"Well gentlemen, I suppose this night is going to cost me a round of drinks?" Doggett threw his hat on the table and sat down next to Langley. He smiled wickedly at the guilty looking pair. He nodded for Byers to take a seat and he looked around for the barmaid. He ordered gin for the table but only ale for Tommy. Studying the boy for a moment he asked, "did you eat dinner yet?"

Frohike chimed up. "I’ve h’aint neither gov’ner." At Doggett’s glare the pawnbroker slunk further into the booth. Doggett ordered the maid to bring Tommy some cold mutton and bread. As he turned he was struck by the tableau of Frohike, the pawnbroker; Langley, the pickpocket; and Byers, the police constable sitting side by side looking like they somehow belonged together. He shook off the ridiculous notion and spoke softly so that his companions had to lean toward him to hear. "Well gentlemen. Did you find Constable Owens?"

Frohike looked at Langley and the blond shrugged and drank down his gin. He looked appealingly at Doggett who pointedly ignored him. Frohike coughed up some phlegm and whispered conspiratorially. "Tell me gov’ner. This ‘ere Cons’able Owens? He go by ha’nother name?"

"Why?" Doggett snapped.

Frohike pulled back at the copper’s vehemence. "Jus’ ha’skin’, gov’ner. Jus’ ha’skin."

Doggett leaned forward and glared at Frohike. "Understand me, you little troll. I’ve had precious little sleep in the past 48 hours and I’m in no mood for riddles or games. So, if you have something for me, spit it out."

Langley whined. "Whaz in’t fer us?"

Doggett studied the pickpocket carefully. "How's your gut feeling today?"

Langley paled and scooted as far away from the detective as he could. Rubbing his belly he whimpered. "’e had no call to ‘it me so ‘ard. I’da tole ya."

Byers cleared his throat. "Then perhaps you should tell us what we need to know now."

Frohike sighed. He knew it wasn’t going to be a profitable night. "’Whal’ h’if’ h’it’s the same man what broked me h’arm fer me las year. Knew ‘im as Krycek, but Mr. Byers ‘ere pointed ‘im ou’ ta me a few months back as Mr. Owens. Seems ta me they is tha same."

Doggett considered. "Well, what’s this Krycek’s game? I don’t know that name from the police rolls? And Lord knows, I’ve read enough reports that I think I would recognize such a foreign name. What is he a Slav?"

Frohike shook his head. "Not that I knows, gov’nor. ‘e’s a real bludgen ‘e is. Mean ponce. He an’ tha luverly ‘rita runned a’lil Bearer up game fer ha’while. She bring in tha johns’ an’ ‘e’d bash n’ grab."

Doggett leaned forward eagerly. "Hold up, now. This Krycek – he knows Marita. Marita of "Just Marita" repute?"

Langley groaned into his gin. "Ooooooo. She’s a mean’n ‘erself. Cut yer ‘eart out she would. Uppity bitch ta boot, she is."

Frohike nodded in agreement. "Tha’s right, gov’ner. Henny ways, this here Krycek runs fer a swell what’s tha meanest of ‘em all, if ya h’ask me. Does errands like." Frohike’s voice dropped low. "Takes care of tings. If ya get me drift."

Doggett looked at the three men, took a deep breath and immediately regretted his action. He wasn’t sure if it was his companions or the ancient alehouse but the smell did nothing for his lungs and he felt the urge to vomit. He coughed before glaring at the pawnbroker. "Byers says you know where this Krycek is."

Frohike shrugged. "Should be h’at their crib up’ta street h’ways."

"Let’s go," Doggett growled.

"What? Now?" Langley whined. "Are ya daft? Cen’t see yer ‘and in front o’yer face, ya know?"

Doggett stared at Frohike. "How far?"

"Two, mebbee three blocks." The pawnbroker realized that as long as he was in the company of these coppers no one with anything worth selling would come near him. The sooner they were gone the sooner he could get down to fencing stolen property. Besides. Who knew when he could call in the favor he was bestowing tonight. "Come on, I’ll take ye meself."

