CHAPTER 1

In which we meet our hero and the hero meets an orphanof the storm and comes face to face with Mister Charlie,a gentleman known as a bit of a scribbler.

The rain poured down on London so hard that it seemedthat it was dancing spray, every raindrop contending withits fellows for supremacy in the air and waiting to splashdown. It was a deluge. The drains and sewers were overflowingthrowing up—regurgitating, as it were—the debrisof muck, slime, and filth, the dead dogs, the dead rats, cats,and worse; bringing back up to the world of men all thosethings that they thought they had left behind them; jostlingand gurgling and hurrying toward the overflowing andalways hospitable River Thames; bursting its banks, bubblingand churning like some nameless soup boiling in a dreadfulcauldron; the river itself gasping like a dying fish. But thosein the know always said about the London rain that, try as itmight, it would never, ever clean that noisome city, becauseall it did was show you another layer of dirt. And on this dirtynight there were appropriately dirty deeds that not even therain could wash away.

A fancy two-horse coach wallowed its way along the street,some piece of metal stuck near an axle causing it to be heraldedby a scream. And indeed there was a scream, a humanscream this time, as the coach door was flung open and afigure tumbled out into the gushing gutter, which tonight wasdoing the job of a fountain. Two other figures sprang fromthe coach, cursing in language that was as colorful as the nightwas dark and even dirtier. In the downpour, fitfully lit by thelightning, the first figure tried to escape but tripped, fell, andwas leaped upon, with a cry that was hardly to be heard inall the racket, but which was almost supernaturally counterpointedby the grinding of iron, as a drain cover nearby waspushed open to reveal a struggling and skinny young manwho moved with the speed of a snake.

"You let that girl alone!" he shouted.

There was a curse in the dark and one of the assailants fellbackward with his legs kicked from under him. The youth wasno heavyweight but somehow he was everywhere, throwingblows - blows that were augmented by a pair of brass knuckles,always a helpmeet for the outnumbered. Outnumbered oneto two as it were, the assailants took to their heels while theyouth followed, raining blows. But it was London and it wasraining and it was dark, and they were dodging into alleys andside streets, frantically trying to catch up with their coach, sothat he lost them, and the apparition from the depths of thesewers turned around and headed back to the stricken girl atgreyhound speed.

He kneeled down, and to his surprise she grabbed him bythe collar and whispered in what he considered to beforeigner English, "They want to take me back - please helpme...." The lad sprang to his feet, his eyes all suspicion.On this stormy night of stormy nights, it was opportunethen that two men who themselves knew something aboutthe dirt of London were walking, or rather, wading, alongthis street, hurrying home with hats pulled down - whichwas a nice try but simply didn't work, because in this torrentit seemed that the bouncing water was coming as much frombelow as it was from above. Lightning struck again, and oneof them said, "Is that someone lying in the gutter there?" Thelightning presumably heard, because it sliced down again andrevealed a shape, a mound, a person as far as these men couldsee.

"Good heavens, Charlie, it's a girl! Soaked to the skin andthrown into the gutter, I imagine," said one of them. "Comeon...."

"Hey you, what are you a-doing, mister?!"

By the light of a pub window that could barely show youthe darkness, the aforesaid Charlie and his friend saw the faceof a boy who looked like a young lad no more than seventeenyears old but who seemed to have the voice of a man. A man,moreover, who was prepared to take on both of them, to thedeath. Anger steamed off him in the rain and he wielded along piece of metal. He carried on, "I know your sort, oh yesI do! Coming down here chasing the skirt, making a mockeryof decent girls, blimey! Desperate, weren't you, to be out ona night such as this!"

The man who wasn't called Charlie straightened up. "Nowsee here, you. I object most strongly to your wretched allegation.We are respectable gentlemen who, I might add, workquite hard to better the fortunes of such poor wretched girlsand, indeed, by the look of it, those such as yourself!"

The scream of rage from the boy was sufficiently loud thatthe doors of the nearby pub swung open, causing smokyorange light to illuminate the ever present rain. "So that'swhat you call it, is it, you smarmy old gits!"

The boy swung his homemade weapon, but the man calledCharlie caught it and dropped it behind him, then grabbedthe boy and held him by the scruff of his neck. "MisterMayhew and myself are decent citizens, young man, and assuch we surely feel it is our duty to take this young ladysomewhere away from harm." Over his shoulder he said, "Yourplace is closest, Henry. Do you think your wife would objectto receiving a needy soul for one night? I wouldn't like to seea dog out on a night such as this."

Henry, now clutching the young woman, nodded. "Doyou mean two dogs, by any chance?"

The struggling boy took immediate offense at this, andwith a snakelike movement was out of the grip of Charlieand once again spoiling for a fight. "I ain't no dog, you nobbysticks, nor ain't she! We have our pride, you know. I makemy own way, I does, all kosher, straight up!"

The man called Charlie lifted the boy up by the scruff ofhis neck so that they were face-to-face. "My, I admire yourattitude, young man, but not your common sense!" he saidquietly. "And mark you, this young lady is in a bad way.

Surely you can see that. My friend's house is not too far awayfrom here, and since you have set yourself up as her championand protector, why then, I invite you to follow us thereand witness that she will have the very best of treatment thatwe can afford, do you hear me? What is your name, mister?And before you tell it to me, I invite you to believe that youare not the only person who cares about a young lady indire trouble on this dreadful night. So, my boy, what is yourname?"

The boy must have picked up a tone in Charlie's voice,because he said, "I'm Dodger - that's what they call me, onaccount I'm never there, if you see what I mean? Everybodyin all the boroughs knows Dodger."

"Well, then," said Charlie. "Now we have met you andjoined that august company, we must see if we can come toan understanding during this little odyssey, man to man." Hestraightened up and went on, "Let us move, Henry, to yourhouse and as soon as possible, because I fear this unfortunategirl needs all the help we can give her. And you, my lad, doyou know this young lady?"

He let go of the boy, who took a few steps backward. "No,guv'nor, never seen her before in my life, God's truth, and Iknow everybody on the street. Just another runaway, happensall the time, so it does; it don't bear thinking about."

"Am I to believe, Mister Dodger, that you, not knowingthis unfortunate woman, nevertheless sprang to her defenselike a true Galahad?"

Dodger suddenly looked very wary. "I might be, I mightnot. What's it to you, anyway? And who the hell is thisGalahad cove?"

Charlie and Henry made a cradle with their arms to carrythe woman. As they set off, Charlie said over his shoulder,"You have no idea what I just said, do...