Chapter 11

Wednesday July 27 through Friday July 29th. And epilogues through to August 1, 1881

Later on Wednesday evening, after Corcoran's lady friend Eileen told them what little she knew, she was sent on her way with a kiss and a vague promise to see her next week. Then the two Irishmen sat and mulled over their next move with an extra pint of ale.

"We shouldn't ha' let her go," groused Keegan. "If she start's blathering…"

"You want the hue and cry raised over a girl half the town knows meets me here on her half-day off?" Corcoran growled quietly. "You want our room searched by the Garda looking for her? Do you?"

"Of course not." Keegan huffed quietly.

"Then use your head. Think on this instead: what'll we do about the nosy widow?" asked Corcoran.

Keegan thought for a minute. "From what your pretty colleen said," he started, "sounds like both the lady and the crushers are right clueless about us bein' here." Corcoran simply nodded in reply. "So if we take her out now…"

"...then the police will know something's up, and there's trouble ahead," finished Corcoran.

"Fine then," sighed Keegan. "But we can't take the chance that they'll stay clueless, boyo. Not after all our work!"

Corcoran nodded again. "For sure, we'd best get moving then."

Keegan lifted his glass. "I'll get the packages ready. You see to getting us a pair o' tickets. Soon we'll treat the nobs to a fireworks show they'll never forget!"

And the two men toasted each other and drank to that. Thursday was going to be a busy day for both of them.

Although Madame Vastra and Jenny presented themselves at the Tobacconist's shop early on Thursday morning, it turned out that the publican of the Rose and Crown liked to sleep in after his late evenings. And so it was nearly noon by the time the man showed up.

And then they had to deal with two men who were anxious to gain a share in the reward for the return of the valuable silver case, and who were very wary of answering any questions that could give away the man who had the case until they'd come to terms with how to divide the reward.

"I am not interested in the reward," Vastra finally stated. "I am interested in finding the person who has the case. There are certain… questions… that interested parties would like to ask him."

"Interested parties?" asked the shop's owner.

"Yes. The Criminal Investigation Department of Scotland Yard, and those who guard the Bank of England amongst others."

The two men looked aghast as their dreams of some easy money suddenly took on a real possibility of danger. A reward for a lost item was one thing, but confronting criminal was something else again!

After some more close questioning, Vastra finally pried the name of an Irishman called Keegan from the barman, as well as the information that Keegan lived in a boarding house near the railway tracks, and that he usually worked as a labourer working on the railway station.

"Keegan?" said Jenny. "Wasn't that…"

"The name of the Ape who was smoking behind the tent. Yes, it was. We seem to have found our quarry at last."

After leaving the Tobacco shop, Vastra and Jenny went to the site of the new railway station, to see if they could spot Keegan among the labourers. While they didn't see him, they did see another man, who Vastra thought was the workman who'd entered the tent when they were meeting with the Green Jackets at the Rifle matches. She recognized his scent as he passed close by.

Jenny frowned when Vastra pointed him out; To Jenny it was his clothes that seemed familiar but she was pretty sure he hadn't been wearing them in the tent that day. She knew she'd seen him before though. She shook her head, putting it away for now, and asked the foreman if there was a man named 'Keegan' in the group. The foreman grumbled that the man he was off sick today. When she asked if he'd be back tomorrow, the foreman growled "He'd better be or he's fired!" He did, however, give her directions to Keegan's boarding house.

Watching the young maid return to her tall mistress, who despite the heat was cloaked and swathed in her black widow's clothes and veil, Corcoran knew they'd better hurry up and get out of town.

"What now, ma'am?" asked Jenny was they started towards the more run-down part of the town.

"Now we go find Mr Keegan's boarding house, and ask him some rather pointed questions."

However, the landlady of the Keegan's boarding house had other ideas, and made sure Madame Vastra knew it.

"You're not searching any room in me place, and not bothering any of me boys" she said. "Not without a proper warrant, you're not."

"But…"

"No. I don't care about what you heard. Bloody gossip, that's what it is! I've got no idea who you are, but John Keegan and his flatmate Frank Corcoran have been living here for the last four months. As far as I've ever seen, they're hard working men; keeping to themselves and not causing any trouble. Only fault I can see is they might like their ale and whiskey a bit too much. But never mind that. I'm not letting some stranger barge into their room on account of some cock-and-bull story, especially when Keegan's feelin' ill! Go to the police and get a proper warrant if you can, but I doubt they'll believe you either!"

And she slammed the door in Vastra's face.

Accustomed to working with Inspector Abernathy and Constable Palmer, Madame Vastra went at once to the Wimbledon police post. She first politely (for Vastra) and then strongly suggested that the local police obtain a warrant to search the boarding house where the railroad workers lived. The police dawdled, and Jenny heard a few mutters about 'who IS this woman?'

In fact when the superintendent came up stubborn, Madame Vastra so strongly 'suggested' obtaining a warrant that Jenny was worried Madame would end up in front of the Magistrates instead of the bombers. Eventually though she persuaded Madame to set the man down in one piece.

Finally Jenny turned to Madame Vastra and asked, "Could Inspector Abernathy help, ma'am? Maybe send him a telegram and lay it out for him?"

Vastra looked over at Jenny, surprised. "I thought you declared the Inspector Abernathy a dunce?"

"Right, I did, but he's a sensible dunce. He'll likely listen to you, which is more than this here 'gent' " (at this the superintendent protested at Jenny's tone, which Madame Vastra rather pointedly ignored) "or that arse Peaslin'll ever do."

Vastra decided to try Jenny's suggestion, so after glowering in general at the policemen, she went to the post office and sent telegrams to Inspector Abernathy, and because he was assigned to the case, Inspector Peaslin as well. After some thought, she sent a short telegram to James Thackeray at the Bank of England, warning him that there was some progress in the case, and that the Bank should stay on alert.

As Vastra expected, Peaslin was silent in response to his telegram, but Abernathy caught the early evening train to Wimbledon to 'visit' them.

More familiar with police methods and the obscure language of the local magistrates than Madame Vastra, Inspector Abernathy was able to obtain a search warrant. But it was late evening by the time they had the needed document.

"We'll serve it first thing in the morning," said Abernathy. "Meanwhile, why don't you go get some supper, Madame, and I'll pop by the pub and see if the barkeep will point out our man, if he's feeling up to a visit after a day being 'ill.' Then I can keep an eye on him. And if he flashes that case, I'll have an excuse to take him over to the police station right away, and keep him out of mischief for the night."

They returned to the inn, by way of the local butcher for a moment where Jenny popped in and bought some raw beef. At the inn, she fetched a late supper from the kitchen to Madame Vastra's room; cold mutton and some well boiled, but nicely presented vegetables for Madame with a dinner bun, and bread and cheese for Jenny. Or so the cook believed.

In fact, Vastra enjoyed the fresh beef, a large portion of the mutton, and just a few of the vegetables, leaving Jenny to finish up the rest of the mutton and vegetables. When the girl carefully stored the bun and some cheese for later, Vastra was both amused and saddened at this evidence of old hard-learned habits from Jenny's days living on the streets of London.

When Jenny returned the dishes to the kitchen later, most of the other servants were in the servants dining hall, taking quietly. Jenny helped the scullery girl finish up, drying their supper dishes as the girl washed; the two of them chatting a bit about the town.

When they were done, Cook handed both of them cups of sweet tea, and they sat for a bit and listened while the older servants talked amongst themselves. Madame Vastra was the only guest tonight, but the inn was expecting several more the next day. The servants were enjoying a quiet evening before Friday's rush.

After a while, Eileen turned and asked, "Jenny, has Madame Vastra found out anything more about the men she's looking for?"

"The men she... how do you know… right, you were cleaning the entrance when Mr Thackeray and Constable Palmer left." Jenny shook her head. "Can't say much. Thought we'd lost them, but… well… we'll see. Madame was told something pretty interesting today by one of the barkeeps, and our Inspector friend from Scotland Yard is here and he's got a search warrant. Might wrap it all up nice and tight tomorrow."

"It's the most exciting thing I've ever heard! Just like a real life story from the Illustrated Police News! I told my Frank all about it just last night!"

The Cook snorted, " 'Your Frank' indeed. You watch yourself with that man! He seems alright, but Irish navies are nothing but trouble! Corcoran's probably as bad as the rest of them."

"Corcoran?" asked Jenny, frowning. "I've heard that name…Did he work on the London docks, maybe?" Da didn't care much 'bout where people came from; it was one of the good things Jenny had got from him. An Irishman wouldn't make him even blink.

"Francis Corcoran," supplied Eileen. "I'd be surprised if he did, he and his friend John Keegan came here direct from America, he said. Their families went over to get away from the famine when they were little tykes; before that awful war the Americans had. Mind if Madame Vastra has found out anything more about the men she's looking for, Frank might like to hear..."

"Half a mo', did you say 'Keegan'?" asked Jenny, trying not to panic.

Eileen nodded. "Yes, why do you…?"

"Oh Hell," breathed Jenny, "Oh Bloody, Bloody Hell!"

And without another word, Jenny ran out of the kitchen as if there were monsters after her, just as the clock in the front hall struck 9:00 PM.

Jenny burst into Vastra's room, more agitated than Vastra ever saw her before.

"They know! Madame, the bomb men know! Eileen told them we're looking for them!"

"What? Why...?"

"She didn't mean to, she didn't know it was them! But Madame, we've got to catch them right now!"

Vastra was still a warrior, even if Jenny was just a young cadet, and so she took a deep breath, and called Jenny sharply to order. "Explain!" she hissed.

Jenny snapped to attention, took a deep breath, and gave a rapid, but reasonably coherent recounting of the conversation in the kitchen. She watched in dismay as her lady's green face became grimmer and grimmer.

"Enough," said Madame Vastra, "we need to locate Inspector Abernathy at once! Your instincts are correct; it is very likely that Corcoran and Keegan are now aware we're looking for them, and may decide to turn the tables, and start hunting us!"

