Free The Diamond Thief by Sharon Gosling Page B

It was a dangerous enterprise – the boiling steam alone could kill a man – but Thaddeus couldn’t wait to try it. Imagine being able to walk in the air – to fly like a bird. Of course, the Professor hadn’t quite worked out how to steer the thing yet, but Thaddeus had faith that it was only a matter of time.
    The young detective dropped into a chair in front of the bench that seemed to hold the secrets of the Professor’s latest weapon – the gas pistol he had used so effectively back at Scotland Yard. Thaddeus had never seen it before. He set about trying to understand how it worked while he waited for his friend to return.
    “How did you know?” Thaddeus asked, once the Professor had changed out of his disguise. The transformation was remarkable – no one would have known that the man who had burst into the police station was the same man that bustled about the place now. The bald head was gone, replaced by a flash of fine white hair, and the bushy eyebrows and hooked nose had vanished, too. It was impossible to pinpoint the Professor’s age – the eyes said late thirties, but the hair suggested he was much older. Thaddeus had never had the courage to ask.
    “How did I know what?”
    “About what was happening at the station. I mean, you just turned up, out of nowhere.”
    The Professor was busy taking apart the weapon he had used on Collins, cleaning it down and refilling the chamber of purple liquid from a heated glass vial that had been steaming gently over a Bunsen burner.
    “I had been listening in, dear boy,” he said. “To begin with I thought that man – Glove – was being merely unpleasant. Then I realized he was actually a complete fool. And a dangerous one at that, I’ll warrant.”
    Thaddeus frowned. “Listening in? Whatever do you mean?”
    The Professor carefully replaced the glass vial on its stand before going to Thaddeus’ coat, which he had folded across the empty chair beside him. The Professor shook it out, his hand reaching for the bottom seam, where the lining met the outer wool. He probed about for a bit, and then took a sharp knife from the workbench and quickly slit it open.
    “Professor!” Thaddeus said in dismay, “that’s my only coat!”
    “Please don’t fuss, Rec,” said the older man. “It’s easily repaired. Have you never heard of a needle and thread? Ah-ha, there!”
    The Professor pulled a small metal object – or rather, a collection of small metal objects – from Thaddeus’ coat. Among the tangle of parts, Thaddeus could see several tiny cogs, a miniature gauge and some metal piping, as well as what looked like a small cylinder at the centre, covered in a very thin layer of foil. Attached to the gauge was a small, red jewel that looked to Thaddeus like garnet. The object was fascinating and beautiful.
    “What is it?” he asked, taking the device from the Professor’s hands and turning it over, careful not to break any of the fragile parts.
    “Well, in part it is a very small friction engine,” said the Professor. “The smallest I’ve ever built – in fact, I’ll wager it is the smallest anyone has ever built. It’s started by external movement. That’s why I put it at the bottom of your coat. When you put the garment on and begin to walk, the engine starts up.”
    “I don’t understand,” Thaddeus said. “You said you were listening? To what happened at the station?”
    “Ah, yes,” said the Professor. “Well you see, that’s the truly genius bit of this device. Once the thing’s warmed up and ticking over nicely, it can send a signal.”
    “A signal?”
    “Yes. It’s a recording, really. It works like Mr Edison’s phonograph – the one that caused all the fuss last year. But unlike him, I got it working properly. The key is the tin foil, you know! He was using wax, which was simply foolish. You see here–” he pointed to the cylinder at the centre of the device. “When the engine starts, the stylus begins to make little