The Great Train Robery by Crichton, Michael

Agar said, “I heard that Spring Heel Jack’s left Westminster.”

“I heard that,” Pierce agreed, rapping with his silverheaded cane to draw the attention of the barman. Pierce ordered two glasses of the best whiskey, which Agar took as proof that this was to be a business discussion.

“I heard,” Agar said, “that Jack was going on a south swing to dip the holiday crowd.” In those days, London pickpockets left in late spring, traveling north or south to other cities. A pickpocket’s stock in trade was anonymity, and one could not dip a particular locale for long without being spotted by the crusher on the beat.

“I didn’t hear his plans,” Pierce said.

“I also heard,” Agar continued, “that he took the train.”

“He might have done.”

“I heard,” Agar said, his eyes on Pierces face, “that on this train he was doing some crow’s peeping for a particular gent who is putting up.”

“He might have done,” Pierce said again.

“I also heard,” Agar said with a sudden grin, “that you are putting up.”

“I may,” Pierce said. He sipped his whiskey, and stared at the glass. “It used to be better here,” he said reflectively. “Neddy must be watering his stock. What have you heard I am putting up for?”

“A robbery,” Agar said. “For a ream flash pull, if truth be told.”

“If truth be told,” Pierce repeated. He seemed to find the phrase amusing. He turned away from the bar and looked at the women in the room. Several returned his glances warmly. “Everybody hears the pull bigger than life,” he said finally.

“Aye, that’s so,” Agar admitted, and sighed. (In his testimony, Agar was very clear about the histrionics involved. “Now I goes and gives a big sigh, you see; like to say my patience is wearing thin, because he’s a cautious one, Pierce is, but I want to get down to it, so I gives a big sigh.”)

There was a brief silence. Finally Agar said, “It’s two years gone since I saw you. Been busy?”

“Traveling,” Pierce said.

“The Continent?”

Pierce shrugged. He looked at the glass of whiskey in Agar’s hands, and the half-finished glass of gin and water Agar had been drinking before Pierce arrived. “How’s the touch?”

“Ever so nice,” Agar said. To demonstrate, he held out his hands, palms flat, fingers wide: there was no tremor.

“I may have one or two little things,” Pierce said.

“Spring Heel Jack held his cards close,” Agar said. “I know that for a ream fact. He was all swelled mighty and important, but he kept it to his chest.”

“Jack’s put in lavender,” Pierce said curtly.

This was, as Agar later explained it, an ambiguous phrase. It might mean that Spring Heel Jack had gone into hiding; more often it meant that he was dead; it depended. Agar didn’t inquire further. “These one or two little things, could they be crib jobs?”

“They could.”

“Dicey, are they?”

“Very dicey,” Pierce said.

“Inside or outside?”

“I don’t know. You may need a canary or two when the time comes. And you will want a tight lip. If the first lay goes right enough, there will be more.”

Agar downed the rest of his whiskey, and waited. Pierce ordered him another.

“Is it keys, then?” Agar asked.

“It is.”

“Wax, or straightaway haul?”

“Wax.”

“On the fly, or is there time?”

“On the fly.”

“Right, then,” Agar said. “I’m your man. I can do a wax on the fly faster than you can light your cigar.”

“I know that,” Pierce said, striking a match on the counter top and holding it to the tip of his cigar. Agar gave a slight shudder; he did not himself smoke— indeed, smoking had just recently returned to fashion after eighty years— and every time he smelled the phosphorous and sulfur of a match, it gave Agar a twinge, from his days in the match factory.

He watched Pierce puff on the cigar until it caught. “What’s the lay to be, then?”

Pierce looked at him coldly. “You’ll know when the time comes.”

“You’re a tight one.”

“That,” Pierce said, “is why I have never been in,” meaning that he had no prison record. At the trial, other witnesses disputed this claim, saying that Pierce had served three and a half years in Manchester for cracking, under the name of Arthur Wills.

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