::  ::  ::

Mulder had sat in the public house for nearly three hours. After he left Scully, he had wandered back to his room and tried to sleep, but odd distorted images haunted his dreams. He could only see Melissa's pale dead face before him. Every ghostly corner he turned, he found her staring at him with those dead horrid eyes. He had finally gotten up, washed, changed and began walking again. Hunger overtook him and he went into the Sword and Cross and ordered a roast beef sandwich and the first of many pints. He couldn’t think of Melissa anymore. It was too strange, even for him. He had barely known her, yet why did it feel like his soul had been ripped out. Shaking his head vigorously he decided to ponder the strange case of Skinner and Scully. He wanted to trust Skinner and deep down he knew he did. Then why did he feel so betrayed by what he had seen? He didn’t want Scully for himself. In fact, until he had met Melissa, he hadn’t wanted anyone, preferring meaningless encounters with anonymous whores. He liked Scully and he suddenly realized that she quite possibly was the only person he could call friend and he accepted the fact that if his friend made room for Skinner in her life, then there would be less for him. Seeing his feelings for what they were, he sighed and rose, albeit rather unsteadily and made his way for the door. He peered out into the fog and hailed a cab. "Bethany Circle."

::  ::  ::

Foster studied the man before him with disdain. The butler recognized him, of course. He had called on Miss Dana several times. "I’m sorry, sir, Miss Scully is not at home."

"I just stopped by the clinic and she isn’t there. Surely she must be home."

"Perhaps, sir, she is attending another birth," Foster sneered.

Puzzled Mulder started to ask his meaning when he heard a gentle voice from the stair. "Show Mr. Mulder to the library, Foster. I will wait with him." Mulder's eyes rested on a taller, slightly older version of Scully. The woman, dressed in an early evening frock glided down the stairs. "Never mind, Foster. I’ll show him myself. Please bring Mr. Mulder a…Brandy? Mr. Mulder?"

Still feeling the effects of the drinks he had consumed at the Sword and Cross, Mulder shook his head. "No really, I’m fine."

Melissa Scully entered the room ahead of him and crossed to sit in front of the roaring fire. "Please sit down, Mr. Mulder. We’ll wait for Dana together."

Mulder cleared his throat. "How have you been, Miss Scully?"

Melissa smiled sweetly. "I’m fine. Now. Of course last night we were terribly worried when Dana didn’t come home. We didn’t receive word about the birth she had to attended last night until early this morning."

Mulder clenched his jaw to keep from gasping. He wasn’t sure what he had thought when Skinner and Scully drove up to the clinic. He had been too shocked at the sight to pull his thoughts together. That and his own grief over the loss of Melissa Ephesian had blinded him to the implications of their arrival together that early in the morning. He didn’t even want to ponder the meaning of Scully’s attire. "I’m surprised she didn’t stay home today, after delivering a baby at night," was all he could manage.

Melissa nodded. "You would think that of most people, but my sister is very dedicated. What would the people do? Those poor people counting on her. I’ve tried to help out at the clinic, but there is so little that I know and it is quite depressing. Are you sure I cannot offer you some refreshment? Mother is laying down for a bit before dinner."

Mulder started to decline again when they heard a commotion at the front door. They stood and Mulder ran to the door of the library in time to see Walter Skinner push past Foster. Mulder met him in the center of the foyer. "Where is she, Mulder?"

Mulder stared at the agitated policeman. He saw anger and something else – fear in the man’s eyes. "She isn’t home yet."

"Why not! She left over an hour ago." Skinner scanned the room searching frantically, hope and increasing fear evident on his gruff features.

Mulder snapped out. "How do you know that? That she left over an hour ago?"

Skinner held out the soiled piece of paper. "Because she sent me word." His voice dropped as he continued. "I made her promise me she would wait or send word that she was returning home. The boy, Tommy, brought this note to me. In it she writes that she was leaving at little after 4:30. It’s almost after 6:00. Where is she?"

Mulder stepped up and poked Skinner in the chest. "Does this have anything to do with last night?"

Mulder gasped as Skinner grabbed him by his tie and nearly lifted him off the floor. "What do you know about last night? Doggett said you were with him all last night. What do you know about it? About that place?"

Mulder could barely breath and Melissa Scully stood to one side, her fingers to her lips. Suddenly from the top of the stairs a stern voice called out. "What is the meaning of this? How dare you fight in my home?" Margaret Scully stood on the stair landing staring down at the two angry men. "Mr. Mulder, what trouble have you gotten my daughter into this time? And you sir. Let Mr. Mulder go at once! At once I say!"

Skinner let loose of Mulder and stepped back, trying hard to regain some control. He watched as Mrs. Scully came down the stairs. "Sorry, ma’am. I’m looking for your daughter, Dr. Scully."

Maggie Scully considered the man before her. "I know who my daughter is, sir. What I do not know is who you are."

