Sir Edward sighed. “Very well. You’re kind to volunteer your services at this ungodly hour. I can’t very well order you about like a constable, can I? Please take a seat.”
Adrian March smiled at Day and frowned at Hammersmith and sat down. Sir Edward wondered why March seemed displeased with Hammersmith, but then noticed that the sergeant had a long soup stain down the front of his shirt, which he had apparently tried to hide by buttoning his jacket all the way up. But he had mismatched the buttonholes, and his jacket skewed strangely across his rail-thin chest. He was tall and lean, with a narrow face and almost feminine features. His hair stuck straight up, uncombed, except for a mass of it at the front that had fallen into his eyes. Sir Edward was used to Hammersmith’s slovenly appearance and realized he no longer even noticed the frequent stains and rips that the sergeant habitually sported. He sighed again. He was still unsure about whether he ought to have promoted Hammersmith to the rank of sergeant. In addition to his unkempt appearance, Hammersmith was unruly and impulsive. It was nearly impossible to keep him in line. But he brought qualities to his police work that many of the detectives did not. He was sensitive, caring, and brave, quick to leap into a fray if it would help the cause in any way.
“Mr Day, Mr Hammersmith, Mr March, while the others beat the bushes for the escapees, I would like you to investigate some discrepancies in the information we’re receiving from the prison.”
“Sir,” Hammersmith said, “with respect, I feel I would be best suited to the search itself.”
“And you may be, Sergeant,” Sir Edward said. “But Inspector Day will require assistance and, as I said, you work very well together. I think each of you may see things at HM Prison Bridewell that the other would miss.”
“But Mr March is here to help,” Hammersmith said. “He can assist Mr Day.”
“You make me weary, Mr Hammersmith. For the time being, you will remain with Mr Day. And Mr March. Perhaps the three of you together will uncover something faster than you might otherwise do and then… only then, Sergeant, will I reassign you to the manhunt. Do we understand each other?”
Hammersmith nodded, but his expression was black. Sir Edward was touched by the young man’s devotion to justice. Just wait, he thought. Be patient and try not to get yourself killed before you become the great policeman I know you could be.
“The head warder claims that all the dead prisoners have been accounted for and that four men have escaped,” Sir Edward said. “But there is another man, a clerk on the prison staff, who claims there were five escapees. Both of these men seem to be absolutely unshakable in their convictions, and that worries me. It makes every bit of information coming out of that place suspect.”
“I should think the head warder would have the best information,” March said. “There must be four escapees.”
“Perhaps,” Sir Edward said. “But perhaps not. No one is infallible, and I want to know the truth. Were there four escapees? Five escapees? Perhaps there were twenty or thirty, for all we know. Find out for me. We can’t catch four men and call the job done if there are five men on the loose.”
“Yes, sir,” Hammersmith said. His expression was grim. “And we’ll be back in the manhunt within the hour.” Back in. As if he had been called away from the hunt when it hadn’t really started yet.
“I’m afraid I have one more task for you,” Sir Edward said. He kept his eyes on Day so as to avoid Hammersmith’s inevitable grimace. “I want to know why there’s such confusion in the numbers. In the event of a catastrophe like this, it’s my opinion we should have immediately been given all the facts we needed. Instead, there’s a great deal of dithering going on at that prison. I worry there’s mischief afoot.”
“Mischief, sir?”
“Yes, Mr Day. It is, of course, possible that the confusion there tonight is perfectly natural. To be expected. But a train was deliberately derailed just outside the prison walls—”
“You really think the derailing was deliberate?” March said.
“Don’t you? If it was an accident, why is there no record of that train being sent out? Why was the train empty? Why has no driver come forward?”
“Perhaps he was thrown clear,” March said. “Or he might have walked back through the carriages and been in the end of it when it derailed. He could be lying under the rubble at the prison even now. In fact, that may account for the confusion there. The extra body of the train’s driver.”
Sir Edward stared at Adrian March for a long moment. Then he straightened his back and shook his head. “No,” he said. “No, that train was deliberately tampered with. And I think someone at Bridewell knows about it, was a part of the scheme.”
“Scheme?”
“Yes, scheme. Someone broke those prisoners out. Why?”
“Did he…” Day said. “Whoever did this, did he intend to free a specific individual? Or is it possible the train was the real target, do you think?”
“A very good question, Mr Day,” Sir Edward said. “This had to have been very carefully planned, in my opinion, and it took a great deal of courage, a great deal of intelligence. I do not think wrecking an empty train was the goal.”
“If we determine who has escaped, we may be able to lay our hands on the person who masterminded the thing.”
“That is my thinking.”
“Jimmy might be the better man for this,” Day said. “He is more methodical than I tend to be.”
Sir Edward smiled at him. Day was sticking up for his sergeant, trying to get them assigned to the manhunt in order to make Hammersmith happy. He admired the attempt almost as much as he was annoyed by it.
“Inspector Tiffany does not have the same knack for talking to people that you do, Mr Day. Nor does he leap to interesting conclusions the way that you do. Jimmy Tiffany’s methodical practices are more useful to me in the pursuit of escaped prisoners.”
Day tried one more tack. “This doesn’t seem like it’s a Murder Squad assignment, sir. Nobody’s been murdered.”
“Every convict currently outside those walls is a murderer. Murder has most certainly been committed. I just hope no fresh murders are being totted up by that lot while we sit here worrying about who ought to be catching them.”
“My apologies, sir.”
“Of course. Mr Day, there’s one more thing you should know. One of the escaped men, one that has been confirmed for us, is named Cinderhouse.”
Day’s eyes went wide and he leaned forward in his chair. “The same?”
“Yes, the same man you and Sergeant Hammersmith apprehended last year.”
It had only been a few months since the Yard’s official tailor, the man who had fitted every policeman for his uniform, had revealed a secret taste for small children. Cinderhouse had murdered an inspector and, later, a constable in his efforts to evade capture. It had been Day’s first case, the first case of the newly formed Murder Squad. Cinderhouse had killed Sergeant Hammersmith’s closest friend and paid a threatening visit to Claire Day before finally being caught and brought to justice.
“He knows where I live.” Day stood suddenly, almost knocking his chair over backward.
“Sit.”
Day hesitated, and Hammersmith pushed himself back from the desk to stand beside him.
“We should check on Mrs Day,” Hammersmith said. “She’s pregnant and alone.”
“Please,” Sir Edward said. “Mr Hammersmith, would you sit back down, too?”
Both men reluctantly pushed their chairs back to their former positions and sat down.
“I share your concern,” Sir Edward said. “You must trust me. I have given the situation some thought. There is no reason to think this man Cinderhouse will go to your home or try in any way to strike back at you or your family. He’s no doubt trying to get as far away from London as he can right now.”