Doktor Glass Read Free Page B

Urgent.”
    Harry pocketed the telegram and sixpence and limped down the stairs as Langton ascended.
    On the third floor, Chief Inspector Purcell’s personal secretary waved Langton through to the sanctum sanctorum of the Chief’s office. Purcell stood at the window with his hands behind his back. Oil paintings of previous chiefs watched Langton from the walls. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
    Purcell turned from the window and pointed his cigar at the visitor’s chair. “You’ve caught a strange fish this morning.”
    “That’s so, sir.” Langton wondered how Purcell had heard about the dead man. And why.
    Purcell settled into his leather chair. “What have you found?”
    Langton relayed his initial impressions. After hesitating a moment, he mentioned the Boer connection.
    Purcell leaned forward. “You’re sure?”
    “The crossed plow and sword on his left arm confirm him as Boer, sir. The windmill designs on his right arm mean a soldier from the southern battalions, if I remember correctly, perhaps one of the Graaffe-Reinert or Uitenhage companies. I’d be surprised if the examining physician doesn’t find more tattoos on the body.”
    Purcell ground out his cigar. “So. A Boer on the Span. Could there be an innocent explanation?”
    Langton considered for a few moments. “It’s possible but I doubt it, sir. After the truce, some of the surviving Transvaal platoons promised revenge, and the Span is our greatest engineering achievement. It would be a great coup for them.”
    “If they disrupt the inauguration?”
    “Or worse.”
    “Indeed.” Purcell sighed and reached for the telephone. “I don’t relish asking for help, but this is too delicate a matter. I’ll inform the Home Office that there may be a Boer plot afoot.”
    “Must we, sir? The investigation has only just begun.”
    “We’ve no choice, Langton, not with Her Majesty’s safety at risk. Keep me informed.”
    Langton made for the door, then hesitated. “Sir, may I ask a question?”
    Purcell kept one hand on the telephone’s cradle. “What is it?”
    “How did you find out about the death this morning? And why send me?”
    Purcell frowned. “I have to explain myself to you now, Langton?”
    “Of course not, sir.” Langton opened the door and was almost through it when Purcell called him back.
    “My secretary prepares a summary of the night’s events in all our stations,” Purcell said, “and I believed you would welcome the opportunity to prove your…recovery. I hope I was not mistaken.”
    “Sir.” As he closed the door and walked through the secretary’s office, Langton almost stopped and asked him. It would make little difference; even if the man’s death had appeared on the nightly summary report, why would Chief Inspector Purcell focus on that particular one? Unfortunately, fatalities were not uncommon: Liverpool Exchange and Central districts averaged four or five a week, sometimes more when thousands of sailors poured into the docks, flush with money and ripe for thieves.
    Langton told himself to concentrate on the case. He ignored the rickety iron lift and made for the stairs down to the basement. By now, the police physician should have started his examination of the body.
    He couldn’t fault Purcell for informing the Home Office, since the Chief Inspector was simply protecting himself in case, God forbid, anything did happen while the Queen and the various dignitaries attended the Span’s inauguration. No, Purcell had done what any other official with an eye to his future would do. Even if it disrupted Langton’s investigation.
    Halfway down the final set of steps, Langton staggered against the tiled wall and almost fell. He clutched the banister and struggled to stay upright as the sudden blindness made him reel.
    Darkness, colloidal and greasy, choked his face and mouth, engulfed his tongue, and gushed down his throat. His chest struggled against bonds that tightened with each faltering breath. No sounds