didn’t,” Langton said. “At least, I wasn’t sure. Only two men outside the force knew about Olsen: Connolly and Perkins. Only Perkins knew which ship the stoker sailed on. And I wondered whether Perkins had that type of personality which might crave attention.”
Avoiding a swinging net of grain sacks, McBride said, “So there was someone in that pub who wanted to keep Olsen quiet, or who told someone else who wanted to silence any witnesses.”
“Exactly.” Langton didn’t continue his logic: that whoever had wanted to silence Olsen, presumably the same man who had killed theBoer, couldn’t have known Perkins would go to that particular pub and repeat the valuable information; either it had been pure chance or the murderer had some kind of network of informants. That implied organization. It implied a dangerous sophistication.
Langton and McBride waited in the marble lobby of the Span Company until the receptionist allowed them into a gilt elevator. The uniformed attendant took them to the top floor, where a man in a tailcoat bowed and ushered them into a cavernous office. “Lord Salisbury, sir? Inspector Langton and, ah, associate.”
“Gentlemen.” The man behind the enormous desk stood up but didn’t offer to shake hands. He nodded to the visitors’ chairs opposite and said, “How may I be of service?”
As he sat, Langton saw that the offered chairs lay slightly below the level of the desk, giving Lord Salisbury the advantage of looking down on his visitors. “There must be some mistake, your lordship. Our appointment was with your director of labor.”
Salisbury waved the point away. “This unfortunate accident affects the entire Company, Inspector, and its many shareholders. Anything that reduces public confidence in our endeavor must be dealt with quickly and tactfully. As I explained to your chief constable this morning, I hope my personal involvement will speed the process.”
That gave Langton much to think about. Why would the chairman of the Span Company want to squash this investigation? Not only for the shareholders. “Forgive me, your lordship, but it was no simple accident. It was murder. The injuries to the body confirm this.”
Salisbury frowned. “A modern screw propeller could have caused the lacerations. I myself have seen the terrible damage such blades can inflict.”
Langton knew he was on delicate ground. “I’m sure you are correct, your lordship, but in this instance the man’s face was removed carefully and precisely. And certain other…signs indicate a deliberate and painful death.”
Salisbury stared at Langton. “You gainsay me, sir?”
Langton stared back. “I’m afraid I have no choice.”
From McBride, a quick intake of breath. Langton looked into Salisbury’s eyes without blinking. After what seemed like an eternity, Lord Salisbury nodded and sat back with his hands forming a steeple on his waistcoat. “What makes you think the man worked for us, Inspector?”
“His clothes, your lordship, and he carried a key of a strange design, possibly a watchman’s or security guard’s time key, with the outline of a bridge engraved upon it.”
Lord Salisbury nodded and reached for one of the red ledgers stacked on his desk. “As usual, we’re missing at least a dozen workers, men who think it right and fair to laze in their beds rather than complete an honest day’s work.”
He riffled pages and plucked out a handwritten sheet. “Here we are: navigators, joiners, fitters, and cablemen. And one security guard and night watchman: Abel Kepler.”
“No doubt he would carry a time key like the one we discovered,” Langton said.
“I presume so.”
That had to be the one. “You have Kepler’s address, your lordship?”
Salisbury pushed the note toward McBride and dismissed him, saying, “You’ll find the director of labor on the third floor. Tell him I sent you.”
After McBride had left the office, Salisbury beckoned Langton to the windows.
Avoiding a swinging net of grain sacks, McBride said, “So there was someone in that pub who wanted to keep Olsen quiet, or who told someone else who wanted to silence any witnesses.”
“Exactly.” Langton didn’t continue his logic: that whoever had wanted to silence Olsen, presumably the same man who had killed theBoer, couldn’t have known Perkins would go to that particular pub and repeat the valuable information; either it had been pure chance or the murderer had some kind of network of informants. That implied organization. It implied a dangerous sophistication.
Langton and McBride waited in the marble lobby of the Span Company until the receptionist allowed them into a gilt elevator. The uniformed attendant took them to the top floor, where a man in a tailcoat bowed and ushered them into a cavernous office. “Lord Salisbury, sir? Inspector Langton and, ah, associate.”
“Gentlemen.” The man behind the enormous desk stood up but didn’t offer to shake hands. He nodded to the visitors’ chairs opposite and said, “How may I be of service?”
As he sat, Langton saw that the offered chairs lay slightly below the level of the desk, giving Lord Salisbury the advantage of looking down on his visitors. “There must be some mistake, your lordship. Our appointment was with your director of labor.”
Salisbury waved the point away. “This unfortunate accident affects the entire Company, Inspector, and its many shareholders. Anything that reduces public confidence in our endeavor must be dealt with quickly and tactfully. As I explained to your chief constable this morning, I hope my personal involvement will speed the process.”
That gave Langton much to think about. Why would the chairman of the Span Company want to squash this investigation? Not only for the shareholders. “Forgive me, your lordship, but it was no simple accident. It was murder. The injuries to the body confirm this.”
Salisbury frowned. “A modern screw propeller could have caused the lacerations. I myself have seen the terrible damage such blades can inflict.”
Langton knew he was on delicate ground. “I’m sure you are correct, your lordship, but in this instance the man’s face was removed carefully and precisely. And certain other…signs indicate a deliberate and painful death.”
Salisbury stared at Langton. “You gainsay me, sir?”
Langton stared back. “I’m afraid I have no choice.”
From McBride, a quick intake of breath. Langton looked into Salisbury’s eyes without blinking. After what seemed like an eternity, Lord Salisbury nodded and sat back with his hands forming a steeple on his waistcoat. “What makes you think the man worked for us, Inspector?”
“His clothes, your lordship, and he carried a key of a strange design, possibly a watchman’s or security guard’s time key, with the outline of a bridge engraved upon it.”
Lord Salisbury nodded and reached for one of the red ledgers stacked on his desk. “As usual, we’re missing at least a dozen workers, men who think it right and fair to laze in their beds rather than complete an honest day’s work.”
He riffled pages and plucked out a handwritten sheet. “Here we are: navigators, joiners, fitters, and cablemen. And one security guard and night watchman: Abel Kepler.”
“No doubt he would carry a time key like the one we discovered,” Langton said.
“I presume so.”
That had to be the one. “You have Kepler’s address, your lordship?”
Salisbury pushed the note toward McBride and dismissed him, saying, “You’ll find the director of labor on the third floor. Tell him I sent you.”
After McBride had left the office, Salisbury beckoned Langton to the windows.
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