Admontein, 12.58 pm
He was a nondescript man in a nondescript room, and those who reported to him could barely recall his face or anything else about him.
The messenger arrived as the man was signing documents, and waited until he looked up. “Sir, we have a situation with one of the Special Assets. The Wolf.”
The man’s expression did not change. “He was at Midwinter Mining, assistant engine operator… what has happened?”
“The pay office staff chose him to carry cash. Special bonuses to engineering staff at Greater Colton. He was sent alone by train. Word has just reached the Metropolitan Force of a fatal shooting on the train. It stopped at Lesser Colton. Detectives from the Metropolitan Homicide Division are to be sent at once by special train. There is nothing more at this stage, since we have no-one there to check. It’s a small place, no call for coverage.”
There was a short pause, no more than a few seconds. “Get an agent and supports to the scene. If there is any risk of disintegration, it has to be dealt with. Inform Doctor Bennett to prepare for a possible reintegration. That is all.”
Lesser Colton, 4.26 pm
Louise Knox sat at a corner table at the Canary, Lesser Colton’s only real hotel, with papers spread before her.
The Canary was made of the same roughly hewn timbers as every other structure in the small town, and the only attempt at decoration was a set of prints advertising Lelibran burlesque shows, most of them smeared with coal dust.
The proprietor, a retired miner with a severe limp, had been careful to explain that quick service was not to be expected, and had made a show of wiping down the table and the bench. There were no chairs; brawls were too frequent of a night. So after cold mutton with loads of pickles, day-old bread rolls, and coffee that tasted like sweepings from the shop floor, she looked over her notes and wrote at length in neat, precisely-spaced handwriting.
At the other end of the common room, half a dozen miners in their grimy working clothes were drinking beer and gossiping about the gentlewoman sitting and writing all by herself. Fortunately, they had not tried to approach her.
Isaac Howard came into the Canary, clutching a folder. He came over to Doctor Knox’s table, hung his hat on a convenient hook, and sat own opposite her. “How’s the patient, Doctor?”
Doctor Knox put down her pen after wiping the nib clean. “Mr Kilgerrin will survive, but he is an extremely lucky young man. Firstly, he has a very sturdy constitution, rude good health, you might say. Secondly, I was on the train. Doctor Robinson strikes me as a less than competent surgeon and the facilities and instruments are of a poor standard. When this is done I will see what I can to remedy that lack. However, I can’t say when he will wake up, though. For now, what did you find out?”
Isaac tapped the folder before him. “Our man was carrying over two thousand dollars. It’s locked in the company safe. There were pay lists from Midwinter Mining. That’s a lot of money to be in the care of one man. The local constable’s got both his deputies guarding the carriage in the sidings, and the local undertaker took some pictures. The bodies are still there. Since this is a little bit more than he’s used to, he was happy to have my help, though I imagine that there’ll be city cops on the way. Special Branch. Any crime on the rails is within their remit. I hope they appreciate our work.”
The proprietor limped over with a tray and unloaded a plate and a mug before Isaac. Doctor Knox saw more of the same mediocre fare that she had been served.
“I am a surgeon, not a pathologist,” she said, “but I can give you some conclusions about my patient. Firstly, two of the shots that hit him were most likely fired by someone sitting or standing opposite him. Entry and exit wounds were on the same plane. I think I have the terminology correct.” After a nod from Isaac, she went on. “The third wound was from a different angle, above and to the left. It hit just under the left shoulder, went downwards, and chipped the scapula on exit. On the whole, he’s very lucky to be alive, as the bullets missed his ribs and did no vital organ damage, although I can’t rule out chronic lung problems from here on.”
Isaac grunted agreement. “Thank you, Doctor… well, I’m a consulting detective, not a crime scientist, but here are my findings. At first glance, it seems pretty clear. Two armed thugs tried to rob a wages carrier and lost their lives in the exchange of fire. One of them had a revolver and the other had a knife, the cut-throat sort. But it isn’t all that clear. There are some odd features in this case. We have a man who’s been shot twice in the chest with a .38 revolver at near point-blank range, but somehow he manages to get out a .455 Barrington, and shoot them both. Now, according to what I saw, each man was shot clean through the heart. That’s precision, even at close range, and with two sucking chest wounds as a distraction, and with something with the kick of a four-fifty-five, and considering that he most likely took the third shot before plugging the gunman. Then you have the head shots. Again, precision.
