Warily, the two men faced each other. The glowing policeman was clearly the bigger of the two, his strength probably far exceeding the academic's, but Newbury didn't have time to ponder the odds. He charged forward, catching the other man off guard and driving his fist up and under his chin. It connected with a crack and the man staggered back, disoriented. Newbury continued his assault, punching the criminal as hard as he could in the kidneys, trying to bring him to his knees. Unfortunately, the second of these blows had quite the opposite effect as was intended. Losing his footing, the glowing policeman skidded backwards on the bitumen roof, his feet giving way beneath him as he misjudged the camber and overbalanced. Wheeling his arms like a flapping bird, he fell over the side of the carriage, hurtling towards the cobbles below. Newbury dashed forward, reaching out to try to catch hold of the falling man, but his fingers only managed to graze the collar of the stolen police uniform before the man was gone. There was a sickening crunch as he hit the ground below.
Newbury sucked in his breath and leaned over the side of the train as they hurtled away, straining to see what had become of the glowing policeman. He had to avert his eyes from the scene almost immediately. The man had landed awkwardly on the back of his head, splitting it open on the cobbles like a cracked egg. His body was a twisted pile of torso and limbs, the neck obviously broken, and oily blood seeped from the head wound to stain the stones underneath.
Collapsing back onto the roof, Newbury cursed himself yet again for letting a vital clue slip out of his reach. He felt no remorse for the death of the man who had posed as the glowing policeman; as far as Newbury was concerned the villain deserved everything he got. Nevertheless, lying there bleeding and shivering on the top of a speeding train, Newbury couldn't help but feel frustration that the whole affair had resulted in nothing, except perhaps the death of a killer who could otherwise have provided evidence against Chapman and Villiers before he went to the gallows. He had to hope that the evidence he had already collected would be enough to condemn the two industrialists in court.
Mustering what remained of his strength, Newbury crawled to the far edge of the carriage and shouted down to the driver and guard, both of whom sat in a small cabin atop the main housing of the engine itself.
"Driver! Time you stopped this bloody train to let me down, isn't it?"
The man looked up at the battered and bruised face of Newbury, leaning down over the top of the carriage. He stuttered, unsure how to respond. The guard reached for his truncheon.
Newbury sighed. "Let me down and I'll show you my papers, man! I'm working on behalf of the Crown."
This was clearly enough for the driver, who applied the brakes and slowly brought the train to a stop, to much shouting and consternation from the passengers. Newbury lowered himself carefully over the edge of the carriage roof, clambering down onto the engine casing and using the fireman's steps to lower himself to the street below. The driver looked him up and down, mystified that a man claiming to work for the Crown should be found in such a diabolical state, crawling around on top of the nine-twenty to Marylebone. The guard climbed down from the cab and walked around the front of the train, his truncheon in hand. He came to stand before Newbury. "Papers, you say?"
Newbury fished his papers out from his inside jacket pocket and waved them at the portly fellow, whose eyes widened at the sight of the Royal seal. He glanced up at the driver, nodding slowly.
Newbury outlined the situation. "Now, look here. I have to get back to my associates. You need to alert the police as quickly as you can. There's a dead man in the street back there, dressed as a police constable. His face is painted up to look blue. Tell the Bobbies that Sir Charles Bainbridge of Scotland Yard wants the body taken to the morgue immediately. Can you do that?"
The man nodded, clearly unsure how to react.
Newbury, shaking his head, had little choice but to rely on the man. "This is a matter of state importance. Now, go to it!"
The guard glanced back at the driver, and then the carriages full of passengers. He shrugged. Then he ran off in the direction of the dead man. The driver cranked a lever on the front of the engine, allowing steam to hiss noisily from a vent in the roof, and then the train rumbled slowly away, gathering speed and momentum as it did.
Newbury took one last look at the passengers, many of whom were leaning out of their windows heckling him as the train pulled away. Then turned and searched out a passing cab, leaping aboard and directing the driver to make haste in the direction of Veronica's apartment, where he hoped to find both Bainbridge and Veronica herself awaiting him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The door was still hanging loose on its hinges when Newbury ducked into Veronica's apartment a short while later. He winced as he made his way along the hallway, heading towards the sound of voices that were coming from one of the reception rooms at the back of the house. He could hear Bainbridge fussing over Veronica from within.
"Really, Miss Hobbes. I do suggest we call a doctor." Veronica's response was terse. "Sir Charles, I will not be fussed over unnecessarily. I assure you I am quite well."
Bainbridge sighed extravagantly. "Very well. As you wish." Newbury could imagine him rolling his eyes. The conversation lapsed into silence.
Newbury approached the door to the lounge and knocked loudly before entering. Veronica jumped to her feet. "Sir Maurice! Oh…" Her mouth fell open in slack-jawed amazement when she laid eyes on his bedraggled appearance. She crossed the room, took him by the arm and led him slowly to a nearby chair. Her face was a picture of concern.
Newbury smiled. "Do I really look that bad?" Veronica looked away, refusing to be drawn on the question, but Bainbridge was more to the point. "You look like you've gone ten rounds with an Indian tiger. Are you badly hurt?"
Newbury couldn't help but laugh. "That's the second time you've asked me that today, Charles, and the answer remains decidedly the same; no more than can be expected." He shifted in his seat where the leather upholstery was pressing painfully against his wounds. "I think we'll get today's excitement out of the way, and then I'll be paying another visit to the Fixer, to see if he can't dose me up with some more of that miraculous compound of his. I took a bit of a beating out there today." He fell silent, watching the fire gutter in the grate as the others waited for him to go on.
Bainbridge pulled at the edges of his moustache impatiently. "Are you going to elaborate, then? Did you lose him somewhere?"
Newbury watched Veronica as she made her way back to her seat. He shook his head. "No. He's very much dead."
Bainbridge nodded, his face unreadable. Veronica looked aghast. "What happened?"
"I chased him over the back wall and along the High Street, whereupon he leapt up onto a passing ground train and scrambled onto the roof. I followed suit, we scuffled, and he fell to his death. It's a damn shame. It would have been far more useful if I'd managed to restrain him instead. I would have liked the opportunity to question him about the case." He glanced at Bainbridge. "I left instructions for the body to be taken to the morgue." Bainbridge nodded his approval.