They hurried to the pub to locate Inspector Abernathy. Despite attracting every single eye in the room when she marched in, by reason of her being female and a widow and so heavily veiled despite the dim light that no one could see more than a shadow of her face, Madame Vastra ignored everything and everyone as she searched the room for her quarry.

Her young maid, in the meantime, was firmly planted just inside the doorway, glowering at all and sundry and projecting a rather charming little air of menace.

"Watch that little one," remarked one of the local men jovially to his mates, nodding at Jenny, "bet if anyone here's fool enough to lay so much as a harsh word on her mistress, she'll bite their ankles off."

The men laughed, but left the widow alone. They watched with interest though, as the widow had a hurried but quiet conference with the recent arrival from London who had arranged for a room for the night in a room upstairs, and was now happily nursing a pint of the local ale. The discussion ended with the woman exclaiming, "I insist. We need to search that room NOW!"

The clock above the bar showed 9:30 in the evening as they left the public house.

They detoured over to the police station first and brought along a policeman. At the boarding house door, Abernathy allowed the local constable to have a word with the landlady, confirming that the Scotland Yard inspector did indeed have a proper warrant to search Keegan's room.

The landlady still wanted to fuss about the presence of Madame Vastra and Jenny, but Abernathy politely but firmly overruled her, and furthermore asked her to stop stalling, as the hour was late. Grumbling, she led them through narrow hallways to a flat on the top floor.

They entered the room cautiously, and looked around. In the dim light of the Landlady's candle, they could see that the room was small; with a pair of thin mattresses on the floor, each with a single blanket. There was a tiny stove for heat in the winter, and the window only had a grimy sheet tacked over it as a curtain. Two small travelling chests stood by one wall, and the only other items in the room that they could see in the dim light were a rickety table, a mended wooden chair and a metal washbasin near a chipped pitcher on a shelf by the window.

"See, I told you. Clean as a whistle and all in order. Nothing here, so let's go," said the Landlady.

"Not so fast," Abernathy stopped her retreat. "Madame Vastra, what do you think?"

Even for July, the room seemed very warm, and Madame Vastra twitched at the heavy smell of smoke in the air. She wondered if Corcoran smoked as well as Keegan; many of the male apes seemed to be addicted to it. But there were other smells as well. "I smell gunpowder…" she said, taking a careful sniff, "and several other chemicals…"

Abernathy frowned. "Both Mansion House and Liverpool bombs were gunpowder…"

"That proves nothing," said the Landlady. "The law says you can keep fifty pounds of gunpowder inside a dwelling; or one hundred pounds if you keep it in a fireproof safe."

They all stopped and stared at her.

"What?" she asked," You think everyone who comes for the Rifle Matches sleeps in a tent or at a fancy inn? If I don't want to be blown sky-high or arrested for unsafe storage of gunpowder on me premises, I'd best know how to store powder and cartridges, and what the law is to boot! Getting so an honest woman can't earn her daily keep..."

"Where's Keegan?" interrupted the constable. "If he's ill, why ain't he here?"

The landlady peered around the room, and then shrugged. "No idea. He's a grown man; he don't need me coddling him."

"You keep tossing rocks inn our path," said the constable. "What's that about, then?"

The landlady started to sputter, and Vastra left it to the local officer to deal with her while she surveyed the room, giving the air a discreet sniff or two. After a few minutes, Vastra crossed to one of the chests, trying one, and then the other.

"Locked, of course, " she said. "We'll need to find the keys."

"They must keep them with them," protested Abernathy. "Everything they value are in those chests!"

"Won't hurt to look around," said Jenny. "They might keep 'em hidden in case they lose them while they're working. Especially as there`s a lock on the room door. Might be safer to keep 'em here."

It didn't take very long for Abernathy and the constable to search the room, with Jenny suggesting different hiding places, remembering the different places in her family flat where her parents kept their own small savings. At the end of it though, the keys were still missing, although they'd found several US dollars, and two small badges shaped like harps and stamped from brass.

Inspector Abernathy scratched his head. "Now what?" he asked. "Can't we just break open the chests?"

"You're not damaging any of me boarders' property," declared the landlady. "You can wait till they come back and get them to open them up."

While the adults debated, Jenny knelt on the floor, and looked closely at the locks. "Ma'am, these are the same kind of locks that's on your old chest." she said suddenly. "Can I have your keys please?"

Madame Vastra simply cocked her head a moment, and then handed Jenny her reticule without comment.

"That won't work, even if the same company made the locks, the keys for locks are always different," said the constable doubtfully, even as he looked over Jenny's shoulder to watch her work.

Jenny shrugged. "Maybe not, but it don't hurt to try," she said as she fiddled gently with the lock. She didn't really know what she was doing, but thought it best to keep busy while the adults nattered. The key slid in easily enough. She tried turning the key to the left and to the right, and when it didn't turn, she eased it out of the keyhole just a little bit, and tried turning it again. This time, the lock opened with a raspy sound and a 'clunk'.

"Well done!" said Madame Vastra. "That was very clever!"

Jenny grinned up at her. "You remember my friend Tom, right?"

Madame cocked her head in thought, and then suddenly nodded. "Young Robin Hood! Yes, of course!"

Jenny held back a laugh. "His Da told me one time that if I ever had to buy a chest, buy one with a good lock, even if I had to pay more money. He said the cheap chests, they sell them all over see, and sometimes they don't bother to change the key pattern very much. Figure nobody will ever bother to check."

She moved to the other chest, but had no luck with Madame's key this time. She looked around at the others. "Anyone else got a trunk key?" she asked.

Both Abernathy and the constable shook their heads, and Jenny was about to give up, when the landlady asked "Will you leave me boys alone if you don't find anything?"

Inspector Abernathy looked at her for a long moment and then nodded. "Yes," he said. "Yes we will."

The Landlady turned on her heel and left the room. A few minute later, she returned with a large ring of keys. "These are from a few old trunks," she said defensively, "left behind when some o' me borders can't pay their rent and skip out. It happens sometimes."

Jenny kept quiet. There had to be ten keys on the ring. And if only half the borders who skipped out left a key…

That was an awful lot of money for anyone to lose. Least of all a middle-aged woman trying to hold her life together by renting out rooms. The only good thing that Jenny could see was that some of the keys looked really old and tarnished. Likely the contents of the abandoned chests were long since sold off. Jenny shook her head, nothing she could do about it for now, and started trying the keys in the lock.

In the meantime, Inspector Abernathy and Madame Vastra examined the open chest. It contained a few extra clothes, some large worn neck cloths, and a small stack of paper with sketches and notes.

"That's Corcoran's chest," the landlady informed them, "I recognize one of the kerchiefs he wears from time to time."

Abernathy picked up the sheaf of papers, and backed up slightly. The stove was nearby and he bumped into it, and then jumped away again.

"Ow!" he yelped. "That's hot!"

The constable looked over, puzzled. "Can't be, sir. It's the middle of summer, and it's been hot as bla… anything." he finished with a quick glance at Madame Vastra. "Why would any sane man have the stove burning?"

The Landlady shrugged. "Maybe Keegan had the chills," she said.

Jenny frowned, a half remembered talk with Madame Vastra from a few weeks ago dancing in her head. About burning… the stock certificates they'd… captured! "If the stove's be'in used on a hot summer day, maybe they was burning something they didn' want found…" she said with excitement.

Vastra jolted in surprise, then crossed quickly to the stove, opened it and looked in. There was a short pause as she considered the contents and then she shouted, "Jenny, water, now!"

Jenny leapt up from the floor and grabbed the chipped pitcher from the shelf near the window..

It was empty. She looked around, desperately seeking a new target. Her eye lit on the nearby washbasin and with a quick glance she saw that it still had some soapy water in it.

Jenny brushed by Vastra, threw the contents of the washbasin into the stove, and while the steam hissed out, she used the keys in her hand to scrape the smouldering mess from the stove into the washbasin, and then set it on the floor. Madame Vastra bent and examined the burnt offerings.

There were several blacked things in the basin, which looked like small logs to Jenny. Then she saw that some of the burned bits had letters on them. Vastra gave one a cautious poke, and it unrolled into a pile of printed paper, the outer layers black and burnt, but the inner layers were still white and readable. Bits of charred string held one or two of the rolls together, on another one part of the sting had burned through, the paper had unrolled and started to burn. Jenny stared at them quizzically for a moment and then realized what she was seeing.

"Magazines! They're magazines, Ma'am, like the one I bought t'other day!"

Vastra carefully examined the sodden lumps. "In fact," she said, "They are not collections of stories, but are rather like scientific journals." She carefully examined part of a charred page. "Although they were written in far simpler language than I've ever seen in an academic journal before." This time it was Madame Vastra's turn to have everyone stare at her for a long moment.

Inspector Abernathy and the constable then crowded around the basin, looking at the other magazines. Abernathy carefully picked up part of one and leafed through it.

"I've heard about these;" said Abernathy. "The Fenians distribute them at their meetings in America. They're manuals for the construction of explosives!"

"Look at this rubbish," growled the constable. "'Science is 'the weapon of the weak,'" he read with a sneer. " 'Weapon of the coward' is more like it!"

Vastra shrugged, "My people use to say "One skilled scientist is worth an army.'"

When the men stared at Madame for a moment, Jenny jumped in. "Russians weren't really your people though, were they ma'am?" she prompted.

Jenny could see Vastra puzzling out what she was saying, and could only hope Madame remembered she was pretending to be a British woman who'd lived in Russia for many years.

"No," Vastra agreed slowly, after a long moment. "The Russians were never really my people."

The men relaxed. Jenny nodded. 'And that's the honest truth too," she thought with relief.

"But why didn't they completely burn?" asked the constable, returning to the magazines.

"Because they were so tightly rolled, no oxygen could reach the interior pages. And without oxygen, the paper simply would not ignite," Vastra explained. "It also means that Keegan was here very recently. Only the outer pages are charred.

