Chapter 47: Chapter 47
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At lunch time Mr Pryor had the whim of changing his usual habits and instead of going
out to a counter lunch he had Young &Jackson's send in a sample of their best, together
with some bottles. He was a good customer, well known, and the centre of a group of
city gents that shared his taste for an enjoyable life. He would often lead them cheerfully
into various hostelries, and the hotels vied with each other for his approval.
He and Gabriel ate together in the tiny, walled off cubicle he described as his office.
Usually Gabriel had only a sandwich or a roll and a glass of beer, but when they were
together Mr Pryor insisted on him having a lavish lunch; he could not bear to be in the
company of an abstemious eater.
They were eating and talking but the conversation stopped when Pringle was heard
remonstrating with a caller. From his tone they thought it may have been the crossing
boy on another errand and as stubborn as ever. Voices could be heard but it was difficult
to see through the frosted glass of the door.
A woman with a loud voice and common accent had entered the office and, in spite of
Pringle's remonstrances, refused to leave. Mr Pryor reached out and pushed the door
open with his foot. It was clear why Pringle did not want the stranger to stay and it was
doubtful that she would be welcome in any respectable office. Pringle was particularly
taken aback by her hair which had been rinsed at some time with a dye that made it a
vivid reddish colour, though now showing lots of brown at the roots; and it was doubtful
that she had combed it before venturing into the streets. An unfortunate choice of colour
when selecting her dress that morning made it clash abominably with her hair so that
her appearance was enough to draw every eye in Swanston Street. She saw the two
principals gazing through the open door and, ignoring Pringle, came across though her
wide skirts made it impossible to join them in the cubicle.
"Hello, boys," she said, smiling in a professional manner. "Having a little din dins are
we?" She stood boldly before the doorway in spite of Pringle's disapproval and the
barely hidden delight of his assistants. The tops of her large bosoms were visible under
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an indecently low cut bodice edged with lace which, together with the rest of her
costume, could have been cleaner. It had been a rash venture for her to come so far into
the respectable part of town; she could have been arrested on the spot for loitering; or,
at the very least, warned off.
Mr Pryor was not taken aback at this sight. He instantly assumed the jovial manner
used when addressing barmaids and women of a certain class. Their visitor could have
been in her mid to late twenties, but perhaps was younger. She was in a profession
where women aged rapidly. She took note of Gabriel's glance and tried to twist some
stray hair back into place and straighten some of the numerous bows adorning her
costume. "It's the bloody wind," she said, "It does blow a girl about; I can't keep nothin'
straight."
"What can we do for you dear?" enquired Mr Pryor Even a woman of this type might
have money to invest.
1"Which one of you fine gentlemen is Mr Gabby?" she enquired and then gazed keenly at
Gabriel. There was no doubt about it; he had started visibly when she mentioned the
familiar name.
"Glad to meet you, Ducky" she said brightly. There's a friend of yours stayin' at our
house; name o' Benno; 'e come to me in the street because he's feelin' crook and 'e
needs help. The missus said I'd better see you about it because he kept talking about
yer. 'e says he's a partner in the business y'got here." She pulled a face to indicate what
faith she put in this claim by her friend.
"What's wrong with him now?" enquired Mr Pryor. "He doesn't own any part of our
business, and we're sick and tired of being pestered whenever he wants some drinking
money. Why should we help him out just because he's got himself into trouble again?
"Because Mr Gabby's 'is mate," said the young woman spiritedly. "And he's Mr Gabby's
mate, and where we come from you don't run out on yer mates just because they're
down on their luck.Anyway, the missus says 'e can't stay in our house unless 'e finds
some money from somewhere. If 'e can't pay up out 'e goes; sick or well, she says.
Gawd, she's a hard woman - an I can't keep him. I got a living to earn, meself."
"Is he very sick?" Gabriel was instantly despondent at the thought of Benno sending
another unconventional messenger to put even further strain on their relationship.
"What do you want us to do?"
