Read The Devil's Ribbon for Free Online Page A

Professor, and insisted that we bring the body here to be properly examined. I told her I wasn’t entirely convinced. Yours remains a voodoo science but, well, at this stage, I have little else to go on. I’m prepared to give you another chance, bury the hatchet, all forgiven and forgotten, eh?’
    Hatton didn’t reply but only swallowed these snide remarks, because money was short and opportunities like this one thin on the ground, as the Inspector continued, ‘So, are we finished here? I’m sure poor Mrs McCarthy will want the body back, and as there’s no fever here, things can proceed quickly once we’ve signed the necessary paperwork. You’ll get back to me on any more samples, Professor, and I assume I can call upon your services as I investigate this case? On the usual terms, of course. I presume fifty guineas will suffice?’
    Hatton bowed at such a generous offer.
    ‘Well, let us hope,’ continued the Inspector, ‘for all our sakes, there’s a simple explanation here, and this gentleman’s demise is nothing to do with politics.’
    Hatton laughed, not able to help himself. ‘Nothing to do with politics, Inspector? Surely it would be everything to do with politics? The “Appeaser of Highgate”? Isn’t that what they called Gabriel McCarthy?’
    The inspector shrugged. ‘He was useful to the British government, but no man is indispensable. Gabriel McCarthy was a man of compromise, a Unionist, and so not wedded to repeal like these so-called Irish Nationalists. In my opinion, they should hang the lot of them. Are you a political man, Professor?’
    Hatton shrugged. He occasionally wrote to
The Times,
read essays by Carlyle, knew the works of Bentham, and got into the odd contretemps in a Smithfield tavern if the subject mattered. He’d signed petitions when they came his way – the banning of public hangings, the abolition of slavery, better education for girls, vaccination programmes for the scourges of diphtheria, smallpox, and so on. But on the whole, science was his concern, not politics.
    The inspector continued, ‘I’ll tell you what I think, then, shall I? That Britain is a mighty nation, chosen by God and Providence to lead the world, but as to the Irish? In my opinion, they’re worse than the Negroes. Have you seen the way the Irish live? Like pigs, Professor. They’re a nation that cannot even feed themselves.’
    Hatton looked at the scalpel in his hand. ‘We rule them by martial law, Inspector. Anglo-Irish politics has become a poison in our midst. I cannot even walk through St Giles these days without fear of having my throat slit, just for being an Englishman. Men of compromise are badly needed. Gabriel McCarthy is a terrible loss.’
    Grey adjusted a solid gold cufflink. ‘Hmmmm. Well, the volatile nature of Anglo-Irish politics was ever thus. But you’re right. These are dangerous times, so for the time being at least, the less said outside these four walls, the better. So, is that all, Professor?’
    But Hatton wasn’t finished with the body. ‘If this is a murder case, and I’m to be called upon, Inspector, then I’m sure you understand it’s not simply a matter of money.’
    Hatton looked at Roumande for support, who took the cue, and stepped forward to flank him. ‘As you know, despite the recent upset with those digits in the biscuit tin …’
    ‘The victim’s you mean …’
    Hatton tried to bite his tongue, but this time he simply couldn’t, as he said, ‘In my opinion, Inspector, as the expert witness on that case, those digits you found so miraculously, halfway through the trial, could have been just about anyone’s. They weren’t necessarily the victim’s, and you damn well know it, Grey. They were so badly severed, so decomposed, so knocked about among the biscuit crumbs, as to render them useless, and whatever you might think of me …’
    Grey sighed and adjusted the fit of his waistcoat fussily.
    Flustered, nevertheless Hatton pressed on, ‘Yes,