his ears twitch as he lingers just within range of a whispered exchange. He is waiting, always waiting, for a law to be broken.
And you can be sure he knows all the laws by rote. All that is required is for him to see the briefest glimpse of an indecent image being transacted, or for the street traffic to be held up for the merest instant by unhealthy interest in a shop window, or to overhear an exclamation of distaste at such a window, or to note a comment that might be interpreted as unChristian – and then he can run off to the magistrate or constable like an obsequious schoolboy to report his outrage. The culprit will be arrested and charged while he, the spy, will remain unnamed and free to continue his ‘good work’.
We will allow this one to remain anonymous for not a moment longer. His name is Eusebius Bean.
No other Vice Society spy has prompted so many convictions and no other is as omnipresent wherever the scent of vice may lurk. Perhaps his success is due to his remarkable blandness: a face that, beneath his wide-brimmed hat, has nothing whatsoever remarkable about it; clothing that is nothing out of the ordinary; a manner that is unassuming to the point of invisibility – why, the man might well be a tailor’s straw-filled model.
Only his tongue, flicking at the corner of his lips occasionally like a serpent, shows his anticipation of the next transgression to be observed. Will it be a plaster medallion showing Leda and the over-familiar Swan? Or an ornamental meerschaum pipe bowl featuring an Oriental scene requiring no imagination? Or perhaps an indecent print slipped briefly from its brown envelope by a hawker so that a gentleman customer might verify his purchase?
To the people strolling and shopping, he is just another of the street’s insalubrious characters along with the beggars, the flute-playing fool and the blind knife-sharpener. But the shopkeepers and kerb-dwellers of the street know him for what he is and they are careful to avoid him. No doubt they would like to beat him half to death in a dark yard, but they fear the power behind him.
As well they might, for, as we have already seen, Eusebius Bean has been following Inspector Newsome and Constable Cullen. It is something out of the style of his usual work but he has all of the necessary skills, and – as we will soon see – a particular impetus to act so.
We may be sure that he had heard quite enough before fleeing from the corridor outside Mrs Colliver’s rooms. But the reader may be wondering why this man, whose common province was the explicit print and saucy sonnet, was following the two policemen in the first place.
As a rule, those of Eusebius’s ilk exist almost independently of the Society for the Suppression of Vice. Paid weekly, ignorant of each other’s identities, and kept at a sanitary distance from the respectable people at Lincolns-inn-fields (who might find distaste in their methods), they seldom meet their paymasters in person – so it was a great surprise to Eusebius when, the day before Inspector Newsome’s visit, a gentleman wearing smart livery had approached him wordlessly in the open street and handed him a letter, then loitering as if for a response.
Vocationally fearful of observation, Eusebius had stepped into the doorway of a closed shop and – after checking the liveried gentleman was not watching him – unfolded the paper.
Dear Eusebius
Your duties as a diligent servant of the Society have come to my attention and I commend you on your many prosecutions. Due to the efforts of men like you, ladies may go about the streets less afraid of encountering debasement of the most horrific and degrading form, and gentlemen may be assured that their sons are not being corrupted.
Indeed, I would like to make use of your talents in a personal matter of extreme delicacy and importance to the Society. I would be grateful if you would accompany the man who handed you this letter to my home address, where I
And you can be sure he knows all the laws by rote. All that is required is for him to see the briefest glimpse of an indecent image being transacted, or for the street traffic to be held up for the merest instant by unhealthy interest in a shop window, or to overhear an exclamation of distaste at such a window, or to note a comment that might be interpreted as unChristian – and then he can run off to the magistrate or constable like an obsequious schoolboy to report his outrage. The culprit will be arrested and charged while he, the spy, will remain unnamed and free to continue his ‘good work’.
We will allow this one to remain anonymous for not a moment longer. His name is Eusebius Bean.
No other Vice Society spy has prompted so many convictions and no other is as omnipresent wherever the scent of vice may lurk. Perhaps his success is due to his remarkable blandness: a face that, beneath his wide-brimmed hat, has nothing whatsoever remarkable about it; clothing that is nothing out of the ordinary; a manner that is unassuming to the point of invisibility – why, the man might well be a tailor’s straw-filled model.
Only his tongue, flicking at the corner of his lips occasionally like a serpent, shows his anticipation of the next transgression to be observed. Will it be a plaster medallion showing Leda and the over-familiar Swan? Or an ornamental meerschaum pipe bowl featuring an Oriental scene requiring no imagination? Or perhaps an indecent print slipped briefly from its brown envelope by a hawker so that a gentleman customer might verify his purchase?
To the people strolling and shopping, he is just another of the street’s insalubrious characters along with the beggars, the flute-playing fool and the blind knife-sharpener. But the shopkeepers and kerb-dwellers of the street know him for what he is and they are careful to avoid him. No doubt they would like to beat him half to death in a dark yard, but they fear the power behind him.
As well they might, for, as we have already seen, Eusebius Bean has been following Inspector Newsome and Constable Cullen. It is something out of the style of his usual work but he has all of the necessary skills, and – as we will soon see – a particular impetus to act so.
We may be sure that he had heard quite enough before fleeing from the corridor outside Mrs Colliver’s rooms. But the reader may be wondering why this man, whose common province was the explicit print and saucy sonnet, was following the two policemen in the first place.
As a rule, those of Eusebius’s ilk exist almost independently of the Society for the Suppression of Vice. Paid weekly, ignorant of each other’s identities, and kept at a sanitary distance from the respectable people at Lincolns-inn-fields (who might find distaste in their methods), they seldom meet their paymasters in person – so it was a great surprise to Eusebius when, the day before Inspector Newsome’s visit, a gentleman wearing smart livery had approached him wordlessly in the open street and handed him a letter, then loitering as if for a response.
Vocationally fearful of observation, Eusebius had stepped into the doorway of a closed shop and – after checking the liveried gentleman was not watching him – unfolded the paper.
Dear Eusebius
Your duties as a diligent servant of the Society have come to my attention and I commend you on your many prosecutions. Due to the efforts of men like you, ladies may go about the streets less afraid of encountering debasement of the most horrific and degrading form, and gentlemen may be assured that their sons are not being corrupted.
Indeed, I would like to make use of your talents in a personal matter of extreme delicacy and importance to the Society. I would be grateful if you would accompany the man who handed you this letter to my home address, where I
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