by Steve Hayes
In the next moment Holmes confirmed it. ‘Have a care, Mr James. This was once the eighth wonder of the world, a thoroughfare for pedestrian and carriage alike.’
‘What happened?’
‘When it failed to draw sufficient customers it was sold to the East London Railway and is now used for the transporting of goods from one side of the river to the other. But it is also home for an entire sub-culture of thieves and vagabonds, who will cut your throat just to see the colour of your—’
Another shot roared along the tunnel, making both men flatten themselves against the wall. Before the echo faded Jesse leapt into the tunnel and returned fire.
Liggett was already forty yards away and running as fast as he could. Jesse’s bullet clipped one of the arches just beyond him, barely missing his head, forcing Liggett to veer off the walkway on to the railway tracks.
Jesse sprinted after him, his alternately shrinking and stretching shadow keeping pace with him on the grimy left-side wall.
Holmes chased after them, but hadn’t gone far when he realized that the traverse arches that separated the twin tunnels were littered with crude, unmade cribs, cooking-fires, a pathetic scattering of personal possessions – and people.
Alerted by the exchange of gunfire, a group of them now shuffled out of the darkness ahead. Some carried flaming torches and held them up in an effort to see what was causing the shooting. Backs to Holmes, they blocked his path, giving him no choice but to stop or run into them.
‘Who was that?’
‘What’s goin’ on?’
‘Can you see ’im?’
‘I can! See! It’s a bloke wiv a gun!’
‘Two blokes wiv guns – look!’
Then one of them glanced round and noticed Holmes standing behind them.
‘’Ere! Who’re you?’
As one, they all turned and looked at Holmes.
‘I bet ’e’s wiv them other two….’
‘’Cept ’e don’t no ’ave no gun!’
Suddenly Holmes became the focus of their unwelcome attention, and the sight of so many grubby, misshapen wretches shuffling menacingly toward him chilled even his brave soul. Most of them were men in rags, the faces below their overlarge caps smudged and dirty, the whites of their eyes a sickly yellow, their teeth, as they leered at him, broken, badly discoloured or missing altogether.
The women were no better. They wore tattered shawls, and their soot-stained skin was equally raddled. Holmes’s eyes widened with horror as he saw that one of them was cradling a baby, saw that these poor souls didn’t just live in this anteroom to hell, they raised babies here as well.
But he realized that this was no time for misplaced sentiment. Life for these poor unfortunates was pure drudgery, and he knew they would grab at any opportunity, legal or otherwise, to improve their lot – even if it meant committing murder.
Drawing himself up to his full height, he ordered those bunched in front of him to step aside.
They made no attempt to obey him.
‘You heard me,’ Holmes cried tightly. ‘Get out of my way!’
‘An’ if we don’t?’ someone said. ‘What’ll you do ’bout it, eh?’
‘Just ’cause yer one a them rich toffs,’ another said, ‘don’t give you the right to come down ’ere and tell us what to do.’
An ugly chorus of ‘ayes’ arose from the crowd.
Holmes pulled down a breath of stale, heated air. ‘I’m not trying to tell you or your companions anything,’ he said. ‘But you have to let me pass so that I—’
His voice was drowned out by the shouts coming from the angry men and women around him. Their dirty, pallid faces were sullen and belligerent with resentment. Some of them cursed Holmes; others pressed forward menacingly.
One of the men nearest Holmes pulled a knife from under his threadbare jacket and waved it threateningly in Holmes’s face. He was so close that Holmes could smell his malodorous breath, could see that his right eye had filmed over and was the colour of sour milk.
‘All right, guv’nor,’ the man snarled. ‘You wanna come down ’ere, you gots to pay the price of admission! ’And over yer wallet!’
Before Holmes could decide what to do, another gun-blast echoed along the tunnel, causing the baby to cry. Holmes, aware that other men and women had appeared behind him and that he was in danger of being surrounded, dug out his wallet and threw it off to his right, over the heads of the crowd.
