Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(137)

Keats’ patience vanished. “Look lads, it’s this way—we find those explosives, or the docklands are going to burn. You know what’s in these warehouses. Tinder. One good flame, and it’s all a blast furnace.”



“Why should we help ya?” one of them called out. “Yer a bleedin’ rozzer!”

“Because you’re going to be the ones to suffer. There will be no work for months.” He let them cipher out the consequences on their own.

One of the men spat at his feet. “Don’t want nothin’ to do with this. Flaherty—”

“Didn’t set the bombs,” Keats retorted. “He knows better than to hurt his own.”

That registered. There was more mumbling.

Clancy chimed in, “Gents, this rozzer’s on the level. We all know there’s others out there that’ll do us harm. It’s plain and simple. We need yer help.”

More murmuring. “Ya pay us for our time?”

“Yes,” Keats replied. “More than going wages.” He’d sort that out with Fisher later.

“How da we get inside?” someone else called out. “They’re all locked. Ya could nick us for breakin’ in.”

“If we can’t find someone with a key, I’ll bust them open,” Keats assured them. “I’m a copper. I can do that sort of thing.” He sent a silent thank you to the chief inspector for insisting that he stay with the Yard.

An old man came forward. He had only one eye, the other hidden behind a dingy patch. “Yer not lyin’, are ya?”

Keats shook his head. “I wish to God I was.”

The old man crossed himself. “I were afraid of that, lad.”

As rain poured off his bowler, Keats waved the wary watchman forward and presented his card.

“I’m Detective-Sergeant Keats with Scotland Yard, Special Branch. I need you to open all of Hugo Effington’s warehouses. You do have the keys, don’t you?”

“You were in prison.”

“I was. Now I’m here. Do you have the keys?”

“I do, but I can’t—”

“My responsibility. There are explosives in those buildings. You wouldn’t want all of the docklands to become a fireball, would you?” Keats added, just to up the ante.



“Explosives?” The watchman’s eyes skimmed over the group standing behind Keats. “What about this lot?”

“They’re here to do their civic duty. Are you prepared to do yours?”

The man caved. “As you like, sir. I don’t need no trouble.”

With the swift application of a set of keys, the doors to the first warehouse opened.

“All right gents, listen up. We are looking for half-barrels with dynamite attached to the side of them. Call out if you find one. Just to be clear, if you think this a chance to nick a few goods for yourself, I’d not recommend it.”

“There’s only one of ya. Toss us in jail, will ya?” someone chided.

“No, I’ll not waste my time. I’ll strap you to one of those barrels and light the dynamite myself.”

“Ya can’t do that!” the man protested.

“And I’ll help him,” another voice called out as its owner bulldozed his way through the crowd.

Keats looked up at Inspector Ramsey’s broad face. “Good morning, sir.”

“Detective-Sergeant. Carry on.”

“Ten of you come with me,” Keats called out. “The others go with Clancy and the watchman. Start working through the other warehouses.” No one moved. “Hop to it lads, so you’ll all have a job come evening.”

~??~??~??~



“Ah, excellent,” Fulham announced after Theo staggered out of the time pod. Then he took a good look at his boss. “Sir? Are you all right?”

“Not really,” Theo replied, leaning heavily against the chronsole, his mind drenched in thick fog. His respect for the Rovers rose even further.

Ralph Hamilton quirked an eyebrow as he shoved a candy bar across the counter. Theo shook his head.



“They’re your brains,” the chron-op replied.

“I doubt I have that many left, anyway.” He gave his assistant a sidelong look. “What keeps TPB from knowing I’m here?”

“As far as they’re concerned, you’re Mr. Hopkins. At least, that’s what your interface is telling them.”

“Well done.”

Theo took a couple of steps, managed to find his balance, and then followed his assistant out of the chronsole room.

“Any sign of Harter?” Fulham shook head. “How about Alegria? How’s she holding up?”

“Your sister is doing just fine. Anytime TPB pulls another legal stunt, she just bats it back in their court.”

“Never play poker with her, Fulham. She’ll clean you out every time.”

“Thank you for the warning, sir. Might I suggest you visit Guv’s physician? You look awful.”

Theo rubbed his temples, trying to ease the constant headache. “It’s just lag. It’ll resolve.”

His assistant fixed him with a frown. “Oddly enough, I have heard that same comment from Miss Lassiter. You do remember what happened to her?”