He hailed a hansom and directed it to the Cordovan Ministry, but then he had second thoughts. It was risky to go back there, and anyway he was short of time.
The police would be looking for a well-dressed man of forty, traveling alone. One way to get past them would be to appear as an older man with a companion. In fact, he could pretend to be an invalid, and be taken on board in a wheelchair. But for that he would need an accomplice. Whom could he use? He was not sure he could trust any of his employees, especially now that he was no longer the minister.
That left Edward.
"Drive to Hill Street," he told the cabbie.
Edward had a small house in Mayfair. Unlike the other Pilasters, he rented his home, and he had not been obliged to move out yet because his rent was paid three months in advance.
Edward did not seem to care that Micky had destroyed Pilasters Bank and brought ruin to his family. He had only become more dependent on Micky. As for the rest of the Pilasters, Micky had not seen them since the crash.
Edward answered the door in a stained silk dressing gown and took Micky up to his bedroom, where there was a fire. He was smoking a cigar and drinking whisky at eleven o'clock in the morning. The skin rash was all over his face now, and Micky had second thoughts about using him as an accomplice: the rash made him conspicuous. But there was no time to be choosy. Edward would have to do.
"I'm leaving the country," Micky said.
Edward said: "Oh, take me with you," and burst into tears.
"What the devil is the matter with you?" Micky said unsympathetically.
"I'm dying," Edward said. "Let's go somewhere quiet and live together in peace until I'm gone."
"You're not dying, you damn fool--you've only got a skin disease."
"It's not a skin disease, it's syphilis."
Micky gasped in horror. "Jesus and Mary, I might have it too!"
"It's no wonder, the amount of time we've spent at Nellie's."
"But April's girls are supposed to be clean!"
"Whores are never clean."
Micky fought down panic. If he delayed in London to see a doctor he might die at the end of a rope. He had to leave the country today. But the ship went via Lisbon: he could see a doctor there in a few days' time. That would have to do. He might not have the disease at all: he was much healthier than Edward generally, and he always washed himself after sex, whereas Edward was not so fastidious.
