Free The Diamond Thief by Sharon Gosling

coat and took aim at the policeman. In shape it vaguely resembled a pistol, but there the similarity ended. It was like no gun Thaddeus had ever seen. It was the size of a loaf of bread, and silver, with a thin central column that attached a bulbous handle to a chamber of purple liquid at one end and a small dish-like muzzle at the other. This was the end that the man was pointing at the terrified Collins.
    “Wait,” Thaddeus exclaimed as the man prepared to fire. “Wait,
don’t –”
    Behind him, the door at the other end of the corridor opened as the rest of the detective division headed for home, led by a rosy-cheeked and triumphant Chief Inspector Glove.
    “You, there!” the Chief Inspector shouted, stopping dead when he saw the scene unfolding in front of him. “What the devil are you doing?”
    The stranger fired. His peculiar pistol shot a column of compressed purple air straight at Collins’ face. The policeman’s surprised eyes clouded over immediately and he slumped against the wall before sliding to the floor in a heap. The intruder then turned the weapon on Glove, who uttered an unceremonious yell and dived for the floor, the rest of the detectives following suit.
    The stranger grabbed Thaddeus’ arm. “Come on,” he urged, pulling him towards the door.

Seven
    The Truth in the Lie
    “Get off me!” Thaddeus struggled, trying to free himself from the man’s grasp, which was surprisingly strong. “Who are you? Leave me alone!”
    The intruder ignored Thaddeus’ protests and dragged him towards the exit as Glove and his men got back to their feet. Thaddeus was propelled through the door and stumbled down the wet steps outside, faltering on the cobbles as the stranger forced him onwards.
    “Boy, if you don’t run now we’ll both be caught.”
    “Then let us be caught! You shot Collins! He was trying to help me!”
    “And so am I! It was only sleeping gas, for God’s sake! Come on, Thaddeus – run!”
    Something in the man’s voice made Thaddeus look up, meeting the stranger’s eyes. They were shaded by the night and his ridiculously bushy eyebrows, but still Rec caught a distinctive flash of blue in their depths. He started.
    “Professor?”
    “Of course it’s me. Who did you expect, the Queen of Sheba? Now run, damn you!”
    The Professor took off, out of Scotland Yard and into the flickering gaslight. Thaddeus kept close on his heels, hearing the shouts and sharp tin whistles of the police behind them. It seemed as if the whole of the Yard had joined the chase. The Professor ducked down one street that was swathed in darkness, and then turned a sharp right and ran straight down another.
    “Professor,” Thaddeus managed to say, between heaving breaths. “Professor, you’re leading us straight towards High Holborn. There will be people everywhere!”
    “Exactly,” the disguised professor called back over his shoulder, without a pause. “Safety in numbers, boy! Keep close, now!”
    The street they were on suddenly opened out into a wider thoroughfare, which even at this early hour was busy with carriages. The Professor didn’t cross the road, as Thaddeus had expected, but instead charged towards a hansom cab parked at the corner of the British Museum. He opened the door, shouting something to the driver before looking back towards Thaddeus.
    “Come on! Hurry!”
    Thaddeus vaulted up the cab’s step and into its interior, crashing against the soft seat as his friend jumped in behind him. The Professor raised his fist and hammered once against the wooden panel beside Thaddeus. The cab took off at once, sliding smoothly into the channel of anonymous horse-drawn traffic streaming down the road.
    “Ahh!” exclaimed the Professor, leaning back against the seat, out of breath. “That was a close one, eh?”
    Thaddeus shook his head, also breathing hard. “You’re mad. Completely, totally mad! And what have you done to yourself?”
    The Professor laughed, leaning forward and running