Free The Affair of the Porcelain Dog by Jess Faraday Page B

my right ear.
    "Only a stupid man, Mr. Adler, would put himself in peril of life and limb for the fleeting comfort a few pawned trinkets would bring, when all he has to do to enjoy a lifetime of ease is simply reach out his hand to accept it."
    "Call me Ira," I choked.
    Of course I accepted. What else could I have done? If I'd gone back to the 'Chapel, I'd have been in a cell under Bow Street by nightfall. Goddard was offering to make it all go away--and to give me a home.
    And such a home! I took in the book-lined walls of the morning room. I allowed myself to imagine, just for a moment, that it was mine. The few, tasteful pieces on the mantel above a blazing fire and the impossible softness of the cushions surrounding me--surely I'd wake soon from this dream?
    "I'd be lying," Goddard said, clearing his throat, "if I said that my feelings for you hadn't played some small part in this scheme. Somehow, I find that I've grown quite fond of you, Ira. I trust that if your sentiments don't begin to grow in a similar direction within a reasonable period of time, you'll do the honorable thing."

    ∗ ∗ ∗

    True to his word, Goddard had seen the matter of the constable's murder wrapped up within the week. I'd been free to return to the streets, but what the devil for? I frittered away the next two years with forceful fucking, expensive whisky, and the occasional burglary. I never gave a second thought to my old life, or to Goddard's exhortation to do the honorable thing . Little was I to know how quickly, and with what vengeance, both of these things would come screaming back into my life. But at that moment, I was in the very heart of Sodom and Gomorrah. I had money in my pocket and an old friend to meet. As the driver pulled up before 224 Piccadilly, I flipped him three and sixpence for the fare and a half-crown for his trouble.

Chapter Seven
    The Criterion was legendary: a lavish warren of themed rooms, each with its own cuisine. I'd passed by it many times when trade had taken me that way, but it had been beyond my means then. Now that it wasn't, of course, I wasn't allowed. The very idea was abhorrent to Goddard. Considering he was on the cusp of a long-overdue promotion, it simply wouldn't do for us to be seen in a place frequented by, well, men like us. But I stood just in front of the entrance. Inexplicably, Nate was inside. Tossing better judgment aside and a bit of silver to the doorman to turn a blind eye to my shabby clothes, I mounted the stairs and ducked through the door.
    The high-ceilinged halls seemed to go on forever, each room more tempting than the last. When I wandered into the American Bar, with its tight-trousered waiters and the mouthwatering aroma of the high-quality beef sizzling away on the grill in the back, I almost surrendered and ordered a steak. Perhaps, I thought, pulling myself reluctantly away from a bar crowded with effete and fashionable men, Goddard could be convinced to take an early luncheon there one day when the place was deserted. He would find the clientele appalling, but he'd nothing against a well-cooked steak.
    I eventually found Nate several doors down, in a small chamber with walls covered in gold leaf and hung with Oriental-style depictions of opium dens painted on silk. He still wore his dark hair longer than most, but now it was slicked back and clean. A pair of gold-rimmed spectacles balanced on his nose, and he was sporting the most extraordinary beard. Fine black hairs scissor-trimmed close to the skin and painstakingly shaped to accentuate the angles of his face--a face that now had the studied thinness of an aesthete rather than the hollowness of the street.
    As I peered at him through the leaves of a potted palm, my curiosity burned. Someone was keeping him well. Nate always had cash, but would never squander it on restaurants, posh barbers or flash clothing. As often as not, half of what he pulled in a night found its way into other people's pockets--friends,