enjoyed a leisurely breakfast Upstairs and then went for a stroll along the Strand. In Trafalgar Square he noted the first of the spotters in police uniform, an old Residential named Valance, who nodded and tapped the brim of his hat with his truncheon by way of salute.
Omnibuses rumbled along the street, and cabs, with a brisk rattle and
clop-clop-clop
of horses’ hooves echoing. Crossing-sweepers, small bush-headed children in rags, trailed their brooms as they scouted for women to whom they might offer their services. Delivery-boys hurried, journeymen laborers trudged along to their respective destinations. Traffic was held up for a moment as a shepherd drove his flock through, aiming for Smithfield, and Ludbridge scrutinized both shepherd and sheep keenly.
None were his trainees in disguise, however. Smiling at the idea, he walked along a few yards. There ahead was Roberts, another spotter, staring in suspicion at an immense dustman laboring along under a binful of ashes. Bell-Fairfax, perhaps? With Hobson concealed in the bin? Roberts stepped in front of the dustman and, peering into his face, spoke sharply; the dustman lowered his bin and said something in protest,whereat Roberts stepped back and appeared to be saying something apologetic.
A dozen yards farther on, Simnell was pacing an elderly lady in purple bombazine, the breadth of whose hooped skirts gave her the appearance of a gigantic ambulatory plum pudding. Clearly, he thought one or more compact persons might be concealed somewhere within her architecture, and was in a quandary over how to determine if this was, in fact, the case. At last, darting sideways, he smacked at her lower person with his truncheon. She stopped in her tracks and Ludbridge could hear her shrill protests even from a distance. Simnell stamped furiously at an imaginary insect, tipped his hat and appeared to be explaining his timely and chivalrous actions.
Ludbridge was distracted from this by a commotion farther back along the street. He turned, wondering at the shouts, and saw Roberts turning to stare too. And where was Valance?
“Here! Here’s a constable fallen down in a faint!” an omnibus conductor was shouting. Scowling, Ludbridge ran toward the knot of people that was gathering where Valance lay stretched upon the pavement.
A couple walked in the opposite direction past him, arm in arm. Ludbridge noted the young lady, fluttering her handkerchief in front of her face, while her beau bore on with a bright fixed smile, staring forward. Every instinct Ludbridge had demanded that he turn and look at them again, but he shouldered his way through the crowd and knelt beside Valance.
“Drinking at this hour of the day!” a woman declared. “He’s a disgrace.”
“You never know; might be a fit,” said a pedlar with a tray. “My wife’s brother had them.”
“Give him air, if you please,” said Ludbridge. Valance was pale and sweating, semiconscious, utterly limp. Ludbridge noted the tiny dart protruding from his carotid artery, just above the collar of his uniform. He plucked it out and discarded it, shaking his head. “I believe the man is ill. He ought to be carried into a house and given brandy.”
“We’ll see to it, sir,” said one of a pair of men in nondescript clothes.Ludbridge, glancing up at them, recognized Burdett and Cowle, two of the porters at Redking’s. Grim-faced, they lifted Valance between them and bore him away in the direction of the club. Ludbridge got to his feet, dusting off the knees of his trousers, and had just turned back to see where the young couple had got to when a fresh hue and cry came from ahead. Ludbridge ran, arriving just in time to see Roberts, in the street, trying to rise on one elbow. He groped once, ineffectually, at his neck before collapsing again.
“Here! It’s another policeman fallen down!” cried the pedlar. Ludbridge dropped to his knees and pulled the telltale dart from Roberts’s neck.
“What’s that?”
Omnibuses rumbled along the street, and cabs, with a brisk rattle and
clop-clop-clop
of horses’ hooves echoing. Crossing-sweepers, small bush-headed children in rags, trailed their brooms as they scouted for women to whom they might offer their services. Delivery-boys hurried, journeymen laborers trudged along to their respective destinations. Traffic was held up for a moment as a shepherd drove his flock through, aiming for Smithfield, and Ludbridge scrutinized both shepherd and sheep keenly.
None were his trainees in disguise, however. Smiling at the idea, he walked along a few yards. There ahead was Roberts, another spotter, staring in suspicion at an immense dustman laboring along under a binful of ashes. Bell-Fairfax, perhaps? With Hobson concealed in the bin? Roberts stepped in front of the dustman and, peering into his face, spoke sharply; the dustman lowered his bin and said something in protest,whereat Roberts stepped back and appeared to be saying something apologetic.
A dozen yards farther on, Simnell was pacing an elderly lady in purple bombazine, the breadth of whose hooped skirts gave her the appearance of a gigantic ambulatory plum pudding. Clearly, he thought one or more compact persons might be concealed somewhere within her architecture, and was in a quandary over how to determine if this was, in fact, the case. At last, darting sideways, he smacked at her lower person with his truncheon. She stopped in her tracks and Ludbridge could hear her shrill protests even from a distance. Simnell stamped furiously at an imaginary insect, tipped his hat and appeared to be explaining his timely and chivalrous actions.
Ludbridge was distracted from this by a commotion farther back along the street. He turned, wondering at the shouts, and saw Roberts turning to stare too. And where was Valance?
“Here! Here’s a constable fallen down in a faint!” an omnibus conductor was shouting. Scowling, Ludbridge ran toward the knot of people that was gathering where Valance lay stretched upon the pavement.
A couple walked in the opposite direction past him, arm in arm. Ludbridge noted the young lady, fluttering her handkerchief in front of her face, while her beau bore on with a bright fixed smile, staring forward. Every instinct Ludbridge had demanded that he turn and look at them again, but he shouldered his way through the crowd and knelt beside Valance.
“Drinking at this hour of the day!” a woman declared. “He’s a disgrace.”
“You never know; might be a fit,” said a pedlar with a tray. “My wife’s brother had them.”
“Give him air, if you please,” said Ludbridge. Valance was pale and sweating, semiconscious, utterly limp. Ludbridge noted the tiny dart protruding from his carotid artery, just above the collar of his uniform. He plucked it out and discarded it, shaking his head. “I believe the man is ill. He ought to be carried into a house and given brandy.”
“We’ll see to it, sir,” said one of a pair of men in nondescript clothes.Ludbridge, glancing up at them, recognized Burdett and Cowle, two of the porters at Redking’s. Grim-faced, they lifted Valance between them and bore him away in the direction of the club. Ludbridge got to his feet, dusting off the knees of his trousers, and had just turned back to see where the young couple had got to when a fresh hue and cry came from ahead. Ludbridge ran, arriving just in time to see Roberts, in the street, trying to rise on one elbow. He groped once, ineffectually, at his neck before collapsing again.
“Here! It’s another policeman fallen down!” cried the pedlar. Ludbridge dropped to his knees and pulled the telltale dart from Roberts’s neck.
“What’s that?”
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