While the adults continued to examined their find, Jenny returned to working on the locked chest. It took her awhile, but she stayed at it. To her surprise, the eleventh key on the Landlady's ring fit the lock, and turned slightly. Jenny jiggled it around, and in short order, heard the lock click open. She looked back at the adults with a triumphant grin.

Inspector Abernathy shook his head. "I'm not sure whether to be impressed, or very, very worried."

Madame Vastra nodded. "Impressed I think. You can always worry later."

They crowded around. Inside Keegan's chest were several containers of chemicals, including one marked 'Glycerine' and another marked 'Nitric Acid.'

"Nothing wrong with that…" started the Landlady

"They are only the basic ingredients in several high explosives, including Nitro-glycerine, Dynamite, Gelnite, and Guncotton," Madame Vastra finished for her, the sarcasm fairly dripping from her voice.

For once, the Landlady was left speechless.

Inspector Abernathy looked up from the papers from Corcoran's chest that he was reviewing. "Madame, you should see this." Abernathy showed her a map labelled 'Whitehall and Government Offices.'

"The office of the Home Secretary is circled," Inspector Abernathy said with worry in his voice. He showed her another circle. "And this is the Foreign office."

"Which one is Ireland under?" asked Vastra.

"The Home Office."

Vastra drew a deep breath. "What's this?" An arrow pointed off to the , marked 'BOE.'

"Bank of England" said Abernathy in a worried voice. "It could mean that they intend to attack both of these offices and the Bank. On the other hand, perhaps they will only attack one and the others were simply… alternate targets." Neither of them noticed a small black dot on Downing Street.

In the meantime, trying to stay out of the way, Jenny was poking at one of the charred magazines. The partially burned string gave way, and the magazine unrolled. Deep inside was a strange little drawing. It looked like a sketch of part of a firearm; Jenny thought it might be what Taylor had called 'the lock." It was somehow tied to a block with many circles with teeth on their edges. "What's this?" she asked.

Madame Vastra and Inspector Abernathy crowded around. Even the Constable took a good look. Jenny took out her notebook, and started to make a small sketch of the picture.

Abernathy shook his head. "A trigger and a set of gears maybe? Otherwise, I have no idea. Never seen anything like it."

They all examined the fragile piece of paper. "Perhaps… the gears… fire the pistol somehow?" asked the constable.

"But why?" Vastra murmured, staring at the picture.

"Could it be for an assassination?" asked Abernathy. "To fire a pistol at a set time at a place where a person in going to be standing?"

"Perhaps, though getting the victim to stand in the proper spot at the correct time might be a challenge," said Vastra. "Still, we have enough evidence of a plot, I think. We need to find Keegan and Corcoran. Now!"

"Should we send a message to London, Ma'am? Just in case?" asked Jenny, "I know they're all adults, but I'm still bit worried for Mr Thackeray and Mr Dawes and the rest o' our friends at the Bank."

Madame Vastra considered the maps, and the chemicals and the drawing, and then nodded.

"We will send a telegram from Wimbledon station, and warn them of a possible attack."

Inspector Abernathy nodded. "Sound thinking Madame Vastra! All the regiments of the Guards are excellent, but a warning to them would not go amiss. Constable, stay here and watch for our men. I'll send someone over to reinforce you."

Madame Vastra, Abernathy and Jenny hurried from the room, leaving the landlady to grumble at the constable. Abernathy checked his watch; it was just past 10:30 PM.

As they trotted briskly along the almost deserted streets of the town, Vastra praised Jenny for her quick wits. "Luckily you grabbed the basin to douse the coals and save the evidence."

"Lucky indeed, Ma'am," muttered Jenny, "To be honest, I almost didn't think of the basin. I was looking for the chamber pot!"

They went to the Post Office to send a telegram but as it was after 10:00 PM, the office was closed. The sign on the door stated that it would reopen at 8:00 AM.

"We'll leave it for now," said Inspector Abernathy. "I'll send a message first thing in the morning." He looked over at Madame Vastra. "Why don't you go back to the inn and get some sleep. I caught a nap on the train down so I'll be alright for a bit. Think I'll have a look around, then go back to the pub and chat... "

"Can't," interrupted Jenny.

Vastra and Abernathy looked over at her with surprise.

"Can't go back to the inn," said Jenny. "The bomb men still know we're looking for them." She shook her head in irritation, and forgot to smother a yawn.

Vastra suddenly understood. It had been a long day and despite the excitement Jenny was almost asleep on her feet.

Inspector Abernathy solved that problem by taking them back to the police station, and sending along the last of the three local constables with them, with instructions to watch the inn and make sure there were no intruders.

They returned to the Inn, and Vastra immediately sent Jenny up to bed. She then sat in the parlour and studied the street maps of London from Keegan's chest for a time, thinking carefully. Keegan and Corcoran were likely working on their bombs somewhere in Wimbledon, but the question was... where might they be?

Vastra mulled it over, and wrote down a half-a dozen possible places they'd seen on their walks, including the old Windmill on the Commons, possibly a cellar at the boarding house, and perhaps near the new station the pair where working on. Eventually, she decided that she would need more information, and gave up her ruminations for the night. A short sleep might refresh her mind and give her new ideas.

In her room, she found Jenny sitting up on her trundle, leaning against Vastra's bed and sleeping soundly. As Eileen had taught Jenny, Vastra's sheets were 'turned down' for the night . Vastra smiled to herself; her human must have been waiting up for her and fallen asleep . Jenny wasn't strictly 'on watch,' and Vastra had sent her to bed, so she gently shifted Jenny down onto the trundle bed, curled up on the big bed on the side nearest to her and dozed off.

Vastra's internal clock allowed her only a few hours sleep, and so she was awake before dawn. She contemplated letting Jenny sleep longer, but decided her human was often very useful, and clever as well, so she prodded Jenny awake, and told her dress. They quickly put on their day clothes, and Vastra strapped on her cutlass beneath her skirt and saw Jenny hiding one or two of her knives. When they were ready, they crept down the stairs…

...straight into Eileen, who was just opening the shutters and windows in the parlour to catch any morning breeze against the heat of the summer night.

"Goodness Madame Vastra, you're up very early!"

"As are you! Hello Eileen."

"'Mornin' Eileen," Jenny agreed, trying to stifle a yawn.

"Would you like some breakfast Madame? Cook isn't up yet, but I can get you tea and toast at least."

"Tea would be very welcome," responded Vastra. Beside her Jenny had perked up at the mention of food. Eileen nodded and headed for the kitchen at the rear of the inn, and Jenny followed along to help her.

They returned a short while later; Eileen with a tea tray and Jenny just behind her bearing a tray with two bowls of fruit. "We've some lovely cherries Madame," said Eileen, "Or strawberries with cream, if you'd prefer. Still too early for peaches and pears, I'm afraid. The baker was just by as well, so there's plenty of bread" she said nodding at the toast cooling in the toast rack on tea tray. "And Jenny cooked you a few sausages while the water boiled for your tea, but I'm not sure if they're cooked long enough…"

"Jenny knows how I like them; they'll be fine, I'm sure," said Vastra. She hoped that Jenny had been able to just warm them a bit; she loved the taste of the sausages from the inn's local butcher, but the staff insisted on cooking them far too much!

"Did your police friend find the men you're looking for?" Eileen asked as she set the tray on the table. "Jenny here won't say a word, but said to ask you?"

It suddenly occurred to Madame Vastra that the best source of information on the whereabouts of the plotters was currently laying out a light breakfast for her.

"We seem to have come to a bit of a standstill," Vastra said carefully. "The men we're looking for may be part of one of the work crews for the railway. And they are currently missing. By any chance do you know where your friend is?"

"Frank?" asked Eileen. "Why would Frank know anything…?"

Jenny listened closely as Madame Vastra spoke, and stepped in to help. "Bet your young man know the all the navies in town pretty well. So he likely knows where the fellows Madam's looking for are at, you see? The barkeep sent us round last night to talk to him, but he and his mate weren't in. Do you know where they are maybe?"

Eileen looked at Jenny then Vastra with surprise. "Yes Madame, they most likely can help! But I think Frank and John went up to London yesterday on the last train of the evening. The station master told me last night that Frank bought tickets earlier for the late train. Frank told me on Wednesday that they'd be delivering some packages soon for one of the stores here in town. They needed special handling."

"Special… handling?" asked Vastra.

Eileen nodded. "Yes'm, the packages, Frank said they could be a bit slippery , and they're to be surprise presents, you see. When Frank mentioned it to me the other evening, he was very excited about it!"

"And when will they return?"

"Well, Frank didn't say, but I expect they'll be back some time this morning."

Vastra regarded her for a long moment. "By any chance did… Frank… mention where these packages were to be delivered? Or how many there are?"

Eileen shook her head.

"Very well. Thank you Eileen. You've been most helpful. If Mr Corcoran returns before I do, would you please let the local police station know. They want to speak with him; as Jenny said, he may be able to help us with the investigation."

Eileen beamed. "Oh, this is so exciting!"

Jenny doubted that Eileen would feel that way for very long.

They ate quickly, and then in the cool pre-dawn twilight they went to find Inspector Abernathy. He was up early as well, and on hearing Madame Vastra's news that the bombers were now in London, he ran over to the boarding house, and sent one of the constables there in search of the local telegraph operator, while Abernathy, Vastra and Jenny went to the Post Office.

They soon heard a commotion and looked up to see the sleepy wire operator protesting fiercely while being hurried along by the constable. But within a minute or two he was inside at his key. The operator rattled off an opening sequence of short and long clicks . But there was only silence from the receiver. The operator frowned, and tried again. Nothing.

"Something's not right," the man said. "I'm not getting any acknowledgment from London."

"Is that unusual?" asked Vastra.

"Very unusual," said the telegraph operator. "While most offices close at night, the telegraph at the Central Post Office in London gets messages from abroad at any hour. They have someone manning the key at all times. So do several of the large train stations, such as Victoria and Paddington."

"What would cause such a disruption?" asked Vastra.