‘There,’ he said, adding: ‘Now let me pass!’
Even as he spoke both groups broke apart and went in search of the wallet, cursing and punching each other as they scurried back into the shadows.
Seeing his chance, Holmes did something he’d never done in his life before: he fled.
Further ahead in the tunnel Jesse was slowly gaining on Liggett. Realizing that he was about to get caught, Liggett abruptly turned and fired. The bullet barely missed Jesse, ricocheting off the wall near his head and whining down the tunnel. Without breaking stride Jesse drew his Colt, took quick aim and fired twice.
Liggett grunted, staggered on for a few steps and then collapsed on the tracks.
It’s done, Jesse thought, hardly able to believe it. It’s over. Finished.
Chest heaving, he walked slowly up to the body.
Cage Liggett lay on his belly, face turned sideways, left cheek pressed against the ballast packed tight between each tie of the railway. Jesse looked down at him for an instant, almost disappointed that in the end, his enemy’s death had come so quick and easy.
His thoughts turned briefly to Ma, and Archie. He thought of Frank and …
Liggett rolled over, gun in hand, and pulled the trigger.
Jesse lurched backward, mentally cursing himself for not realizing that Liggett had been faking, and felt the burn of the bullet as it creased his left arm and ricocheted off the roof.
Liggett swore and went to fire again.
Simultaneously, Jesse aimed his own gun at Liggett and fired.
Both triggers clicked on empty chambers.
For an infinitesimal moment each man froze, realizing he was out of lead.
Then Liggett hurled his empty gun at Jesse and scrambled to his feet. Jesse charged him, months of pent-up rage erupting with all the violence of a volcano. He slammed Liggett against the wall and tried to strangle him. For several moments the two men grappled, each struggling to get the upper hand. Then, Liggett managed to knee Jesse in the groin. As Jesse doubled over in pain, Liggett clasped his hands together and brought them down on the back of Jesse’s head, smashing him on to the tracks. Before Jesse could recover, Liggett started kicking him in the ribs.
Desperately, Jesse grabbed Liggett’s ankles and jerked him off his feet. Liggett went down in a heap. Jesse was on him immediately, straddling him, hitting him again and again.
But Liggett wasn’t done yet. Bringing his legs up, he wrapped them around Jesse’s neck and jerked him backward. Jesse’s head thudded against a tarnished rail. Momentarily stunned, he felt Liggett’s legs increase the pressure about his neck. Unable to breath, Jesse started to black out. Desperately he tried to break the stranglehold. It was impossible.
Though he fought it as much as he could, he began to lose consciousness. In a last frantic attempt to escape, he twisted to his left, at the same time violently kicking his legs. The move unseated Liggett. He fell sideways, his face hitting one of the ties. But he was up again quickly, threatening Jesse with Blackrat’s distinctive horn-handle knife.
‘Come on, then!’ he screamed, blood running from his nose on to his handlebar moustache. ‘Let’s finish this once and for—’
Jesse kicked the knife from Liggett’s hand. It flipped end over end and landed on the left side of the tracks, the blade wedged under the rail. Liggett dived for it, grasped the handle and pulled. Nothing happened. He tugged harder but the blade wouldn’t break free. Hearing Jesse closing in on him, Liggett desperately forced his hand under the track and tried to pull the knife loose.<
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It wouldn’t budge. He tried harder. But the knife still wouldn’t move. Worse, Liggett realized his hand was now stuck between the bottom of the rail and the ballast under it.
He heard Jesse’s boots crunching closer, looked up and saw the man from Missouri standing over him.
‘Give it up,’ Jesse growled. ‘It’s over.’
Liggett spat at him and made one final effort to pull his hand loose. When that failed he said: ‘Go ahead, then, you sonofabitch. Shoot me.’
‘I’d like to,’ Jesse said. ‘More’n anythin’. But I gave my word to Holmes and I never break my word. You’re goin’ back home to hang for what you done to Ma and—’
He broke off as he heard a rumbling in the distance.
