall require a forensic sweep, Professor. Leave no stone unturned.’ Famous last words, because many stones were left unturned on that particular case. But that was a different story.
    Grey’s voice echoed around the morgue and brought Hatton back tothe present, who answered, ‘The hands, did you say, Inspector? Well, they certainly look as if fever’s upon him, but I think you will find that the distinctive colouring is caused by something else.’
    ‘Is it dust of some description, Professor? That’s what your French fellow here suggested. His hands and feet seem to be covered in the stuff.’
    Roumande was quickly at the end of the body with a small nailbrush and a thin sheet of paper, as Hatton continued, ‘Roumande’s right. It’s from a grate. Quite clearly ashes, though we’ll need to run some tests to be sure. We’re able to break down the molecular structure to some extent, although our methods are new.’
    Hatton asked Roumande if he would be so kind as to get the sample bottles, and quickly turned back to the detective, knowing on the next point he could be decisive.
    ‘You have a murder victim, Inspector. It’s been made to look like cholera but it’s penny gaff stuff. Perhaps whoever did this thought the body would be burnt in a fit of panic. It’s quite a reasonable assumption, given the way people are behaving in the city in this infernal weather. Reason and logic have left the city. I hear daily reports of Londoners refusing to cross the river by bridge or use the paddle steamers. But where was he found, Inspector? You never said.’
    ‘In his study, Professor,’ answered Grey, impressed by the theatrics of it all and moving with a lingering smile out of the way of Patrice, who was busy slopping out the blood bucket, before moving on to his next job, a pencil behind his ear.
    Grey stroked his moustache. ‘Well, whoever did this didn’t count on the nature of the wife. It was she who calmly organised for the bodyto be brought here, for a doubt clouded her mind as well. It seems she’s heard of your new science,