"Yair, he's pretty crook is the old Benno, and what you can do is stop the missus from
turning 'im out in the street like a dog. What if 'e dies in the gutter? Benno was always
good to me when he had money; not like some of them low-lifers I have to put up with in
the house. Can't you give me somethin', just to give the missus, so she won't chuck 'im
out tonight. She'll do it, too -- mean old bitch! an' she's dead narked on me for bringin'
Benno home when I found 'im. She says he can come any time as a customer, when he's
got money; but 'e aint got no money, and I havn't got any either. From what Benno tells
me I reckon you owe him somethin'. And it'd be beaut if you could come and see 'im."
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The young woman said all this in a genuine and unaffected manner that indicated some
of her feelings for her friend
"Well, we'll have to think about it," said Mr Pryor. "Just wait over there a minute, will
you, dear." He gestured towards the client's chair and she sat down in spite of Pringle's
obvious disapproval. To add to his embarrassment someone had entered quietly to
stand just inside the front door and had listened to the conversation unnoticed by either
of the partners or the woman.
Mr Pryor pulled the door shut so they were cut off from the others. "What do you
think?" he asked. "Do you want to go and see him?"
Gabriel didn't. He thought he had seen quite enough of Benno; sufficient to last him a
lifetime.
"I think she comes from a house in one of the lanes off Little Lon.," said Mr Pryor,
referring to the eastern end of little Lonsdale Street, a known haunt of prostitutes and
criminals. The police tolerated the area; it was regularly patrolled and was handy for
them because most of Melbourne's thieves and pimps lived in a small section of the city
where they were easy to find when required. "I reckon she's keen on Benno; she's got
her eye on him. I suppose anything would be better than working the streets for some
old madam; hard as nails. If she could get Benno off the grog and back to work that
would be better than what she's got. Why don't we go tonight and look him up?"
"Maybe we could all go," said a well known voice from the background. It was Jones the
detective who had gestured Pringle to silence when he had walked in shortly after the
girl. Because of the partly opened door they had not observed his entrance, but he had
quietly listened to the conversation.
Well, Sal," he said to the young woman. "I saw you walking down Swanston Street and I
said to meself - 'where's she going at this time o' day? Bourke Street after dark is more
her beat, isn't it?'. But when I saw her go into this haunt of probity I was really
interested. It set me to thinking, perhaps I'd misjudged Sal all
these years; maybe she had money to invest and she'd come to these well known
financiers so they could look after her fortune; so I thought I'd just have a little bit of a
listen; I could always use some financial advice meself.
But what's this I hear? It's Sal that's telling them what to do with their funds -- 'Sink
some more money into 'Benno Incorporated', she says. It didn't sound to me like the
sort of thing you'd do if you wanted to be rich -- more in the nature of throwing good
money after bad, I would have thought."
He shook his head at the young woman. "So you've come across my old pal Benno, have
you? and he's crook. Well, we'll soon fix him up with a nice comfortable bed in the
infirmary with bars on the window to make sure he doesn't go wandering off again. I
know Benno does tend to wander a bit, but we should be able to cure that for the next
few months. With luck he might even do a twelve for throwing tomatoes at a
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respectable grocer standing for parliament; the beak isn't going to look too kindly at a
wharf labourer with his record of brawling and D & D."
"Why can't yer just leave 'im alone," cried Sal. "Poor old Benno. 'e doesn't want much out
of life -- just a fair go, that's all. I reckon we could go away together -- maybe to Sydney.
'e was talkin' about goin' to Sydney, and we could make a new start. I'd look after 'im
and keep 'im off the grog -- "
"Benno's a villain," retorted the detective . "He should be in the quod for smashing those
windows in Bourke Street; but I can get him for assaulting Jobley by throwing missiles --
to wit -- tomatoes. He'll go in for a few months then you and he can go where you like.
Sydney'll do me -- that'll be two problems I won't have to worry about any more."
"Steady on!" interposed Mr Pryor. "Are you sure your witnesses are allright? Mr Fox was
present at the incident and some of the ladies there were so confused they thought he
was the one that threw the tomatoes.
Mr Jones scratched the side of his chin and looked at him. "Mr Fox's not going to get up
in court and make a confession, is he?"