Liggett heard it too.
A train was coming.
Liggett became saucer-eyed with fear. Panicking, he struggled to pull his hand loose. When it wouldn’t come, he begged: ‘Help me, Jesse! Help me!’
Jesse heard the train coming closer and felt the ground tremble underfoot.
‘Sorry,’ he said coldly. ‘I gave my word not to shoot you. But I never said I’d help save your life.’
‘Jesse, for God’s sake,’ Liggett pleaded. ‘You can’t let me die like this!’
‘Archie never asked to die the way he did, either. But that didn’t keep it from happenin’.’
The rumble of the approaching train was louder now. And the trembling of the ground increased.
Liggett saw the cold, flinty look in Jesse’s light blue eyes and knew he was a dead man. Teeth gritted, he continued trying to pull his hand free. It was hopeless.
He closed his eyes and started blubbering.
‘Damn you!’ Jesse said. Kneeling beside Liggett, he grabbed his arm and pulled. Nothing happened. He pulled again, hard as he could. Again, nothing.
Just then the headlight of the fast-moving train came sweeping around a curve in the tracks. It flooded over the two men.
Liggett screamed for Jesse to help him. Jesse tried frantically to pull the hand loose, but it was impossible.
He jumped to his feet and stood in the middle of the tracks, waving his hands for the oncoming train to stop.
But the driver didn’t even see him and the squat, ugly-snouted locomotive continued to thunder down on them, smoke from its stack flattening out against the tunnel roof and then spilling back down the soot-stained sides like ink spiralling through water.
‘Get me out of here!’ Liggett blubbered. ‘For God’s sake, Jesse, please, I’m beggin’!’
But it was too late.
The onrushing train barrelled toward them, hauling a long line of produce-filled freight wagons behind it.
Jesse, realizing he couldn’t even hope to save Liggett, went to step off the tracks.
Before he could, Liggett’s free hand grabbed Jesse’s ankle and jerked him off his feet.
‘If I’m gonna die,’ he hissed, ‘you’re comin’ with me, you pig-suckin’ Confederate bastard!’
Jesse tried to pull free, but Liggett had a death grip on his ankle.
The train thundered closer, almost on them now.
Jesse desperately kicked Liggett in the face, but the one-time Pinkerton grimly held on.
This was how it ended, then. Liggett would die, but so would he.
Then two hands grabbed him by the shoulders and jerked him backward, freeing him from Liggett’s grasp. Jesse quickly rolled over on the ground, to the safety of the narrow pedestrian walkway.
An instant later the train thundered over the spot he had just occupied.
The spot Liggett still occupied.
His ungodly, agonizing scream was lost in the roar of the speeding train.
Jesse, heart thudding, turned and found himself staring Holmes in the face.
The train was making too much noise for Jesse to be heard, but Holmes was able to lip-read the single word:
‘Thanks.’
CHAPTER 22
The Queen of Diamonds
By the time Watson and the police arrived, Jesse had faded into the mist. Neither he nor Holmes made any reference to the man from Missouri in their subsequent statements. Acting upon the information they did supply, however, the police quickly descended upon the Poacher’s Pocket and obtained the names of Desmond O’Leary and Olwenyo Wadlock from the landlord. Both were well-known to the men of K Division, and were arrested at their lodgings within the hour. They were charged with the robbery of the City branch of Crosbie & Shears, and by the time the police finished searching their rooms, along with those of Alfie Adams and the barge upon which Cage and Jack Liggett had been living, most of the stolen money was recovered.
Jesse emerged from the shadows as Holmes and Watson came out of Bow Road police station and the three men went in search of a cab. It took a while, even with Watson blowing his cab-whistle at regular intervals, and by the time they all eventually returned to Montague Hall it was well after midnight.
The ride in the cab was a quiet one. Though there was obviously plenty to talk about, words seemed inadequate to describe all that had happened and none of them was willing to break the silence.
