Read Online Doktor Glass by Thomas Brennan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Thomas Brennan
Ads: Link
pointed to the roadway linking one pier to the next. “That’s Durham, the fella checking the bales on the way out.”
Langton saw a tall, well-built man with broad shoulders, tanned skin, and an unkempt moustache. But the man saw Langton, too. Before the inspector could cross the busy pier, the security guard turned and dropped the ledger. His hand dipped into his pocket and emerged with a black pistol. The shot split the air and drove every man to the floor.
Instinct made Langton dive behind a stack of crates. He waited for another but heard instead the clatter of boots on cobbles. He saw Durham running toward the Albert Dock, back the way Langton had come.
Sprinting after Durham, Langton yelled to McBride, “Are you armed?”
McBride shook his head. Langton cursed and focused on the fleeing man; he could see his own ex-army Webley revolver still in his bedside drawer at home.
Almost at the bridge above the dock gates, Durham turned, sighted, and fired. Langton kept running, keeping his head as low as he could while simultaneously cursing his stupidity. Another shot boomed. He didn’t stop.
Bells rang out in warning as a ship approached the dock gates from the River Mersey. White water roared through the open sluices. As the gates began to part, the narrow bridge crossing their apex split in the middle. The gap widened: a foot; a yard; almost two yards.
Durham raced along the left-hand gate and jumped over the gap, windmilling his arms to gain momentum. He slipped on the far gate’s planks but grabbed the rail and stumbled to the opposite bank.
Langton saw the gap increase. He drove his feet into the slick cobbles and sprinted for the receding right-hand gate. A final leap, his arms outstretched, every muscle yearning. Below him, a cauldron of boiling white water.
Time slowed. He saw the gate pulling away; he would never reach it. Then the worn edge of the right-hand dock gate slammed into his stomach and drove the breath from his body. His fingers clawed the wet wood. Splinters dug into his hands until he found purchase. Inch by inch, he pulled himself up onto the planks of the right-hand gate and scrambled to his knees.
He dragged air into his lungs and looked back as the incoming ship’s hull of tar-black wood and rusty steel slid past less than a foot away. He had time to see the foreign sailors’ openmouthed surprise. Then he ran on. He thought he saw Durham a hundred yards or more ahead before the crowd closed in. He pushed his way through the dockers and climbed up onto the hexagonal clock tower.
Whichever direction he turned, he saw no trace of Durham. Heslumped down with his back to the bricks and his arms wrapped around his aching stomach. He looked up when he heard his name called. “Here.”
McBride, panting and sweating, leaned on his own knees and finally said, “No sign of him?”
Langton shook his head.
“You were lucky, sir.” McBride slumped beside him, ignoring the looks of the curious dockworkers. “Another second or two and that ship would have had you.”
Langton didn’t answer for a minute. He concentrated instead on slowing his racing heart and easing the pain in his stomach. Then, “You have his address?”
McBride patted his coat pocket.
“When we return, take the hansom and two men with you,” Langton said, “and remember that he’s more than willing to fire on us.”
“Oh, I’ll go prepared, sir.” McBride got to his feet. “You really think he’d go back there?”
“Probably not, but see what you can find. I think there’s more to these two men than mere coincidence. Pass Durham’s description on to the desk sergeant; I want every constable looking for him.”
“Leave it to me, sir,” McBride said as he helped Langton up.
Climbing into the back of the police hansom parked by the main gates, Langton wondered why Durham had run off like that. What had scared him?
Almost despite himself, Langton allowed his gaze to slip back to the Span.
Langton saw a tall, well-built man with broad shoulders, tanned skin, and an unkempt moustache. But the man saw Langton, too. Before the inspector could cross the busy pier, the security guard turned and dropped the ledger. His hand dipped into his pocket and emerged with a black pistol. The shot split the air and drove every man to the floor.
Instinct made Langton dive behind a stack of crates. He waited for another but heard instead the clatter of boots on cobbles. He saw Durham running toward the Albert Dock, back the way Langton had come.
Sprinting after Durham, Langton yelled to McBride, “Are you armed?”
McBride shook his head. Langton cursed and focused on the fleeing man; he could see his own ex-army Webley revolver still in his bedside drawer at home.
Almost at the bridge above the dock gates, Durham turned, sighted, and fired. Langton kept running, keeping his head as low as he could while simultaneously cursing his stupidity. Another shot boomed. He didn’t stop.
Bells rang out in warning as a ship approached the dock gates from the River Mersey. White water roared through the open sluices. As the gates began to part, the narrow bridge crossing their apex split in the middle. The gap widened: a foot; a yard; almost two yards.
Durham raced along the left-hand gate and jumped over the gap, windmilling his arms to gain momentum. He slipped on the far gate’s planks but grabbed the rail and stumbled to the opposite bank.
Langton saw the gap increase. He drove his feet into the slick cobbles and sprinted for the receding right-hand gate. A final leap, his arms outstretched, every muscle yearning. Below him, a cauldron of boiling white water.
Time slowed. He saw the gate pulling away; he would never reach it. Then the worn edge of the right-hand dock gate slammed into his stomach and drove the breath from his body. His fingers clawed the wet wood. Splinters dug into his hands until he found purchase. Inch by inch, he pulled himself up onto the planks of the right-hand gate and scrambled to his knees.
He dragged air into his lungs and looked back as the incoming ship’s hull of tar-black wood and rusty steel slid past less than a foot away. He had time to see the foreign sailors’ openmouthed surprise. Then he ran on. He thought he saw Durham a hundred yards or more ahead before the crowd closed in. He pushed his way through the dockers and climbed up onto the hexagonal clock tower.
Whichever direction he turned, he saw no trace of Durham. Heslumped down with his back to the bricks and his arms wrapped around his aching stomach. He looked up when he heard his name called. “Here.”
McBride, panting and sweating, leaned on his own knees and finally said, “No sign of him?”
Langton shook his head.
“You were lucky, sir.” McBride slumped beside him, ignoring the looks of the curious dockworkers. “Another second or two and that ship would have had you.”
Langton didn’t answer for a minute. He concentrated instead on slowing his racing heart and easing the pain in his stomach. Then, “You have his address?”
McBride patted his coat pocket.
“When we return, take the hansom and two men with you,” Langton said, “and remember that he’s more than willing to fire on us.”
“Oh, I’ll go prepared, sir.” McBride got to his feet. “You really think he’d go back there?”
“Probably not, but see what you can find. I think there’s more to these two men than mere coincidence. Pass Durham’s description on to the desk sergeant; I want every constable looking for him.”
“Leave it to me, sir,” McBride said as he helped Langton up.
Climbing into the back of the police hansom parked by the main gates, Langton wondered why Durham had run off like that. What had scared him?
Almost despite himself, Langton allowed his gaze to slip back to the Span.
Similar Books
