He was classically pompous . . . except, I realized, for his gait. The long coat and dense crowd blocked his legs from view at first, but as I moved in for a closer look, I could see there was something strange about the manner in which he walked. He leaned a bit too heavily on the cane for it to be merely a showpiece, for starters, but there was also a rigidity to the swing of his legs. I was nearly at the police rope before he passed, and I saw them at last. They had been painted black to blend nearly perfectly with his trousers, but the commissioner wore a pair of leg braces, which caught a faint hint of sunlight as he marched by.

I had seen a similar pair before, on a German boy during my time abroad. Although the disease was still fairly rare here in the States, the polio epidemic was already wreaking havoc across Europe. Whether out of strength or pride, the man refused to show any weakness, maintaining a rapid pace in spite of his impediment. Marlowe had to double-step occasionally to keep up.

“Don’t think you do realize, Inspector,” Commissioner Swift was barking. His voice was deep and angry. “In my town, right under my nose! Do you have any idea what Spade’s campaign boys will do if I try to put my hat in the ring in the middle of this? I want suspects in cells, and I want them there yesterday . . .”

The tirade paused as Swift awkwardly negotiated the small step up to the doorway, batting Marlowe’s hand away as the inspector instinctively reached to help. I realized, with a little guilty relief, that Jackaby would have more time than I had feared. The commissioner had three unpleasant flights ahead of him.

With that thought, I left the warmth of the gathering throng behind to wind my way back up the frosty cobbled streets toward Augur Lane.

Chapter Nine

By the time I found my way back to 926 Augur Lane, the sun was directly overhead and the snow had slunk back to hide in the shadiest corners of the streets. I stepped with greater confidence toward the building I would be calling my workplace.