Free The Detective Wore Silk Drawers by Peter Lovesey

experience.
    He’ll be torn to ribbons.”
    Cribb said nothing, seeming more interested in a passing skiff than Thackeray’s indignation.
    “We can’t use Jago, Sarge. You saw what happened to Meanix, and he was a seasoned knuckle fighter. Young Jago doesn’t fight their way. Queensberry Rules don’t permit wrestling and spiking and kidney punching. It’s like matching a farm bird with a fighting cock.”
    “He’s game,” said Cribb airily. “And I’ve fixed lessons for him to learn some of the tricks.”
    “He’ll need more than a few tricks,” Thackeray commented bitterly. “I don’t think you should ask a man to do such a thing. He’d feel obliged to say yes, having been moved to your division to help you. But he’s no knuckle fighter—”
    “Police champion,” interjected Cribb.
    “Yes, but at glove fighting, and that’s as different as milk is from brandy. What good can it do to have a promising young bobby beaten to pulp in a prize ring?”
    “I guessed you might take it amiss, Thackeray. The plain fact is that I need to get an informant inside Radstock Hall. Listening at windows has its uses, but it ain’t the most thoroughgoing method of inquiry, now is it? I’ve seen and heard enough this twenty-four hours to make me think we could be uncovering a very ugly set of crimes—as vicious as anything I’ve come across. Now there’s things to be learned at Radstock Hall, I’m sure, but they’ll take time and smart detective work. I need someone there who’s in their confidence. I want to know all about those fighters who failed, and I want the place examined—not obviously, but methodically over several days. I’m not asking Jago to dig for severed heads. I just want to know what’s happening there, and what’s been happening since the Vibarts moved in. Jago’s no mean performer with his fists. He ought to give a fair impersonation of a promising pug. He may not need to fight in earnest at all. But if the situation arises, I know when to intervene.”
    Thackeray was far from convinced.
    “I don’t like this at all, Sarge. He’s strong and able, is young Jago, but he’s not one quarter as sharp as you are. It’s not easy passing yourself off as something you ain’t, even if you take on a false name—”
    “He won’t,” said Cribb.
    “No false name, Sarge? But they could identify him as one of the force, and then there’s nothing to prevent them killing him, if they’re the bunch we think they are.”
    The Sergeant shook his head emphatically. “I want this simple. We’ll leave play-acting out of it. If a false name confused anyone, it’d be Jago himself. They’ve no way of checking if he’s a Scotland Yard man—he’s strictly on clerical duties, as you know, so his name’s not quite a household word. Don’t worry. We’ll let slip enough genuine information about Jago to satisfy ’em. They won’t be expecting members of the force to masquerade as fist fighters, anyway. That’s not the way we’re supposed to work.”
    “He’ll need to keep his wits about him,” said Thackeray dubiously.
    “He’s no use in Criminal Investigation if he can’t,” commented Cribb.
    Thackeray cast about for another means of penetrating the Sergeant’s indifference.
    “How will he get into Radstock Hall, then?”
    “Shouldn’t be any trouble,” said Cribb. “He’s known in his gym at the Anchor. Once the word gets round that he’s game to fight with the raw ’uns, there should be offers enough. Anyone can see he’s primely built for pugilism and there aren’t that many fist fighters about. The Essex bunch are professionals; they wouldn’t build a gym like the one you saw if they weren’t investing heavily in the game. When Jago’s on the market, they’ll be interested, believe me.”
    When Cribb put it that way, Thackeray found it all too plausible.
    “But they’ll want him to live in Radstock Hall, like the Ebony.”
    “Without a doubt.”
    Thackeray played his