The Devil's Workshop

“We thought it might be useful to take a look at here before we went to there,” Blacker said. “Are you doing the same?”

“Sort of,” Day said. He didn’t know whether the others were supposed to know about his assignment.

“How’s the wife, old beast?” Blacker said. Tiffany scowled even more.

“The baby’s coming any day now,” Day said. “Or, well, in two weeks, but these things aren’t precisely timed.”

“I’m meant to be on my honeymoon at this very moment,” Blacker said. “Inconvenient timing all round, if you ask me. Bad people ought to stay in prison where they belong and leave the rest of us to get on with our lives.”

Day nodded. He felt selfish. And foolish. Babies were born every minute of every day. Why was he having so much trouble reconciling himself to the fact that one of those babies would be his own? Everyone else had worries of some sort. Such was life. He closed his eyes and opened them again, resolved to put his problems aside. Cinderhouse must be caught before he could threaten what little peace of mind Day had left.

“Where are the others?” Day said. “Has anyone seen Sergeant Hammersmith? Is he here yet?”

“They’re all about somewhere,” Blacker said. “Them what’s not at the mile mark. Oh, speak of the devil.”

Day turned and saw Constable John Jones pushing through the crowd toward them. Hammersmith was following close behind him. The sergeant had taken the time to rebutton his jacket and had done something with his hair so that he looked moderately presentable. Day let Jones pass and grabbed Hammersmith’s elbow, stopping him.

“Is Inspector March with you?”

“Haven’t seen him,” Hammersmith said. “I thought he was with you.”

“Well, I suppose he’ll catch up to us,” Day said. “You’re all right?”

“I think I need to pay closer attention to my appearance,” Hammersmith said. “It’s the impression Sir Edward has left me with.”

Day grinned and clapped his sergeant on the shoulder. Hammersmith nodded, resigned. Changing the subject, he indicated the milling crowd.

“It seems Jones has left us behind. He’s got a key to the place,” Hammersmith said. “It’s locked up tighter than a drum.”

“How does Jones have a key? How many keys are there to this gate?”

“He just grabbed me and said to follow,” Hammersmith said. “I don’t really know what he’s got and what he doesn’t have.”

Day felt a hand on his elbow and turned. Jones was standing directly behind him, hemmed in by the onlookers milling about. “I was looking for you,” he said. “You two are to come with me.” Without waiting for any acknowledgment, he trotted away.

Day tipped his hat to Blacker and Tiffany and followed after Jones, with Hammersmith at his heels. They reached the high gates at the front of the stone fence that ringed the prison. Jones saluted the warders there and they nodded, slipped the bolt on the other side, and drew the gates open. They creaked on their hinges and moved reluctantly. Jones didn’t wait for them to open wide, but slipped through as soon as there was a crack wide enough for his body. Day hesitated, but Jones beckoned him through with Hammersmith. They wound their way up the gravel path to the prison’s main entrance and Jones produced his key, inserted it into the lock, and opened the door.

Inside was chaos. Warders of every size and shape, all dressed in dark blue uniforms that made them look like policemen, hurried to and fro, their sidearms out, busy on their various missions. Nobody gave them a second glance, dressed as they were in their police uniforms and Day in his suit. Jones led the way through a succession of doors, using his key at each of them. Day marveled at the fact that a single key granted them access to so many areas. He wondered how secure the prison was and whether he might be able to get through those doors with his lock picks.

At last they reached Bridewell’s south wing. A man stationed at the door gave them a nod and unlocked the door behind him.

“This is the head warder,” Jones said.

The warder held out his hand, and Day shook it. “Warden Munt,” the man said.

“Inspector Day. Rough night you’ve had.”

“The roughest. The boys are pulling it all together, though. Good crew we’ve got here.”

“Glad to hear it. There are some discrepancies in the information I’ve got. I’m hoping you and your men can clear up a thing or two for me.”

The warden motioned for the policemen to follow him. He turned and walked through the door, talking over his shoulder as he walked. “Discrepancies?”

“Yes,” Day said. “Regarding the number of men who actually escaped.”

“There’s no question of that.”

“I’m told there’s a clerk who is questioning that number.”

The warden made a scoffing sound that echoed down the ruined corridor, but he didn’t turn around and Day couldn’t see the man’s face as he replied. “You’re talking about Folger. He’s made a mistake, that’s all.”

“Well, I’d like to talk to him anyway, if it’s all the same to you.”

The warden and Constable Jones both spoke at the same time.