As if on cue, Sir Edward’s office door opened and he called out, “Hammersmith? Is Hammersmith gone yet?”
“I’m here.”
“I’d like to see you.”
“Yes, sir.”
The sergeant turned to Day and grimaced. “Well, I suppose I know what that’s about.”
“Did you have no clean shirts today, Nevil?” Day said.
“I had one. I really did. Hanging up neat as you please in the closet, ready to put on in the morning.”
“What happened to it?”
“It’s still there, I imagine. It was hanging next to this one, and in the dark. .”
“Nevil, you ought to have all your shirts washed at once. Then you won’t have this sort of problem.”
“But I can’t wash the shirt I’m wearing on wash day.”
“Don’t hang that shirt back up,” Day said.
“I might need it again.”
“Then don’t eat soup on wash day.”
“Never again.”
Hammersmith trudged back across the room and the office door closed behind him.
“Is he any good as a policeman?” March said.
“Nevil?” Day said. “He’s better than I am, I fear. Absolutely relentless once he’s on the scent.”
“You’re describing a dog,” March said. “And I’ve seen many dogs that were better groomed.”
“He’s a good man.”
“If you say he is, then he must be.”
“He is.”
“I see you’re wearing the cufflinks I gave you. Tell me, have you kept up with your lock skills?”
“I’ve still got your old set of keys,” Day said. He reached for the breast pocket of his jacket and came away empty-handed, a puzzled look on his face.
“Were you looking for this?” March held out a well-worn leather case.
“How did you. .?”
“You must be more aware of the people around you. I was easily able to lift this from your pocket.”
“That’s very good.”
“I’ll teach you how to do it.”
“Did you look inside the case? I’ve added to it a bit. Two new picks and a handful of keys to fit some more recent locks.”
“Really? You know there are ways to reduce the number of tools you’ve got to carry around. You could get by with just three keys and a pick or two,” March said.
“You haven’t lost your interest, then? Since leaving the Yard?”
“On the contrary, I’ve become even more keen. Do you know there’s a gun I’ve found that looks exactly like a key?”
“Like a key? But it holds bullets? How big is it?”
“Oh, very small. It only fires one bullet, and the aim is dreadful, but it’s quite cunning, really.”
“I’d like to see it,” Day said.
“I’m glad to hear you say so, because I’ve sent you one.”
“You haven’t.”
“I found two of them and I thought to myself, ‘Who would appreciate a thing like this more than my dear friend Walter Day?’”
“You shouldn’t have. When did you send it? I haven’t seen it arrive.”
“I should think it would have got there yesterday. But really, watch for it any old day now.”
“I shall. Thank you so much.”
“When this is over, you must stop by the house. You’d be astonished by some of my recent finds. In fact, I have something I very much want to talk to you about. A proposition, you might say.”
“I’m intrigued.”
“By God, how I’ve missed your company. You have a knack for making a person feel like he’s the most interesting fellow you’ve met. Do come for dinner. I’ll have Jane make something special. And bring your lovely wife. How is Claire?”
“Oh, she’s huge. The baby can’t come fast enough for her at this point.”
March laughed. “Don’t worry. It’ll come all too fast, and it will grow even faster. You’ll wonder where the time went.”
“I already do.” Day glanced at the clock and grimaced. “Mr Hammersmith isn’t coming back out of the office, is he?”
“You’re anxious to get to the prison?”
“Of course. It’ll be daylight soon, and we’ve got to get on the trail of those men before they hurt anyone.”
“I’m not sure about all this. What will we possibly be able to accomplish at the prison itself? The escapees are long gone already, and I don’t think it matters all that much how many men we’re after, just so long as we catch them all.”
“You may be right,” Day said. “Ours is but to do and die, as the poet says.”
“Yes, of course. Orders are orders. I tell you what, though: If I see one of those prisoners outside the walls, I’ll shoot first and worry about capturing him later.”
“You’ve got your weapon?”
“I’m always armed, my dear boy. And not only with single-shot jailer’s guns. Made an enemy or two in my day, and it never hurts to be cautious. But I tell you what: You go ahead to the prison and I’ll wait for your sergeant here.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely. It’ll give me a chance to get to know the lad. And you can get started unknotting Sir Edward’s little mystery.”
“Right, then. Good of you. I’m off. See you in a bit.”
Day closed the railing behind him and hurried away down the hall. Adrian March paused to glance at the closed door of Sir Edward’s office and clucked his tongue. “Bloody disgrace,” he said.
8
Cinderhouse was delighted to have a friend.
But there was a small voice nagging at him from the back of his mind. He’s a stranger, the voice said. He’s an escaped prisoner. Who knows what terrible things he’s done? Not the sort of friend we want, is he?
But I am also an escaped prisoner, Cinderhouse thought back at the voice. I have done terrible things. I needed to do terrible things, was forced to do them, but even so, who am I to judge anyone else?
The voice did not stop nagging, but it moved further back where he could ignore it amidst the other chatter in his head.
He and Griffin followed the underground stream deep into the tunnels beneath the city. Griffin was quiet and seemed tense, but Cinderhouse found himself occasionally humming a merry tune.
They passed through a long narrow channel that seemed to grow closer and closer as they went, the walls pushing in on them. Moist red clay oozed in the light of Cinderhouse’s lantern all around them, and their feet grew heavier as they walked, packing clay around the soles of their shoes. And then they passed out of that tunnel and there were steps cut into the clay ahead of them. Cinderhouse stopped and peered down into the darkness, and Griffin bumped into him as he emerged from the tunnel. Cinderhouse almost lost his balance and fell, and barely stopped himself from striking Griffin.
Remember, he’s your friend, the nagging voice mocked him.
“Where do we go from here?” Cinderhouse said out loud.
“Down, I suppose,” Griffin said. “There’s nowhere else to go.”
It was true. There was no way forward. The only choices they had were the staircase and the tunnel behind them, and Cinderhouse didn’t want to have to turn back. But he couldn’t bear the thought of descending into the blackness below, with no idea what might wait for them down there. He was about to suggest that they try the tunnel again and keep a sharper eye for branches that might be dug into the walls, but Griffin spoke first.
“Here,” Griffin said, “let me see the lantern for a moment, will you?”
“Why?”
“I think I see something up above. Maybe some other way we might go.”
Cinderhouse handed the lantern over. Griffin took it by its wire handle and turned around. He set it on the floor of the tunnel behind them and turned back to the bald man.
“Why did you-” Cinderhouse began.
Griffin swung a blow at him that the bald man did not see because the lantern was behind Griffin, making him nothing but a vague silhouette in the darkness, a yellow rim around a hole in the black mouth of the tunnel.
Cinderhouse yelled, but he was already turning away, covering his head. He ducked down, a thing he had seen many children do when he had punished them, crouching and covering their heads and necks. He felt the breeze from a second blow pass over him and heard a yelp as Griffin overcompensated. The other man had expected to meet resistance at the end of his fist and had not braced himself properly. The force of his swing pulled his shoulder around and he went forward across the top of Cinderhouse’s cowering body. His left knee hit the bald man’s back and he bent forward, his own weight carrying him over Cinderhouse and down the clay steps in front of them.