Dodger

managed, ‘Yes, miss, I mean missus. Very sorry not to have been there earlier.’
    ‘Dodger, you came out of the drain like a god. Who could have come up any faster?’ And this time the kiss didn’t need to be blown. She delivered it directly, as it were.
    Charlie was not at the
Chronicle
, but inside his office there was a boy, one of the numerous boys employed by the paper to run around with other bits of paper, looking very important as they did so. This one, though, stared at Dodger as if he was the Angel Gabriel and whispered hoarsely, ‘Is it true that you throttled the monster with his own necktie? Oh, can you write down your name on this bit of paper for me, please? I am making a scrapbook.’
    Dodger stared at the boy’s slightly grubby face which, like his clothes , made it perfectly clear that this was a building with a lot of ink on the premises. He was at a loss and therefore took refuge in the truth, saying, ‘Look, kid, he was just a very sick old man, right? He thought he was killing dead men who were coming back to haunt him, and I never laid a finger on him, right? I just took the razor off him and the peelers took him away and that is that, do you hear?’
    The lad backed away a little, and then said, ‘You are only saying that because you are modest, sir, I am sure. And Mister Dickens says that if you was to turn up here again today, looking for him, you could find him in the Houses of Parliament, on account of the fact that he is doing a bit of court reporting today. Mister Dodger, he said he’d tell the man on the door to let you in if you ask for him, and if there is any trouble to say you’ve come from the
Chronicle
, and will you sign this piece of paper for me anyway?’ The boy almost pushed a pencil up Dodger’s nostril, so Dodger relented, and the boy got a squiggle and Dodger got the boy’s pencil.
    The boy said, ‘I don’t quite know exactly where Mister Charlie will be right now, but you could always ask the peelers.’ He smiled. ‘You can be sure that there will be a lot of them about.’
    Ask a peeler! Dodger? But surely that was the old Dodger saying that, he thought. After all, because of two admittedly total misunderstandings he was a hero, at least to some kid with blobs of ink in his hair, and therefore a hero should be able to stand up and talk to a peeler man to man, shouldn’t he? Because a hero would look the peelers directly in the eye and, besides, Simplicity had kissed him, and for another one of the same he would kick a peeler in the arse. All he had to do was keep on the square, life would get better, and it might be better still if he could enlist the help of Mister Dickens.
    He looked at Simplicity and said, ‘Sorry, but it looks like we’ve got another journey to make.’
    Then there was nothing for it but to pick up another growler amongst the plenty outside and head for Parliament Square.

CHAPTER 9
    Dodger takes a cut-throat razor to Parliament, and meets a man who wants to be on the right side
    THE MEN WHO guarded what was left of the Houses of Parliament, in uniform or otherwise, were not very happy about letting them in, possibly because they could be French spies, or even Russian ones. Dodger wasn’t either, but instead of telling them to go to blazes, which he would have done once upon a time before he had Simplicity hanging on his arm, he simply stood there, making himself look as tall as he could, and said, ‘I am Mister Dodger and I am here to see Mister Charlie Dickens.’
    This caused a certain amount of chuckling, but he stood straight and stared at them and then somebody said, ‘Dodger? Isn’t he the man who wrestled the Demon Barber to the ground this morning, right down there in Fleet Street?’ The first man who had spoken came closer and said, ‘Yes, the peelers were frightened to go in there, so people say! I heard that people have already subscribed nearly ten guineas for him!’
    Now there was another crowd, and the only thing Dodger could do was to keep saying, ‘I am here to see Mister Dickens on a very important matter.’ Then he told himself that all he would have to do would be to hang on, stand up, shake the hands that were proffered, nod and smile and wait until somebody came back with Charlie.
    That worked, and a man – a very smart, very dapper man – suddenly appeared and said, with withering scorn, ‘If this is the Hero –
twice
the Hero of Fleet Street according to the newspapers – then what kind of