‘We’ve no time to lose!’ Loque cried, sprinting for the cab outside of our Banker Street lodgings.
I’d scarcely had time to retrieve my hat before I threw myself down the stairs after him – as was always the way with Loque, I mused.
I joined him at the curb as a hansom pulled to a stop in front of him, the door flung open before the horse had truly begun to slow.
‘Would you mind telling me where, precisely, we’re headed?’ I asked my companion as the cab tore into movement again. ‘Not Canberra, I hope?’
‘Why Doctor?’ he asked with the sly grin that always emerged when he happened upon a tricky solution. ‘Are you seeing patients tomorrow?’
A pipe had appeared in his hand as if from nowhere, and I realised with a start that he was still wearing his dressing gown.
‘No, my dear Doctor,’ he continued without waiting for a response. ‘The heating repairs company near Canberra was a red herring, nothing more. An elaborate ruse, designed to boggle the mind – even a superior one, such as my own.’
‘They didn’t succeed, then?’ I asked, striking a match even as I watched him pat his pockets in search of his own matchbook. He accepted the flame gratefully, puffing his cheeks until the pipe caught.
‘It was an act of primary reasoning, my dear Radcliffe,’ he sat back against the wall of the cab. ‘One merely had to ask oneself – who would gain from my investigating somewhere that does ducted heater servicing? In Canberra, no less!’
He took a long draught of smoke, as I frowned over his question.
‘Anyone who wanted to get you away from the country?’ I guessed.
‘The tail, Radcliffe,’ he shook his head. ‘Always the tail!’
The cab jerked to a halt, and he flung open the door, dashing out into the London smog. Dutifully, I followed him, aware that he’d never answered my question as to our destination.