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Authors: Oscar de Muriel
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precarious buildings of many storeys with brown, smoked walls. Some of those lodgings had more than ten levels, cramming entire families in each room.
Such overcrowded slums make me loathe our industrial age. Manufacturing has done little else than snatch people from our countryside, locking them in claustrophobic little factories, making them breathe foul smoke and forcing them to live all hugger-mugger with less space to move than pigs in a slaughterhouse … all for a few more pennies a week. It strips their dignity, I believe, and I wonder what this insatiable hunger for profit will make of our world.
Projected above the tall constructions I saw the steeple of St Giles Cathedral, looking like a blackened crown, and not far from there was the Royal Exchange, the building occupied by the City Chambers.
An arcade of grey stone gave way to a small courtyard, where carriages plied to and fro throughout the day. When we arrived there were another four carriages in line, so we had to queue for a few minutes. Meanwhile, I saw that on the other side of the road, right in front of the chambers, was the ancient Mercat Cross. Centuries ago that elevatedspire would have been used for public executions, where the convicts would not only be hanged, but also burned, impaled, skinned, mutilated and disembowelled in ways that would make Jack the Ripper’s work look like that of a novice.
Once I managed to descend from the cart and pay the toothless driver, I inquired after Inspector McGray.
‘He’s not in the building,’ a young officer told me, ‘but he’s expected today.’
‘What time does he usually arrive?’ I asked, and the chap whistled.
‘Well, ye never know with that laddie. Some days he’s here before dawn, some days he doesn’t appear ’til supper time.’
I cursed inwardly and thought of leaving, but it would not be a bad idea to report my presence to the chief, whose name I had learned from Warren’s file. ‘Can you take me to Superintendent Campbell, then?’
‘Uh, I dunno. Mr Campbell’s always busy.’
‘I am certain he will be willing to have a word with me,’ I assured him, and gave him my name. He led me two storeys upstairs and then to the west side of the building, where Campbell’s office was. The officer announced me to the superintendent’s assistant, who only dared enter the office after my sharp insistence.
To the men’s astonishment, Campbell bade me to enter without delay.
The office had a wide window with a privileged view of the highest towers of the castle, but the weather was so bad the room needed four oil lamps burning in order to be properly lit. Behind a wide oak desk, settled back withthe tips of his fingers resting on the polished wood, was Superintendent George Campbell.
He was around sixty, or so I had heard, but for his age and rank he looked rather … wild. With his whitish hair fluffed up, a thick moustache and the corners of his grey eyes slightly tilted upwards, Campbell seemed very leonine to me.
‘You are early,’ he said in a deep voice with a very smooth accent. I could tell he had studied in the south.
‘Yes. Inspector Ian Frey, at your service, sir.’
As I spoke I offered my hand to shake, but Campbell ignored it. ‘I know who you are,’ he replied sternly, while searching through his piles of papers.
I swiftly pulled my hand back and adopted the same stern tone. I have never been one to beg for sympathy. ‘I thought it proper to report my presence to you.’
‘Indeed,’ Campbell muttered as he drew some sheets and scanned them with his cat-like eyes. ‘I see you used to have a very good reputation …’ He emphasized the used to .
I refused to reply and simply planted myself on the floor with firm feet. After reading the documents Campbell proceeded to scan me. His stare was penetrating.
‘So, Mr Frey, I suppose that you know what this is really about. Am I correct?’
So he did not even dare to mention the matter out loud …
‘I
Such overcrowded slums make me loathe our industrial age. Manufacturing has done little else than snatch people from our countryside, locking them in claustrophobic little factories, making them breathe foul smoke and forcing them to live all hugger-mugger with less space to move than pigs in a slaughterhouse … all for a few more pennies a week. It strips their dignity, I believe, and I wonder what this insatiable hunger for profit will make of our world.
Projected above the tall constructions I saw the steeple of St Giles Cathedral, looking like a blackened crown, and not far from there was the Royal Exchange, the building occupied by the City Chambers.
An arcade of grey stone gave way to a small courtyard, where carriages plied to and fro throughout the day. When we arrived there were another four carriages in line, so we had to queue for a few minutes. Meanwhile, I saw that on the other side of the road, right in front of the chambers, was the ancient Mercat Cross. Centuries ago that elevatedspire would have been used for public executions, where the convicts would not only be hanged, but also burned, impaled, skinned, mutilated and disembowelled in ways that would make Jack the Ripper’s work look like that of a novice.
Once I managed to descend from the cart and pay the toothless driver, I inquired after Inspector McGray.
‘He’s not in the building,’ a young officer told me, ‘but he’s expected today.’
‘What time does he usually arrive?’ I asked, and the chap whistled.
‘Well, ye never know with that laddie. Some days he’s here before dawn, some days he doesn’t appear ’til supper time.’
I cursed inwardly and thought of leaving, but it would not be a bad idea to report my presence to the chief, whose name I had learned from Warren’s file. ‘Can you take me to Superintendent Campbell, then?’
‘Uh, I dunno. Mr Campbell’s always busy.’
‘I am certain he will be willing to have a word with me,’ I assured him, and gave him my name. He led me two storeys upstairs and then to the west side of the building, where Campbell’s office was. The officer announced me to the superintendent’s assistant, who only dared enter the office after my sharp insistence.
To the men’s astonishment, Campbell bade me to enter without delay.
The office had a wide window with a privileged view of the highest towers of the castle, but the weather was so bad the room needed four oil lamps burning in order to be properly lit. Behind a wide oak desk, settled back withthe tips of his fingers resting on the polished wood, was Superintendent George Campbell.
He was around sixty, or so I had heard, but for his age and rank he looked rather … wild. With his whitish hair fluffed up, a thick moustache and the corners of his grey eyes slightly tilted upwards, Campbell seemed very leonine to me.
‘You are early,’ he said in a deep voice with a very smooth accent. I could tell he had studied in the south.
‘Yes. Inspector Ian Frey, at your service, sir.’
As I spoke I offered my hand to shake, but Campbell ignored it. ‘I know who you are,’ he replied sternly, while searching through his piles of papers.
I swiftly pulled my hand back and adopted the same stern tone. I have never been one to beg for sympathy. ‘I thought it proper to report my presence to you.’
‘Indeed,’ Campbell muttered as he drew some sheets and scanned them with his cat-like eyes. ‘I see you used to have a very good reputation …’ He emphasized the used to .
I refused to reply and simply planted myself on the floor with firm feet. After reading the documents Campbell proceeded to scan me. His stare was penetrating.
‘So, Mr Frey, I suppose that you know what this is really about. Am I correct?’
So he did not even dare to mention the matter out loud …
‘I
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