“There are more deaths than one might expect…”The statement was a concerning one.
Ten
Henryarchedhisbackand shrugged his shoulders, weary both physically and mentally from the day. He felt like a dog who’d chased its tail for much of it; much like that dog, he had few results to show for his efforts.
As the day drew to a close he spent the last hour of it at his desk, reviewing information with constables and updating case files. He’d also sent a telegram to the medical school at Edinburgh to verify Dr. Thorne’s degree—he hadn’t missed that hint from Dr. Stanhope. Hopefully they’d reply soon. Closing the last of the files, he pushed back from his desk, a glance around showing most officers had already departed.
With a weary sigh Henry donned his coat and hat before heading for the door, his thoughts already on his plans for tomorrow. Fletcher had departed a couple minutes earlier, offering to stop by the Royal Arms to see if there was a message from Marcus. The jewelry theft investigation pressed on him nearly as much as the sanatorium.
Henry paused as he stepped outside, noting the hour was later than he’d realized. The sky had been a dull pewter gray the entire day, and was now a darker shade of the same. The scent of coal smoke lingered in the air, stinging his nostrils. Eveningsremained chilly well into May and often required a fire. Traffic moved slowly as people found their way home.
London was settling in for the night. What might Amelia be doing at this moment? Perhaps reading before the fire with her cat curled at her side. The thought made him smile, even as he wished he could be joining her.
“I didn’t fink you were ever gonna leave,” a voice said at his side.
Henry glanced down in surprise to see Marcus with his customary lopsided grin on his face.
“Whatever are you doing this far from home?” Henry looked him over, certain something had to be terribly wrong for the lad to venture out of Whitechapel, let alone anywhere near the Yard.
“Lookin’ fer you, of course.” The boy rocked onto his toes, hands stuffed in the pockets of his baggy jacket, his cap pulled low. “Got somethin’ fer you on the jewelry. Decided it was too good to have Jack at the Royal Arms share.” His brown eyes gleamed with excitement. “Wanted to tell you meself.”
“Excellent.” The boy’s delight made Henry smile in return. “I need all the help I can get. What have you discovered?”
Marcus glanced about as if to make sure no one could overhear him, though Henry didn’t know who he thought might be listening. Then again, perhaps his unease was a result of their close proximity to the police station.
“Let’s step over here.” Henry led the way around the side of the building, though a pub was located directly across the street. Where they stood wasn’t a very private place to talk, but the best he could do at the moment.
“Is this better?” Henry asked, amused by the lad’s nervousness. Strange that it bothered Marcus to be near the police station, but he’d never before appeared anxious when he spoke with Henry.
The lad nodded, his gaze still darting about as if he expected to be accosted at any moment. “I ’eard it said that a man who works at the shop is the bloke who stole the loot.”
Henry considered the information. He’d spoken with the owner and one employee himself, a Samuel Cobb, who seemed innocent enough. A constable had returned later to interview the other two employees, a Thomas Kinsley and a Howard Westerly, but his report hadn’t noted anything unusual. “Do you have any specifics?”
“Only he tried to sell a piece or two but decided to wait until all the fuss died down.”
Excitement took hold. “Do you know which employee?”
Marcus licked his lips nervously, then leaned close. “Yeah—I ’eard—”
Henry stilled, a flicker of unease running along his skin.
The next moment an explosion ripped through the air, the blast sending Henry flying into the boy.Marcus!He had to somehow protect him.
He grabbed the lad in midair, twisting to take the brunt of the fall as they tumbled to the ground. Henry landed hard on his side striking his head, the impact stealing his breath and his thoughts.
Grit clouded Henry’s vision, so thick he couldn’t see. Chunks of stone, brick, and glass rained down on them. Thedust from the rubble made it impossible to breathe, his ears ringing, the sounds around him oddly muffled.
Marcus!The small form curled into his side didn’t move. Then again, neither did Henry—he couldn’t. As he lay there, gasping for air, he tried to process what had happened.
A bomb? Something like it, and just outside Scotland Yard. Had anyone else been hurt? Or worse? Marcus—dear heaven, was the lad alive?
He couldn’t manage to lift his head to look. Couldn’t feel his limbs. Everything felt…
Darkness, then light once again. Muted shouts were starting to reach him.
“Henry!” Fletcher reached them, eyes wide with horror. His lips moved, but Henry could hardly hear him. “Henry! Are you all ri…?”
Henry gazed up at his friend through the dust, trying to gather his wits, unable to utter a word. Pain suddenly gripped him tightly, the numbness gone. His head impossibly heavy. Then his vision faded, and all went dark.
