One Picture is Worth 10,000 Words, - a Chinese Proverb -

[Jack McGee]

Jack felt much better today than he had yesterday. Yesterday, he had awakened to a shrieking hangover, aching thighs, and a few visible subdermal contusions that bore a fascinating resemblance to ... lips. There were also a few scratches on his chest and shoulders. All day he hovered near the chamber pot and drank plenty of water and, like the investigator he was, carefully reconstructed the night he'd spent at the Gilded Fleece.

That was yesterday.

Today, he was physically recovered and mostly sure of what went on Saturday night. He just wished he had any friends. He really wanted someone to brag to about all of it.

Maybe, after his assignment at the Prison, he would wander about and try to spontaneously 'bump into' Victor Grenville. Even if it was only to show him a knowing smile and get one in return. That would be very gratifying. Perhaps the Lord Marquis spent many such Saturday nights in such a way, but Jack had never. And he was happy to think that he could never say that again.

He smiled privately as he started up the stairs to Editor Perri White's offices, but that smile faded to a grim line as he was reminded how, not a couple weeks gone now, these stairs had been littered and splashed with the bodies and blood of foreign assassin's intent on the killing of, if he was deducing correctly, the Lady Cecelia Warren.

And in the middle of it... Harry Watson. That man seemed to find his way into, and apparently out of, every tale of terror told these days. He had not seen or heard from the man in weeks, not since Harry had forcefully convinced him to alter the truth of the events described in 'the London Times Beseiged'. It wasn't the threats that convinced Jack, though. It was the harm the truth would do, as he understood it.

He finally achieved the top floor, a little winded for his pace, but anxious to be given the details of the assignment. Of course, he was aware of the recent transfer of the near legendary thief, Gaston Devereaux, from Edinburgh to London. He suspected any assignment at Newgate must be related to that, but nothing was ever certain until the Chief spoke.

Jack never needed to knock on the Chief's door. If he was in, the door was always opened and Perriwinkle White was always the first thing you saw as you walked the long hall to his office.

"McGee," White growled as he waved Jack forward with his typical impatience. "You're going to Newgate to interview, first, Warden Hargreaves, and then, Gaston Devereaux. The Warden will talk to you. The thief might not. See what you can get.

"And Griggs, here, will be coming with you," White carelessly pointed to a man thus far unnoticed by Jack sitting in a side chair. Jack nodded acknowledgement of the young man who appeared to be every bit his contemporary. He dressed well, but not richly. He seemed relaxed, with an anxious undercurrent. A good looking fellow with carefully careless hair. They could have been brothers but for the fact that 'Griggs' had intense eyes and glowing skin, compared to Jack, who considered himself beady eyed and pale.

"He's an artist," White went on to explain. "No one has ever seen this 'Master Thief' and we have a chance to produce the first image."

White looked to Griggs, then, and made his further points.

"Devereaux might not even allow you to do your work, so I hope you can work from memory. McGee here will be the judge of your work, in the end. If he is not impressed, then I am not impressed. And, if I am not impressed...

"... you do not get paid."

White showed him an even stare to illustrate his sincerity. Then, as if waking, White shook his head and barked.

"That's all," he waved them both toward the door. "Your appointment with the warden is for noon. Be there at eleven to make sure you're in place.

"Get to work."

Jack nodded. "Right, Chief."

"Don't call me 'Chief'!" White exclaimed as the two men left his office.

"Jack McGee," Jack offered the other man his hand. "Welcome to the London Times.

"Leave your soul at the door," he laughed.... but not really. He suddenly wondered if Griggs wanted to hear about the sexy party he went to on Saturday night.

If he didn't tell somebody, he was going to bust.

[Gabriel Griggs]

It had been a long week of letters, visits, and general toing and froing that had led to Gabriel being sat in the office of Perri White, Editor of the London Times. But none of that mattered now, he was here, with a shot at the so called ‘big-time’ and he was aware of the fact that he had to give it his all.

He was conscious that some people in the art world might consider him to be a sell-out for choosing to illustrate for a newspaper and not stick to his influences of romanticism. Still, a pay out on a job like this would at least secure him dinner for the following week, and hunger had a habit of turning any professional into a sell-out. And who knew, if he could prove himself today, this might even turn into a full time job…

He had attempted to smarten himself up for the occasion. He didn’t have the most stylish wardrobe, or the most modern, but it was certainly not the worst – if anything he’d probably be considered typically middle class. He’d managed to find a shirt that wasn’t spattered with some colour of oil paint somewhere, and teamed it with a simple grey suit, brushed down overcoat (which was admittedly patched on the inside, but nobody else needed to know that), and a slightly faded bowler hat to match.

He had arrived a little early, and hadn’t been told of his task until a certain Mr. McGee arrived. Of course he had heard of McGee, anyone who read the papers would know the name, and one of his prior customers, an inventor by the name of Sarley, had mentioned him too – claiming that he was foolish and ignorant. But with all of that said, Gabriel had never actually met the journalist, and was hoping that he was at least friendly, for if he was anything like his boss, the day was going to be a long one…

As Gabriel waitied for McGee to arrive, the atmosphere was uncomfortable to say the least. Mr. White clearly didn’t think much of him, and was less than eager to make petty conversation. After having to resort to mentioning the state of the weather, Gabriel had decided that an awkward silence was preferable to awkward conversation, and was really quite relieved when McGee arrived and Perri White spoke to him with as much aggression and bluntness as he had to Gabriel.