The telegraph operator shrugged. "The wires could be down. They come down sometimes if it's windy or in heavy rain or snow. Or occasionally youngsters or animals knock them down by accident. Or take a pot shot at the insulators with their catapults."

Vastra glanced out the window at the clear and quiet dawn. "I don't believe that is the issue here." She thought for a long moment. "Could the wires have been cut?"

The man started in surprise. "Well, yes, I suppose so. But why?"

"To prevent us from warning anyone of an attack!" She looked over at Abernathy. "We need to go to London immediately!"

They hurried to the Railway station and consulted the timetables. Although it was early, there were a few trains running to London. The next train, a freight and mail train, would come through in ten minutes, at 4:30 AM. The next train after that was a passenger train,which would stop at 5:00 AM in Wimbledon. The journey was sixty minutes to Waterloo Station, in South London. The same trip by coach would take at least two hours, even if they could find someone to take them.

Inspector Abernathy was able to convince the station master that he needed to be on the mail train. When the man balked about Madame Vastra and Jenny, Vastra almost hissed, slapped her purse on the countertop, and made it clear that 'no' was not an option.

"No sitting on the mailbags, ma'am!" warned the station master "There's a bench in the mail car, stay there and stay out of the way." Vastra simply shrugged.

Once on the train and moving towards London, Jenny could barely keep from bouncing on the wooden bench. She felt all fired up and ready to go, but she had to keep still. 'Can't do anything about it right now.' she thought. 'Ma always said don't fidget. Look at Madame there, barely even blinking. Wonder if that's a warrior thing, or a reptile thing?' She took a deep breath, and then another, trying to calm down, so she didn't wear herself out.

They ran into a problem as they continued up the line. When they stopped to take on or drop off the mail, Abernathy checked with the local telegraph offices. All reported that London was down. At several spots, they even saw the cut lines beside the railway tracks. After a bit, Madame Vastra asked Inspector Abernathy, "Can you send a telegram from the Waterloo railway station?"

Abernathy shook his head. "No, they don't have an office there. I could send one from the Southern District post office, they're open this early, but we'd waste time going east instead of west. We'd be almost over at London Bridge!"

"Very well. We'll split up as planned." Vastra eyed Jenny sternly. "Repeat your orders," she commanded.

"Go straight to the Headquarters of the City Police on Old Jewry. Find Constable Palmer if he's there and on duty, and give him this message," Jenny held up Vastra's note.

Vastra nodded. "Very good. Make it so."

They found two cabs outside Waterloo Station. Madame Vastra gave firm instructions to the first driver to deliver Jenny to the Bank as quickly as possible. She helped Jenny climb into the cab, but at the last moment, Jenny turned to her.

"Madame…" the girl hesitated a moment, unsure what to say.

"Yes Jenny?" Vastra asked quietly.

Jenny want to say something, something important, but didn't know what to say, or how to say it. She shook her head once or twice, then she straightened up, stiffening her resolve. "If The Co…. Arse that Walks like a Man shows up," she growled, "Send him over to the Bank if you can. He won't be under your feet then, and they've got lots of clever folks about, he can't do much harm there. Better to keep him out of trouble." It wasn't what she'd been trying to say, but it sounded like a good idea.

Jenny could almost see Madame Vastra smirked at her through her veil. "I'll take that advice under strong consideration. Carry on, Jenny."

"Yes, Ma'am!"

And in a flurry of shouted commands and running horse, they separated, each to their own destiny.

Waterloo Station was infamous for its poor location south of the Thames. In theory, it should have been about ten minutes from Waterloo to Whitehall if there was no traffic on the Westminster Bridge, and perhaps fifteen minutes from Waterloo to the Bank of England by the Blackfriars Bridge.

The only problem was, even just past dawn in mid-summer, there was always traffic, usually snarled and slow traffic, on both of those bridges.

It took Madame Vastra and Inspector Abernathy almost half an hour to reach Whitehall.

Jenny, on the other hand, took one look at the tangled traffic ahead of the cab on Blackfriars Bridge, and decided her feet would be faster, despite her skirt. She called to the cabby and after he gratefully swung over to the cab stand at Blackfriars Railway Station, she paid him and took off on foot at a brisk trot. She wove with nimble skill between the adults trudging to work. Despite the deadly seriousness of her mission, it was a nice morning, not too hot yet, and Jenny enjoyed just being able to move after an hour cooped up on the train.

Less than ten minutes later she was across the river, and trotted north on New Bridge Street to Ludgate Hill Station. She knew there was another cab stand there. Better yet, at least some of the cabbies were likely Mr Parker's men. He told them once that his company was near Ludgate Hill.

Several cabbies were standing in a group near their cabs, while one or two more were checking their cabs and horses. Jenny jogged up to the first cab, and called for the cabby. A young man looked up from the group, scowled and asked, "What do you want?"

Jenny thought he was an idiot; she wanted a cab of course. "Do you work for Mr Parker?" she asked instead. The cabby nodded.

"Right. Need to get to the City Police station near the Bank of England, please. Need to deliver a message for my mistress. It's mighty urgent."

But the young cabby just sneered at her and gave a mean laugh, and turned back to his friends, saying "Get along with you; we're waitin' fer important people; not a some guttersnipe who thinks she's a maid." The man and his friends kept laughing, while Jenny stood there, trying to decide whether to argue, or if it would be faster to just run to the Police Station on foot. But only a moment later, she heard a deep voice nearby ask, "Who are you?"

Jenny turned, and found a tall, thin older man, also a cabby, looking up from checking the leather bits around his horse. He flicked his eyes over Jenny, looking at her closely, and quietly asked again, "Who are you, young woman? What is your name?"

"Flint, sir, Jenny Flint. I'm Madame Vastra's maid." Jenny bobbed a little curtsey for good luck. The cabby looked old enough to be her grand-da, if she'd ever had one.

The older man nodded once. "Get in," was all he said, as he swung himself up to the driver's seat at the back of the cab. Jenny scrambled in, and then she noticed that all the younger cabbies had stopped laughing. As the cab pulled away from the stand, she realized that the one who'd refused to take her fare suddenly looked awfully pale.

The cab didn't go very far; within minutes it pulled up outside a bustling yard where men were busily moving to and fro, attaching horses to cabs and polishing trim on carriages. Jenny started to stand up, but the trapdoor in roof of the cab snapped open. "Steady there, miss!," called the cabby. "Won't be a moment."

"This isn't the police station!" Jenny shouted back angrily, ready to bolt for freedom.

"Steady!" The man repeated, and then he looked up, took a breath, and called out in a commanding voice, "Parker! There's a youngster here has a message for the Police. Thought you'd want to see her as we passed by. Says her name's Flint!"

Jenny blinked, and looking out of the cab, saw a sign by the gate: "Parker Carriage Company: Horses, Cabs and Carriages for Hire." Just inside the gate, two men carrying long cases looked over at the cab.

One was Sergeant Parker, and Jenny was delighted to see him, even with the delay. The other… Jenny blinked in surprise. The other was Private Taylor.

"Jenny?" Parker called, jogging over to the cab. "Taylor and I are just heading out to practice. What's this about?"

"Can I tell you as we go?" asked Jenny. "Madame will be awfully cross if I don't get this message to the City Police right smart."

Parker climbed into the seat beside Jenny, and ordered the cabby to the City Police station. As the cab started to move, Taylor dove in as well, sprawling in the narrow footrest. He hauled himself up and squeezed onto the seat on Jenny's other side.

"Taylor, what the blazes are you doing?" asked Parker.

"Miss out on an adventure with Jenny?" Taylor drawled, "You're joking, right?"

Once they were finally over Westminster Bridge, Vastra and Abernathy's cab turned onto King Street. Vastra looked up and down the streets as they drove along. Here she could see a light but steady stream of Apes, many with the unsightly glut of facial hair that the males of the place and time favoured as fashionable. She tried to see them as she and Jenny had discussed: What were they wearing? Many wore clothes with no holes or patches; so richer men than most found in either Cheapside or near Jenny's old home. Even the young boot black shining shoes on the corner seemed to be a little more neatly dressed than many Vastra had seen. Very few of these Apes were dressed as workmen; surely Keegan or Corcoran would be noticeable among these well-dressed apes.

Their first stop was at the Police station near Whitehall. Vastra paid off the cab while Inspector Abernathy sent a police runner up to Scotland Yard, at the other end of Whitehall, for more reinforcements. Then he and Madame Vastra crossed the street with an escort of several police constables, and found the south entrance into the huge complex of buildings that housed the India Office, the Colonial Office and the Foreign Office. Everything there seemed quiet, so Abernathy left two constables on guard. Vastra was surprised to learn that the government offices didn't open until 8:00 AM, almost two hours away.

They crossed the courtyard and exited through the north gate to Downing Street. Abernathy asked Vastra to wait, and went to speak with a police constable standing by a townhouse door marked '10'.

"That's the Prime Minister's Residence," explained another policeman when she asked what the constable was guarding. As they waited, several fast-moving carriages turned onto Downing Street. They stopped across the street from the guarded door.

"Madame Vastra?" came a voice from one of the carriages. A salt and pepper head with a neatly trimmed moustache popped out of the window. "What are you doing here?"

Vastra felt rather at a loss. The Ape obviously recognized her, but she wasn't certain who this was… She watched as several humans stepped down from the carriages and crossed the street. One of them approached her. His face was lined and his hair was mostly dark with some grey, but his moustache was more grey than dark. He wore a wedge cap, a green jacket, and trousers with stripes going both up and down and sideways. Vastra quickly realized she did indeed know this Ape; it was Colonel Lethbridge.

Inspector Abernathy returned just then, and the two men quickly introduced themselves. The Colonel nodded at the other men. "We are just about to meet with the Prime Minister about your message from yesterday, Madame," explained the Colonel. "Mr Thackeray at the Bank was able to get a copy to me."

"That is why we are here," explained Vastra. "I believe that an attack may be imminent."

Lethbridge frowned, and turned to Abernathy, who quickly filled him in on their findings in Wimbledon.