“And lastly, there’s his revolver. A Barrington Mark Six is a top of the range weapon, more like a professional duellist’s choice, but he doesn’t look like a duellist, more like your normal working man. Something very strange overall…
“Where does an ordinary labourer learn to shoot like that?”
Lesser Colton, 5.32 pm
He woke up between rough sheets, smelling antiseptic, and feeling a light pressure on his right wrist… someone was holding his wrist….
There was no pain; just an overwhelming tiredness.
He opened his eyes slowly.
“Oh, you’re awake!”
A woman was sitting by the bed; attractive, buxom, maybe thirty, neatly dressed in a grey waistcoat and matching jacket, her chestnut hair immaculately coiffed, keen grey eyes behind gold-rimmed spectacles. She smiled a professional smile as she gently released his hand and carefully tucked away her gold pocket watch.
“Mr Kilgerrin, good evening. Please don’t try to sit up. I’m Doctor Louise Knox, MD, FZCS. You’re in the Lesser Colton Infirmary, recovering from three serious gunshot wounds. Thankfully you’re a sturdy fellow. I wouldn’t have expected you to come round for another day at least.”
“Blazes!” he croaked as the memories surged into his mind.
“Please be calm, Mr Kilgerrin.”
“There were two of them! One of them shot me! We have to tell the cops, track the bastards down! How long was I out?”
Doctor Knox frowned. “Ah… well, that is interesting…” She raised a hand quickly as Paul drew breath again. “Please don’t speak just yet.”
She rose and walked to the door, opened it, and spoke briefly to someone in another room before stepping through and out of sight.
Paul took stock of his new surroundings; a stark room of sanded plank walls and ceiling. A gas lamp glowed softly in the wall above his head. He was wearing a white linen bed jacket. His chest and left shoulder were swathed with bandages.
How long was I out? And why the blazes didn’t they finish me off?
After a short while Doctor Knox came back, holding a tray bearing a mug fitted with a spout.
“You should be all right to take some beef tea.”
“Should I be drinking at all?”
“It will be all right. You’ve had the proper surgery. I sewed you up myself. Now drink up, please, Mr Kilgerrin.”
Paul slowly drank down the beef tea. He had tasted worse in his time. Barely had he emptied the cup, and Doctor Knox wiped his lips, than the door opened and two men entered.
One was small, wiry and black-bearded, wearing the blue shako and brass badge of the Rural Constabulary, though his uniform was rough brown woollens rather than blue serge; a lever-action carbine was tucked under one arm.
The other was an obvious city gent, clad in neat slate grey, top hat, waistcoat and breeches, with long fair hair an incongruous touch.
“I do not approve of guns in hospitals, Constable,” Doctor Knox said frostily.
“Symbol of office, Doctor,” the Constable riposted. “Mr Kilgerrin, I’m pleased to see that you made it! I’m Constable Metcalfe, Rural Constabulary, and if you’re up to it, I have some questions about what happened on the train. Oh, and this is Mr Isaac Howard, consulting detective. He and Doctor Knox were the first to arrive on the scene.”
“She saved your life,” Isaac said.
Paul held out his hand. “Thank you, Doctor.”
Doctor Knox released his hand. “I will leave you to speak with the Constable, then.” She frowned again at the carbine under Metcalfe’s arm. “But if you feel any pain or discomfort, send for me.”
Paul blinked as something she had said came to him. “Wait, Doctor, you said something about three wounds. There were two shots, just two.”
Metcalfe looked at Doctor Knox, eyebrows raised. “What did you tell him, Doctor?”
“Nothing, Constable… Mr Kilgerrin was trying to tell me about the robbers, so they could be caught, well…”
Metcalfe laughed, a short, derisive bark. “We won’t have to look far, Mr Kilgerrin. They’re still in the carriage. Each one shot to the chest and one to the head. We found your revolver in your hand…” His voice tailed off. “Mr Kilgerrin?”