He nodded back in recognition of McGee, and rose from his chair. For him, the work brief was simple:

“McGee here will be the judge of your work, in the end. If he is not impressed, then I am not impressed. And, if I am not impressed...

"... you do not get paid."

He was to draw this Gaston Devereaux, and draw him well… What an opportunity. He was to be the first to give the masses an image of this wanton criminal… Perhaps this was to be the break he had been hoping for – provided he impressed McGee that was.

Gabriel was quite happy to be ushered out of Mr. White’s office; the company of Mr. McGee seemed far less intimidating.

“Gabriel Griggs.” He introduced in return, shaking the hand Jack had offered. He laughed as McGee suggested that he should leave his soul at the door, but something warned him it was not entirely a joke. “He runs a tight ship I assume?” He said with a slight laugh of him own, although that was probably just nerves.

“Of all the people, I hadn’t been expecting Gaston Devereaux…” He said, hoping that McGee would be more willing to engage in conversation than Mr. White, “I mean, I’d have thought it might be some Music Hall Performer or other, not a master criminal…”

[Jack McGee]

"Fair to say," McGee agreed with Griggs assertion. Perri White did, indeed, run a 'tight ship'. "But White has never been a newspaper man as much as a manager. The paper is like any other business. It is revenue driven. No... profit driven. And the competition is fierce.

"And you'll find..." McGee took the steps briskly. Down seven flights was always so much quicker than up seven flights. "...that the Reading Public is far more interested in a story about a swarm of rats devouring a dog than the latest projections in a stock market they don't invest in.

"For instance, I wrote a series of articles describing criminal acts committed by a masked vigilante," Jack went on to explain as they reached the ground level. "The Silver Skull. On those days, sales increased 17%, with a boost to the surrounding days of 6%. There has been no activity by that vigilante in a few weeks...

"So, sales are down," Jack showed him a smirk. "So, the flavor of the day is this mysterious thief who has claimed near a million pounds in fine arts and jewelry and the Times support of the constabulary for all these years has paid off in the form of an exclusive interview with the bandit."

Jack flagged a hack and in minutes, the two were seated in a cramped hansom, opposite one another, their knees pressed together, on their way to Newgate Prison.

"'Sensationalism sells newspapers'," Jack did a reasonable impression of Perri White. "So, if this thief is very handsome, draw him very handsomely. If he is cruel or wicked in appearance, then draw him very cruel or very wicked. Your work should convey your visceral impression. Don't draw what you see, draw what you feel.

"I can describe the man completely in eight columns," Jack smirked his irritation. "But no one has the required attention span, these days. One of your images is worth ten thousand of my words.

"So," Jack seemed to lose his bitterness and a broad smile stretched his mouth. "Did you happen to be at the Gilded Fleece on Saturday? I was. It was fantastic. There were women there that would make your...."

Jack painted a complete picture by the time he was done with his tale. He didn't count, but Griggs might have guessed he used around ten thousand words.

[Gabriel Griggs]

Gabriel trotted alongside Jack briskly, their shoes making an echoing tap-tap-tap against the flagstone, as they made their way down the flights of stairs and out of the London Times ‘headquarters’. “Well, I suppose whatever he’s doing he’s doing it right…” He mused about Perri White’s rather blunt approach to his job, “The London Times has got to be one of the better known papers in London?” He questioned, he didn’t know anything of the sales figures, but rather assumed that the paper’s reputation meant that they were high…

He laughed as McGee stated that the reading public would be ‘more interested in a story about a swarm of rats devouring a dog than the latest projections in a stock market they don't invest in.’ He decided then that he liked McGee, he had been a little nervous about working with someone whom he had never met, but from his appearance and their conversation so far, it seemed to Gabriel that Jack and himself were quite similar.

“I don’t doubt it…” He said with a slight shake of his head, “Although I can’t say I’d be overly eager to read about the stock markets either…” He admitted, “Not that I’d prefer swarms of rats to take their place though...” He added with a smile. He’d never considered himself to be stupid, but neither did he have full confidence in his own education. His parents had provided some schooling, but it was financially difficult for the family, and so, when he showed a flair for art , he was taken out of school and allowed to concentrate on that instead. So, although he was capable when it came to reading, writing and reasoning, he was by no means polished, and certainly not very confident.

Gabriel just nodded along as Jack spoke about how the Silver Skull’s activity had increased overall readership. “Yeah, he has gone rather quiet hasn’t he?” He said. He, like most people in London, had been morbidly captivated by the mysterious Silver Skull, “I suppose he’s like a real life penny dreadful for you…” Penny Dreadfuls certainly sold the papers they were associated with - nothing appealed more to the masses than gory tales of murder and the supernatural. “Although I shouldn’t worry, I’ve heard that it’s the nature of these people not to stay quiet for too long…”

Gabriel, in an odd sort of way, admired this Devereaux for having the nerve to do what he had done. Ultimately, he was little more than a thief, but he must have some talent, and even more nerve to attempt what he had. “Handy connections…” He said, in regards to the Times’ relationship with the constabulary, “So how did he get caught? Do we know that much yet?” He asked.