"Then we'd best get about finding these men," said the Colonel.

"The bomb will likely be fairly large," said Abernathy, motioning the policemen to gather around as well. "The one in Liverpool needed two men to carry it."

From the corner of her eye, Vastra noticed that the other two very-well dressed Apes were standing together by the carriages, out of the way but definitely paying attention.

"How'll they to carry it?" asked one of the police. There was a buzz of speculation from the others: a bomb in a wheelbarrow? A bomb in a cask of ale? A bomb in...

"Damn you Abernathy!" came a hoarse shout. "What are you doing interfering with my case?"

"NOW he shows up," muttered Madame Vastra.

Inspector Peaslin ran up, snarling at Abernathy and completely ignoring Madame Vastra and the other interested watchers. Abernathy tried to explain their new information, but Peaslin kept cutting him off and calling him a fool.

"I see only one fool here," said a quiet but firm new voice, "and it's the man who thinks he knows everything, while demonstrating very clearly that he knows nothing."

Inspector Peaslin started to bluster, "Who are you to speak to me like…" he trailed off, as one of the well-dressed man stepped forward, eyeing Peaslin as if he'd seen something better kept out of sight.

"Inspector Peaslin, surely you recognise the Sir William Vernon Harcourt, the Home Secretary?" asked Colonel Lethbridge dryly. "The head of your Criminal Investigation Department has direct contact with him. And you should recognize the Foreign Secretary as well."

"Sir, surely you don't believe these wild stories?" Peaslin blustered to the Home Secretary. "The only witnesses are a veiled woman and a broken-down soldier…"

"Quiet," admonished the Home Secretary, and Peaslin snapped his mouth shut with a click.

Vastra was fascinated by the newcomer's whiskers. Unlike many apes, this one's ran down one side of his face, grew very thick under his chin, and up the other side of his face, but did not grow on the man's chin or under his nose. Most peculiar!

The Home Secretary looked at over at them. "You secured the Foreign Office, Inspector ... ?"

"Abernathy, Sir . Yes sir."

"Very good. Have your men continue on and secure the area. And you… Peaslin, was it? Go and check the Home Office. Now!"

Peaslin started to object, but stopped short, and with a curt nod, trotted off. But he couldn't resist a parting shot: "Stay out of my way, Abernathy!"

While Jenny explained what Madame Vastra discovered in Wimbledon to the two Green Jackets, they headed east along St Paul's Churchyard to Cheapside. Soon they passed The Gin Palace and then turned north to the station.

Jenny had been here before: the two thugs who'd given Mr Thackeray, Madame Vastra and Jenny so much grief during the Masked Lady adventures had almost begged Jenny to take them there at the end. They knew they were safer in jail then facing any remaining Black Scorpions, who'd decided that the thugs were the ones robbing their banks and were hell-bent on revenge.

They pulled up at the front door, and Jenny called up to the driver, "How much I owe you?"

"A shilling for you and Parker," said the cabby, then added with a slight smile; "and three pence for Mr Taylor."

"Hey, I'm not a kid!" grumbled Taylor, while Jenny laughed and passed the money up through the trapdoor in the roof.

As they scrambled onto the pavement the cabby called out. "Don't recommend you take the long arms with you, Parker. Police won't thank you for it!"

"Right you are, Mr. Thompson," said Parker, stowing the cases back in the cab.

"How come that driver gets to call you Parker, instead of talking to you proper?" asked Jenny, as they entered the police station.

"When I was in the army, he was my Regimental Sergeant Major," said Mr Parker.

Taylor saw Jenny's confused look. "He was senior to Parker in the army. So he gets some perks, see?"

Parker nodded. "He retired just after I did, and he was one of the first drivers I hired for my company. He's been with me ever since. Helps keep the young 'uns in line." Jenny nodded and grinned. She guessed that a certain mouthy young cabby was going to catch it when he finished his shift.

They hurried into the police station. And ran into a problem.

"Constable Palmer is out walking his beat," was the Sergeant's reply when Jenny asked after him. She looked surprised, then thanked Mr Thompson under her breath. Jenny knew full well that if she'd arrived alone, she most like would have been hanging about forever before sergeant listened to her or the superintendent bothered to see her. But with Mr Parker and Mr Taylor beside her, both looking focused and stern, the sergeant on duty quickly fetched the senior officer.

Jenny gave her message to the Superintendent and listened to him discuss the situation with the Sergeant and Mr Parker. Constable Palmer would be out for another three quarters of an hour according to the Sergeant. Jenny knew most of his route, either from seeing him on it over the last few months, or from needing to stay out of his sight from time to time. So while the men chattered away, she slipped out of the station and went to find him. She was pretty sure he'd be over on Old Broad Street about now, heading towards Threadneedle. With luck, she'd meet up with him near the Stock Exchange. Right beside the Bank of England.

"Madame, where's your maid?" asked Lethbridge, looking around for Jenny despite himself. Really, a young maid should be completely beneath his notice, but from what Parker and Taylor had told him, where Madame Vastra was, Jenny was usually close by, acting as a tiny guide. Or perhaps a tiny guard. A respectable woman should have her maid nearby at this time of the morning.

"There is a possibility that the Bank of England may also be attacked. Jenny is carrying a warning to the local police station to be on the lookout," said Madame Vastra.

Colonel Lethbridge blinked in surprise. Well, it was a good reason for the maid's absence, but still...

"The telegraph wires from Wimbledon were down, even up to Waterloo Station," explained Inspector Abernathy. "Jenny knows the area and the men involved, she volunteered to go to the City Police Station near the Bank."

Lethbridge looked at the widow in disbelief. "I hope you told her to STAY at the station?"

"Why?" asked Madame Vastra. "Jenny has a talent for being where she can be most useful."

"The girl has a talent for getting into mischief, you mean," teased Abernathy.

Vastra nodded thoughtfully. "It's the same thing," she said.

Lethbridge almost threw his hands in the air. "If there's a bomb in the bank, it could be very deadly mischief."

The Colonel was pleased to see the woman at least hesitate for a moment, glancing in the direction of the far off Bank, but was quietly dismayed when she shook her head.

"There's nothing to be done now," she declared. "Jenny is a clever aa... girl. She will do what she needs to do."

But there was a tone of worry in her voice that the Colonel couldn't help but hear.

When Jenny arrived at the front of the bank, the night guard was forming up to march back to the Tower of London. It was a wonderful sight. There must have been at least thirty of them, all looking very smart in their red tunics and tall bearskin hats. Their rifles gleamed in the early morning light. Jenny remembered from their visit to the bank that that Mr Thackeray said the Guard stayed at the bank from six in the evening until six in the morning. The Guard officer was chatting with a man in a suit. Jenny saw that it was Mr Bradshaw, Mr Thackeray's new assistant.

Jenny stopped a moment, wondering if she should interrupt them and ask the Guard officer to keep his men at the bank. But she thought she'd better find the constable instead. The men likely wouldn't listen to her.

Jenny kept going along Threadneedle Street, heading past the Stock Exchange. She stood on the corner, and looked up Old Broad Street to her left and along Threadneedle Street towards the east end on her right. There was no sign of Constable Palmer. She checked behind her, and the Guard was still standing around out front of the bank. She saw Parker and Taylor arrive, and Mr Parker went straight to Mr Bradshaw, and started talking to him. While the men argued. Jenny snorted quietly to herself. Most likely they thought they were calmly 'discussing the situation,' or some such rot.

Jenny trotted back to the bank, and as she arrived, she saw Mr Thackeray emerge from the street beside the Mansion House. Jenny was awfully glad to see him. Both Mr Bradshaw and Sergeant Parker recognized him, and hurried to bring him up to date.

Jenny waited, listening to the Bells of St Mary Le Bow's strike the half hour while the men talked. She started to grow impatient with all the nattering after all the excitement of getting to London and delivering Madame Vastra's message. She caught the eye of the Guards' drummer, a lanky lad of about sixteen, who rolled his eyes at the officer, the Green Jackets and Mr Abernathy, then shrugged and with a grin mouthed, "You'll get use to it." Jenny nodded back. "Hurry up and wait" she muttered. Da said that happened a fair bit, even on the docks.

Jenny walked back towards Princes Street, on the side of the Bank closest to the Police Station, just to see if Constable Palmer might have gone along another street past the bank. About half-way up the street was the massive door she'd snuck out of to avoid McPhillips and son the day she'd first met Constable Palmer. As she watched, a little pony cart came down the street and stopped by the entrance. The driver dropped a horse anchor, and then the wiry man picked up a large basket of carrots and started towards the door.

Jenny went over to Mr Thackeray, and dragged him half-protesting over to the street corner. The other men followed half annoyed and half amused. "What's that fellow doin' delivering vegetables?" asked Jenny. "Didn't see no eating place in there on our visit."

The man reappeared, and he hauled a big lumpy burlap bag out of the cart, balanced it on his back, and took it into the bank.

"Oh, he's just delivering supplies for the officer's dinner," Mr Bradshaw reassured her. "Those are potatoes, I'd guess."

"Dinner?"

Mr Thackeray nodded. "The officer of the Guards is allowed a dinner each night he's on duty and may invite one or two guests…"

"Jenny, I'm not sure…" started Parker. Just then the carter returned from the doorway, hauled another sack out of the cart, and went back inside.

"Two sacks?" said Jenny. "That's an awful lot of potatoes."

"Never mind the blasted vegetables," said the lieutenant of the Guard.

"No, she's right," said Private Taylor. "Two sacks? That's enough to feed a company or two..."

All the other men stared at the American.

"Had to peel enough of them in the war, now didn't I?" explained Taylor. "When we were lucky enough to get 'em. Won't hurt to at least go and make sure."

"The guard at the door would check the bag…"

"Sure, he'd check the first one to make sure it was potatoes, but would he check both bags?" Taylor asked shrewdly.

Mr Thackeray looked surprised, and then turned and started quickly towards the cart. "Better safe than sorry." Taylor was right behind him, and Jenny followed close on their heels.

