Excerpt:
This time the bomb hadn’t killed anyone, but the damage to the building was worse. When Fox-Selwyn and Montmorency arrived, Waterloo Station was full of swirling dust. The front wall of the main ticket office had been blown out, and cardboard tickets, pages from timetables, and assorted pieces of official paper were fluttering around the concourse. The water pipe to the Gents had been severed, and a gushing torrent was pouring out onto mailbags leaning against the wall. It was late. The station had been closed at the time of the blast, which was registered by the hands of the huge shattered clock as 1:37 a.m. It seemed that the bombers had wanted to avoid hurting passengers, but to create the maximum disruption in the morning.

With hardly any staff on the premises it was a while before anyone took charge. Montmorency and Fox Selwyn, along with assorted tramps and late-night revelers, were able to wander amidst the devastation at will. It was exciting to be there, but unproductive as an exercise in detection. There was nothing to see but rubble, nothing that gave them an instant clue to the identity of the culprit. So when the police finally organized a guard on the site and started ordering all civilians to leave, Fox Selwyn put up only the minimum resistance. The two of them walked back to Convent Garden, grubby, but not much the wiser. They had noticed that there was no gassy smell. This time the authorities would have to admit it was a bomb.

Vi and Doctor Farcett were still awake, waiting up for news. Farcett had persuaded Vi to let him help her was Mrs. Evans, and she was lying tucked up in bed, snuffling and occasionally mumbling about Vi in her sleep. Farcett had promised to visit and give her a proper examination in the morning. Vi offered around a bottle of gin. There were no takers.

“I think we should go back to our plan for some sleep,” said Fox-Selwyn. “This is all very exciting, but my guess is that we’re in for a busy time. Tomorrow we can find out what the police make of it all and take it from there.”

“George, I don’t think Vi should be left on her own,” said Montmorency. “Why don’t I stay here with her? I think she deserves an explanation of what’s been going on, and why we think she might be in danger.”

“Me, in danger!” shrieked Vi. “Don’t be ridiculous, I know how to look after myself.”

Farcett sat down alongside her, and spoke calmly. He knew how Montmorency’s mind was working. “Vi, it’s possible that the bomb at Waterloo was planted by the man who came here yesterday. If it was, he might want to stop you from talking to the police.”

“But you’re not the police!” she said, looking at Montmorency with a smile that dropped into shock.

“Are you?”

“Not the police, no,” he replied.

“But on the same side,” added Fox-Selwyn. “We may be able to help the authorities piece all this together and stop the bombers. Montmorency…or should I say Scarper…will explain it all to you. I’ll come around in the morning and we’ll work out what to do next.” He looked at Montmorency like a schoolmaster challenging a naughty pupil: “Then perhaps he can fill me in on one or two things.”

Montmorency nodded. He knew that the time had come to reveal all about Scarper and the thieving that had gotten him from this seedy house to the height of London society. “Yes, I will, George. Tomorrow, I promise.”

I look forward to it,” said Fox-Selwyn, picking up his hat and brushing off the dust with the back of his hand, “at last!” He turned to the doctor: “Come on, Robert, let’s go.”

With the exception of Mrs. Evans, they all slept badly that night. Early the next morning Fox Selwyn asked Chivers to go out for a newspaper, and had the presence of mind to send him to Bargles, to get a change of clothes for Montmorency. He himself paid a private visit to the Home Secretary before breakfast. As he expected, he found a scene of despair. Early reports the bombing indicated the usual confusion and lack of leads. The Home Secretary insisted that Fox-Selwyn and Montmorency should continue investigating without reporting to the police. They should report directly to him. They could use whatever methods they pleased, so long as they didn’t look to him for support if it all went wrong. He needed to be able to wash his hands of them if necessary, but he assured Fox-Selwyn that the “very highest authorities” would be made aware of their role in any successful outcome. Yours, too, no doubt, thought Fox-Selwyn as he took his leave of the unhappy man.

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