Elaina was waiting up for them in the sitting room. When she saw Jesse’s bruised and battered condition she threw herself unashamedly into his arms. Although he, Holmes and Watson were exhausted from the events of the evening, she insisted that they celebrate the end of Jesse’s vengeance-quest with a glass of champagne, and asked Fordham to fetch a bottle from the cellar.
When their glasses were filled, she toasted: ‘To friends … coming back safely.’
Jesse and Watson raised their glasses to drink, but Holmes, whose attention was focused on the champagne bottle, had other ideas. ‘To diamonds,’ he remarked softly.
Elaina gave him an odd look and for a moment seemed disconcerted. But she quickly regained her composure and, fingering the diamond necklace at her throat, smiled and said: ‘Why, Holmes, what a splendid idea! I’ll drink to diamonds any day.’
‘Even the ones hidden in your wine cellar?’ he asked.
For once Elaina was caught off guard. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Though it was wiped prior to serving,’ Holmes explained, ‘there is still a fine patina of Erysiphacae – more commonly known as powdery mildew – to be seen upon this champagne bottle.’
Elaina gave a nervous little laugh. ‘Forgive me,’ she said. ‘I’ll speak to Fordham. It will never happen again, I assure you.’
‘You miss my point,’ Holmes continued doggedly. ‘Your cellar is damp, Countess, due no doubt to the Hall’s close proximity to the Thames.’
Again Elaina laughed nervously. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘Merely that I observe smudges of exactly the same mildew upon the hem of your dress, and also upon the heel of Mr James’s right boot. My feeling is that having taken Mr James into your confidence, you have perhaps already shown him your ill-gotten collection of jewels … in the cellar?’
‘Cellar?’ she stalled. ‘I don’t under—’
‘Inspector Rosier is already on his way,’ Holmes went on bleakly. ‘If you’d prefer, Countess, we can wait until he arrives before you hand them over.’
She feigned puzzlement. ‘Hand what over? Holmes, I’ve no idea what you’re talking ab—’
‘Lady Darlington-Whit’s teardrop earrings,’ he snapped. ‘The gold diamond pendant belonging to Baroness Alcott. Countess Broughton’s pearl bracelet. Lady Bingham’s mourning necklace … and of course, the Star of Persia, which Mr James so kindly stole for you not twenty-four hours since.’
‘That’s a lie!’ Elaina said, scandalized. ‘I think you’d better leave – now!’
‘If it’s all the same to you, Countess,’ Watson said politely, ‘we shall await the arrival of Inspector Rosier.’
Elaina turned to Jesse. ‘Aren’t you going to do something?’
‘Like, what?’ he asked.
Elaina looked at Holmes, at Watson, then at Jesse again.
Her deep topaz eyes suddenly hardened. ‘Kill them,’ she hissed.
Watson drew a sharp breath.
‘You sure ’bout that?’ Jesse said. ‘I mean, Holmes is a friend of yours, ain’t he?’
‘A “friend” who intends to hand me over to Scotland Yard,’ Elaina said bitterly. Then: ‘Do it. Now!’
Jesse studied her for a long beat and then went to the portrait of Rupert Montague hanging beside the fireplace. He unhooked it to reveal the wall-safe behind and deftly worked the combination.
Elaina stared at him, wondering how he could possibly have known the combination, until she remembered that he had been refreshing his drink when she’d opened the safe earlier that evening; he must have watched her reflection in the mirror.
Jesse took out the derringer and tossed it to her. ‘Here …’
‘What’s this for?’
‘Ellie, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,’ he drawled, ‘but I reckon it’s time you did your own dirty work.’
Elaina looked at the weapon and a strange, twisted smile tightened her lips. He was testing her, she realized, making sure she really had what it took to be an outlaw’s mate. Well, that was just fine. He certainly wouldn’t find her wanting.
‘Gladly,’ she said. She aimed the tiny gun at Holmes, adding: ‘I really didn’t want it to come to this, but you’ve left me no choice.’
Watson quickly stepped in front her target. ‘No!’