Skinner gulped. "Your pardon, ma’am. Walter Skinner, Scotland Yard."

Maggie paled. "What does Scotland Yard want with my daughter, Mr. Skinner?"

Skinner thought frantically. He didn’t know what to say to the mother of the woman he had slept with last night. He managed a weak explanation. "A woman went missing near where Dr. Scully has her clinic and I wanted to ask her some questions. She…uhm…she must have made a call before coming home."

Maggie sighed. "Yes, of course. And just like last night, she didn’t bother to send word that she was going to be late again." Maggie waved her hand dismissively. "Well, I waited dinner for her last night, I shan’t do it again. Come Melissa. You gentlemen are welcome to wait or go, but you will excuse us." She led Melissa into the dining room.

Mulder stepped close up to Skinner’s side and hissed into his ear. "If I find out that you caused harm to come to her…"

A loud pounding on the door interrupted Mulder's threat. Skinner flung it open before Foster could get near the entryway. Before him stood Tommy, panting heavily. "Lor’ Mister Skinner, I made h’it’n 20 minutes, I did. Mr. Doggett says to come quick, h’its Mr. Owens fer sure."

Skinner stared at the boy and back at Mulder. The look on the reporter’s face left no room for discussion. "Come on then. I pray he knows where she’s at." He glared at Foster who was standing there, pale and nervous. "You there. If Dr. Scully shows up or if you hear anything on this end send word to the Yard, understand."

Foster, who saw potential mayhem in the Chief Superintendent's terrible visage, gulped and nodded.

Fear and common purpose gripped Skinner and Mulder, propelling them down the stairs, Tommy right behind them barely keeping up with the long strides. They found a cab and Skinner started to give the driver directions when he realized he had no idea where they needed to go. He looked at Tommy who yelled out, "St. Giles. ‘En hop it."

The cabby peered through the fog at Skinner who yelled up, "you heard the boy, Hop to it."

Skinner had no idea how they got there as fast as they did. The fear in his chest was nearly paralyzing now. He knew there was no way he could have foreseen it, but he blamed himself for her disappearance and made a silent vow to kill any man who harmed her. <<<Please dear God, let her be safe.>>>

The cabby stopped at the entrance of a foul alleyway and Tommy alighted first. "This way, gov’ner." Skinner paid the cab and together the two men crept along the brick wall following the teenager who was gingerly feeling his way across the trash-ridden cobblestones. The fog was thinner here almost as if even nature itself was wary to enter this place. A dull glow from somewhere ahead beckoned them. Skinner stopped suddenly when they heard the sharp grunt. A hand reached out and Skinner yanked it toward him. He didn’t release his sigh of relief but ground out, "Where are they, Doggett?"

Doggett stared at his chief’s stern, hard face. He could sense something had happened and tried to keep the fear from his response. "Down here, sir. Sir? Has something happened? Is…"

Skinner paused in his flight and turned to stare at Doggett. "Your family’s fine, John. But Doctor Scully never made it back from her clinic."

The rookeries before him were even fouler that the whorehouses from the night before. Bare open windows, shuttered by tattered blankets, faced them. Open fires cast an orange flickering glow around them and John Doggett was reminded of his Calvinist father’s reading of Dante’s Inferno. Surely this place was a special level of hell. Few if any of the buildings here were fit to live in by even the meanest of London’s citizens. It was barely better than sleeping under the rail tunnels north and west of town. "Where?" Skinner growled.

The little pawnbroker stepped out of the shadows and studied the enraged policeman. He kept any wry comments to himself and simply pointed to perhaps the best building on the block. "Up there gov’ner. Second floor to the back."

Skinner looked over the area and back at the man. "Is there a whore keeper?"

Frohike shook his head vehemently, but Langley snorted a sarcastic, "’ere, I’m quite suare that tha lady of’tha ‘ouse…" Skinner stepped up to the pickpocket who suddenly grew silent and turned a ghastly euchre color in the sputtering lamplight. "Sorry, sir," he muttered as he slunk away.

Doggett answered gruffly, "not down here, sir. There’s a bruiser that prob’ly comes round to collect the rents so to speak, but that’s all."

"Are you sure they’re up there, Doggett?"

"I saw Owens creeping up the stairs, but I don’t know for sure what room they’re in. You want me to go up?"

"No, we go together."

Quietly, they made their way up the rickety staircase, the boards groaning under Skinner’s weight. Frohike had wanted to stay back, but fear of what awaited him in the building was small compared to his fear of crossing the Chief Superintendent. When they reached their goal, he pointed at a heavy damask bed curtain covering the opening and hissed, "in there."

