Free The Detective and Mr. Dickens by William J. Palmer

there is always another waitin’.”
    Dickens had no further argument for that and we sipped our gin in silence for a minute or two.
    “How could something like what we witnessed this evening happen in a civilized society?” Dickens mused aloud. “This man was a gentleman, accepted in the highest, most respectable circles.”
    “Because it ain’t a civilized society,” Field was enjoying himself, “otherwise there’d be no need for my kind. As to ’ow it ’appened…”
    “Yes, how?”
    “The body will tell us.”
    That cryptic statement left both Dickens and myself at sea. “’Ow did it ’appen,” Field repeated, seeing Dickens and I befuddled at his pronouncement. “A drunken argument, the woman says. The body will tell us more.”
    At that very moment, Rogers entered our snug retreat bearing a folded paper, the Police Surgeon’s report on the corpse. Field took the report from his lieutenant but, before looking at it, called for the dull-eyed boy to bring another mug and, when delivered, poured his second-in-command a steaming draught. Only when Rogers was settled amongst us did Field turn to see what indeed “the body would tell us.”
    “Well?” Dickens couldn’t wait. “What does it say?”
    “Yes,” I added, paraphrasing Inspector Field ironically, “just what is it that Lawyer Partlow’s body has to tell us?”
    He smiled patronizingly, the professional briefing the amateurs: “As one might expect, ’is clothes were expensively tailored. ’Is waistcoat was missin’, probably appropriated along with all money and identifyin’ papers by ’Umphrey the waterman. ’Is ’ands were still gloved. ’Eavy bruises on the face and ’ead, but, because they contain splinters of creosoted wood, they probably were caused by the tides throwin’ ’im against the ’ulls of ships after ’ee was put in the water. ’Ee was stabbed from behind by a long, quite wide, flat blade, long enough to go all the way through the body and emerge from the chest. Blade was withdrawn with a downward wrench which split the whole back open. Shape of wound and exit wound suggest some kind of medieval sword, very ’eavy, skin around the wound totally crushed. That’s what the body of our friend Partlow ’as to say tonight, gentlemen.”
    We were visibly impressed.
    “Oh, one more thing. Surgical opinion says death by stabbin’, not death by drownin’. That’s important.”
    “Why?” I asked.
    “Makes a difference as to whether we’re lookin’ for just one murderer or whether all four of the men present are to be charged. Meg said they either ’elped carry the body to the stairs and threw it in, or they stood by and watched while it was done without interferin’. But if the stab wound killed him, the others get off free.”
    With that, we were even more impressed.
    “What does it all mean?” Dickens asked.
    “What it means,” Inspector Field said, glancing quickly at Rogers, who sipped at his steaming gin and looked out from beneath his fierce black eyebrows, “is that this is planned murder. No drunken argument as Meggy thought. Murder plain and simple.”
    “For God’s sake, why do you say that?” Dickens exploded.
    Field smiled benignly, “Isn’t it obvious? Don’t you see it?”
    Neither Dickens nor I saw it at all.
    Inspector Field finally decided that he had tantalized us quite enough: “Gentlemen on a drunken spree don’t carry antique weapons like that which made this wound. Perhaps they carry a walkin’ stick or a small truncheon secreted in an inner pocket. But this murderer was carryin’ a ’eavy sword brought along for the purpose of murder and none other.”
    “So what is your next step?” Dickens asked Field.
    “The same as yours,” Field answered unblinking.
    Dickens, puzzled, took the bait: “And what is that?”
    “To go ’ome and get some sleep.”
    We all smiled.
    “I quite agree,” Dickens stood up. “It has been a long and eventful evening.”
    “Your