Paul answered, but his voice seemed to be another’s, from far away, and his eyes were wide with shock, even horror.
“What the... I killed them?”
Lesser Colton, 6.05 pm
The police special train arrived in Lesser Colton as workers were leaving the pits at the end of the last shift, and many of them headed over to the platform. The incident on the morning train was still being talked about, and the arrival of Special Branch detectives could provide some more excitement.
Doctor Knox, Isaac Howard, and Constable Metcalfe reached the platform just as the passengers dismounted; three plainly-dressed men of nondescript appearance, but their grey trench coats and black bowler hats were effectively uniforms.
Constable Metcalfe, still carrying his carbine, approached the new arrivals diffidently. He was greeted with a handshake before he gestured them towards where Doctor Knox and Isaac stood waiting.
“I’m Detective-Inspector Wright, and my colleagues are Detective-Sergeant Hammond and Detective-Constable Shawcross,” said the oldest of the three officers. He was tall and stocky with the neatly trimmed moustache synonymous with Army officers. He looked at their cards and handed them back. “Doctor Knox, Mr Howard, thank you. Shall we move inside? We need to…” He looked up and past them, and frowned. “Good grief, it’s going to land!”
They turned to see a long grey shape descending slowly towards Lesser Colton.
Doctor Knox and Isaac Howard saw airships most days in Admontein, but the miners and workers of lesser Colton seemed almost as awestruck as any islander of the Colonies.
The Zeppelin levelled out above the station, the quiet whirr of its engines slowly fading into silence. It had MIDWINTER MINING in large black letters along its envelope.
“Ahoy, below!” a voice boomed. “We are lowering mooring ropes! Please secure the ship!”
Without any further bidding, a number of the miners scattered to grab the ropes uncoiling and dropping from the airship’s keel.
After some discussion, they secured the ropes to the buffers in the siding to leave the Zeppelin suspended about fifty feet up.
“Nowadays every blasted firm thinks it’s nothing unless they have their own Zeppelin,” Wright observed with a sneer.
“Not just any Zeppelin, neither, mister,” said a miner enthusiastically. He had organised the mooring of the ship. “That’s a Montverne semi-rigid design, top of the range, y’know…”
He went on to describe the design in enthusiastic detail.
“I’d have thought the company would have chosen to stay quiet over this matter,” Isaac mused. “Coming along in the firm’s airship is a bit… flashy, wouldn’t you say?”
A rope ladder swayed down from the passenger compartment in the keel, and two men in grey coveralls scrambled to the ground. As they did, another man began to descend; a bearded man in smart grey suit and top hat, secured by a harness.
“VIPs like this one don’t arrive by mere train, Mr Howard,” Doctor Knox observed. “If I am not mistaken, that is Sir Anthony Wells, the chairman of Midwinter Mining.”
One by one four men and one woman were lowered from the airship.
Sir Anthony and two others were clad in business grey and top hats; the last man wore tweed and a bowler hat, and carried a familiar black bag. The woman was of a different style altogether; pale mauve blouse and dress down to her ankles, with a matching parasol and broad-brimmed hat.
Sir Anthony helped the woman from her harness and looked around. He saw Doctor Knox and walked over to her, beaming, to shake her hand.
“Doctor Knox, you have no idea what a pleasant surprise this is!”
“Honoured to be remembered, Sir Anthony… last April, at the Royle Society’s Morrison Lectures, I believe, though we only spoke briefly.
“Oh, this is a new acquaintance, Mr Isaac Howard consulting detective. This incident made us colleagues, after a fashion.”
“A bad business, indeed, Doctor Knox… Mr Howard, pleased to meet you, sir.
“May I in turn introduce Mr Roger Porlock and Mr Wilfred Dodd of Accounting, Dr Robert Prendergast of Health and Safety, and Lady Scarlett Devonleigh of Public Relations.”
At that moment, Inspector Wright stepped forward, touching his hat.
