will we get down, Jack?"
Doyle thought he heard a carriage approaching below.
"We'll have to jump, won't we?"
Jack was looking intently down at the street and a now-visible approaching carriage.
"Really? We won't get far on a pair of broken legs—"
Before Doyle could further organize his objections, Jack grabbed him by the belt and jumped off the building. They hit the roof of the moving carriage and ripped right through the fabric, landing in a heap on the cushions of the cab.
"Good Christ!"
"Are you in one piece?"
Doyle quickly took inventory; save some discomfort in the ribs and a slightly turned ankle finding himself surprisingly intact.
"I think I'm all right."
"Well done."
As they rushed past the coach outside the inn, Doyle dimly made out dark figures scrambling after them in the downpour. Jack rapped on what was left of the roof and the driver, the same small scar-faced man who'd driven them before, appeared in the gap above.
"Evasive tactics, Barry," Jack said. Barry nodded and turned back to his work. Doyle heard the crack of the whip, and the cab quickly accelerated.
Jack settled back into the seat across from Doyle, holding up a hand to the water cascading down onto them through the roof.
"Sorry about the rain."
"Quite all right. We'll have another chat then, as we go?"
"Not just yet. We'll be getting out in a moment."
"Getting out?"
The carriage clattered across a short bridge and came to a sudden halt. Jack leapt from the cab and held open the door.
"Come on, Doyle, we haven't got all night," he said.
Doyle followed him back into the deluge. Jack waved to Barry, and the cab sped off again into the darkness.
"This way," Jack said, leading them down a steep embankment under the bridge they'd just traversed. "In here."
Jack pulled Doyle in under the relative dryness of the span of the bridge. Gripping his bag with one hand, Doyle used the other to haul himself onto a support strut, a precarious perch a scant few feet above the rising torrent of the stream below.
"Are you secure?" Jack had to yell to make himself heard.
"I believe so," Doyle replied, but the remark was obliterated by the deafening thunder of a carriage and four hurtling
across the bridge a foot above their heads. The sound moved away, quickly swallowed up by the storm.
"Was that them?" Doyle finally asked.
"Barry'11 have them running circles around Trafalgar Square before they realize we're not on board."
Doyle nodded, reluctantly admiring the man's resourcefulness. Some time went by. Doyle stared at Jack, who smiled amiably.
"What do you suggest we do?"
"I suggest that we sit here until the rain lets up," Jack said.
More time passed. Jack seemed quite content to wait it out in silence. The same could not be said for Doyle.
"Look here, Jack, or whatever your name is, before we go any farther, I'd very much like to know exactly who you are," said Doyle, realizing his patience was at an end.
"You'll have to forgive the subterfuge, Doyle, but there's a certain logic to all this, which you'll soon come to appreciate," he said, and smiled again, reaching into his jacket and retrieving his silver flask.
"So who are you then?"
"John Sparks, Jack to my friends, special agent to Her Majesty the Queen. Happy to make your acquaintance," he said, offering the flask. "A little brandy to keep the chill off, Doctor?"
chapter nine BY LAND AND SEA
CLINGING TO THE BRIDGE S UNDERBELLY, FEARFUL OF PLUNG-
ing into the icy cataract below, Doyle did not, during the remainder of the night, enjoy a moment's rest. Sparks, on the other hand, seemed to float in and out of a serene meditative slumber, upright, his arms nonchalantly wrapped around a sturdy timber.
The rain abated as the first light of dawn warmed the eastern sky. No clouds obscured the western horizon. Sparks's eyes sprang open, fresh and alert as a thoroughbred on Derby Day.
"The morning has promise," announced Sparks, after vaulting out of their hidey-hole onto the
Doyle thought he heard a carriage approaching below.
"We'll have to jump, won't we?"
Jack was looking intently down at the street and a now-visible approaching carriage.
"Really? We won't get far on a pair of broken legs—"
Before Doyle could further organize his objections, Jack grabbed him by the belt and jumped off the building. They hit the roof of the moving carriage and ripped right through the fabric, landing in a heap on the cushions of the cab.
"Good Christ!"
"Are you in one piece?"
Doyle quickly took inventory; save some discomfort in the ribs and a slightly turned ankle finding himself surprisingly intact.
"I think I'm all right."
"Well done."
As they rushed past the coach outside the inn, Doyle dimly made out dark figures scrambling after them in the downpour. Jack rapped on what was left of the roof and the driver, the same small scar-faced man who'd driven them before, appeared in the gap above.
"Evasive tactics, Barry," Jack said. Barry nodded and turned back to his work. Doyle heard the crack of the whip, and the cab quickly accelerated.
Jack settled back into the seat across from Doyle, holding up a hand to the water cascading down onto them through the roof.
"Sorry about the rain."
"Quite all right. We'll have another chat then, as we go?"
"Not just yet. We'll be getting out in a moment."
"Getting out?"
The carriage clattered across a short bridge and came to a sudden halt. Jack leapt from the cab and held open the door.
"Come on, Doyle, we haven't got all night," he said.
Doyle followed him back into the deluge. Jack waved to Barry, and the cab sped off again into the darkness.
"This way," Jack said, leading them down a steep embankment under the bridge they'd just traversed. "In here."
Jack pulled Doyle in under the relative dryness of the span of the bridge. Gripping his bag with one hand, Doyle used the other to haul himself onto a support strut, a precarious perch a scant few feet above the rising torrent of the stream below.
"Are you secure?" Jack had to yell to make himself heard.
"I believe so," Doyle replied, but the remark was obliterated by the deafening thunder of a carriage and four hurtling
across the bridge a foot above their heads. The sound moved away, quickly swallowed up by the storm.
"Was that them?" Doyle finally asked.
"Barry'11 have them running circles around Trafalgar Square before they realize we're not on board."
Doyle nodded, reluctantly admiring the man's resourcefulness. Some time went by. Doyle stared at Jack, who smiled amiably.
"What do you suggest we do?"
"I suggest that we sit here until the rain lets up," Jack said.
More time passed. Jack seemed quite content to wait it out in silence. The same could not be said for Doyle.
"Look here, Jack, or whatever your name is, before we go any farther, I'd very much like to know exactly who you are," said Doyle, realizing his patience was at an end.
"You'll have to forgive the subterfuge, Doyle, but there's a certain logic to all this, which you'll soon come to appreciate," he said, and smiled again, reaching into his jacket and retrieving his silver flask.
"So who are you then?"
"John Sparks, Jack to my friends, special agent to Her Majesty the Queen. Happy to make your acquaintance," he said, offering the flask. "A little brandy to keep the chill off, Doctor?"
chapter nine BY LAND AND SEA
CLINGING TO THE BRIDGE S UNDERBELLY, FEARFUL OF PLUNG-
ing into the icy cataract below, Doyle did not, during the remainder of the night, enjoy a moment's rest. Sparks, on the other hand, seemed to float in and out of a serene meditative slumber, upright, his arms nonchalantly wrapped around a sturdy timber.
The rain abated as the first light of dawn warmed the eastern sky. No clouds obscured the western horizon. Sparks's eyes sprang open, fresh and alert as a thoroughbred on Derby Day.
"The morning has promise," announced Sparks, after vaulting out of their hidey-hole onto the
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