‘Oh no, sir, it takes a very intelligent man to be a Fence. Mr. Hartopp’s a very intelligent man, and had a first-class education.’
‘What’s his story, then?’
‘Story, sir? There’s no story as far as I ever heard. Nothing out of the ordinary, sir.’
‘How did he become blind?’
‘Overwork, sir. He was a schoolmaster as a young man down in our part of the country, and overworked his eyes like at his work, sir. That’s how he lost his place. He had a fever, and they took him to the Workhouse Infirmary. It’s that what made him go to the bad, they say, sir; he’d always had a horror of the rates. He often talks of himself as a pauper, as if it was a disgrace like. He’d worked his way up like, sir, and couldn’t stand being mixed up with pauperism. So when they discharged him he came up to London and went to the bad.’
‘Drink, I suppose? It always begins that way, I’m told.’
‘Mr. Hartopp, sir? Oh no, sir, I never knew him drink anything, sir, nor smoke neither. Drink and tobacco he says are ... some funny word, painkillers sort of, to keep the workin’ classes from yellin’ out while they’re bein’ skinned alive. He’s a very funny man, sir, always makin’ jokes. Not but what he’s fond of good livin’ too, sir. When trade was good one time he used to go regular every day and lunch at the Carlton. I only found out by chance; I was that surprised. Up till then I’d always took him for a Socialist.’
‘How did he lose his leg?’
‘His leg, sir? I really don’t remember how that was. It wasn’t very long ago, I know. Blind men often get knocked about like in the traffic.’