“I’m Detective-Inspector Wright. My apologies, Sir Anthony, but we have only just arrived to investigate the, ah, incident. Now, as I understand from my briefing in Admontein, your man Kilgerrin was seriously wounded and is still in a weakened state...” He looked quizzically at Doctor Knox, who nodded. “So I would like to leave him be for now and interview the key witnesses, namely Doctor Knox and Mr Howard. I sincerely apologise for interrupting the introductions.”
“You have your job to do, Inspector, and we will not get in your way. Perhaps I and my colleagues could see Kilgerrin briefly?”
Wright pondered briefly. “That would be all right, if Doctor Knox has no objections? All right then. Hammond, go with Constable Metcalfe and make a report on the crime scene. Doctor Knox, Mr Howard, shall we find a place indoors to talk?”
Isaac Howard watched the Midwinter Mining party walk away, and said with a chuckle, “I might have known they’d bring a Mulder.”
“Mulder?” queried Doctor Knox.
“Make Us Look Decent. Something like this makes any firm or college call out the Public Affairs people.”
Paul had sunk into a shallow sleep. He was dreaming about dancing in a large open hall with a woman in white and gold, to a tune unlike any he had ever heard. There was no-one else with them. Her face was partly hidden by a fine gauze veil, but he could tell that she was smiling, and her fair hair swirled as they danced.
There were voices beyond the door.
“He’s asleep, sir, and the doctor, Doctor Knox, she said he’d been badly hurt, sir…”
It was Rachel, the volunteer nurse, a young and pretty girl who tended to blush, and giggle behind her hands.
“It will be all right, young miss, I promise.”
He opened his eyes as the door opened softly and one by one they came in. He recognised Mr Porlock, the chief supervisor of machines, and Mr Dodd of Accounts. The city gent and the one who looked like a doctor he had never seen before, and the attractive woman in mauve, with jet black hair in immaculate ringlets under a fashionable hat, was a lady without a doubt.
“Mr Porlock, sir, Mr Dodd… thank... thank you for coming….”
“Please don’t move, Mr Kilgerrin,” the woman said gently. Her voice had the faint drawl of the Northern provinces. “I am Miss Scarlet Devonleigh, and this is Sir Anthony Wells, owner and proprietor of Midwinter Mining.”
Paul tried to think of what he could say to show respect, but he didn’t know what to say.
But then Sir Anthony stepped up and shook his hand. “From what we’ve heard you did a very brave and worthy thing, Mr Kilgerrin. You foiled a robbery and put an end to two dangerous criminals. You risked your life doing so. We owe you our thanks.”
Paul could only reply, “Sir Anthony, I… don’t know what to say, I’m sorry, but I don’t remember anything…”
The doctor spoke up. “That’s not unexpected, Kilgerrin. A violent attack, you were wounded, your life was threatened… that sort of shock does affect recall.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Sir Anthony said. “Mr Kilgerrin, since Midwinter Mining bears the responsibility for putting you in harm’s way, I guarantee you the best of medical care, a handsome reward for your actions, and a guarantee of continued employment when you are fully healed.”
This is what it’s like to be rich and powerful, when you can make promises like that…
Sir Anthony went on, “And on that thought… I can guarantee you that those who made such a foolish decision to send you alone on that delivery will be sacked.
“Mr Porlock, Mr Dodd, your employment with Midwinter Mining ends from the moment we return to Admontein.”
He was drawing breath to continue when Paul managed to croak, “No, please…”
Bafflement was on every face.
“Pardon me?”
“It wasn’t their fault, Sir Anthony, I mean, um, how could they have known? Please don’t sack them…”
Sir Anthony turned to look at Porlock and Dodd, who stared back blankly.
Miss Scarlett tugged out a small lace handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. “That is so… Mr Kilgerrin, you are my hero!”
Sir Anthony was now lost for words. Finally he said, “Mr Porlock, Mr Dodd, your dismissals are revoked. Mr Kilgerrin, what can I say? You astonish me. I wish there were more like you.
“I think we should leave you to rest. Tomorrow we will see about getting you to a proper hospital in Admontein.”
