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He took Swinburne by the arm. “Come along,” he urged. “Let's seewhat the hullabaloo is all about.”
“For pity's sake slow down, will you!” complained his companion,who had to match Burton's every stride with two of his own. “You'llrender me horrendously sober at this pace!”
“Incidentally, Algy, in the event of my demise, perhaps you'dshow a little more restraint with the god and demigod references,”Burton grumbled.
“Ha! What a contrary fellow you are! On the one hand you seemobsessed by religions; on the other, repelled by them!”
“Humph! These days, I'm more interested in the underlyingmotivation-in the reasons why a man is willing to be guided by agod whose existence is, at best, impossible to prove and, at worst,an obvious fabrication. It seems to me that in these times of rapidscientific and industrial advancement, the procurement of knowledgehas become too intimidating a prospect for the average man, so he'sshu
“I say!” Swinburne cried. “Well said, old chap! Well said! Youhardly slurred a single word! You're eminently reprehensible!”
“You mean comprehensible.”
“I know what I mean. But Richard, surely Darwin's naturalevolution has rendered God undeniably defunct?”
“Indubitably. Which begs the question: to what falsehood willthe uneducated masses willingly devote themselves next?”
They paced along, swinging their canes, their hats set at ajaunty angle. Despite the revitalising nip in the air, Burton wasdeveloping a headache. He decided to take a brandy with his coffee;perhaps it would numb the faint throbbing.
When they reached Trafalgar Square, the famous explorer plungedinto the crowd and shouldered his way through it with Swinburnetrailing in his wake. A constable stepped into their path, his handraised.
“Stay back, please, gents.”
Burton pulled out his wallet and withdrew from it a printedcard. He showed it to the policeman who instantly saluted andstepped back.
“Beggin’ your pardon, sir.”
“Over here, Captain!” a deep, slightly husky voice called.Burton saw his friend Detective Inspector William Trounce ofScotland Yard standing at the base of Nelson's Column. Two peoplewere with him: a young dark-ski
Trounce met them with a hearty handshake. He was a bulky butamiable-looking individual, short but broad, with thick limbs and abarrel chest, bright twinkling blue eyes, and a largeupward-curling brown mustache. His heavy square chin accuratelyhinted at a streak of stubbor
“Hallo, chaps!” he said cheerfully. “Been drinking, haveyou?”
“Is it that obvious?” Burton mumbled.
“You didn't exactly cross the square as the crow flies.”
“We're on our way to the Venetia for coffee.”
“Very wise. Strong, black, with plenty of sugar. This isConstable Bhatti.”
The policeman standing at Trounce's side saluted smartly. He wasslender, youthful, and rather handsome.
“I've heard a lot about you, sir,” he effused, with a slightIndian accent. “My cousin, Commander Krishnamurthy, was with youduring the Old Ford affair.”
He was referring to the recent battle that Burton, Swinburne,and a great many Scotland Yard men had fought against theTechnologists and Rakes. Those two normally opposed groups-the onededicated to scientific advancement, the other to anarchisticrevolution-had banded together to try to capture a man from thefuture who'd become known as Spring Heeled Jack. Burton haddefeated them and killed their quarry.
“Krishnamurthy's a thoroughly good egg,” Swinburne noted. “Butcommander? Has he been promoted?”
“Yes, sir. It's a new rank in the force.”
Trounce added: “They've made him head of the newly formed FlyingSquad, and deservedly so. I don't know anyone who can handle arotorchair the way Krishnamurthy does.”
Burton nodded his approval and looked curiously at the silent,motionless blanket.
“So what's happening here, Trounce?”
The detective inspector turned to his subordinate. “Would youexplain, please, Constable?”
“Certainly, sir.” The young policeman looked at Burton andSwinburne and his dark eyes shone with excitement. “It'smarvellous! An absolute wonder! Practically a work of art! I'venever seen anything so intricate or-”
“Just the facts, please, lad,” Trounce interjected.
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. This is my beat, you see, Captain Burton,and I pass through the square every fifty minutes or so. Tonighthas been a quiet one. I've been making the rounds as usual, withnothing much to report aside from the customary prostitutes anddrunkards-er-that is to say-”
He stopped, cleared his throat, cleared it again, and cast apleading glance at his superior.
William Trounce laughed. “Don't worry, son, Captain Burton andMr. Swinburne have been celebrating, that's all. Isn't that right,gents?”
“Quite so,” Burton confirmed, self-consciously.
“And I wouldn't mind celebrating some more!” Swinburnea
Burton rolled his eyes.
Trounce addressed Bhatti: “So it was business as usual?”
The constable nodded. “Yes. I came on duty this evening at seveno'clock and passed this way three times without incident. On thefourth occasion, I noticed a crowd gathering here, where we'restanding. I came over to investigate and found this-” He gesturedat the concealed figure.
Trounce reached out and pulled the blanket away.
Burton and Swinburne gasped.
“Beautiful, isn't it!” Bhatti exclaimed.
A mechanical man stood before them. It was constructed frompolished brass, slender, and about five feet five inches tall. Thehead was canister-shaped, flat at the top and bottom, andfeatureless but for three raised circular areas set vertically inthe front. The top one was like a tiny ship's porthole, throughwhich a great many motionless gears could be glimpsed, as small,complex, and finely crafted as the workings of a pocket watch. Themiddle circle held a mesh grille, and the bottom one was simply ahole out of which three very fine five-inch-long wires projected.They were straight and vibrated slightly in the breeze.
The neck consisted of thin shafts and cables, swivel joints andhinges. A slim cylinder formed the mechanical man's trunk. Panelswere cut out of it, revealing cogwheels and springs, delicatelittle crankshafts, gyroscopes, flywheels, and a pendulum. The thinbut sturdy arms ended in three-fingered hands. The legs were sturdyand tubular; the feet oval-shaped and slightly domed.
“It's a beauty, isn't it?” Constable Bhatti breathed. “Lookhere, in the small of the back. You see this hole? That's where thekey goes.”
“The key?” Burton asked.
“Yes! To wind it up! It's clockwork!”
“Bhatti, here,” Detective Inspector Trounce put in, “is theYard's amateur Technologist. Of all the policemen in London, he'scertainly the right chap to have found this contraption.”
“A happy coincidence for the constable,” Swinburne observedglibly.
“It's my hobby,” the young policeman enthused. “I attend asocial club where we tinker with devices-trying to make them gofaster or adapting them in various ways. Great heavens, the fellowswould be beside themselves if I turned up with this specimen!”
Burton, who'd started to examine the brass figure with amagnifying glass, absently asked the policeman what he'd done afterdiscovering it.
“The crowd was swelling-you know how Londoners flock aroundanything or anyone unusual-so I whistled for help. After a fewconstables had arrived, I gave the mechanism a thoroughexamination. I must admit, I got a little absorbed, so I probablydidn't alert the Yard as quickly as I should have.” He looked atTrounce. “Sorry about that, sir.”