Skinner pressed his back against one side of the opening and Doggett and Mulder to the other. Together they listened, tuning out the cries and shouts of the other inhabitants of this foul place.

"I’m tellin’ ya, Marita. It’s no good. We’ve got to scarper if we’re gonna live." Skinner recognized Constable Andrew Owens’ voice. He looked back at Frohike and Langley and jerked his head, letting them know they could leave.

They heard a loud, brassy laugh. "You know ‘who ‘e is. What ‘e is. Ya think ‘e’s gonna let us leave. "e owns us, Alex. "e’s h’aways owned us. Took ya off the streets, gotcha away from yer old man, crazy bastard Roosian. Got ya that ripe job down ta tha Yard. Better place than ‘is own kid, the lil’ wanker."

Mulder made a move to enter the room, but Dogget held him back. The look on Skinner's face shadowed in the flickering light. Mulder glared at the two men but moved back to stand next to Doggett.

"I’m tellin ya, Marita. Spender’s mad! Tellin’ Jeffrey to kill the Ephesian woman was insane. And then the wanker, as you called him, nearly botched the job. It was a good thing I was driving that cab. She almost got away, I had ta bash her brains in meself."

This time Skinner couldn’t stop Mulder and made do with following him in. Mulder pulled the covering from the wall and charged into the room, running full force into Andrew Owens/Alex Krycek, sending them both flying across the room, crashing across a rickety table and into the wall. Marita screamed and tried to run from the room only to find herself nose-to-chest with Skinner. He fisted her hair, pulled her back and flung her into Doggett’s arms. He then turned and approached the grappling men. Mulder had Krycek pinned to the floor and was flailing away on him, landing blow after blow on the other man’s face and body. Skinner let him land several more blows before reaching down and pulling the younger man up and off his opponent. "Enough, Mulder. I want him conscious. He can tell us where Scully is."

::  ::  ::

Her head hurt. She tried to rub it but found that she couldn’t move her arms. She came fully awake with a jerk of terror; the clanking chains the only sound but her groans in the small room. She forced herself to remain calm. Slowly she opened her eyes, letting them adjust to the smoky light emanating from the oil lamp across the room. The room itself was nicely appointed, though rather gaudy. Red brocade covered the walls, matching gold fabric covered the chaise lounge to her left and the several chairs scattered about her. She looked up and saw that she was chained to a large four-poster bed. She finally summoned the courage to check herself and was embarrassed to find that she was clad only in her chemise and knickers. Memories of Cassandra’s ordeal slammed into the forefront of her memory. She struggled again, now in abject terror when she heard the door slowly open the hinges badly in need of tallow wax. She gasped when she saw him.

"Well, Miss Scully. At last. Tell me, do you remember me this time?"

Scully tried to swallow but found her throat sore and dry. "Mr. Barrington?"

"Ah, good. You do remember me. So troublesome of you not too, rather rude actually." The tall man stood there in fine black evening dress, a flowing cape lined in blood red satin flung carefully around his shoulders. He walked up to the bed and studied her for a moment before raising his gold handled cane up. He brought it down to trace the side of her face, dragging the heavy lion’s head down to press against her right nipple.

She jerked away from him and spat out. "Don’t touch me. Get away from me."

He brought the head to the junction of her thighs and pressed down firmly. She scooted up and away and he sneered his laughter. "Oh my dear, Miss Scully, I am going to touch you in places that you can’t even image. I will show you what it is like to be a woman and when I am done with you, you will beg me to do it again and again."

"My mother will look for me. Others will look for me. <<<Skinner will kill you, you bastard. But, oh God, Walter. Oh please God, don’t let me find me like this.>>> Tears sprung to her eyes and she turned her head away from him.

Dropping his cane to the floor, Barrington reached down and caressed her cheek with long thin fingers. "Now, Dana you mustn’t say such things. Your mother is quite put out with you. She will come to me for help, I’ve made sure of that. She likes me quite a bit. In fact I rather think she fancies me for herself a times. I’ve never had an older woman before. Perhaps, when I am through with you, I might just visit her to offer my condolences. Of course, your sister is quite the beauty too."

Dana went rigid in fear. "You leave my family alone, you bastard."

