A few moments later the carriage shuddered and came to a stop. The horses stamped their feet impatiently as the driver tugged on their reins, trying to hold them still. In the back, Newbury climbed to his feet. He was the first through the door, helping Bainbridge down to the street beside him. He glanced at the door to Veronica's apartment, just a matter of feet away. "You'd better make sure you have that miraculous cane handy, Charles. If Miss Hobbes is in trouble, we may find ourselves in need of it."
Bainbridge nodded, and then turned to the driver. "Wait here."
The driver doffed his cap in acknowledgement.
Together, Newbury and Bainbridge approached the house. Newbury had only taken a few steps towards the door when he stopped suddenly and waved at Bainbridge to remain still. "Shhh. Can you hear that?"
Bainbridge listened intently.
Coming from the other side of the door was the faint sound of a woman shouting. The words themselves were indiscernible against the background noise of the busy road, but it was enough to send both men into a course of immediate action.
Newbury wasted no time. He charged at the door, using his good shoulder to slam against the wooden panels. The door flexed resolutely in its frame, but didn't give. He tried again, and then, on the third attempt, the lock gave in and the door bounced open, revealing the scene inside.
Veronica was standing in the hallway, her feet planted firmly apart, pointing a glowing poker at the throat of a man in a policeman's uniform. The man, who was tall and well-built, had backed up against the wall, trying to keep the angry woman at bay. It was immediately obvious that he was no real police constable, and what was more, he had painted his face and hands with an iridescent blue powder that shimmered as it caught the light.
Newbury gasped. The glowing policeman. It was a miracle that Veronica was so far unscathed. He called out to her. "Veronica! Be careful!"
Surprised, Veronica turned to look at the two intruders who had smashed their way into her home. The man in the policeman's uniform saw this distraction as a chance to get away and took it without hesitation. He seized Veronica's wrist and twisted it sharply, causing her to cry out and drop the weapon on the floor. Then, giving her a harsh shove that sent her sprawling to the ground, he turned and bolted, flinging himself along the hallway towards the kitchen and the back door.
"You oafs! I had him pinned!" Veronica shouted at them, frustrated, as she tried to pick herself up, rubbing at her sore wrist. Newbury, leaving Bainbridge to attend to the lady, took flight after the escaping murderer, leaping over the prone Veronica and careening down the hallway in quick pursuit, banging his injured shoulder painfully off the wall as he ran.
He skidded into the kitchen, throwing his arm out to catch hold of the doorframe and slow himself down momentarily. The back door had been flung open and the man was scrambling over a wall. Newbury followed suit, darting out into the back yard and leaping up to grab hold of the brickwork. He hauled himself bodily over the wall and dropped into the alleyway behind the house, catching sight of the man doubling back on himself and heading off in the direction of Kensington High Street. Puffing, Newbury picked up his pace, pushing himself to run after the fleeing criminal as fast as his tired, injured body would propel him along. He wasn't about to let his physical condition prevent him from resolving this case, and the glowing policeman was a fundamental part of the puzzle. The man's testimony would be crucial in helping to bring the main players to justice, before he swung from the gallows himself for his crimes.
Newbury skidded around the corner into a side street, just managing to keep the uniformed man in view. He charged on, narrowly avoiding a pile of wooden crates that someone had abandoned in the middle of the road and nearly losing his footing on the slick cobbles in the process.
The other man disappeared between two buildings up ahead. Newbury raced after him, his chest and abdomen screaming in pain. He could feel some of his stitches pulling free as he pushed his body beyond the limit of its endurance. He could hardly believe that only yesterday he had been laid out dying in the Fixer's workshop, and today he was running through the streets of Kensington in pursuit of a multiple murderer. It was a testament to either the Fixer's miraculous abilities, or Newbury's own stupidity. He tried his best to bury the pain as his feet pounded the ground, his entire body shaking with the thudding of his shoes against the hard road.
Newbury burst out onto the busy thoroughfare, glancing in both directions to try to ascertain which way the other man had run. Almost too late, he caught sight of him leaping up onto a passing ground train, snatching hold of the side railing attached to one of the carriages and pulling himself up onto the roof. The long train of interconnected carriages snaked along behind him as it trundled noisily down the road.
Not stopping to consider the risk, Newbury ran after it, launching himself from the pavement and just managing to catch hold of the iron railing that ran around the rear end of the vehicle. He tried to haul himself up, his feet trailing in the road as the vehicle steamed ahead, the driver unaware of his newest passengers.
Gasping, Newbury hoisted himself higher, wedging his foot on the buffer and pulling himself into a standing position, balancing tentatively on the railing. He heard banging and shouting, and looked round to see the people inside the carriage had opened their side window and were leaning out, jeering at him to let go. There was a similar commotion coming from further up the train, and Newbury reasoned that the passengers had seen the strange, blue-skinned policeman leap up onto the roof and were now calling for the driver to stop the vehicle.
Being careful not to lose his hold, Newbury used one hand to explore the roof of the carriage. It seemed firm, and had a thin lip running around the edge of it that he could use as a handhold to pull himself up. It was the only way he was going to be able to catch up with the man he was chasing, and he didn't want to risk losing him if the devious blighter decided to jump off the train further up the road to make good on his escape.
Newbury swung his other arm up, finding his grip on the roof of the carriage. He manoeuvred his feet until he could gain some purchase on the railing and then began to pull himself up and over, using his leg muscles as much as possible to avoid pulling on his weak shoulder. After a minute or two he managed to swing first his chest and then his legs up onto the roof of the carriage. He lay still for a moment, catching his breath and casting around for a sight of his quarry. The roof was mostly flat, with a slight camber to each side to allow rainwater to run off into the street below. Newbury looked over the side. The cobbles rushed by at speed. It wouldn't do to fall.
The glowing policeman was clinging to another roof, about three carriages further up the train. He was on his knees and had his back to Newbury, clutching the lip that ran around the edge of the carriage roof. He shifted from side to side with the movement of the train.
Newbury knew that it would be difficult to get closer to the man without attracting his attention, but he also knew that moving quickly would provide him with his best shot at success. If he could get near enough to knock the policeman over the head-he had lost his helmet somewhere during the run-he could potentially disable the man before he even realised that Newbury was there.
Tentatively, he clambered to his knees, trying to work out whether it would be safe enough for him to walk along the roof of the carriage without falling. The train was still trundling along at a reasonable speed, but the road was straight, and as long as they didn't bounce over any potholes it was worth the risk. Not that he had any other options in mind.