Read Online Summon Up the Blood by R. N. Morris - Free Book Online Page B

If that could come as a shock to you, sir, that would strike the right note, I think.’
    ‘I shall endeavour. At any rate, we struck up a friendship. He seemed a troubled young man. Reminded me of myself when younger.’
    ‘Really, sir. In what way?’
    ‘He seemed lost. I wanted to help him. But he ran off before I could.’
    ‘How did you get the portrait?’ demanded Inchball.
    ‘I – he gave it to me.’
    ‘Indeed. And why would he do that?’
    ‘He seemed to have a premonition that something bad was about to happen to him. He had had this portrait done by a street artist. He wanted someone to remember him as he was now.’
    ‘Why you?’
    ‘I don’t know. I can’t explain it. It is one of those things that cannot be explained. He was drawn to me for some reason. I asked the same question. But he ran off, without giving an answer.’
    ‘Very, very dangerous,’ decided Inchball.
    ‘What name did he give you?’ wondered Macadam.
    Quinn hesitated. It was a good question. Suddenly he had the answer. ‘Daniel.’
    ‘Why Daniel?’ asked Macadam.
    ‘I don’t know. That was just the name . . .’ Instead of saying
that came to me
, Quinn said, ‘. . . he gave me.’ It was as if he was already beginning to believe in the details of his lie.
    ‘I don’t like it,’ said Inchball. ‘I don’t like it one bit.’
    ‘It’s not a bad name,’ said Macadam.
    ‘I don’t mean the bleeding name. I mean the whole thing. I don’t hold with all this subterfuge and pretence. We should go in as who we are. Straight up. Coppers. Making enquiries about a dead renter. Round them all up and throw them in the cells, if necessary. If they don’t like it, tough. One of them will squeal eventually.’
    ‘That is one approach,’ said Quinn. ‘And I do not rule it out entirely. However, before we resort to such measures, I feel it would be useful for me to familiarize myself with the world of our victim.’
    ‘What do you want
us
to do, sir?’ asked Macadam. ‘Stay on your back?’
    ‘Steady!’ said Inchball.
    ‘No. We simply do not have the resources for all three of us to be engaged in the same operation. Finish reviewing the files to see if our victim shows up as having any form. Then I want you to talk to tobacconists. Which ones stock opium-soaked Egyptian cigarettes? Who are their customers? Do they recognize the cigarette case? Also, try silversmiths and jewellers. It must have come from somewhere. And someone must have made that inscription.’
    ‘Perhaps the murderer is skilled in engraving?’ suggested Macadam. ‘It may seem unlikely, but I myself once took an evening class in metal engraving. It’s not that difficult, if you have a reasonable dexterity and are used to working with tools.’
    ‘Blimey!’ interjected Inchball. ‘Is there anything you haven’t taken an evening class in?’
    ‘It became quite a passion of mine, at the time. I thought it would be a good way of earning a few extra bob. Still have the burin at home somewhere.’
    ‘The
what
?’ snapped Inchball.
    ‘The burin. It’s what you call the tool. The graver. Haven’t used it for years. I could bring it in if you’d like to see it?’
    Quinn found Macadam’s boyish assumption that others would share his enthusiasms touching. He did not have it in him to be discouraging. ‘As you wish, Sergeant.’
    Inchball evidently felt no such compunction. ‘I’ll show you what you can do with your bloomin’ burin.’
    ‘Macadam’s theory is plausible,’ cut in Quinn. ‘The killer would naturally wish to limit the number of people he involved in his activities. A man may teach himself all manner of skills.’
    As he made the observation, Quinn drew himself up self-consciously. He imagined himself at the centre of a crowd of strangers, all of whom had their gaze fixed upon him. The image was a premonition. He would go amongst a group of men whose lives he had often wondered about but never experienced. He would go amongst them