Burton & Swinburne 1 - The Strange Affair Of Spring Heeled Jack by Hodder Mark

Author:Hodder, Mark
Language: eng
Format: epub

DOG, CAT, AND MOUSE

The Universe we observe has precisely the properties we should expect if there is, at bottom, no design, no purpose, no evil, no good, nothing but blind, pitiless indifference.

-CHARLES DARWIN

The morning after he and Algernon Swinburne had visited Elephant and Castle, Sir Richard Francis Burton once again donned his Sikh disguise, made his way to the abandoned factory beside the Limehouse Cut, and climbed the chimney. He dropped three pebbles down the flue, one after the other, and, moments later, had his second interview with the Beetle. He and the president of the League of Chimney Sweeps, who once again remained in the darkness, arranged for Swinburne's apprenticeship with Vincent Sneed, then Burton handed over a gift of books and departed.

He made his way to the poet's lodgings and outlined the plan. Swinburne was beside himself with delight and immediately started making his preparations.

Burton then had a meeting with Detective Inspector Trounce at Scotland Yard. He told him about the latest developments, including his suspicion that Oliphant knew something about Spring Heeled Jack, and learned in turn that the two girls, Connie Fairweather and Alicia Pipkiss, had so far been going about their business as normal; there had been no sign of Spring Heeled Jack.

The king's agent arrived back at 14 Montagu Place at two thirty. As he paid the cab driver, he noticed that the roadworks had stopped outside his home, the trench had been filled in, and new cobbles covered it. A thick pipe that hadn't been there before was running up the side of the house. It disappeared into the brickwork just below one of his study windows.

“What's the new pipe?” he asked Mrs. Angell, as he wiped his feet on the doormat.

“Something to do with the gas supply,” she answered. “I must say, they worked tremendously fast.”

He mounted the stairs and went up to his study, passed through it to his dressing room, and removed the Sikh costume and makeup. Half an hour later, he was dressed comfortably, seated at a desk, and picking at his lunch while reading the latest edition of the Empire.

There was a knock at the door and Mrs. Angell entered at his bidding.

“The two workmen wish to see you, sir.”

“Workmen?”

“The ones who put the new gas main in.”

“What do they want?”

“I don't know but they are very insistent.”

“Very well-send them up.”

“Yes, sir.”

She withdrew and moments later two men entered. They were both dressed identically in long black surtouts, with black waistcoats underneath. Their white shirts had high cheek-scraping “Gladstone” collars, the starched points of which threatened to pierce their eyeballs at every turn of the head. Pale yellow cravats encased their necks. Their high-waisted breeches ended just below their knees, giving way to pale yellow tights. They wore buckled shoes.

All in all, their style was at least fifty years out of date.

“Good afternoon, Captain Burton,” said the tall but slightly hunchbacked man on the left. Like his companion, he was holding a stovepipe hat. Unlike his companion, he was extremely bald, with just a short fringe of hair around his ears.

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