She blinked, and forced herself to focus as Olga leaned over her, face white. “He’ll be alright in a minute,” Miriam heard herself explain. “Scalp wounds are always bloody, aren’t they?” Somewhere a door opened and she heard Olga explaining something to someone in urgent tones, something about shock. “Aren’t they?” she asked, still confused but frightened by Olga’s tone. She tried to rub her sore eyes, rendered clumsy by her tied hands, but they were covered in blood. Then Brill rolled up her sleeve and slid a needle into her arm.

“What a mess,” Brill told someone else, before the blessed darkness stifled her screams.

Epilogue

Fourteen of them, you say?” said Inspector Smith, raising an eyebrow.

“Yessir. Nine coves and five queans all went into the shop mob-handed, like.”

“Fourteen.” The other eyebrow rose to join it. “Jobson never reported back.”

“There’s no sign of blood, sir, or even a struggle,” the inspector’s visitor said apologetically. “And they wasn’t in the premises when me and my squad went in, ten minutes later. Weren’t in the basement, neither. Nor any of the tunnels we’ve explored.”

“Fourteen,” Smith said with a tone of increasing disbelief.

“Sir, we took fingerprints.” The visitor sounded annoyed. “None of them except the Fletcher woman are in our files, and her prints were old. But we had a spook watching as they went in. The count is reliable: fourteen in and none of them came out again! It’s a very rum do, I’ll agree, but unless you have reason to suspect that a crime has been committed—”

“I have, dammit! Where’s Jobson?” Smith stood up, visibly annoyed.

“Are you telling me that one of my agents has disappeared and the people responsible aren’t to be found? Because if so, that sounds like a pretty bad sign to me, too.”

“I’ll stand by it, sir.” The regular thief-taker stood firm. “We took the entire block apart, brick by brick. You had the pawnbroker in custody at the time, need I remind you? And his lawyer muttering about habeas corpus all the while. There is, I repeat, no evidence of anything—except fourteen disappearing persons unknown, and a constable of the Defense Bureau who’s nowhere to be seen. Which is not entirely unprecedented, I hope you’ll concede.”

“Bah!” The inspector snorted. “Did you take the cellar walls apart?” His eye gleamed, as if he expected to hear word of an anarchist cell crouched beneath every block.

“We used Mister Moore’s new sound-echo apparatus.” The thief-taker stood up. “There are no hollow chambers, sir. You can have my hat and my badge if you uncover any, as I stand by my word.”