Barrington flung off the cloak and knelt next to her on the bed. Grabbing her loosened hair in his fist he pulled her lips to his and brutally kissed her, his tongue demanding entrance. She bit him as hard as she could and he pulled back in anger, clutching his bleeding mouth. He pulled out a fine linen handkerchief and held it tightly against his wound. "You bitch! You’ll be sorry you did that."

"Actually, it will be you that is sorry, Michael," the soft voice from the doorway admonished. Scully strained to see around the bedpost and Barrington, seeing a dark-haired very wrinkled man standing there, a young nervous constable behind him. Relief flooded through her for a moment until she heard his next words. "I told you that we would have to wait awhile until the nonsense over Cavender’s wench died down."

Barrington turned and growled at the man. "Damn you Spender. I told you I would take care of her. When I’m done with her we can send her up to Wales to service the men in the mines. That whorehouse you own in Cardiff…"

A blast echoed through the room and Barrington clutched his chest as he fell forward to one knee, then toppled, landing on his back. Spender, still holding the pistol, came and stood over Barrington and watched the life ebb from his eyes, never saying a word until Scully heard the death rattle from across the room. Finally, Spender looked back at the constable and gently admonished. "Don’t just stand there, send for someone to take out the trash. Make sure that they know to take his body far down river before dumping it this time. Then come back here. We are going to have to decide how to get rid of Miss Scully."

Scully watched the man survey the room and her. She saw the look in his eyes and knew that nothing she could say would sway him. She was going to die by his hand. She closed her eyes and thought of her mother and sister and what they would think when they found her body hanging from a chandelier in a whore house or floating in the Thames. Of course, they wouldn’t find her. Walter would and it would kill him. She knew that. Even after one night, she knew that they belong together. Tears coursed down her cheeks.

She felt him standing there staring down at her but she wouldn’t open her eyes. "Come now, Miss Scully. I will try and make it as painless as possible."

Scully sniffed back her tears and managed to angrily spit out, "Damn you straight to hell."

His small short laugh caused her to open her eyes. She saw the madness there, the cunning, but also a sense that he knew he was doomed. "Oh I figured out long ago that Lucifer and I were kith and kin, Miss Scully. That’s why I plan on staying alive as long as I can."

"He’ll hunt you down and kill you. I know he will."

Spender considered her, his head cocked to one side. "Who will, Miss Scully? That reporter? I don’t think so. I have connections with the paper. I think I will have them send him to report on the conditions in Africa. Interesting things happening in Africa."

<<<He doesn’t know about Skinner. I can’t let him know, he will have Walter killed if he knows.>>>

As if reading her mind he chuckled. "As for the police. I have much power there. I can tell the commissioner that I want something done and he will tell Skinner to do it. So you see my dear, there is no use in struggling." He trailed a finger down her bare arm. "So soft." He touched her belly, tracing outlines on it. "So beautiful. If I thought that I could get away with it, I would keep you for myself. Who knows, perhaps you would be as pliable as my dear Cassandra and come to enjoy the darker pleasures as much as she did."

Scully’s shocked gasp caused him to pull back. "You know my Cassandra? Of course you do. I’m sure you tend her and all the aging whores down there." He sighed, "She’s nothing like she was. I was engaged to her you know, but something better came my way. Diana Fowley was ever so much richer, more stately, colder, the bitch." He thought back, engrossed in his own memories. "Yes, Diana was a better catch, but I decided to have them both. Shall I tell you what I did? Perhaps you would find it…"

"I know what you did. She told me. You used her and then threw her away. Why?"

"Why? Because, she committed the one act that I couldn’t forgive, my dear. Of course in the long run, it worked out quite nicely. I have my fine house, a wife I can take to court, and I even have a son without ever having to bed that cold-hearted bitch of a wife."

Scully shuddered. "I don’t understand?" What sin did Cassandra commit? How can you have a son without…" Understanding finally dawned, "Oh. Does he know?"

A thin squeak came from the doorway. "Do I know what, Miss Scully? That he’s my father? Or that my mother is a whore?"

Dana stared at the constable, his young smooth face twisted by rage and insanity, just like his father. Shivering from more than the cold across her skin she shrank away from them as far as the chains would allow. "Cassandra is your mother? She raised you and…" She stopped at the surprised look on the two men’s faces.

"Don’t be naïve, Doctor." Spender, Sr. snapped. Do you think I would let a son of mine be raised by a whore? One who loved her profession so much? She never even held the boy. I took him and placed him in the care of someone I could trust."

