Odd that Jackson swiveled in his seat, facing him and Kit.
Charles reached for his gun. “Looks like we may have trouble.”
“If that’s who I think it is,” Kit said, “then you couldn’t be more right.”
Here? Now? Unbelievable! Of all the men in all the city, it had to be Catchpole trotting down the stairs of the Palace Club at three in the morning? Turning his back on the peculiar fellow, Jackson lifted his eyes to the night sky.
Is this some sort of punishment, Lord? My own personal thorn in the flesh?He ground his teeth, the prayer sounding whiny even in his own head. Blowing out a low breath, he regrouped before trying again.Forgive my irritation, God, but please, I beg You, grant that Mr. Catchpole doesn’t see me. Send him away. Far, far away. And help me root out the real villain, Mr. Child.
“Mr. Forge?” Catchpole’s voice—usually squeaky—rang out surprisingly bold in the night air, his footsteps drawing closer. “Chief Inspector? Is it really you?”
Hounds a’fire! If the man kept it up, half of London would know he was here. Though perhaps—and a very big perhaps at that—if he didn’t acknowledge the man, Catchpole might think he was wrong and simply go away. Gritting his teeth, Jackson held his ground, sitting rock still in the carriage seat lest the slightest movement give Catchpole any encouragement.
“Stand back, maggot.” Shivaji’s command was a low roll of thunder.
“I say!” Catchpole yelped. “No need to wrinkle the coat, my good fellow. I mean no harm to my dear friend. But why are you keeping guard over…oh!” The man’s voice dropped. “I begin to understand. How capital! This is all a disguise, is it not? And a very good one at that. I must say you could pass for a real Punjabi. Tell me, where did you buy that turban? It’s a stunning piece of fabric.”
“One more word, maggot,” Shivaji said, his already low voice dropping a full octave, “and I will cut out your tongue.”
Blast. Ignoring Catchpole could get the man hurt. Jackson swung about and leaned over the railing, speaking for Catchpole alone. “As you can see, it is I, and I am working a clandestine meeting, so I would appreciate it if you would not draw so much attention.”
“I knew it!” The skinny man gasped then immediately softened his tone. “I mean how clever. How indiscriminately brilliant. Why, you are a star in the night sky, Inspector.” He slapped his hand to his mouth. “Oops,” he mumbled. “Ought not to have said that.”
Jackson fought against rolling his eyes. “Time for you to move along, Mr. Catchpole.” His gaze flicked to the Palace door, where yet one more man emerged. “Now.”
Jackson tensed. If that man was Mr. Child and Catchpole gave him away, it could set the whole investigation back indeterminately.
But the man at the door lingered with his back to the street, pulled out a set of keys from his pocket, then bent to secure the lock, officially closing the Palace. Whistling a tune, he descended the stairs, and without so much as a glance at them, he strolled off into the darkness.
A sigh whooshed the air from Jackson’s lungs. Child had stood him up. And stars above, how he hated to be stood up!
“You heard the man, maggot. Leave!” Shivaji advanced towards Catchpole, making a swipe for him.
Catchpole hopped back just in time. “I assure you there is no need to be so forceful.” He frowned at Jackson. “I cannot say I care for your new company, Inspect—” His eyes widened at the blunder. “At any rate, all the best to you and your endeavour. Good night.”
He walked away just as Baggett and Kit drew near. Kit tipped her head at the retreating man. “Mr. Catchpole, I assume?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Jackson pinched the bridge of his nose. “Good thing Child didn’t show up or this whole thing would have blown apart.”
“Hmm.” Kit tapped her lower lip.
Jackson dropped his hand. “I know that look. What are you thinking?”
“Clearly Mr. Catchpole has some sort of connection to the Palace. Perhaps he could be of help.”
Baggett folded his arms. “I thought the fellow was an entertainer. I mean, look at that coat.”
Actually, now that Jackson had a moment to think on it, what had Catchpole been doing in such a prestigious club? He studied the carefree stride of the skinny man as he strolled down the street. Surely he couldn’t be a member, and likely not an entertainer. So, then what? Unless…
Jackson glanced once more at Baggett, the man a stark reminder that not all distractions were bad in and of themselves. Had Baggett not been preoccupied with the need to speak with Martha, he’d not have detected the bomb. Maybe—in a very convoluted way—God had put Catchpole here for a reason?
He smirked. Now there was a stretch. But still…in all his busyness and assumptions, had he overlooked something God wanted him to see or know? Perhaps the only way to find out was to finally stop and listen to the man—reallylisten—instead of just trying to get rid of him.
He faced the big Punjabi. “Shivaji, could you fetch that man?”
White teeth shone bright in a large smile an instant before he wheeled about. “My pleasure, sahib.”
“Gently!” Jackson called after him.