As they went, they heard shouted some shouted commands, and then the drummer started up, followed by the sound of marching feet. Heading away from the Bank.

It was long past six in the morning, Jenny realized. Of course the Guard was leaving!

"Jenny stay back!" called Thackeray as he ran through the massive cast iron door. "This might be dangerous!"

"Save your breath 'sir'," muttered Private Taylor, "or better yet; take your own advice!"

As the Colonel returned to the pavement and the men started into the Prime Minister's residence, one or two more carriages arrived, and several more humans entered the buildings nearby. Most of the carriages left again, but one pulled to the end of the street, swung around, and drew up near the entrance to the Prime Minister's residence. The driver swung down, dropped a horse anchor to the ground and started checking the hooves of the carriage horse, all the while muttering angrily under his breath.

Just then, a battered old cart turned into Downing Street, and rumbled to a stop. Inspector Abernathy glanced up. "Street sweepers," he said, as two men stepped down, one with a broom, the other with a shovel. They started to sweep up the dried manure and dirt in the street, and shovel the results into the cart.

"There isn't much for them to do," said Vastra. "The street seems remarkably clean…"

"As if it had been recently swept?" Abernathy observed. "Right. I think I'll go have a word with those two…" he finished, motioning a pair of constables to come with him. They started towards the dust cart.

Vastra remained behind, watching the street.

Thackeray, Taylor and Jenny pounded up into the bank. Thackeray waved at the startled guard at the door and called "Watch for the police! They should be here any time!" He ran further into the bank, towards the Guard Officer's room. It was empty, but in the open courtyard outside the room, deep within the bank, he spotted the carter kneeling beside a lumpy bag in the far corner. "You there," called Mr Thackeray, "Stop!"

The carter looked up, closing the bag as he stood. "What's up, boyo...ah, Mister?"

Thackeray continued towards him, with Taylor right behind. Jenny stopped in surprise, recognizing the man's voice.

"That's Keegan!" Jenny shouted to Mr Thackeray, "He's one of the bombers!"

As Vastra waited in the shadow of the Foreign Office Building, she heard "What's this then?" and turned to see one of the policemen speaking to the driver of the carriage parked nearby.

"Carriage for Major Shaw. He's visitin' the India Office. Horse has come up lame though." The driver was half-inside the carriage, working on something, but leaned back out and closed the door, locking it, and then walked up beside the horse.

"Visiting?" echoed the policeman. "Bit early for that isn't it? Most of that lot won't be here for hours yet."

"All the better for me, need to get this horse switched out." He started to unbuckle the bits of leather that held the horse to the carriage. "Shouldn't take long. Twenty minutes tops. The Major's townhouse is nearby."

Madame Vastra listened closely to the driver. Did he sound like any of the men she'd heard two weeks ago? She wasn't sure. She looked over to where Abernathy was speaking to the street sweepers, then looked back, peering at the driver again. She really needed to learn to tell humans apart!

The driver looked a little familiar. No beard. Dark hair. But it was hard for Vastra to be certain. Perhaps… What was the name of the men she was looking for? Eileen had mentioned one of them...

"Frank... " she spoke uncertainly, "Frank Corcoran, is that you?"

The man looked up, startled. "Who's calling me…?" He glanced over, looking Vastra right in the eye.

In that moment Vastra recognized the workman from Rifle Matches, the one who'd come into the tent to fetch tools while the Green Jackets were meeting.

"You!" both of them exclaimed in the same instant.

Keegan's face twisted into a sneer as he plunged his hand into the pocket of his vest, and pulled out a revolver. He waved it back and forth between Taylor and Thackeray with angry menace. "You stop right there!" said Keegan.

"Look out!" called Mr Thackeray. "He has a gun!"

Taylor just rolled his eyes. "No, really?" At least the man wasn't inclined to shoot from the hip!

"You two gents keep well back. I'm going to do you a grand favour and walk all of us right out of here, nice and quick and quiet. You'll thank me for that, you will. Think we'll be leavin' the 'taters though. Let the Governor get a taste of them, hey?"

Thackeray stiffened, suddenly realizing that if there was indeed a bomb in the sacks in front of him, it was right outside the office of the Governor of the Bank of England. And right under a window. When the bomb went off, anyone inside that room, or any other office with a window on the courtyard, would be sliced to bits by the flying glass!

Jenny saw both of the men hesitate, likely looking for a chance to tackle Keegan. But he wasn't giving them any chance to catch him napping.

Her eyes glued to the deadly scene in front of her, Jenny almost missed the silent arrivals beside her. It was the quiet command, "Load!" that caught her attention.

Half-hidden in the shadows of the officer's room, were four guardsman and their officer! They must have sent the others off as a trick! Jenny watched them quietly ready their rifles with deadly skill. She looked back towards the men in the courtyard. And then saw that Mr Thackeray and Private Taylor were in a bad spot. They were right between Keegan and the Guardsmen. If the Guard tried to shoot Keegan, they might be hurt as well!

Jenny glanced back at the guardsmen. "Ready," whispered the officer. The Guardsmen lifted their rifles and seated them against their shoulders. Jenny couldn't tell them to stop. If there was a bomb in that sack, then the whole Bank was in danger!

But she had to help Mr Thackeray. And Mr Taylor too!

Jenny licked her lips nervously. She couldn't shout; she'd warn Keegan too. She needed some sort of signal...

And suddenly, three sharp, falling notes hit the tense air, followed by three more.

Keegan looked up at the whistling sound, confused and trying to see what was happening. Abernathy started toward him, but a split second later he was tackled to the ground. Private Taylor recognized "Lie Down!" with an instinct for survival born in countless battles, just as Jenny hoped he would. Even if it was being whistled by a young Cockney girl in the middle of London!

"Aim," came the Guards Officer's clear command.

And Keegan found himself staring down the muzzles of four unwavering rifles, topped by four cold-eyed men. All quite intent on killing him if he so much as twitched.

Frank Corcoran stood stunned for an instant, staring at the tall veiled woman in front of him. How the bloody devil was the nosy widow here! No wonder there were police crawling all over the street! He shoved the policeman beside him to the ground. The woman lunged at the him, but he was just a bit too far away for her to catch.

Corcoran took to his heels, running away from the street, towards St James' Park nearby. Behind him he heard the woman shout, "That's the Bomber. Stop him!" He only needed a few minutes to get out of range! The widow wouldn't be able to catch him; her skirts would slow her down. Pity about the horse...

Corcoran made it ten steps before a strong hand seized the back of his jacket. He managed to slip out of it before the widow got a good grip on him. Behind them, he could hear shouting. He was too close! He wiggled free, but this time the woman grabbed his arm, swung him around, and to his shock, she bodily picked him up and threw him down on the ground as a thin balding man wearing a suit ran up, followed by more police. "Inspector Abernathy, arrest that man!" The command in the woman's was unmistakable.

"Let me go, I done nothing wrong," Corcoran protested. "This mad-woman's followed me from Wimbledon. She's been asking daft questions all over the town!"

"You work for the railroad," said Vastra. "Why are you here driving a carriage."

"That's not a crime and it's none of your business," snarled Corcoran.

"Take him to the police station, and we'll sort him out shortly," said Abernathy. The constables started to lead Corcoran towards the main street, past the carriage. As they passed, the horse whinnied and stamped its hooves. Some small sparks few. Vastra saw Corcoran shy away from the horse.

"Wait," she said. "Something's not right."

"Get me away from that woman!" snarled Corcoran.

"You drove that horse and carriage here. Why here? And you were handling the horse easily a few minutes ago. Why are you suddenly afraid of it?"

"I'm no scared of a horse, you fool woman!"

"Yes, you are." Vastra approached closer, eyeing the man as she would any prey.

"Get me away from here," screamed Corcoran, trying to pull away from the constables that held him.

Vastra grabbed his shirt, and hauled him close, and hissed, "You're staying right here until you answer my questions."

Vastra sniffed the air, trying to catch any hint of the explosives but her veil blocked all scents except the smell of whiskey and smoke from the Ape in front of her. She grabbed one of his hands, and jerked it to her face. Sweat and horse and leather… and

"Fear," said Madame Vastra. "You stink of fear. Why?"

Abernathy sniffed the air, but shook his head. "Can't say I smell any fear, Madame, or any gunpowder." When he saw the widow looking at him with her head cocked he reminded her, "The Liverpool bomb was gunpowder…"

"I don't smell any gunpowder on him," interrupted Vastra. "But he is terrified by something… perhaps by the possibility of being killed." she stared at the trembling Corcoran, who looked ready to have an embarrassing accident. "So the bomb is almost certainly nearby. Most likely…," She swung around, staring behind her. "...In that carriage!"

"Don't shoot," yelled Keegan, dropping his pistol. "I'm not dying a bloody Martyr!"

The Guardsmen stepped carefully into the courtyard, acting in pairs with one man covering Keegan while his partner moved. In the meantime, Taylor rolled off of Mr Thackeray, got to his feet, then leaned down and gave Thackeray a hand up.

"Sir, I believe I owe you my life," Mr Thackeray said stiffly to Taylor.

Taylor grinned. "Sir, I reckon we both owe our lives to Miss Jenny. That tune she whistled is what saved us both. It's an old US Army bugle call, you see. I just.. well.. reacted I guess."

Thackeray smiled, and Taylor was amused to see the man visibly relax. "That's no surprise. I should be getting use to this," Thackeray said, "That's the second time Jenny's charged in and helped save my biscuit."

Behind Jenny, there was a commotion as new arrivals pelted into courtyard beside the Guardsmen. The City Police had finally arrived, led by Constable Palmer, and followed by Mr Parker.

"Took you lot long enough to run around the corner," groused Jenny. "I must have given them that message more than a quarter hour ago!" she said to Constable Palmer.

The police took charge of Keegan. Thackeray and Taylor briefly filled in the police and the guardsmen on what they'd found. The police superintendent glanced over at the sacks lying against the wall. "Well done, lads! There's no smoke, so he didn't have a chance to lite the fuse. The bomb won't go off, no cause for alarm..."