Dana felt faint with rage and helplessness. She was going to die and Walter would be destroyed trying to find her killers. "Do you honestly think that you can get away with this? Two, no three middle class women have been found under strange circumstances. Do you think that people in high places will continue to overlook this? You mentioned Mulder. You think you can shut him up like you say? Do you own all the papers’ editors? Do you think that one of them won’t publish the story that he is sure to write? He…and…others will track you down if you kill me too. He is already enraged over Melissa Ephesian. What if he goes to Lord Ephesian? What will he find out? How do you know that you aren’t already known?"

Spender merely studied her for a long time, letting his eyes rake over her near naked body. She cast her gaze to the younger Spender and lost the last vestige of courage she had. He looked nervous but not scared. Not of discovery anyway. He kept glancing at his father and Scully knew that whatever hell he feared could be no worse than his life here and now.

"You have a point, of course. We will not be able to pass off another suicide… What? Did you think that I would let the Taylor girl live? You are a fool, Doctor. Where was I? Oh yes. No, there is no reason to assume that you have done anything to warrant your suicide. And I knew the police would figure out that the Wells bitch was murdered. Of course, London is a dangerous place; it would not be inconceivable that a woman such as you, overcome by remorse or curiosity, might want to see where Miss Ephesian died. The docks are dangerous and slippery. Perhaps we can arrange for you to slip and fall there. Of course, we will need a witness above disrepute. Ah yes, Judge Dunston, I think. Go find him Jeffery. Have him meet us down at the docks by Shadwell. Tell him he is going for a walk and to look out over the bridge as he does so."

When his son left the room, Spender went to a large wardrobe and pulled out Scully’s clothing. He walked over to her and threw them on the bed and called out. "Ripper!" A man, perhaps three inches taller than Skinner and nearly twice as wide, with a large hideous scar running down his face rumbled into the room and stood there staring hungrily at Dana. Spender's grin was evil, but he asked most politely, "do you need help getting dressed, my dear?"

::  ::  ::

Skinner righted a chair and slammed the bleeding moaning Krycek into it. He bent low and stared into the man’s tortured features. "Where is she, Constable Owens, or Krycek or who ever the hell you are?"

Sullenly Krycek spat back, "Where’s who?"

Mulder slapped him hard on the side of the head. "Where is Scully, you bastard?"

Krycek howled his rage. "I don’t know who yer talkin about."

Skinner studied the man for a long time and realized that Krycek wouldn’t talk. He had grown up too hard to fall for police battery and something in him, made Skinner despise its use. Walter thought for a moment and then smiled. He walked over to where Marita was struggling against Doggett’s firm control of her arm. "How old are you Marita?"

Stunned at the apparently silly question, Marita stilled and spat back. "Whaz’t ta you?"

Skinner let his finger trail down her smooth cheek. "I want to know Marita because I am going to put you in jail for a very long time, Lambeth if you’re lucky, Clerkenwall if you’re not. Oh, you will do just fine there I am sure. I understand the guards there are willing to do favors for girls willing to do favors in return. Who knows, perhaps you can put on a show like you did last night at the Hellfire club."

Shocked gasps filled the room. Krycek tried to stand but Mulder hit him again, sending him sprawling to the floor. His voice still very gentle, Skinner continued. "Who knows, I might even persuade the judge that you knew all about the murders of Miss Wells and Miss Ephesian and you will swing too."

Marita tried to bluff her way. "I gots me powerful friends, I do."

Skinners bitter laugh cut her off. "Yes, well that was before your powerful friend made a more powerful enemy who just happens to be on my side now." Skinner waited.

Marita looked from the policeman to the man sprawled on the floor. She wet her lips. "What h’about Alex?"

Skinner looked down at Krycek and sneered. "You must be joking? Three people heard him confess to killing Melissa Ephesian. Mr. Krycek, as you call him, will swing in Newgate Yard before spring, Marita. Now all that remains to be decided is if he swings alone."

Marita pulled her lip in between her teeth. "I wants transportation. I’m sick of this place. Sick’o tha bloody fog. Sides, I wanna be h’as far from’em as I cen get. I serve me time down under, or I say nuffink."

Skinner nodded his agreement then growled low and deadly. "Where is she?"

Marita hesitated a moment. "I don’ know fer suare, but that bastard Barrington were all ‘ot fer ‘er. Thas why the Wells chit was snatched. That wanker Spender grabbed the wrong ‘en. Old Barry were right put out ‘e was. ‘ad’ta take ‘is pleasures wiff the preacher’s gel. All the drugs and fancy pettin din’ do nuffink. All she did were lay ther cryin en’ prayin to tha lord. Like’ta drive me batty, h’it did. If Barry took ‘er, then likes ‘e took ‘er back ta Green Street. To tha club. Course, when ‘is lordship finds out, ‘e’l have a right one. Don’ wanta be there when ‘e finds out."