As they turned to go, the doctor said, “Sir Anthony, I should check how he is, as company physician. I will be along soon.”
The door closed behind them. Paul saw relief on the faces of Dodd and Porlock.
The doctor sat down next to the bed and put down his bag. Reaching into an inside pocket, he pulled out a folded piece of pasteboard about the size of a playing card and unfolded it in front of Paul’s half-closed eyes.
The eyes snapped fully open and all the signs of weariness faded on the instant.
The doctor put the card back in his pocket. “Report.”
“I was attacked. I defended myself.”
Paul’s voice was quiet and without emotion, with no trace of accent.
“Describe your actions.”
“I used Beta Protocol, with the Barrington. Immobilise, then execute.”
“Why?”
“I needed to make certain in short order.”
The doctor paused, eyes narrowed. “Witnesses?”
“None to the shooting, but beyond that, I cannot say. I believe that Knox treated my wounds.
All else is what Kilgerrin told them. I remain hidden.”
The doctor smiled briefly. “Kilgerrin will only recall that he felt too tired to speak to me. Yield control when I leave. That is all for now.”
Lesser Colton, 8:30 pm
The interview had been brief, and Doctor Knox was happy to accept a sherry in the drawing-room of Horace Jones, the local manager of Midwinter Mining, and then a simple dinner of roast pork, roast potatoes and beans.
Not only was Sir Anthony present, with his retinue, but Jessica Royle, sister of Lucinda Royle, was there too. Jessica had surprised many when she took up a teaching post in a small and underdeveloped mining town, and became the mayor.
Some said she was staying out of Lucinda Royle’s shadow; others that she was simply taking her own path. Whatever the truth, Louise Knox found her a delight to converse with.
Dr Prendergast had been happy to discuss Kilgerrin’s case, and they lamented the fact that the clinic’s radiograph had been out of commission, but they wisely put that issue aside to allow more civilised discussion before dinner.
The main course had been indifferent, but an excellent apple crumble had made up for that.
As brandy was served and cigars were offered, but only Sir Anthony and Inspector Wright lit up at the table, as perhaps their rank allowed.
Jessica Royle asked the Inspector, “Now then, my dear sir, do you have a conclusion on what happened on the train?”
“Only a preliminary one, ma’am, but I have little doubt that the Prosecutor’s Office will accept it. It seems to be a clear case of justifiable homicide. Self-defence.”
Sir Anthony nodded urbanely. “What else, indeed?”
“Sergeant Hammond immediately recognised both men,” Wright continued. “John Dixon and Peter Mapleton were villains with long records of violence and larceny. Mr Kilgerrin saved us the expense of a trial and executions! Now, I don’t think for a moment they were on that train by chance. We will find their contact at Midwinter. I’ve already sent word to the office at Admontein to follow up at once. There was a putter-up, an organiser, who hired then, I’m sure of that, and we’ll find him.”
Miss Scarlett was making careful notes as the Inspector spoke, and he said, “I don’t recall this being on the record…”
Miss Scarlett frowned slightly. “Inspector, this is a great story!
“Two violent criminals perish in the course of their crime, felled by a brave citizen who was gravely wounded. Despite his wounds, the victim pleads that those who unwisely sent him alone with a valuable load be spared dismissal.
“A renowned surgeon swiftly acts to save the hero’s life.
“A consulting detective is first on the scene, and acts swiftly to secure the scene for the detectives of the Special Branch, who take swift action to track down the master criminal who planned the robbery.
“A philanthropic businessman races to succour the wounded hero.
“Oh, it’s a bit disjointed, but with some editing this will be a front-page story!”
Prendergast looked thoughtfully at Miss Scarlett over his brandy glass. “Kilgerrin might not welcome the attention. He seems to be painfully modest.”
“Oh, nonsense!” chaffed Sir Anthony. “He deserves praise. He’s hard-working, honest and unassuming as well as brave. Dear me, he is a model citizen.”
Doctor Knox glanced around to see Isaac Howard looking thoughtfully at her.
Where does an ordinary labourer learn to shoot like that?
