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"That you, guv'nor?" came a gruff voice from above.
"Yes, Mr. Pe
"Aye. Been 'avin' a smoke o' me pipe. There ain't nuffink like awhiff o' Latakia for fumigatin' the bellows! Get yourself comfywhile I light the bull's-eyes. An' call me Monty."
Burton climbed into the hansom. "Bellows?" he grunted. "I shouldthink your lungs are more like a couple of turbines if they candeal with that fog and Latakia! Take me to Scotland Yard, wouldyou?"
"Right ho. Half a mo', sir!"
While his passenger settled, Pe
The machine coughed and spluttered and belched smoke into thealready laden atmosphere. It lurched away from the curb, pullingthe cab behind it.
"Hoff we go, into the great unknown!" muttered Pe
As he carefully steered the machine out of Mornington Crescentand into Hampstead Road, there came a mighty crash and tinkling ofbroken glass from somewhere far to the left.
"Watch out!" he exclaimed softly. "You don't want to be drivin'into a shop window, do you! Irresponsible, I calls it, bein' incharge of a vehicle in these 'ere weather conditions!"
By the time the hansom cab reached Tottenham Court Road, the"blacks" were falling: coal dust coalescing with particles of icein the upper layers of fog before drifting to the ground like blacksnowflakes. It was an ugly sight.
Pe
The steam-horse gurgled and popped.
"Don't you start complainin'!" the cabbie advised it. "You'rethe one wiv a nice hot boiler! It's cold enough up here to freezethe whatsits off a thingummybob!"
The engine emitted a whistling sigh.
"Oh, it's like that, is it? Feelin' discontentified, areyou?"
It hissed and grumbled.
"Why don't you just watch where you're a-going and stopbotherin' me wiv the be
It rattled and clanged over a bump in the road.
"Yup, that's it, of girl! Giddy up! Over the hurdles!"
The hansom panted through Leicester Square and on down CharingCross Road, passing the antiquarian bookshops-whose volumes werenow both obscure and obscured-and continuing on to TrafalgarSquare, where Monty had to carefully steer around an overturnedfruit wagon and the dead horse that had collapsed in its harness.Apples squished under the hansom's wheels and were ground into thecobbles; the resultant mush was quickly blackening with fallingsoot.
Along Whitehall the engine chugged, then left into GreatScotland Yard, until, outside the grim old edifice of the policeheadquarters-a looming shadow in the darkness-Pe
"There you go, guv'nor!" he called, knocking on the roof.
Sir Richard Francis Burton disembarked and tossed a couple ofcoins up to the driver.
"Toddle off for a pie and some ale, Monty. You deserve it. Ifyou get back here in an hour, I'll have another fare for you."
"That's right gen'rous of you, guv'nor. You can rely on me; I'llbe 'ere waitin' when you're ready."
"Good man!"
Burton entered Scotland Yard. A valet stepped forward and tookhis coat, hat, and cane, shaking the soot from them onto thealready grimy floor.
Burton crossed to the front desk. A small plaque on it read: J.D. Pepperwick-Clerk. He addressed the man to whom it referred.
"Is Detective Inspector Trounce available? I'd like to speakwith him, if possible."
"Your name, sir?"
"Sir Richard Francis Burton."
The clerk, a gaunt fellow with thick spectacles, a red nose, anda straggly moustache, looked surprised.
"Not the explorer chappie, surely?"
"The very same."
"Good gracious! Do you want to talk to the inspector aboutyesterday's shooting?"
"Perhaps. Would you take a look at this?"
Burton held out his authorisation. The clerk took it, unfoldedit, saw the signature, and read the text above it with meticulouscare, dwelling on each separate word.
"I say!" he finally exclaimed. "You're an important fellow!"
"So-?" said Burton slowly, suggestively inclining his head andraising his eyebrows.
The clerk got the message. "So I'll call Detective InspectorTrounce-on the double!"
He saluted smartly and turned to a contrivance affixed to thewall behind him. It was a large, flat brass panel which somewhatresembled a honeycomb, divided as it was into rows of smallhexagonal compartments. Into these, snug in circular fittings,there were clipped round, domed lids with looped handles. A namewas engraved onto each one.
The clerk reached for the lid marked "D. I. Trounce" and pulledit from the frame. It came away trailing a long segmented tubebehind it. He twisted open the lid and blew into the tube. Burtonknew that at the other end a little valve was popping out of anidentical lid and emitting a whistle. A moment later a ti
Holding its end to his mouth, the clerk spoke into it. Thoughhis voice was muffled, Burton heard him say: "Sir Richard Burton,the Africa chap, is here to see you, sir. He has, um, specialauthorisation. Says he wants to talk to you about the shooting ofJohn Speke at Bath yesterday."
He transferred the tube to his ear and listened, then put itback to his mouth and said, "Yes, sir."
He replaced the lid, lifting it back to its compartment, thetube automatically snaking in before it.
He smiled at Burton. "The inspector will see you straightaway.Second floor, office number nineteen. The stairs are through thatdoor there, sir," he advised, pointing to the left.
Burton nodded and made for the doors, pushed through them, andclimbed the stairs. They were wooden and needed brushing. He cameto the second floor and moved along a panelled corridor, looking atthe many closed doors. The sound of a woman weeping came frombehind one.
About halfway down the passage he found number nineteen andknocked upon it.
"Come!" barked a voice from within.
Burton entered and found himself in a medium-sized,high-ceilinged, square, and shadowy room. Its dark corners laybehind a thin veil of blue cigar smoke. There was a very tall,narrow window in the opposite wall, a fireplace with quietlycrackling logs in its hearth to his right, and a row of largefiling cabinets lining the wall to his left. A red and threadbarerug covered the centre of the floor, a hatstand supported abattered bowler and dusty overcoat by the door, and a big portraitof Sir Robert Peel hung over the fireplace. Gas lamps flickereddimly in the alcoves to either side of the chimney breast. A litcandle wavered on the heavy desk beneath the window. It cast anorange light over the left side of Detective Inspector Trounce'sface.
He was sitting behind the desk, facing the door, but stood asBurton entered.
Trounce was short, big-boned, and heavily muscled. He possessedwide shoulders, an enormous chest, and the merest hint of a paunch.He was a man, decided Burton, to whom the word "blunt" could bemost aptly applied. He had thick, blunt-ended fingers, a shortblunt nose, and, under a large outward-sweeping brown moustache, anaggressive chin that suggested a bluntness of character, too.