Skinner let out a long breath. It made sense. He ran his hand down over his mouth. "Damn! How much time have we wasted." He glared at Krycek and then looked at Doggett. "I need you with me. I can’t do this alone."

Mulder yelled. "Hey! You’re not keeping me out of this. I’m coming too. I can hold my own in a brawl."

Skinner scowled at Marita. "How many men are there?"

"You mean sides tha gen’mens?" Marita sneered.

Skinner took a step toward her and she backed into the sturdy wall of Doggett. "H’okay! Mebbee five or six. Most of ‘em’l be on tha floor. Watchin’ the men, whach the show. But ya best watch out fer Ripper. ‘e’s a biggin." Marita smiled evilly. "Like ta see that match I would."

"They holding anymore women there, against their will?" Marita shrugged and Skinner let it slide. They would know soon enough.

Skinner looked around and found what he was looking for. "Sergeant, do you have your handcuffs on you?"

Doggett followed his boss’ gaze and smiled. "Yes, sir." They dragged Krycek over to the large iron ring in the wall and Doggett dug out his thick iron handcuffs and worked one end through the ring. They secured one of Krycek’s wrists to one cuff and one of Marita’s to the other. Then Skinner looked around, found a stout cord and firmly tied Marita’s free wrist to the manacled one and repeated the same with Krycek. He then ripped a long length from Marita skirt, gagged her and then Alex. Standing back he studied their handiwork. He wasn’t happy but it would have to do. He didn’t have time to take them in. He knew in his soul that Spender wouldn’t keep Scully alive.

Skinner looked at Tommy. "I want you to do something for me."

Tommy eagerly nodded his head, "anything gov’ner."

Skinner found the note that Scully had sent him. He smoothed it out and found a small pencil and hastily wrote a message. He folded it and handed it to the boy. "Take this to King Street. Tell the man on duty there that he has to find Chief Inspector Charles Parker. Give this note to Parker and only Parker. Tell the duty man that I sent you and there will be hell to pay if the men aren’t at that address quickly."

He hurried the boy out the doorway. Then with Doggett’s help he covered the opening again before running down the stairs himself. He nearly tripped in his haste to reach Charing Cross but he found a cabby and directed him where to go. Sitting across from Doggett and Mulder in the bouncing coach Skinner explained his plan. He pulled out his pistol and checked to see that all the rounds were firmly in the cylinder.

Mulder asked bitterly. "So we’re just going to let all those men get away."

"Mulder, damn it. What do you want from me? You want to take names and publish them? Be my guest. You think your editor will do that?"

Mulder sat back and pouted. "What did you tell Inspector Parker that will make him call out all of Whitehall Station’s force?"

Skinner snorted. "That anarchists were there, plotting to kidnap Bertie and attack Buckingham Palace."

Doggett stifled a laugh. "Well that will work better than telling them the truth."

Mulder didn’t laugh. He muttered bitterly. "It shouldn’t be that way. It isn’t right."

The three rode in silence for the rest of the way. When they alighted at Green Street they carefully made their way down the alley. Skinner strode up to the door and boldly knocked and when the door opened the door he growled out "Brimstone."

They looked around the crowded club, letting their eyes adjust to the darkness. Doggett nudged Skinner and nodded to a curtained area around the side of the room. When the man came to seat them, Skinner demanded a seat near the back, ‘over there’. The man shrugged and muttered. "What ever you say gov, ain’t as good of view though."

Skinner quirked a grin. "We like it dark."

After they were seated and he had watched for a while Dogget grunted. "I think I see where they are entering and exiting at."

Skinner whispered back, keeping his eyes on the men, obviously not gentlemen, milling around the edges. "You see anywhere else they could leave from?"

"Depends on what’s behind the curtains, don’ it?"

Unhappy with his part in their little drama, Mulder finally spoke up. "I want to go upstairs with you too."

Skinner studied the younger man beside him. "I need you to get these men out of the club. Not just to avoid a scandal. Frankly, at this stage if we fail, then scandal is the least of my worries. Make sure they are all leaving before you follow us."