There was a still moment as they all glanced at the bags.

It was so quiet, Jenny could hear the ticking of a clock. She looked around, wondering what time it was and if Madame Vastra was all right.

"Ah well, boyos," Keegan interrupted the moment, "You caught me fair and square. Time to haul me away…"

"What's your rush?" grumbled a constable. "Just you pipe down for a minute."

"Well now, if you want to know the truth, all this excitement.." and suddenly Keegan broke away, running out of the courtyard. The police superintendent and two constables ran after him, and Jenny could see them catch him in the Guard Officer's room. They quickly bundled him away.

But at the last moment, he turned back. And Jenny saw he was grinning. As if in spite of being caught, he'd somehow won. Jenny shivered. She didn't like it.

She turned back to listen to the men.

Sergeant Parker shook his head. "There are more ways to trigger explosives than just lighting a fuse."

Jenny frowned. Trigger. Alarm. Why did that sound familiar... "Oh no!" She dug into the pocket of her jacket, and pulled out her notebook. "There was a picture of something with a trigger and gears in Keegan and Corcoran's room in Wimbledon. They tried to burn it, but Madame Vastra found it in the stove." She showed the men the sketch she'd drawn.

Constable Palmer took a deep breath. "My God. I've read about those…"

Private Taylor looked grim. "I saw one, a few years ago. Or what was left of one, rather. I might be able to dismantle this…"

Constable Palmer shook his head. "No sir, I can't let you do that."

Taylor looked at him, stiff and on guard "Why the devil not? If that thing goes off it will take out half this bank!"

At that, Mr Thackeray stepped up to the Guard officer, waving at the windows lining the courtyard. "We need to make sure those offices are cleared immediately. Then get your men out of the building!" The Guard officer gave a quick salute, and sent his men off to search the adjacent rooms.

Palmer took a deep breath. "Yes sir," he said, "But this is my city, sir. And my beat. So it's my job."

Taylor scowled at him a long moment, and then gave in. "So it is. But let me at least tell you what I know."

Constable Palmer nodded, and then turned and in a surprisingly gentle voice asked "Jenny, I need to borrow your sketch for a while. Is that alright?"

Jenny nodded, looking scared and trying very hard not to show it. She'd put her friends in a dangerous place, she just knew it! And what about Madame Vastra? Was she in danger too with only Abernathy to help her out?

'Dear Lord,' thought Thackeray, seeing Jenny's reaction. 'she's barely thirteen! What's she doing caught up in this mess!'

Suddenly Mr Parker chimed in, "Come on Jenny, we have work to do."

Jenny blinked in surprise and echoed, "Work?"

Parker nodded crisply. "You live near here, right? Where's the local fire brigade? We need to go and get them, just in case."

Jenny's eyes grew wide, and then she nodded rapidly. "They're not far away. Come on!" she called, quickly heading for the door. Parker smiled grimly and followed the girl out.

"Oh, that was very clever, that was," said Palmer with real appreciation in his voice. "Wasn't sure how to get her out safely short of carrying her."

Taylor also looked impressed. "Mr. Parker thinks on his feet, don't he? No wonder he made Sergeant!"

Jenny didn't hear them. All of a sudden she knew why she'd seen Keegan smiling. He knew he was safely away from the bomb.

And that her friends were not.

Madame Vastra and Inspector Abernathy warily approached the carriage. The horse was still attached to to it by a few buckles, and it became restless as the strangers neared, causing the carriage to move and sway.

Inspector Abernathy glanced over at her, clearly worried. "Madame Vastra," he said, "You should leave. This is my responsibility. Think of your family..."

"My family is dead, Inspector," said Vastra bluntly. "I am all that remains." 'And I'm trained in both the manufacture and demolition of explosives' she thought to herself, 'and I suspect that you are not.' She winced as Abernathy pulled on the carriage door, and then rattled it, trying to spring it open.

Vastra held her breath as a constable grabbed the horse's… bridle, that was the word, thought Vastra, and another quickly released the buckles and they led the horse away.

"Jenny would miss you," said Abernathy still trying to convince her to leave as the police removed the horse. "She likes you. You're a good mistress to her, I think."

"Jenny has known me less than six months, Inspector, and she is still very young. If I die here, most likely in six months more she will have forgotten me again." Even as she said the words, Vastra knew she wasn't being fair to Jenny. The girl had remembered Vastra as the woman with pretty eyes who'd helped save her life five years earlier, after only minutes of knowing her.

Jenny would remember her no matter what happened. She was almost sure of it.

Vastra shook herself. She could not afford such distractions now. She moved quickly but carefully, testing the carriage door for herself. Locked. Corcoran had the key, of course. She started to turn back. But as she now Vastra could hear a very faint ticking. She stepped away from the carriage, and it disappeared. She stepped back and heard the steady ticking again. What was that? It was definitely inside the carriage.

"We need to open this door." Vastra stalked over to Corcoran asking, "Where's is the key?"

"Go to he…"

Vastra reached him, grabbed his shirt and lifted him a foot off the ground.

"Front right trouser pocket," Corcoran whimpered. Vastra didn't hesitate, she snatched the top of the pocket and ripped it half off. The key fell out, and she dropped Corcoran and retrieved it.

"Was it good for you too, darling?" Corcoran sneered, trying to pretend he'd never been afraid.

Vastra didn't bother to look at him as she backhanded his head with the fist clenching the key. She stalked back to the carriage, slid the key into the lock, turned it and flung open the door.

Abernathy and Vastra stared inside. Abernathy scowled "Bits of rags? Why does he have so many little bits of rags? Where's the bomb?" Inside the carriage were piled mounds of shredded cloth.

Vastra looked closely and saw that mixed in with the cloth were nails and bent bits of metal and small jagged bits of gravel from the roads. She immediately turned and shouted. "Clear everyone get out of here right now!" She turned to the two bewildered constables holding Corcoran. "Secure him here and then leave. He stays!"

Abernathy looked at her in confusion. "But where's the bomb?"

"The entire carriage is the bomb," Madame Vastra said grimly.

Sitting in the middle of the carriage, half buried among the shredded fabric was an old fashioned flintlock pistol. Beside it was a collection of gears and metal pieces, with a clock face on it. The time showed just a minute before 12 o'clock. A thin wire connected the two. Vastra studied it for a long moment, and then with a sick sense of dread, realized what it was.

"That clock's not right!" said Abernathy, "It must be almost six thirty…"

"That's not a clock, Inspector. That's the detonator." Vastra looked over at him. "Remember the sketch we found in the stove? It was a design for that. And the clock's about to strike twelve, and blow us to whatever comes next."

Abernathy gulped.

Vastra thought quickly, considering whether to just drag the vehicle into either the Thames or the nearby pond. She studied the device again. No, they were almost out of time.

"I believe can disarm this," she said. But her voice, while strong, didn't sound completely confident.

Abernathy wasn't sure how he felt about that. Just as he wasn't sure about Vastra trying to disarm the bomb.

If this was a novel, Abernathy was sure that as the hero he should be the one tackling the detonator. Except that he had no idea how to disarm it, and there was no time for Vastra to tell him. Perhaps he should make a romantic gesture, and take the mysterious widow in his arms, and kiss her deeply for good luck.

He glanced back at Corcoran, who lay shackled in the road, blood running down his face from a cut where Vastra had struck him, pocket and half the front of his trousers torn and gaping open; his family jewels, such as they were, exposed for all the world to see.

On the other hand, perhaps not.

"Are you insane? No woman can disarm that device!" screamed Corcoran. "Let me go,It's going to blow and kill us all!"

"Shut up," was all Vastra said, as she climbed gingerly into the carriage, drawing her cutlass as she did so. She wished Jenny was here, despite the danger, as one of the girl's knives, even that that ridiculously large blade she always carried, would be much easier to work with in the close quarters of the carriage.

Vastra looked over the pistol once last time. There was no trigger guard, and the curved part of the stock was cut away, so there was no way to jam the trigger. A thin wire ran from the trigger to the part of the clock that rang the alarm. When time the alarm was set for was reached, the clapper would move to ring the bell, pulling the wire, and the trigger.

And the bomb would explode.

Vastra slipped her cutlass beneath the wire, edge towards the sky, said a quick prayer to her goddess, and pulled her sword towards her and up towards the top of the carriage.

At that moment, the clock struck twelve.

It took Jenny and Mr Parker longer than Jenny liked to roust out the Fire Brigade and return with them to the bank.

They had trouble getting close at first; the police were happy to let the Fire Brigade in but were reluctant to admit Parker and Jenny. Jenny was considering all the sneaky routes she knew in the area, and which one would work best, when Mr Bradshaw spotted them and brought them inside the police line.

The fire brigade were already setting up their pumps, and running their hoses in through the bank's Prince's street gate, and there was an awful lot of shouting going on. Jenny was suddenly worried; they'd not heard loud bangs or booms or however a bomb sounded. Was there an explosion? A fire? Was Constable Palmer alright?

Jenny suddenly stopped, wanting desperately to go back to Threadneedle Street and look west. It didn't matter that she couldn't hope to see Whitehall. She was suddenly just real worried. Was there another bomb?

Jenny felt sick. She had no way of knowing if Madame Vastra was safe.

They found Mr Abernathy, Taylor and to Jenny's surprise Mr Dawes, huddled closely together.

Jenny was now getting really scared. "Where's Constable Palmer…" she called. "Did the bomb go off? What's the fire brigade doing?"

"Jenny, it's all right.. The fire brigade is just making everything is safe," said Mr Abernathy. "Constable Palmer's fine. See here he is."

And sure enough, the adults moved aside and to Jenny's relief, there sat the man himself, clutching a steaming mug of tea.

He'd done it, Jenny realised. Constable Palmer had disarmed the bomb.

Palmer took a sip from the steaming mug. His hand was unsteady. Jenny realized that he was still shaking. It must have been awful close.

