The Devil's Workshop

He looked up at the dark sky as he walked and he let the rain hit his eyeballs the way it had drummed against the dog’s eyes. Finally he had to blink. He splashed along through the puddles underfoot, and he led his dear stupid little fly toward the city.

18

They crossed the field carefully. The rain had gone as quickly as it had come, and clouds scudded away across the sky, the only movement in sight. Day and Hammersmith shuttered their lanterns and, when their eyes had grown used to the starlight and moonlight, they crept through the grass, watching for movement against the blue horizon. Day drew his Colt Navy, but kept it held down at his side. There was a handful of loose tombstones scattered about, tumbled down by rain and snow and years, but there were no men hiding behind those stones. The three policemen were alone.

When they reached the road, they stopped and listened. Day held up his hand and motioned toward their right, where the road sloped up over a culvert. Hammersmith nodded and crossed the cobblestones silently. Under the cover of the trees on the other side, he went slowly uphill, watching the windows and doors of the houses that bordered the field. Day turned and walked along the road to his left, and March followed him.

Day began to feel foolish. There was no reason to suppose the chalk marks meant something, no reason to suspect any of the prisoners had escaped across the field. While the three of them wasted their time out here, the prisoners might be ten or a dozen miles away in the other direction. He hoped Blacker and Tiffany and the others were on the right track, even if he wasn’t.

“Ssst.”

Day looked around. March was across the road, walking at the edge of the tall grass and looking in the other direction. Behind him, he could see Hammersmith’s head and shoulders, his policeman’s uniform purple in the yellow moonlight. He wasn’t looking in Day’s direction, either.

“Ssst,” came the voice again. “Up here.”

Day looked up into the trees. Nothing. Then a quick movement in the shadows behind the leaves. Day moved his head and saw an old lady leaning out of a window on the top floor of a house, partially obscured by a jutting rooftop from the story below her.

“Hello, mother,” he said. “It’s late.”

“It’s early,” she said. “And keep your voice down. That other one might still be around.”

“Other one?”

“Come out from behind them trees, so I can see you proper.”

Day stepped out, away from the row of houses, out of the shadows, looking both ways to be sure he wasn’t presenting a target. The woman was not much more than a blur in the darkness of the room behind her, but even though he couldn’t see anything Day felt it was improper to peer into a lady’s bedroom. He averted his eyes.

“You’re a policeman?”

“Inspector Day, ma’am.”

“My pleasure.”

“You said there was another one,” Day said. “Another man? Was he another policeman besides me?” With so many of the police combing every neighborhood near the prison, it was quite likely the woman had seen a lot more activity on the street than she was used to.

“Not the man I mean. Dressed different. Not a policeman, just different.”

Day felt his breath come quicker and his heart beat faster. Had the convicts come this way after all? “How was he dressed, ma’am? Was he wearing a white uniform? Big black darts up and down the sleeves?”

“One of them was wearing something very like that, yes. How did you know?”

“You say one of them was? Do you mean there was more than one of them?”

“Of course I mean there was two men. Please keep up if you want to talk to me.”

“Yes, ma’am. My apologies.” Day turned at a sudden sound behind him. March had crossed the road and was standing at his elbow.

“What’s she saying?”

“She’s seen two men tonight,” Day said.

“Who were they?” March said. He apparently had no compunction about looking into women’s bedrooms, because he was scowling up into the shadows as if he’d already caught the woman in a lie.

“I’m sure I don’t know who they were,” the old lady said. “I don’t associate with strange men after midnight. Nor coppers, neither.”

March muttered something under his breath that Day didn’t catch and took a step forward. Day caught him by the arm. “If you don’t mind, sir,” he said in a low voice, “I think I might be the one to talk to her.”

“Go ahead, then,” March said. “But I wouldn’t expect much out of that one, if I were you.”

“Of course, sir.” Day raised his voice so that the woman could hear him. “Mother, we’re terribly sorry to disturb you at this hour, of course, but we would greatly appreciate your help.”

“You would, would you?” The old lady’s voice still sounded chilly, but she hadn’t closed her window yet. Day took that as an encouraging sign.