Jack was quick to flag a cab, and Gabriel climbed in, apologising to Jack as he piled his sketchbook, pencils and other equipment into the little space that there was left.

He nodded in agreement with what Jack was saying about exaggerating someone’s appearance. “It’s ultimately a caricature…” He said, “In the same way that nobody would ever paint a reasonably beautiful Juliet, or a mildly gruesome Richard III.” He added with a slight shrug. He was used to painting scenes from Shakespeare, and they just wouldn’t work if you didn’t exaggerate someone’s character through their appearance. Although he felt quite honoured for McGee to state that one of his pictures was worth ten thousand of his words, “That’s very kind of you to say so.” He said with a humble flush.

Although the conversation about the job and the paper quickly faded away into chatter about the Gilded Fleece, and Gabriel couldn’t help but laugh at McGee’s enthusiasm. “I can’t say that I was there…” He said, although he had heard of the place, and it’s recent ‘exotic night’, it seemed to be that everyone wanted to visit. And he didn’t blame them, still, he chose to stay away from places such as that, for fear that it might expose his ‘secret’. “You sound like you had a great night,” He said with a smile as Jack concluded his story, “Was that the exotic night? There’s been ever so much gossip about it…”

[Jack McGee]

“You sound like you had a great night,” Gabriel said with a smile as Jack concluded his story, “Was that the exotic night? There’s been ever so much gossip about it…”

"Indeed it was. Indeed it was," Jack smiled as he relived the night in his mind. "And as a journalist, I have always been careful about what gossip I might repeat. But, whatever I might hear about that night from others, I would be prepared to believe.

"If they do it again, I'll be sure to drag you along," Jack gave the man a pat on the knee. "A handsome fellow like yourself will easily find many amenable ladies with which to pass the time."

Jack allowed his reverie to continue for only a short while thereafter, looking out the coach window. He was no longer thinking on the events at the Gilded Fleece, though. He was now considering some of the other things Gabriel had said. He looked at the man and nodded before speaking.

"Devereaux was apprehended in Edinburgh," Jack filled him in on what little he knew. "It was suggested that he was identified by an article of jewelry he possessed. An item of ready recognition as an article stolen from a Scottish Laird not three years ago.

"It is interesting, really, if all the details are to be believed," Jack focused on the other man, hoping to find in him a sympathetic thinker. "As well as more than a little unlikely.

"Devereaux was approached because of this jewelry, apparently proudly worn, in the very county where it had been pilfered from," Jack recounted. "While the name 'Gaston Devereaux' had been assigned to that and many other crimes throughout Europe and the Kingdoms, no one had ever actually seen the man.

"Yet," and Jack paused to lend emphasis. "When approached about his identity, the man in custody readily confessed to being Gaston Devereaux. So, either the most clever thief in recent history wanted to be caught, or...

"Or..." Jack shrugged. "the Edinburgh bobbies have the wrong man. From the description I have been thus far given, he seems a bit young to be responsible for crimes committed ten years ago. He'd have been barely past his tweens when he started his daring life of crime.

"I really look forward to questioning that man."

[Gabriel Griggs]

“That outrageous hmm?” Gabriel laughed as Jack said that he ought to believe all the rumours about the night at the Gilded Fleece. He gave Jack an unintentionally awkward smile as he offered to take him along the next time. “You’ll have to let me know,” He said somewhat falsely, sure that he could make himself up an excuse nearer the time. He hated acting contrary to his emotions, but he had little other choice – it wasn’t safe to do otherwise. He’d even been engaged for a while in order to dispel rumours, and if it wasn’t for his fiancé breaking it off, his act would have probably led to marriage…

Gabriel listened carefully as Jack recounted what he already knew about Devereaux. Of course he had heard a few things himself, but separating the truth from the fiction was always a difficulty when it came to things like this. The hype surrounding the case was ridiculous, and he was sure that almost everyone had a friend who knew someone that had once associated with him...

However, he did not know the age of Devereaux, and Jack’s point about the finer details didn’t all ring true. “So what then, you think it’s some guy wanting to make a name for himself? A publicity stunt?” He questioned, although couldn’t quite see why one might confess to crimes he didn’t commit just to make a name for himself – especially if those crimes led to the gallows.

“How curious…” He agreed, “I look forward to hearing what he has to say to you… That is, if he agrees to speak at all.” He supposed that if Devereaux wasn’t Devereaux at all, then he wouldn’t be overly eager to show himself up and tell a potentially contradictory story.

It seemed that they had only been speaking for a few moments when the coach pulled up towards the imposing gates of the gaol. Gabriel looked out of the window, and shuddered at the sight of Newgate alone. The sight of it alone was unnerving, never mind the thought of being incarcerated there - and how easy it would be for someone like him to be locked up, it was a dangerous hand of cards he’d been dealt… He heaved a soft sigh at the cruelty of life, “Intimidating place…”