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I remember myself and say, “Whatever the smell, this is a rooming house, sir. Look, there is a book for guests to sign in.”
“A book filled with ink so faded that unless they serve ghosts, this is not a rooming house. The outside basement windows are blackened, and the buildings on either side house businesses that seem permanently closed, suggesting they are owned by the same people as this building.”
When I say nothing, he meets my gaze. “Are you telling me this is not a fighting establishment, Mallory?”
“You do throw some low blows,” I grumble.
His brows rise.
I continue, “If I say yes, this isn’t a fighting establishment, then I’m lying, and if I’m lying, you can’t trust me.”
“I do not believe I said anything of the sort,” he says mildly.
“It was in the look. Fine, it’s a fight club. No, there isn’t any information we might require that you could obtain by getting into the ring.”
His brows shoot higher.
“If you aren’t thinking that already, you will soon,” I say. “The answer is no.”
“Of course it is. I could hardly step into the ring as a man of quality. Nor, as a man of color, could I hope to do so in disguise. It is impossible.”
“I’m sorry.”
“And I appreciate that you sound as if you actually mean that.”
“I do. Now, we need to speak to the woman who runs the club—Elspeth—when she arrives. If she picks up any hint that you might like to fight, she’s going to use that to her advantage. She’ll offer a trade—information for a fight. Or she’ll suggest that you don’t have what it takes to fight, hoping to goad you into proving her wrong.”
“I believe we have already established that ploy does not work with me.”
“It might if you’re looking for an excuse.”
“I will not be.” He looks about. “When do you think we could expect her?”
“When do places like this usually open?”
“Not for a couple of hours yet.” He steps further into the hall. “Might she be upstairs? This is posing as a rooming house, after all. Or, perhaps, she is downstairs, in the establishment. Yes, that is the most likely answer. She is downstairs.”
“You just want an excuse to see the club.” I wave off his mock-innocent look. “Fine. We’ll look for her down thereifthe door is unlocked.”
“Unlocked or easily unlocked?”
I shake my head and walk toward the basement door.
THIRTY-SIX
We try the door at the top of the stairs. It’s locked, and it isn’t the sort of lock opened with a hairpin.
“You cannot let the lock win,” Gray says. “Conquer it. I have faith in you.”
When I raise a middle finger, he says, “You do realize I have no idea what that means.”
“Use your imagination.” I check the lock and shake my head. “I need a skill upgrade for this one. If you want to get me a treat, bring me someone who can give me lessons in picking locks.”
“Where might I find someone like that?”
“A locksmith.”
“Theycertainly would not teach you how to illegally open a lock.”
