Storm and Silence

82. Pneumatic Freedom

Sallow-face's features turned a little more yellow, which seemed to be his version of getting angry red blotches on the cheeks.

"It is no concern of yours how 'comfy' this honoured seat is, Mr Linton," he informed me, glaring at me as if I had sat on a king's throne and committed high treason. "You shall never have another chance to sit there! Where is Mr Ambrose?"

"Oh, he... he is in the safe, checking something," I lied, and when sallow-face turned into the direction of the safe, hurriedly added: "And he doesn't want to be disturbed."

"I see." Sallow-face turned back to me. I, by now, had risen from my traitorous position on Mr Ambrose's throne and was thus not quite as fiercely glared at as before. "Mr Linton, Mr Ambrose told me to bring him this." He held out the list of visitors. "Should I wait here for him, or..."

"Leave it with me," I told him. "I'll see that he gets it."

He narrowed his eyes mistrustfully. "On your honour as a gentleman? This is very important business material. Mr Ambrose trusts me with the most important tasks of all his employees. He told me himself that he needs this information as soon as may be."

"Of course," I replied, trying my best to keep a straight face. "I swear on my honour as a gentleman that he shall receive it as soon as possible."

"Very well, then, Mr Linton. Here. I shall trust you with this important document. Do not fail me, or Mr Ambrose."

"I shall not."

He nodded stiffly. "Until later, Mr Linton."

"Yes, until later, Mr Pearson. And..."

"Yes?"

"Leave the door open behind you, will you?"

*~*~**~*~*

Five minutes later I was out on the street, hailing the nearest cab. The very important business information Mr Pearson had delivered was crumpled up in the waste paper basket in Mr Ambrose's office.

A cab drove up beside me, and at exactly the right time! Just as I climbed in, I saw Mr Ambrose's chaise approach from the West End. Whatever arrangements he'd had to make before embarking on his secret mission lay in the opposite direction from his destination in the East End. Quickly, I ducked out of sight, peeking over the top of the cab's window frame. From this hidden post I watched, while the cabbie regarded my antics with interest.

There he was! Karim was driving, and Mr Ambrose, his face colder and more distant than ever, was sitting straight as a rod, a two large bags and a small chest beside him.

"Follow that chaise!" I hissed at the cabbie without resurfacing from my hidden position.

"Are ye from Scotland Yard, guv?"

"Yes," I said, boldly. "This is a criminal investigation of the highest level. The fate of the British Empire, maybe even the world, is at stake!"

"Blimey!" The cabbie seemed very impressed. "Well, we'd better be going then, ain't we?"

I was in hearty agreement. The cabbie was about to spur on his horses, when my hand shot up. "Stop! Don't!" I had just remembered something. Of course! "Don't follow them. I've changed my mind."

The cabbie's face fell. "No chase, guv?"

I smiled. "Only because I already know where they are going."

*~*~**~*~*

On the entire way to number 97, East India Dock Road, the cabbie mumbled and complained. Apparently, he had read enough about the adventures of Scotland Yard detectives to know that this was not how things were done. Detectives of Scotland Yard were supposed to chase after their prey in an exciting race, not leisurely drive to wherever it was their prey was going because they already knew the place. Such a thing was apparently simply not done.