With a sharp tug, he pulled me to my feet, and for a moment we stood very, very close to one another. I was standing again. And yet he didn’t let go of my hand, and I didn’t let go of his.
Then I heard a triumphant cry from outside.
‘Oh my God! Simmons!’ Roughly, I pushed Mr Ambrose out of the way and sprang to the window. From behind me, I heard a hollow thud and an 'ouch', but I didn’t care. ‘He’s getting away!’
Now let me tell you, a hoop skirt is not the right kind of attire for climbing through open windows. But I was about to try anyway when a hand closed around my arm. A hard, familiar hand.
‘Don’t,’ Mr Ambrose commanded. I looked back at him, confusion written all over my face.
‘What do you mean, don't? He’s getting away!’
‘Yes, he is.’
‘We have to catch him!’
‘I appreciate your concern for the pursuit of justice, Mr Linton,’ he said, as cool as a cucumber. ‘Even though you did not really have to be so keen on that pursuit as to push me on my backside. However, we don't want to go after Simmons just yet.’
‘But…’
‘We,’ continued Mr Ambrose unperturbed, taking his old but very efficient-looking pocket watch out of his waistcoat pocket, ‘have to go after him in exactly one minute and twenty-seven seconds.’
‘Huh?’
I stared at him, flabbergasted. He, for his part, completely ignored me. His eyes focused on the watch, he simply stood there, waiting. I got edgier and edgier with every passing second. What the heck was going on?
‘Mr Ambrose… shouldn’t we go?’
‘No.’
‘But… ‘
‘No. Be quiet!’
‘Blast it, I won’t be quiet!’ I balled my hands into fists. This was insane. ‘I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to find this thief, Sir! And now we’re just standing around here while he makes good his escape, and we are waiting for your one minute and twenty-seven seconds to pass!’
‘Actually,’ he said with another look at his watch, ‘it’s one minute and three seconds now.’
‘What the hell do I care? It makes no sense for us to just be standing around here!’
‘On the contrary, Mr Linton. It makes a great deal of sense. Now be quiet and wait.’
I was fuming. But what could I do? He was my master, not the other way around. I had to do what he said. That’s what I got paid for, even if it didn’t make any sense.
With a snap Mr Ambrose shut his watch - and for the first time, I clearly saw the design on the lid. The sight struck me light a thunderbolt: it was a family crest. The same family crest I had seen on the pink letters from the mysterious lady.
‘All right. It’s time.’
Gripping the windowsill, he vaulted out of the open window. In quick succession, Warren and the others followed him. I just stood there, trying to shake off my shock.
What did this mean? Was Mr Ambrose really a nobleman? But why wouldn’t he use his… I shook my head. No. Not now. I didn’t have time for this now.
Unfreezing, I started to follow the others through the window. It took me two or three attempts, and I probably broke half of the crinoline beneath my dress into pieces, but finally I managed to squeeze myself through the opening. With a crash of breaking hoops I landed on the neighbouring building.
‘Very graceful,’ Mr Ambrose commented from beside me. ‘Now hurry up. We have a thief to catch.’
By the time I had managed to get to my feet, he was already striding along the roof towards the distant figure of Simmons. Striding, not running.
Simmons, however, was running. Oh boy, how he was running. He already was off the flat roof of this building and onto the next, built right beside it. What was Mr Ambrose thinking? He still hadn’t sped up, and he would never catch up with the thief at this pace!
But Mr Ambrose didn’t seem to mind. He strode along the roof, his cane in his hand, his six men flanking him, as though nothing in the world could escape him. Getting to my feet, I hurried after them as quickly as I could.
But it would be no use. They weren’t going to hurry up, I could see that now, and I wasn’t in the best condition for a chase, wearing a broken hoop skirt and bruises in various places.
With a cry of triumph, Simmons jumped onto the next building. There was some sort of structure on top - the entrance to a staircase that led down onto the street! He would do it! He would get away!
Then the men appeared.
They appeared as sudden as could be: from behind chimneys, gables and bay windows. They stood between Simmons and his escape. As soon as he saw them, he froze.
I didn’t understand until I saw the giant turban-wearing figure right in the middle of the men, opposite Simmons. Karim. The pack of wolves had cornered their prey.
Catching up to Mr Ambrose, I hissed in his ear: ‘You were planning this the whole time, weren’t you? You sent Karim up on the roof before we went in!’
‘Yes.’
‘So why did you leave me stewing like this? Why didn’t you tell me?’
His face remained completely expressionless. ‘Hmm… I really can’t think why I did that. I mean, you have always been so open and honest with me.’
‘Oh ha, ha, ha.’
He threw a sideways glance at me and my hoop skirt, which now would have to be more appropriately described as a hexagonal skirt with severe sartorial malformation. ‘By the way, Mr Linton, I like your new look. The dress looks exquisite on you. Those tears down the side and the broken whalebones - quite haute couture[26], I must say.’
‘Thank you, Sir,’ I hissed. If looks could only kill, he would be already decapitated right now.
Up ahead, Simmons had turned around and was chasing back over the roofs. Apparently he had thrown a look back earlier and seen nobody following and now expected the way to be clear. When he caught sight of the eight of us approaching, he stopped dead.
Mr Ambrose nodded to his six men. They stopped walking, just standing still and watching. He himself took a few more steps forward until only a few yards separated him from his prey.
‘Simmons,’ he said in a level tone. That was all. Just the name.
The thief looked around him with wild eyes, searching for a way to escape. But there was none. Then he looked down into the street. The few people who were walking down there in the fog had not looked up and noticed anything yet. They were totally oblivious to the goings-on far above their heads.