Mulder gritted his teeth. "Let’s get going then. If Scully is here, we have to get to her." Skinner and Doggett stood and went to the back of the room until they found the gap in the curtain. They spotted the staircase leading up and slowly mounted the steps, listening carefully for any sound. They heard very little from the front of the house until they were almost to the top, facing a long hallway with several doors leading off it.

Mulder clenched his teeth and made himself start to count to 100 as he had agreed to do so that Skinner and Doggett would have time to get out of the way, in case ‘the guests’ fled out other exits besides the front door. Once he had reached 75 he muttered, ‘to hell with it,’ and got up and approached his mark. He had spotted him as soon as they had sat down. The man, an undersecretary to the Foreign Minister was seated with two other young rakes. Mulder bent over and smiled at the man. "Excuse me, aren’t you Mr. Tooms?" The man looked at him in horror. Names were never used here.

The man gulped and looked at his companions before hissing back. "You-you aren’t supposed to use anyone’s name h-h-here."

Mulder restrained himself but continued. "Oh I don’t know anything about that. I’m a reporter for the Gazette and one of my police informants told me they were going to raid this club tonight. Something about anarchists or…." He never got to finish. In fact it was difficult to stay standing as another man at a table next to him repeated. "Raid?" in a loud enough voice to be heard by the whole club. Mulder made his way toward the back, pushing and fighting his way through the panicked crowd.

On the second floor Skinner and Doggett could hear the commotion, evidently so did someone else up here because they heard a door flung open and a gravely voice grumble out, "wat the ‘ell." Skinner tried the first door, pushed it open and dragged Doggett in behind him. He had barely pushed the door almost shut before he saw a Goliath rumble down the hallway. The giant paused at the top of the stairs and yelled down. "Wha’da ya doin down there." The shouts from below were more apparent now and Skinner watched as the big man cursed and started down the stairs. He spared only a second to how Mulder would deal with the man. He felt an urgent tug on his sleeve and turned to stare where Doggett was pointing.

A young woman lay tied spread eagle to the four poster bed. Skinner looked around but couldn’t find anything to cut her thick bonds with. "Sweet Jesus, Dogget, at least find something to cover her with."

They entered the hallway again and Skinner could just barely make out Mulder’s voice raised in alarm. He looked at Doggett and groaned. "Go help him. Find something heavy to take with you."

Alone now he quickly checked the other rooms, all were empty. All looked like they hadn’t been used for a while – all but one. He stood at the entrance of the last room off the hallway. The bed was messed and heavy chains still hung from the posts where someone had been secured. He walked over to the bed, stared down and knew. Knew it was she that had been tied here. Knew he was too late. He turned and ran out of the room and into the hallway. He listened carefully but could hear no movement or sound. He ran to the top of the steps just in time to see Goliath throw Doggett across the room, a heavy pipe still clutched in the sergeant’s hand. He made his way down and as he reached the bottom step grabbed both handrails and swung himself up, kicking out and connecting with the man’s head. The force of his kick sent the man to his knees. And while the kick would have killed many a man, the giant got up, shook his head and looked around for his attacker. He made his way toward Skinner, his hands stretched out ready to snap Skinner’s neck, when Walter pulled out his pistol and aimed it at the man’s head. "I’ll kill you where you stand, Ripper."

The man paused and considered the weapon. He grinned evilly and took a step toward Skinner. Skinner lowered the gun and fired. The blast echoed through the room and several more shouts could be heard from the main room. This time though he could clearly hear, "No body move. Police." The big man’s roar joined the general chaos as he fell clutching his kneecap.

Skinner walked up and placed the barrel of the gun in the man’s crotch. "Where is she?"

Just then the curtains parted and a familiar voice yelled. "What the hell is going on here?"

Skinner growled up at his old friend. "Stay back, Charles. This man and I have business, but there’s a girl tied to a bed upstairs, you might want to go free her."

Chief Inspector Charles Parker sent two constables upstairs before stooping down next to Skinner. Keeping his voice low he admonished, "Anarchists? Those were bloody lords of the realm running down the bleeding alleyway. What the hell have you stirred up here… sir?"

Skinner grabbed Ripper by his neck and ground out. "Something far uglier than anarchy. Something you and I can do nothing about, it seems. But Ripper here is going to tell me what I want to know before another woman dies. Isn’t that right, Ripper?" Skinner nudged the man’s privates hard with his pistol.

Ripper glared up at the policeman. "You wouldn’t dare, you wouldn’t."

Skinner looked at Parker and nodded toward main room and quietly commanded, "you’d better see if you can see any anarchists in the other room, Charles."

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