"Not at all. But what if Benno has a defence lawyer? He could confuse the issue so much
the magistrate wouldn't know what to think. He'd probably let Benno off. You don't
want to go into court with unreliable witnesses, it wouldn't look good; don't forget, you
told Jobley that Mr Fox was not responsible for throwing the tomatoes and who knows
what everyone will be saying once they go under cross examination." He paused. "I
think we will take you up on that offer. What say we all go and see Benno tonight; are
you game?"
Jones looked at him and considered what was to be done next; Benno was going to
escape him yet again. He did not want to get him into court and then have his witnesses
forced to contradict themselves by a smart barrister briefed by Pryor; they both knew
that an aborted court case would not look well on the record; there could be other ways,
and he would be waiting when Benno got into trouble next time.
He decided to give in with an appearance of reasonableness and nodded. "Allright, if you
gentlemen really want to make a night visit to Little Lon I'll meet you on the post office
corner at half past seven this evening."
"Eh, turn it up," said Sal in a panic. The last thing she wanted was to have Detective
Jones nosing around her establishment; the madam would throw her and Benno both
out on to the street the moment the detective had gone. Even if she denied everything
the madam was not stupid. She would know there must be a connection between Sal's
visit to Benno's friends and a return call from the friends accompanied by a detective.
The other hangers on at the house would not be happy either, and they could turn nasty.
Detective Jones understood her problem. "You tell Ma Tarvin from me that if she cuts up
rough I'll be back, but next time I'll bring the boys in blue to turn her place over, and I'll
keep on doing it every night until she learns not to interfere. If I want to come along to
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the house and make some enquiries about an old friend of mine that's not as well as he
should be then you'd think she'd be glad to see me. Now, you cut along back where you
come from. I don't want to see you down in this part of town -- at least not during the
day, there are too many respectable women and families around. The night's your time,
not now."
Sal could not argue but the thought of the detective dropping a hint to Mrs Tarvin on her
behalf was disturbing. Being under semi-official protection by the police could mean
suffering from numerous accidents when they were not looking. It was a bleak prospect
but she could do nothing about it. She left the office, careful to observe the proprieties
while under the cool observation of Detective Jones.
The three men looked at each other. The detective had immense power over the likes of
Sal, Benno, and Ma Tarvin but little over the two respectable business men he saw
before him. "7.30 tonight," he said, and nodded at them, "Outside the post office. And
don't forget your hankies; they'll keep out the worst of the stink and any infections that
are going around."
They nodded back, "we'll see you then."
The partners were exactly on time for their appointment at the post office but Detective
Jones was not, though the usual collection of drunks and loiterers were sitting on the
bases of the columns and the steps watching the life of Melbourne flow by. Two
policemen on the beat strolled casually round the corner from Elizabeth Street but
bounded up the steps when one of the men who had been sitting on the steps rose to his
feet and started to disappear along the colonnade; after a vigorous sprint they caught
him in Elizabeth Street. The fugitive was a wiry man with long, unkempt black hair who
struggled and swore loudly. They avoided his kicking feet while one constable
handcuffed the man and the other reached down and picked up a greasy tall hat that
had fallen off and stuck it back on his head.
Detective Jones came up behind the two partners while they were watching this little
drama. "That's the last you'll see him on the streets for a while" he said with some
satisfaction. "I've been holding a warrant against that chap for two years, but he hasn't
been around. I spotted him just before you arrived, and gave the two constables the
office; it was very neat work, I thought. Well, that's a good start for the evening; will we
go now and call on Ma Tarvin?"
He led them along Elizabeth Street. "You're going to improve your education tonight,"
he said conversationally; "at least you'll find out some things about Melbourne you
didn't know before. Not many of your class of people come this way, except for the
wrong reasons, and I wouldn't recommend you go anywhere near the place at night
unless you're with an official person such as myself. You'll be alright, they know me and
they know that if anyone even speaks out of place to any of us the force would turn the
place over every night for months. It'd ruin business in the lane and we'd come across a
lot of people that'd rather not be found. No, we'll be allright. Everyone'll be on their best
behaviour tonight."
