beneath the belly of an immense wagon. A blast of steam, a volley of curses, and then the child sprinted for the other side, clutching a fallen bundle. Iron-shod wheels taller than Langton missed the child by inches. Looking back from the hansom, Langton saw the child offer the scavenged bundle to a squat woman, who promptly slapped the child around the ear.
Soon the hansom rattled through vast gates of sandstone and wrought iron. Langton told the driver, “Wait here for us.”
Standing with McBride, Langton looked around at the frenetic activity. The colossal entrance ramp of the Span stood half a mile away on the site of the Canning Graving Docks, the stepped dry docks long ago filled in by the TSC. The ramp swept up from the Pier Head in a great curve of iron and steel and concrete, a graceful arc joining the land to the first support tower rising from the Mersey.
A shantytown had grown beneath the ramp, and smoke from theencampment filtered through the bridge’s delicate struts and drifted toward the glass-and-wrought-iron edifice of the Span Company. Langton wondered how the Company’s directors liked having the poor, complaining masses so close to their feat of engineering.
Langton checked the time on the hexagonal tower that stood a few yards away with a clock on each face. Nine forty. They still had twenty minutes before his appointment. He asked a passing foreman for directions and led McBride across Albert Dock. Another man pointed to a low brick house near the stone edge of the dock facing the Mersey. The piermaster’s house, complete with small garden, seemed incongruous, more suited to a small town or village than a busy working dock. Not four yards away, steel hulls reared up like sheer, rusting cliffs.
Langton leaned inside the open top half of the door. “Mr. Perkins, please.”
A clerk scuttled into a side office. Perkins appeared at the door, pulling on his suit jacket. “Inspector? You’ve caught the robbers?”
“Not quite, Mr. Perkins. I wanted to ask you something.”
Perkins opened the bottom half of the door. “Only too pleased to help, Inspector.”
Langton stepped inside. “You were one of those around the body yesterday. Can you remember the others?”
“Let me see…Connolly, that loudmouthed agitator; you and your sergeant, naturally; the men with the stretcher.”
“And?”
“Oh, that sailor, the one who could hardly stand.”
“You remember his name?”
“Olsen, I believe.”
“And his ship?”
“I’m not—”
“His ship, Mr. Perkins.”
Perkins looked away. “The
Asención
.”
Langton nodded. “Perhaps you’ve heard of another death in the docks? A stabbing?”
Perkins mumbled into his chest.
“Pardon me, Mr. Perkins?”
“I had heard something, Inspector.”
Langton leaned a little closer to the assistant piermaster. “Why did you tell everyone, Perkins?”
Perkins puffed out his chest and seemed about to argue, then looked at Langton and sank in on himself. “I didn’t mean anything, Inspector, I swear I didn’t. We just got to talking, down the pub—I only go in for a half of bitter, maybe two, a glass of rum if the weather’s nippy. People had heard something had happened, and I let slip I’d been there, so—”
“Can you remember who was there?”
“It was full, Inspector. I couldn’t name everybody.”
Langton could imagine Perkins standing in the pub with a glass in his hand, telling everybody who would listen about the discovery of the faceless body. So keen to impress the drinking men with his inside knowledge.
“Let me offer you some advice, Mr. Perkins: Keep your own counsel. Share no more information with your friends down the public house, or anywhere else for that matter. I have no wish to investigate your own demise.”
Leaving behind Perkins’s apologies and protestations, Langton and McBride made for the offices of the Transatlantic Span Company. McBride asked, “How did you know it was him, sir?”
“I
Soon the hansom rattled through vast gates of sandstone and wrought iron. Langton told the driver, “Wait here for us.”
Standing with McBride, Langton looked around at the frenetic activity. The colossal entrance ramp of the Span stood half a mile away on the site of the Canning Graving Docks, the stepped dry docks long ago filled in by the TSC. The ramp swept up from the Pier Head in a great curve of iron and steel and concrete, a graceful arc joining the land to the first support tower rising from the Mersey.
A shantytown had grown beneath the ramp, and smoke from theencampment filtered through the bridge’s delicate struts and drifted toward the glass-and-wrought-iron edifice of the Span Company. Langton wondered how the Company’s directors liked having the poor, complaining masses so close to their feat of engineering.
Langton checked the time on the hexagonal tower that stood a few yards away with a clock on each face. Nine forty. They still had twenty minutes before his appointment. He asked a passing foreman for directions and led McBride across Albert Dock. Another man pointed to a low brick house near the stone edge of the dock facing the Mersey. The piermaster’s house, complete with small garden, seemed incongruous, more suited to a small town or village than a busy working dock. Not four yards away, steel hulls reared up like sheer, rusting cliffs.
Langton leaned inside the open top half of the door. “Mr. Perkins, please.”
A clerk scuttled into a side office. Perkins appeared at the door, pulling on his suit jacket. “Inspector? You’ve caught the robbers?”
“Not quite, Mr. Perkins. I wanted to ask you something.”
Perkins opened the bottom half of the door. “Only too pleased to help, Inspector.”
Langton stepped inside. “You were one of those around the body yesterday. Can you remember the others?”
“Let me see…Connolly, that loudmouthed agitator; you and your sergeant, naturally; the men with the stretcher.”
“And?”
“Oh, that sailor, the one who could hardly stand.”
“You remember his name?”
“Olsen, I believe.”
“And his ship?”
“I’m not—”
“His ship, Mr. Perkins.”
Perkins looked away. “The
Asención
.”
Langton nodded. “Perhaps you’ve heard of another death in the docks? A stabbing?”
Perkins mumbled into his chest.
“Pardon me, Mr. Perkins?”
“I had heard something, Inspector.”
Langton leaned a little closer to the assistant piermaster. “Why did you tell everyone, Perkins?”
Perkins puffed out his chest and seemed about to argue, then looked at Langton and sank in on himself. “I didn’t mean anything, Inspector, I swear I didn’t. We just got to talking, down the pub—I only go in for a half of bitter, maybe two, a glass of rum if the weather’s nippy. People had heard something had happened, and I let slip I’d been there, so—”
“Can you remember who was there?”
“It was full, Inspector. I couldn’t name everybody.”
Langton could imagine Perkins standing in the pub with a glass in his hand, telling everybody who would listen about the discovery of the faceless body. So keen to impress the drinking men with his inside knowledge.
“Let me offer you some advice, Mr. Perkins: Keep your own counsel. Share no more information with your friends down the public house, or anywhere else for that matter. I have no wish to investigate your own demise.”
Leaving behind Perkins’s apologies and protestations, Langton and McBride made for the offices of the Transatlantic Span Company. McBride asked, “How did you know it was him, sir?”
“I
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