The Great Train Robery by Crichton, Michael

“It’s no slang cover,” the girl said. “I know the screwsman did the pull, and I can put you to him swift enough.”

“Aye, aye, aye,” Dalby said.

“I swear,” the girl protested, looking ever more desperate. “I swear.”

“Who’s the bloke, then?”

“I’ll not say.”

“Aye, but I suppose,” Dalby said, “that you’ll find this gent for us if only we set you free for a bit of hunting him down, isn’t that right?” Dalby shook his head and looked at the girl to see her expression of astonishment. They were always astonished, these low types, to hear a crusher fill in the details of their tale. Why did they always take a man of the force for a total flat and dumb fool?

But it was Dalby who was surprised, for the girl very calmly said, “No.”

“No?” Dalby said.

“No,” the girl replied. “I know exact where he’s to be found.”

“But you must lead us to him?” Dalby said.

“No,” the girl said.

“No?” Dalby hesitated. “Well, then, where’s he to be found?”

“Newgate Prison,” the girl said.

Several moments passed before Dalby fully appreciated her words. “Newgate Prison?” he said.

The girl nodded.

“What’s his name, then?”

The girl grinned.

Soon after, Dalby called for a runner to go to the Yard and notify Mr. Harranby’s office directly,

for here was a story so strange it very likely had some truth to it.

__________

By dawn, the basic situation was clear to the authorities. The woman, Alice Nelson, was the mistress of one Robert Agar, recently arrested on a charge of forging five-pound notes. Agar had protested his innocence; he was now in Newgate Prison awaiting his trial in court.

The woman, deprived of Agar’s income, had turned to various crimes to support herself, and was nabbed in the act of picking a bug. According to a later official report, she showed “a most overpowering apprehension of confinement,” which probably meant she was claustrophobic. In any case, she turned nose on her lover, an o all that she knew, which was little enough— but enough for Mr. Harranby to send for Agar.

Chapter 48

Kangaroo-Hunting

“A thorough comprehension of the devious criminal mind,” wrote Edward Harranby in his memoirs, “is vital to police interrogation.” Harranby certainly had that comprehension, but he had to admit that the man seated before him, coughing and hacking, presented a particularly difficult case. They were in their second hour of questioning, but Robert Agar stuck to his story.

In interrogations, Harranby favored the introduction of abrupt new lines of inquiry to keep the villains off balance. But Agar seemed to handle the technique easily.

“Mr. Agar,” Harranby said. “Who is John Simms?

“Never heard of ‘im.”

“Who is Edward Pierce?”

“Never heard of ‘im. I told you that.” He coughed into a handkerchief offered him by Harranby’s assistant, Sharp.

“Isn’t this man Pierce a famous cracksman?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“You wouldn’t know.” Harranby sighed. He was certain Agar was lying. His posture, his flicking downcast eyes, his hand gestures— everything suggested deceit. “Well, now, Mr. Agar. How long have you been forging?”

“I didn’t do no soft,” Agar said. “I swear it wasn’t me. I was in the pub downstairs, having a daffy or two is all. I swear.”

“You are innocent?”

“Aye, I am.”

Harranby paused. “You’re lying,” he said.

“It’s God’s truth,” Agar said.

“We’ll see you in the stir for many years. Make no mistake about it.”

“There’s no blame upon me,” Agar said, getting excited.

“Lies, all lies. You’re a counterfeiter, pure and simple.”

“I swear,” Agar said. “I’d not do any soft. There’s no sense to it—” Abruptly, he broke off.

There was a brief silence in the room, punctuated only by the ticking of a clock on the wall. Harranby had purchased the clock especially for its tick, which was steady, loud, and irritating to prisoners.

“Why is there no sense to it?” he asked softly.

“I’m honest is why,” Agar said, staring at the floor.

“What honest work do you do?”

“Local work. Here and there.”

That was a nonspecific excuse, but possible enough. In London at that time, there were nearly half a million unskilled laborers who worked at various odd jobs whenever the jobs were available.