The Arnifour Affair by Gregory Harris

said with greater determination as much to convince myself as him. I would not let that fiend manipulate me again. It could have no effect. I’d come too far, been through too much, to be lured by that beast anymore. So I turned my attention to the two dimly lit lamps and the threadbare carpet worn through to the under-planking in places as I kept moving forward. I banished the fact that the walls were stained yellow with age and opium smoke from my mind as I stepped to the first door I came to, noticing that it was standing the slightest bit ajar due to the bow along its spine that left it gaping at its outermost corners, and announced, “This has to be it,” though, in truth, I was only guessing.
    â€œGood,” he said, staring at me a hair’s breadth too long before adding, “Then let’s have at it.” He stepped forward and pounded on the door with a bellowed, “Hellooooo! . . .” like some busybody neighbor come to call.
    An instantaneous response blasted back in a shrill tone that sounded like a cat who’d just had its tail crushed under a boot. “ ’Oo in ’ell?! . . . Oo in the bloody ’ell . . . ?!”
    I slid my eyes to Colin and found him wearing a dazzling smile of great joy. This, I realized, was exactly what he’d been hoping for.
    The door jerked open as far as its accompanying chain would allow and a bloodshot eye presented itself in the space. “Oh! . . . A minute, love. . . .” The door clicked shut as best it could and the chain was hurriedly released before it was thrown wide to reveal a thin woman of indeterminate age—though I guessed her to be somewhere in her mid-thirties like me. She was tightly wrapped in a thin yellow robe that revealed more of her anatomy than was proper. “Didn’t know I ’ad such a ’andsome gentleman calling.” She leered, batting her eyes a moment before spotting me. “This with you?” she asked halfheartedly.
    â€œQuite.”
    â€œWell, ya can both come in,” she stepped aside, “but I ain’t one a those that plays it like that. I can take right care a you,” she winked at Colin as he moved past her, “but yer friend is gonna ’ave ta go upstairs.”
    â€œParticular, are you?” I snorted as I crossed her threshold, glad to find the air inside her flat freer of the cloying scent of opium. “You don’t see that often around here.”
    â€œWhat would you know about what goes on around ’ere?” she sneered as she yanked her precarious robe closed. Her pockmarked face spoke of years of disease and poor health, which instantly made me regret that I’d been so cavalier.
    Colin gave her a warm smile, but there was little real mirth behind his eyes. “What we’re really here for . . . ,” he began, casually perching on the arm of one of the proffered seats as he dug out his usual crown and started rotating it between his fingers, “. . . is some information about two of your tenants: young Michael and his little sister, Angelyne.”
    â€œ ’Oo?” Her face curled up as she poured two fingers of whiskey and downed it like a gulp of air.
    â€œA boy of about fourteen and his sister . . .” He flicked his eyes to me.
    â€œTwelve,” I said.
    â€œRight. Twelve. They rent a room from you. Live in your basement. . . .”
    â€œOh. Them two,” she said with about as much enthusiasm as she’d shown me. “They’re always late with me rent.” She downed another shot and actually looked a little better for it. “You ’ere ta make good for ’em?”
    â€œWell . . . ,” he tossed me a quick glance, “we might be able to offer a little help. They owe you, do they?”
    â€œDamn right they do. One pound fifty.”
    Colin urged me with the look in his eyes and I begrudgingly handed over the money, all but certain that they didn’t owe her a