Lawless and The Devil of Euston Square by William Sutton Page A

rose.”
    “A rose?”
    “You know, a garden rose.”
    “I am familiar with the flower.”
    “No, no. You city types. No knowledge of nothing. A garden rose is what you put on a watering can. Turn a jet of water into spray. A fountain, see. Must have looked comical, I imagine. Tell you one thing, though. I’d be surprised if it killed someone. Might have knocked you sideways – knocked you off of the crane, maybe – but there weren’t no blast. More like taking the lid off a pot. The reservoir water pumps in here, see, at the bottom. Through the pistons, generating the torque to work the crane pulleys. Then it’s channelled upwards, through this pipe. Your friend just removed the valve. Released it into the air. Couldn’t have bollocksed it better myself.”
    There was a noise in the yard, the chaise pulling up again. I frowned. “It must have been dangerous, though, setting the thing off?”
    “Oh, no. He weren’t even there when it went off. He’d attached a clockwork mechanism to release it.”
    Clockwork, I nodded to myself.
    “Flaw in the design, really,” he went on. “He knows his Elswick, that man. Knows it like the back of his hand.” His face clouded over. “Excuse me. I… There’s something needs finishing.”
    I turned to find Hunt striding towards us pugnaciously. I raised a finger to my lips, passed a coin to Pat, and stood up to leave.
    Hunt insisted on giving me a lift in their chaise. I was none too keen on accepting favours from Coxhill, but I would otherwise have been late for work. Hunt showed me the interior, replete with superfluous luxuries: brandy and sherry, napkins and neckerchiefs, telescopes, fans and flannels.
    “We been to France in this, you know. And very comfortable the master found it.”
    After this display, however, he made it plain that I was to ride up front with him. I thought at first this was simply because he did not take me for a gentleman. It soon became clear what he wanted.
    “Nice chat, had you?”
    “What’s that?”
    “What business have you speaking with HECC employees?”
    I recalled Wardle’s comment at the spout: “Give nothing away,” he’d said.
    Hunt gave me a look and increased his grip on the reins, steering us through the traffic at a fearful lick.
    I held on tight, eyes half closed, thinking over what I had just learnt. Pat had been in no doubt that the sabotage was both deliberate and careful. And Coxhill had arrived on the late train. Why should the spout have been planned to coincide with Coxhill’s arrival? Unless, as Wardle had suggested, it was some kind of message. The image swam before my eyes of the saboteur, swiftly fashioning cogs from the clock into a release mechanism to set off the spout. I thought too of Pat, migrating ever southwards as industries collapsed behind him. At least I had a trade to fall back on. Although, if Ganz was to be believed, clockmaking too would soon fall by the wayside beneath the march of progress. Perhaps, in joining the police, I’d done the right thing after all.
    I decided to counter Hunt’s prying with questions of my own. “I hear there’s been a few problems with the engines.”
    “None worth speaking of,” he growled.
    “But there have been mishaps, besides the time at Euston?”
    “Other monkey business? Nothing that springs to mind.”
    “Does the company, to your knowledge, have enemies?”
    His cheek twitched as he shook his head. “Nobody I know.”
    “Has the company ever had to pay out compensation? Due to an accident, maybe?”
    He whipped the horses and they sped up. “Ain’t been no accidents.”
    “Mishaps, then. Like the one at Euston Square.”
    Hunt kept his eyes on the road. We were scything across town at a speed that made me hold on to my hat. “Ain’t been mishaps either,” he said firmly, then added as an afterthought, “Officer.”
    THE LIBRARIAN
    I was late for work, and it was lunchtime before I could collar Darlington.
    “Old man,” I said, “how