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Mr Pryor had lately taken to smoking the very best of cigars; they were fat and imported
and each one had a colourful band around the middle. With a flourish he nipped the end
off one with a cigar cutter which was carried in his waist-coat pocket. Gabriel did not
like the things so he offered another to Jones who took it and sniffed appreciatively. "Not
while I'm on duty, thanks," he said, waving away the proffered cigar cutter, "but I'll be
glad to remember you later, when I do smoke it." He put it in his top pocket and they
paused while Mr Pryor lit his.
They walked along Elizabeth Street. There were not many people walking in either
direction but Jones surveyed each passer by covertly, at the same time noting the
contents of every shop window. The larger businesses in Bourke Street had been left
behind; these were fireworks makers, fruit and bird dealers, tanners and curriers,
chemists and drug importers, a tobacconist, a restaurant, a hotel and the like. After a
time the detective led them into St Francis' church on the corner of Lonsdale Street and
they moved through while Jones closely eyed the worshippers. Very few looked up or
glanced at them. Most kept their eyes firmly fixed on the altars or the dim colours of the
windows, and their lips moved as they fingered their rosaries. The only sound in the
church was made by a man with a harsh, nasal voice. He was dressed in shabby clothes
and led a little group who were calling on the mother of God for succour; they were in
ecstasy as they kneeled and looked adoringly at the main altar.
Detective Jones nodded at the man as they walked out, but was not noticed. "Tom
Scroggins," he said. "Used to be the best dip in the business until he got religion," -- by
which they took him to mean pickpocket -- "He was born a Roman and they all come
back to church in the end. I've seen it happen dozens of times, especially the ones that
are going to swing; it's some comfort for them and I suppose it's better than nothing.
Though Tom took it up again earlier than most; the R.C. chaplain got to him while he
was doing a stretch and he came out a changed man. From my point of view it was a
pity; in the old days I used to get a lot of useful information out of him."
They walked east along Little Lonsdale Street past mean looking shops and cottages.
Virtually none of the well fed customers that patronised the retail establishments in
Bourke and Collins Street would pass this way and there were even fewer people about
than in Elizabeth Street. The shops were shuttered and bolted as were the low houses
and everyone was locked in though there may have been some movement in the lanes
off Little Lon, but it was too dark to see properly. The fall of their footsteps was the only
sound until they came to Swanston Street and heard the crack of whips and the noise of
cabs and carts going past.
When they crossed Swanston Street two constables were waiting and saluted Jones
who nodded back; after a few words they fell in behind the three men and followed
them. "I've ordered an ambulance," said the detective. It should be here in a minute and
I'll have Murphy picked up for the infirmary." He looked at their expressions. "Well, you
might not like it much, but he'll be a hell of a lot better there than in Ma Tarvin's place.
You wait till you see it. -- ah! here it comes." He had heard the approaching noise as the
ambulance turned the corner into Little Lonsdale Street. It was a low vehicle on two
steel rimmed cart wheels with handles front and back so it could be wheeled by one or
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two men. It had a white canvas cover fastened over hoops and, being a police
ambulance, it was fitted with straps and buckles to make sure unwilling patients were
not able to escape. Jones crooked his finger at the two men wheeling the ambulance and
the party proceeded along Little Lonsdale Street with the ambulance rumbling along
behind.
Neither Pryor nor Gabriel had ever been in this part of town before and the stench from
the full cesspits and the remnants of sullage in the gutters was strong even by the
standards of the nineteenth century. They followed the detective's advice and pressed
folded handkerchiefs to their noses. "It keeps out the infections," he said. There were a
number of squalid, low roofed tenements crowded on either side of the lane and the
police lanterns shone impartially on each and down even smaller lanes and alleys on
either side. They could hear doors slamming and calling as shadows flitted away from
their lights and into noisome openings that led into labyrinths the two businessmen
could only guess at.
Detective Jones and the two policemen looked about with a proprietorial air. In the
midst of this place they were clothed with authority and this grubby empire was all
theirs, to be dealt with as they chose. Once or twice Jones sent policemen to investigate
dim alleys while the others waited in the middle of the lane. The second time they
returned with a reluctant, dirty man who blinked and turned his face away from the
bullseye lanterns while being inspected. "You're alright, Gus," said the detective after a
careful look at his face. "We've got nothing on you right now, get a job, keep away from
the bookies and you and me'll get on just fine." He waved the man away who, having
shaken off the grip of the constables, scuttled into the darkness. "He'll be back in quod
soon," said Jones cheerfully. "Most of these characters can't keep out of trouble and
when they fall we're waiting for them."
