Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(35)

“I’ll be there. If you need anything, send me word. I mean that.”

Keats nodded. “Fisher came to see me this morning.”

“How did it go?”

“Very poorly. He’s furious at me for being an idiot.”

“It is hard when a father sees a son headed in the wrong direction.”

Keats looked up at him. “He has become my father in many ways, and I have let him down.”

Alastair placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Keep hope. We’ll get this sorted.” He saw the empty look in the sergeant’s eyes.

He doesn’t believe a word I’ve said.

~??~??~??~





“Is this like Chicago?” Ramsey asked as they entered the Britannia.

Anderson glanced around the pub. “Exactly, except I can’t understand what most of these folks are saying.”

Ramsey cracked a smile. “You should hear them when they’re not drunk. It’s worse.”

The publican promptly served up the pints they’d ordered. Ramsey shoved the coins across the bar and gestured for Anderson to pick up the ale. He trailed after the inspector as they went on the hunt for a free table.

“This’ll do,” Ramsey said, settling his bulk so he could watch the door.

“Do you honestly expect someone to come up to you so openly?” Anderson asked after a sip of his pint.

“That’s not how it works. The people I need to talk to will see me here. If they have anything to tell me, they’ll find me later in the evening. It’s like being a whore, you see. You advertise your wares and then wait for the punters to come to you.”

“You’re a very colorful fellow, Inspector.”

The cop’s attention moved to him. “You’re the same, Mr. Anderson, though you look otherwise.” He scrutinized the man’s face. “There’s more to you than what you’re telling Warren.”

“Such as?”

“I sent a cable to Chicago. The Herald never heard of you.” Ramsey waited for the reaction.

A nod of respect came his way, along with a faint smile. “Why did you think to check?”

Hard to rattle. He’d be a good one in a fight.

“I checked because I’m a copper. Warren, he’s a military man. He doesn’t expect people to lie to him.” Ramsey leaned over. “So who the hell are you?”

“Robert Anderson…Pinkerton Agency,” the man replied. “I have a letter of introduction in my pocket, if you need it.”

“No. That fits. Course, I’ll be checking that as well. Warren know who you are?”

“Most certainly.”



“So why are you nosing around London?”

“Explosives.”

Ramsey stiffened. “That’s our job.”

“It is, but we’ve heard there is a chance some of that missing dynamite might end up in New York or Chicago.”

“Not everyone’s happy in America?” Ramsey smirked.

“No, they’re not. It won’t be the Irish, of course. We’re a safe haven for them, but there are others who love to see our country in revolt.”

Ramsey sucked down more of his ale. “So what about those newspapers articles you’re supposed to writing?”

“I send the stories to a reporter who does work for the Herald. He files the articles under both our names, but collects the money.”

“That doesn’t trouble the newspaper?”

“Not really, as long as they get a good story.”

“What about your bosses?”

“They’re fine with the arrangement.”

“Sounds like a right mess,” Ramsey commented, his eyes roaming over the patrons. “I’ll have to tell Fisher.”

“I expected that,” the man replied. Anderson leaned back in his chair, his eyes roaming over the pub’s patrons. “Anyone look promising?”

“A couple. We’ll finish off these pints and then go for a stroll. You posh detectives, you know how to defend yourselves?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Problem with displaying our wares is that not everyone just wants to talk to us.”

After they’d drained their drinks, Ramsey set off at a brisk pace, causing Anderson to hustle to keep up with him. “After we’re done, we’ll have to go a bit before we can catch a hansom,” the inspector advised. “They don’t like coming into this part of the city.”

“I can see why.”

The inspector swept his eyes over the street, trying to see it from the American’s point of view. Costermongers, newsboys, whores, a flower seller or two, a few shady characters lounging in the doorways, sizing up potential marks.



Heaven. At least to a copper.

After a series of twists and turns, Ramsey shot down an alley. It was grimy, like most of them.

“Now what?” Anderson asked.

“We wait.”

“I liked it better in the pub.”

It wasn’t long before a figure edged down the passageway, constantly looking over his shoulder.

Ramsey stepped forward. “Keep watch for us, will you?”

“As you wish,” Anderson replied, moving a few steps away to give the illusion of privacy.