Phweeet!
"Stop! Police!" Pounding footsteps echoed along the Victoria Station platform, their quarry's lighter ones far out in front. Inspector Lestrade silently cursed the crowd, every civilian passenger seeming to gravitate in one direction: directly into his and the constables' paths, the pickpocket's lead increasing with each collision... then suddenly disappearing altogether.
"Damn it! Where'd he go?" Lestrade cast dignity aside and jumped onto a steamer trunk, ignoring the outraged reaction from its female owner, but could see no sign of their fugitive. "Fan out, search every train, cover every entrance – Scotland Yard, miss, so sorry – and that includes the tracks this time, gentlemen!"
"Tickets... tickets... Thank you, miss." The conductor touched his hat, then moved out of the compartment doorway. "All yours, Inspector."
"Much obliged, Mr. Holmes," Hopkins nodded, grinning at the pale young woman. "And now, madam, you'd best show us which trunk your partner's hiding in before he runs out of air!"
"So the Underground Bandit had an accomplice..." Lestrade shook his head as the pair were marched off to the wagon – and he'd unknowingly been standing right over the man!
Holmes tried not to look smug. "No man can be in two places at once, even with such an intimate knowledge of London's railways." Nothing that a keen intellect couldn't solve... well, that and Watson's pocket Bradshaw...