She glanced back towards Whitehall. "Please be safe," she whispered.

Inspector Abernathy watched Madame Vastra dismount from the carriage, the severed wire and the pistol lock in her hand. To say that Inspector Abernathy was relieved was an understatement of epic proportions. He watched as she carefully removed the flint from the pistol, and dumped the primer well away from the carriage.

"Thank God that's over," said Abernathy.

"Not yet, I'm afraid," said Madame Vastra, "We still have a problem. This entire carriage is stuffed with gun cotton. The slightest spark will blow it up."

"Spark?"

Madame Vastra nodded at a nearby gaslight, not yet extinguished for the day. "And every horse and cart and carriage in this city is shod with iron, Mr Parker told me, both hoof and tire. That's why Corcoran flinched earlier. The horse was striking sparks when it pawed the ground."

Abernathy went pale.

"Corcoran and Keegan must have brought the guncotton up wet from Wimbledon so it stayed stable, and then spread it out and let it dried it overnight," continued Vastra. "With the recent heat they knew it would dry very quickly. In order to make it safe again, we need water to soak the cloth. Now, before some fool decides to light his pipe nearby."

They solved the problem with a bucket line. It was Abernathy's idea to use buckets; neither of them wanted to risk moving the carriage yet. He went around to the rear of the Prime Minister's residence looking for some buckets and found several constables, the men they were guarding and the servants all safely out of the house. Abernathy asked the civilians to wait while the police dealt with the carriage, but the housekeeper merely shrugged, and said "Many hands make light work," and soon two young bootblacks stood in St James Pond, scooping up buckets of water and handing them to the maids, who passed them up the line. Even Colonel Lethbridge and the Prime Minister and his guests joined in. To Vastra's amusement, with the immediate danger past, there was some jockeying amongst the older men about who would bravely stand closest to the carriage while passing along the buckets. No doubt some sort of dominance display, she guessed. Abernathy and Vastra were in the carriage itself, to Colonel Lethbridge's dismay. Abernathy was there to dump the buckets, and Vastra to stir things around with a broom handle so as not to raise a spark, and to make sure everything was thoroughly soaked.

They were almost finished when there was a loud shout of, "Abernathy what the Hell is going on!" Vastra looked up with a hiss, recognizing Inspector Peaslin's voice.

"Oh god, he's back!" muttered Abernathy.

They stepped down from the carriage. Inspector Peaslin arrived, followed by a constable who was reluctantly dragging along a workman. "I've arrested the bomber; no thanks to you!" Peaslin declared with a sneer.

Vastra looked at the prisoner, but aside from the liberal smattering of black dust on the man's clothes, she could see nothing remarkable about him. She certainly didn't recognize him. Even Corcoran, now standing again with a policeman guarding him, looked puzzled.

However, the Prime Minister glanced over, shook his head, and walked down the bucket line, returning a few seconds later with a tall, thin yet imposing older Ape.

"What do you mean you captured the bomber?" asked Colonel Lethbridge. "What makes you think this man is involved?"

"It's so very obvious! I caught him about to turn onto Downing Street with a cart. No doubt stolen as a ruse! It's the middle of summer, and yet this man claims to be delivering…"

"If I may, sir…" The tall Silverback surveyed the Peaslin with a disdainful air and then approached his captive and waved off the constable. "I apologize for the trouble, Mr Jones, but the household had a minor disturbance this morning, and is slightly out of sorts. Is your cart nearby?"

The workman nodded quickly. "Just around the corner. One of the boys is holding 'er fer me."

"Then please bring it around to the rear as soon as possible, as the coal hole here is currently unavailable. We have several large dinners coming up, and the fuel for the kitchen is running low."

"Yes, Mister Stirling. Right away."

Peaslin interrupted, "Who the devil are you? How dare you interfere with a police investigation!"

The august individual turned and eyed Peaslin again. Vastra was reminded of one of her people contemplating something to eat, who was just about to reject it as altogether unedible.

"I," said the tall thin silverback, "Am the Prime Minister's Butler. Congratulations, 'Inspector,' you captured our coalman. Who is, by the way, Welsh, not Irish."

Peaslin started to bluster, and then looked around, suddenly realizing that there were a great number of people looking at him, and a great deal of water dripping out of the nearby carriage.

"What's going on here?" he asked. "Something happened, didn't it? Dammit Abernathy, I told you not to interfere..."

"An excellent observation, Constable," said the Home Secretary in an exasperated voice. "If a trifle late."

"It's 'Inspector' actually, Sir Harcourt…" said Peaslin.

"From what Colonel Lethbridge has told us about your stonewalling this investigation, after the case is thoroughly reviewed," said the Home Secretary, "I rather doubt it will be 'Inspector' much longer."

Peaslin went pale.

"Now then," said the Prime Minister, "Inspector Abernathy, perhaps you could tell us…"

Madame Vastra murmured to Colonel Lethbridge "It's time for me to find Jenny," she said.

"And make sure the Bank of England is safe?" said the Colonel.

"That too," Vastra agreed solemnly.

"My carriage is nearby; we'll go together. The Prime Minister will want a report."

Madame Vastra and Colonel Lethbridge found the excitement winding down and the fire brigade packing up when they arrived at the bank.

Keegan was being bundled into jail cart, shouting 'God Save Ireland!' and about how the Fenians would be back. He caught sight of Madame Vastra and half-snarled, "It was a fine plan, and it would have worked too, if it hadn't been for you and your meddling maid!" Everyone was quite happy to see the cart rumble away towards Newgate Prison.

Madame Vastra took Jenny aside and told her to give a summary report. Jenny simply said, "Keegan's caught, the clock's stopped and..."

The Guard officer arrived. "The fire brigade reports that the sacks are thoroughly soaked and can be safely moved," he reported. "We'll take them back to the Tower and dispose of them there." There were murmurs of relief all around.

"... and the plot's pretty much all washed up," finished Jenny. "How about you?"

While Vastra gave Jenny a slightly longer summary of the incident at Whitehall, Private Taylor said, "Hey Lootenant, got a question for you." At the officer's nod, Taylor continued, "When you had Keegan in your sights, and the banker gent and I were out of the way… Why didn't you shoot him?" Taylor asked. "He would have happily blown all of us to Kingdom come! Why didn't you just kill him?"

The Guard Lieutenant looked appalled. "My good man, he had to be given the chance to surrender of course! Otherwise it's not just not Cricket!"

And about then, Taylor heard Jenny trying to explain to Madame Vastra why she should not have hit Corcoran while his hands were tied, despite the crude remark. Vastra and Taylor are equally befuddled by these ideas.

Taylor just shut his eyes and shook his head. "You English," he said. "You make no sense. How in blazes did you end up ruling half the world?"

The others just shook their heads at the American's inability to understand civilized behaviour.

"What's Cricket, anyway?" Taylor asked Madame Vastra.

"Hell if I know," replied Vastra.

They all met later that morning in the office of the Governor of the Bank of England. Mr Thackeray introduced Constable Palmer to the Governor and Deputy Governor of the Bank of England who thanked him for his bravery and for saving so many lives, and introduced John Taylor to Mr Dawes for saving Abernathy's life. Jenny stayed quiet while the men fussed at each other. Abernathy and Taylor had already quietly thanked Jenny for saving the bank and their own lives. She wasn't sure she wanted to be the centre of attention among all the noise.

But she wasn't entirely forgotten. Constable Palmer quietly thanked her for the sketch as he returned her notebook, and Mr Taylor thanked her for remembering his little tune. Then Mr Abernathy and Mr Parker where there chatting with her, and that was nice as well.

"From America, are you, sir?" Constable Palmer asked. He wasn't sure he'd met an American before.

Taylor nodded offhandedly, still watching Jenny, Thackeray and Parker.

Palmer frowned, looking closely at him.

"Handy you knew how to do that... sir." Americans didn't usually like the British. Everyone knew they liked the French and Germans better. And there were a lot of Irish-American troublemakers about these days. What was this fellow doing in London?

The American in question glanced up at the young constable beside him. "I have many skills," he said quietly and then Taylor suddenly grinned. "Let me know if you'd like a demonstration of other types of bomb disposal sometime, Constable. You and your police department, of course! Any friend of Jenny's is pretty much a friend of mine."

Despite himself, Palmer nodded. He wasn't sure if he could trust the American, but if the fellow knew any more about how to render these infernal devices harmless, he could certainly work with him.

At least for now.

When it was done, Dawes and Abernathy escorted Madame Vastra and Jenny back to the bank's main entrance on Threadneedle Street. There a much-chastised young cabby was waiting to drive them back to Waterloo station and then send them back to Wimbledon in a First Class railway carriage, compliments for Her Majesty's government. They still had a few more days of their holiday to enjoy (and two chests full of gold and banknotes to retrieve safely.)

Abernathy was chatting quietly with Jenny about the merits of lawn tennis versus rifle matches, while Mr Dawes and Madame Vastra compared final notes on catching the bombers.

"I do have one question," said Mr Dawes as they approached the Great Hall. "I thought you said you sent Jenny to deliver a message to the police, not to the bank?"

Vastra shook her head. "I did. It seems that when the men were 'dawdling' she decided to show initiative and find Constable Palmer herself. That, in turn, took her to the vicinity of the bank."

It had never occurred to Madame Vastra to tell Jenny to stay away from the Bank of England. To keep away from bombs or Fenians or any other form of danger that might present itself. To stay safe. It wasn't an idea that either she or Jenny would even consider.

Vastra continued, "I will, of course, speak with her about overstepping her instructions." The little monkey would even listen earnestly; Vastra had no doubt about that. And then most likely would proceed to make any independent decisions that a situation might warrant. Hopefully, none of them would get her killed.

"I see," said Mr Dawes with a wry smile. "Yes, very wise. We'll give Jenny a bit more time before sending her off to save the British Empire, shall we?"

"Agreed" replied Madame Vastra.

Neither Vastra nor Dawes realized just how soon that might well be…