Murder on Charing Cross Road Read Free Page B

Prance’s pistol and stuck it in his waistband. The bigger bruiser yanked Prance to his feet again and demanded in a gruff voice, “Where is it?”
    Prance felt the blood running down from his surely broken nose, over his lips and chin, falling in drops on his cravat. "I gave it to you! It’s all I have with me. Here, take my watch.”He pulled out his watch, a family heirloom given to him by his grandfather. The man grabbed it and stuck it in his pocket. The other man called something from the carriage.
    In his distress, Prance couldn’t make out the words. “What is it you want?”he cried.
    A footstep was heard at the entrance to the dark laneway. A bobbing light came toward them. The Watch, thank God! The two thieves exchanged a look, knocked Prance down again, gave him a sharp kick in the ribs, and took off on foot, leaving Prance an aching, bleeding heap on the ground.
    The bobbing light came nearer. “Gorblimey!”a young voice said. Not the Watch, but a link-boy with his light of tow and pitch to lead pedestrians through the dark, but as welcome as the rain after a drought. “The footpads got you, eh mister?”the boy said.
    “Help me up,”Prance gasped, and the boy reached out a dirty hand to pull him up. Every bone in his body ached. His nose was bleeding copiously, splattering his cravat and waistcoat. He couldn’t stand up straight for the pain in his stomach and ribs. He feared he was going to cast up his accounts, but the feeling passed, leaving him weak.
    “You want I should go for help?”the boy said.
    “Yes, please. No!”He didn’t want to be left alone. They might come back and go at him again. “Just help me along out of this place.”
    “What about your rattler and prads? You can’t leave ‘em here. They’ll be took.”
    “I can’t drive. I’m in pain.”
    “I’ll drive you,”the boy said, grinning from ear to ear.
    “Do you know how to drive a team?”
    “I’ve droved a dog cart.”
    “Just take the reins and walk them. I’ll get into the carriage.”It proved impossible to lift his leg to get into the carriage, however, so he slowly limped along, using the link-boy’s shoulder as a crutch.
    “You shouldn’t oughter of come into Long Acre alone, mister,”the boy said. “Everybody knows that.”
    “Is that where we are? What are you doing here?”
    “I live here, don’t I? Just setting out on my rounds. Where do you want to go to, mister?”
    “To Berkeley Square.”
    “You’ll never make it. Why don’t I git my pa? He’ll help you.”
    “Where does he live?”
    “Just a few steps along.”
    They turned a corner, continued a few steps past ramshackle buildings that looked ready to fall down. A mangy dog began following them till the link-boy threw a rock at it. They soon reached a building that looked abandoned, but for the dim light of a rush lamp at one window. A dark-visaged hulk of a man loomed up in the doorway. For an awful moment Prance feared he had been delivered to the den of his attackers who had beat and robbed him. And he had nothing left to give them but his cravat pin. Odd the footpads hadn’t taken it. Suddenly a swarm of young urchins came streaming out of the doorway, pointing and jabbering.
    “The footpads got this here gent, Pa,”the link-boy said. “He wants to git to Berkeley Square but he can’t drive hisself.”
    “Well now,”said the man in a kindly way. “You done right to bring him here, Tommy. I’ll git him home.”
    “Thank you,”Prance said in a weak voice. The man helped him into the carriage. “You come along, young Tom. We might need a messenger. Park your light and hop up here with me.”Tom handed his light to the biggest of the boys who had come out of the house, gave him a few sharp orders and scrambled up on the box with his father.
    “Tell your ma where we’re off to,”the father called to the urchins, who scampered off, back into the house.
    Prance collapsed on the seat, so distraught he didn’t notice at