Convicted Innocent(40)

Sunday afternoon



Horace Tipple was surprised how quickly he and his men found themselves in the labyrinthine tunnels under Harker Fine Goods.

Why, it was only just after noon.

They’d relied on blueprints and city diagrams and what little direction Conway Duke was able to give before he’d been escorted home; finding the tunnel entrance in the factory was easy.

The inspector, with Sergeant Bartholomew and three squads of bobbies, discovered the flight of stairs partly concealed in the back of the storeroom and followed it down. Another three Whitechapel squads were hunting for similar entrances in nearby buildings; hopefully, searching from below and above would reveal how Harker could come and go so easily.

Policemen on loan from Bethnal Green and St. George’s were keeping watch on the streets, ready to nab any of the gang who might be flushed out by the raid. Horace had circulated Lewis’s folio of sketches among the 100 or so bobbies taking part before they started out from Leman Street.

The detective was determined that they wouldn’t end the day empty-handed.

Searching the tunnels they found at the foot of the hidden stair, though, was ploddingly slow work. There were just so many twists and turns and branches that they couldn’t speed through the appropriately depicted labyrinth, even though they reached a promising, broad, lamp-lighted corridor within minutes. It seemed very similar to what Conway Duke had described.

“—As we’ve measured it, sir, the chambers we’ve found thus far were once storerooms for Harker Fine Goods,” Detective Sergeant Haggerty was saying. Broderick Haggerty, the only plainclothes policeman in the tunnels other than Horace, was a blunt-speaking fellow with a thinning mop of ginger hair. The inspector hadn’t had much cause to work with the junior detective before, and certainly not on the Harker case, but Haggerty seemed game to step in at a moment’s notice.

“Only ‘once?’”

“Yes, sir.” Haggerty gestured to the two constables hunched over a map they’d spread out on an old packing crate. The pair was marking off paces counted with a measuring stick, a compass aiding their plotting. “We’re under a trio of outbuildings Mr. Archibald Harker has slated for demolition in a few weeks. They and their storerooms down here have been unused for about two years due to damage caused by a kiln rupture.”

Horace pursed his lips as he wondered why the corridor was as well-lighted and maintained as a thoroughfare.

Haggerty opened his mouth to comment further, but was interrupted by Sergeant Bartholomew trotting back to them.

“Sir! A room just there—“ the bobby pointed back over his shoulder vaguely, “—there’s something you should see.”

Leaving Haggerty to his map men, Horace followed the sergeant’s lead. As they made their way down the passage, the inspector noted a pair of constables a few paces back, tailing him as they had since they left the Leman Street station.

“Were those your idea, Sergeant?”

“What? Oh….” Bartholomew looked back at the constables in tow and bobbed his head once.

Horace chewed his lip. “Why do I have an escort?”

“Sir…what Mr. Duke said: that was a threat.” The sergeant’s reply was soft but steely. “I’m not the only who thinks Harker…or his puppeteer” – his voice went even softer – “wishes you harm and has the means to carry it out. Having men at your back, at least, grants us some peace of mind.”

Horace nodded in acquiescence. “As you wish. But you must know I haven’t any intention to give in to whatever our foe is planning, and every intention of wresting back what and who are ours.”