After Gus disappeared he walked a few steps and pointed out a shabby house with a
facade of false wooden tiles from which a coat of paint was peeling and cracking; a tiny,
overgrown garden space between the street and the verandah was polluted with
discarded bottles and rubbish and the remains of some broken furniture. They could
see this by the light of a dim oil lamp in a bracket mounted on the edge of the verandah
roof. It illuminated the door and showed the street number which was painted on the
lantern glass. Jones indicated that one of the constables was to knock on the door,
which he did, with his truncheon.
"This is Ma Tarvin's place," said the detective. "There are usually a few people about but
I suppose we've spoiled business for the time being."
They were still in the middle of the road and observed some lace curtains in an upstairs
window being twitched to one side and a white face was dimly seen looking down. The
door opened a moment later and a dirty child with tangled black hair looked out
impudently. "Half a dollar each," she said holding out her hand and you can take your
pick of any of the girls; I'm in that too."
"Cut that out, you thievin', rotten little mongrel," screamed a voice from along the
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passage. "Keep yer dirty mitts off the takings!" The child suddenly noticed the police
officers and bolted out of sight. They heard the sound of a smack and a yell followed by a
childish burst of profanity as the girl raced off to some unknown hiding place. A much
heavier tread was heard coming closer and a fat woman with grey hair and a slovenly
dress appeared at the door. She saw detective Jones straight away and her face fell but
she quickly recovered and screamed out a greeting.
"Mr Jones!" she cried. "It's beaut to see yer. Yer oughta come more often. Y've brought
some friends too, well ain't that nice. Any friends of Mr Jones are friends of ours. Won't
the girls be pleased to see yer."
"One wasn't! That child's under age, Ma! You've got some explaining to do and it had
better be good -- Why have you got children working in the house? You should know the
age of consent by now."
"I do, Mr Jones, I do, none better than me, but just because she lives here doesn't mean
she's on the game. That's me own dear sister's girl, the little bitch. But as God's me
witness I wouldn't use her in the house and she's been nothin' but a bloody nuisance
ever since I took her in after me sister passed on. She'd pinch anything that wasn't
nailed down an' I knew what she was up to! She was gunna take yer money and scarper
down to Bourke Street and spend it. I'll ave the hide off her back one of these days, you
see if I don't." In her earnestness to impress the police officer she had moved close so he
had to turn his head and blow through his lips to escape the stench of stale gin.
"We're coming in," said the detective. "I want to have a look round. Are there any
absconders here, Ma?"
"May Gawd strike me dead on the spot if I'd let anyone like that in the house," protested
the uneasy woman, " though I gotta tell yer there's a sick feller here. He's an old friend of
one of the girls, if I can put it that way; and she asked if he could stay a while. Well, you
know me," she said with a leer to emphasize the depths of her compassion. "Soft hearted
I am; You know how I look after the girls and I just can't turn friends away from me
door. So I said 'e could stay for a while, until 'e's better. I 'ope you're not lookin' for 'im,
Mr Jones. It's Benno Murphy, I think you know 'im -- and 'e's alright I 'ope; not wanted
by the law, or nothin'."
"Yes, I know him, and you won't be in trouble for taking him in." He entered while his
companions and one of the constables followed. The second policeman waited outside
with the two men who had brought the ambulance. Ma Tarvin led them down a dirty
passage where the only light was the police lantern and what leaked from under the
tightly closed doors where people sat, frightened and waiting for the unwelcome
visitors to leave. "Show us the sick man."
Ma Tarvin pushed open a particular door and startled Sal who had been bending over
Benno in his frowsy bed trying to do something to ease his discomfort. "How's the poor
feller now, Sal, dear," said Ma Tarvin while Sal stepped back from the bed as though
caught in a guilty act. "She's been that good to 'im, you wouldn't believe, and lookin'
after him like -- like steam," said the woman, unable to think of a more suitable