Free Murder on Stage by Cora Harrison

the rows, jumping on seats, sniffing so loudly that he could be heard from yards away.
    And then he gave a triumphant bark.
    Alfie felt a cold, wet nose against his bare leg. He put out his hand reluctantly and stroked the dog, feeling the tiny, thin tail wagging frantically.
    It was all up with him.
    He could hear the thunderous footsteps of one policeman in the row behind him and another running rapidly along the row in front of him.
    He stood up and silently held out his hands as the Bow Street constable, at a signal from the inspector, slipped handcuffs over his wrists.
    ‘It’s Newgate prison for you, my lad,’ said Inspector Cutting.

CHAPTER 15
L IFE OR D EATH

    Sarah was still with Officer Grey in the foyer of the theatre when Alfie was led out. He didn’t look at her and she did not look at him. She had just sworn solemnly to
the Scotland Yard man that she had never seen Alfie before in her life.
    ‘And a good, hard-working girl like you would know how wrong, how very wrong, and sinful it is to tell a lie,’ he had said, looking at her closely.
    ‘Yes, of course.’ She had tried to throw a great note of sincerity into her voice and he had nodded.
    He seemed quite a nice fellow, she thought – educated, too, from the way that he spoke. But someone like him wouldn’t – couldn’t – ever understand the life that
people like she and Alfie had to lead: the continual need to lie and even to steal in order to keep alive. On the cruel streets of London where no one cared about poor children any more than they
cared about stray dogs, sin wasn’t important: survival was everything.
    ‘Well, off you go then,’ he said. ‘You’d better scarper. Don’t let me see you around here again, or I’ll be in trouble. With a bit of luck, the boss will
forget all about you.’
    She nodded, hesitated, looked back at the theatre. ‘No use my going back for my money, I suppose,’ she said, endeavouring to keep her tone light and to prevent a note of bitterness
from coming to the surface.
    The police officer grinned. ‘I wouldn’t if I were you,’ he said. ‘Here you are.’ He put his hand in his pocket, took out a sixpence and gave it to her. He gave a
cautious look around. There was nobody near, but he still lowered his voice so that only she could hear him saying, ‘I owe you something for noticing the finger marks. It would be interesting
if it turns out to be a man with a missing finger that murdered that actor, wouldn’t it? Do my career no end of good if I could pin it on someone. It’s obvious that the boy was working
for someone. What interest would a street boy like that have in murdering an actor? No, he was paid to go on stage and distract attention while our friend with the missing finger made his
getaway.’
    What about Alfie? wondered Sarah. He didn’t have a missing finger, so why was it all right for him to be arrested? But she didn’t dare say her thoughts aloud. Even a decent man like
Officer Grey would have little concern for a street boy. She nodded, smiled and left him with a few grateful words. It was nice of him to give her sixpence – you could buy a large loaf of
bread for fourpence so that should be enough for the three hungry boys at Bow Street.
    Life for Alfie and his gang was a matter of surviving from day to day. But how would they manage now that their leader had been taken off to prison?

CHAPTER 16
A N O LD F RIEND

    Sarah walked slowly down the steps from the theatre. A sob escaped her. She clenched her hands. Crying was stupid; she knew that. She had to think of something to do. It was
all up to her now. But what was she to do?
    ‘Here! You’re little Sarah, aren’t you? Little Sarah from the Foundling Hospital, that’s right, ain’t it?’
    Sarah shook the tears from her eyes and looked up. A very tall girl with masses of golden, curly hair stood above her. She was five or six years older than Sarah – probably about eighteen.
There was something familiar