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Authors: Norman Russell
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await Box’s coming. Box mounted the stairs, and joined the superintendent in his dark front office on the first floor of King James’s Rents. As always, the room smelt strongly of mildew and stale gas.
‘Good morning, sir,’ said Box. ‘I believe you wanted to see me?’
‘What? Well, obviously; otherwise I wouldn’t have asked you to come up here.’
Box looked appraisingly at his superior officer, as he sat down behind his massive old desk, upon which he had neatly arrayed a collection of books and papers. Neatness was his watchword, as Box knew. His yellowish face was adorned with neatly trimmed mutton chop whiskers. His thin hair was neatly brushed and combed. His civilian frock coat was well brushed and smart. His voice, precisely tuned to the pitch of irascibility that he reserved for Box, was well enunciated, and surprisingly powerful for a man who was well over sixty, and beginning to feel his age.
‘Just sit down there, will you, Box. I wanted to catch you as soon as you came in. You’ll find Inspector Lewis from Chelsea downstairs. He’s with Sergeant Knollys at the moment. He wants a detective down there, and I think you’d better be the one to go. I don’t suppose you know yet what happened out there last night?’
Box recalled his breakfast that morning, in his cheerful set of bachelor rooms in Cardinal Court, a secluded enclave of old houses behind Fleet Street. Mrs Peach, his landlady, had treated him to a dramatic story of an explosion in Chelsea, which she had heard from a neighbour , a stableman, who had just returned from his night-shift at Chelsea Barracks. ‘The night was turned to day, Mr Box,’ she’d told him, as she deposited a plate of poached egg and haddock in front of him. ‘They say it was a gas-leak what done it, but it sounds like foreigners to me. Russians. Or Prussians. And the master of the house blown to pieces. It doesn’t bear thinking of.’
Box felt the presence of a kind of imp of the perverse, which came to him whenever Mackharness asked him a question that was designed to show off his imagined superior knowledge.
‘No, sir,’ said Box, ‘I’ve heard nothing at all. What happened at Chelsea?’
Superintendent Mackharness eyed Box with a kind of defensive wariness.
‘Heard nothing, hey? You should keep your ears to the ground, Box! Well, you’d better listen carefully while I tell you. No doubt you’ll recall looking in on Dr Otto Seligmann’s lecture last Saturday? Well, last night, Box, Dr Seligmann was blown to pieces in an explosion at his house in Chelsea.’
‘Strewth!’
‘As you say, Box, though I wish you could develop a wider range ofepithets and expletives, especially when talking to me. What is right for the costermonger is not necessarily fitting for a police inspector. But the point is, Box – the point is …. Where was I? Your constant interruptions interfere with my train of thought.’
‘Dr Seligmann had been blown up in Chelsea—’
‘Yes, that’s it. And the interesting point is, Box, that Inspector Lewis requested us to take PC Kenwright with us out there. To Chelsea, I mean. Now, Kenwright’s a uniformed man, and he’s here at the Rents ostensibly to recuperate from fever; but perhaps you’ll remember—’
‘Yes, sir. Last year, when we investigated the explosion in Euston Road. The Home Office moved in, and sent Mr Mack from Explosions to look at the pieces. Mr Mack was very impressed with the kind of help that PC Kenwright gave him. So maybe in this case—’
Mackharness waved his hand impatiently, as though to dismiss the whole topic. ‘Yes, yes, Box, your logical deductions do you credit, but if you’d waited for me to finish, instead of interrupting – as you constantly do – I’d have said the same thing.’
‘I’m sorry, sir. I would never knowingly—’
‘Yes, yes, well never mind all that. Get out there, will you? Lewis came with a four-wheeler, so you can take Sergeant Knollys and PC
‘Good morning, sir,’ said Box. ‘I believe you wanted to see me?’
‘What? Well, obviously; otherwise I wouldn’t have asked you to come up here.’
Box looked appraisingly at his superior officer, as he sat down behind his massive old desk, upon which he had neatly arrayed a collection of books and papers. Neatness was his watchword, as Box knew. His yellowish face was adorned with neatly trimmed mutton chop whiskers. His thin hair was neatly brushed and combed. His civilian frock coat was well brushed and smart. His voice, precisely tuned to the pitch of irascibility that he reserved for Box, was well enunciated, and surprisingly powerful for a man who was well over sixty, and beginning to feel his age.
‘Just sit down there, will you, Box. I wanted to catch you as soon as you came in. You’ll find Inspector Lewis from Chelsea downstairs. He’s with Sergeant Knollys at the moment. He wants a detective down there, and I think you’d better be the one to go. I don’t suppose you know yet what happened out there last night?’
Box recalled his breakfast that morning, in his cheerful set of bachelor rooms in Cardinal Court, a secluded enclave of old houses behind Fleet Street. Mrs Peach, his landlady, had treated him to a dramatic story of an explosion in Chelsea, which she had heard from a neighbour , a stableman, who had just returned from his night-shift at Chelsea Barracks. ‘The night was turned to day, Mr Box,’ she’d told him, as she deposited a plate of poached egg and haddock in front of him. ‘They say it was a gas-leak what done it, but it sounds like foreigners to me. Russians. Or Prussians. And the master of the house blown to pieces. It doesn’t bear thinking of.’
Box felt the presence of a kind of imp of the perverse, which came to him whenever Mackharness asked him a question that was designed to show off his imagined superior knowledge.
‘No, sir,’ said Box, ‘I’ve heard nothing at all. What happened at Chelsea?’
Superintendent Mackharness eyed Box with a kind of defensive wariness.
‘Heard nothing, hey? You should keep your ears to the ground, Box! Well, you’d better listen carefully while I tell you. No doubt you’ll recall looking in on Dr Otto Seligmann’s lecture last Saturday? Well, last night, Box, Dr Seligmann was blown to pieces in an explosion at his house in Chelsea.’
‘Strewth!’
‘As you say, Box, though I wish you could develop a wider range ofepithets and expletives, especially when talking to me. What is right for the costermonger is not necessarily fitting for a police inspector. But the point is, Box – the point is …. Where was I? Your constant interruptions interfere with my train of thought.’
‘Dr Seligmann had been blown up in Chelsea—’
‘Yes, that’s it. And the interesting point is, Box, that Inspector Lewis requested us to take PC Kenwright with us out there. To Chelsea, I mean. Now, Kenwright’s a uniformed man, and he’s here at the Rents ostensibly to recuperate from fever; but perhaps you’ll remember—’
‘Yes, sir. Last year, when we investigated the explosion in Euston Road. The Home Office moved in, and sent Mr Mack from Explosions to look at the pieces. Mr Mack was very impressed with the kind of help that PC Kenwright gave him. So maybe in this case—’
Mackharness waved his hand impatiently, as though to dismiss the whole topic. ‘Yes, yes, Box, your logical deductions do you credit, but if you’d waited for me to finish, instead of interrupting – as you constantly do – I’d have said the same thing.’
‘I’m sorry, sir. I would never knowingly—’
‘Yes, yes, well never mind all that. Get out there, will you? Lewis came with a four-wheeler, so you can take Sergeant Knollys and PC
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