A United Front

“Then I am unable to assist you,” Daniel said crisply. “At Shelford’s our customers must have complete confidence in our discretion. You must have mistaken us for a coffee shop or tavern.”

“Ho, ho.” Snell’s laugh didn’t reach his flinty eyes. “I’ve been led to believe that this is the domicile of a certain Mr. Jolyon Everett, formerly of Orange Street. Now,” he said with a smirk. “What’s a fine gentleman doing, relocating from where the nobs congregate? I mean, it’s good enough for the likes of you and me. But the gentry don’t usually disport themselves to mingle with trade.”

Snell’s inference bordered on the obscene.

“You can’t blame me for wondering why?” Snell leaned familiarly across the counter.

It took every ounce of Daniel’s control not to shrink away. He forced himself to feign mild interest.

Timmy’s robust defence, although well-intentioned, had only sharpened the man’s interest.

It’s wiser to pretend to play him at his own game.

“As I have already related, by Mr. Shelford’s direction, we cannot disclose any details about our customers, financial or otherwise. Even if they’re dished up and don’t have a feather to fly with. I can only tell you that Mr. Everett is amongst our clientage,” Daniel paused before adding with feigned regret. “If I was minded to divulge more, once word got around, we’d be losing business in a shake of a rat’s tale. And that would cost me my job.”

Snell rubbed his poorly shaven chin thoughtfully.

“As one working man to another, I can understand your dilemma. Considering Mr. E is your neighbour, you might pass on the odd crumb without risking your position, or even slip me the key to his rooms for a look-see when he’s not around,” Snell said unctuously. “Dip deeply at the tables does he? Or perhaps he has an expensive filly stashed away around the corner at Oxford Street? A gentleman would have to pay through the nose for all them there accoutrements a pretty ladybird requires. Or maybe his tastes run in another direction?” Snell looked Daniel up and down. “You must be aware of his comings and goings, pass the time of day on the stairs and so on. Surely he’s given you a hint? I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Daniel shrugged indifferently. “I keep to my station as the gentry do to theirs. Mind you,” He allowed some doubt to creep into his voice, “Perhaps Mr. Everett isn’t quite the gentleman he seems if a constable is making enquiries. I wouldn’t want to be tarnished by another man’s misdoings. Which magistrate’s district are you from? Soho, I presume, as it’s the closest. Marlborough Street court, is it?” He asked ingenuously.

“That’s right,” Snell agreed. “Just around the corner. Makes us neighbours, near enough.”

Daniel repressed a shudder of revulsion.

“Strictly speaking,” Snell continued. “I’m making enquiries on my own behalf. It’s a remarkable how a man can earn a bit on the side using the tricks of the trade.” He tapped the side of his fleshy nose. “It pays one way or another to watch and learn. This is unofficial-like and strictly off the books, although between you and me, some of the magistrates would trip over their own shoe buckles if they weren’t stuck on.”

Snell grinned ingratiatingly. Daniel forced himself to smile.

“I’ll leave you to think on it.” Snell straightened up. Daniel half-expected to discover a smear of grease staining the counter. “Since you know where I am, you can come and find me at Marlborough Street. Just ask for Jabeth Snell. And if not, well,” Snell grinned, “I might decide to investigate you instead.”