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Flames of Anarchy

E-BookEPUBePub WasserzeichenE-Book
Englisch
Serenerschienen am10.06.2024
After a plot to assassinate the Czar of Russia is foiled by government agents, Inspector Thomas Chard is ordered to apprehend an assassin, thought to be under the protection of a gang of anarchists somewhere in south Wales. Recently stationed back in Pontypridd, Chard's focus is on restoring his reputation after being falsely accused of murder. But events soon overtake this aim, and his efforts to find the assailant are frustrated by a series of apparently random murders. As the anarchists plot to promote unrest, the body count begins to grow. Soon a local politician is amongst the dead. Tensions rise as the radicals fight amongst themselves. Still the killer's true objective remains a mystery... one that Chard must solve, and quickly. 'Part-Ripper Street, part-Alexander Cordell... Leslie Scase fuses the smoke and sweat of the foundry with Pontypridd's shadowy, gas-lit streets.' - Liz Jones 'I think I may have a new favourite author and his name is Leslie Scase.' - Grumpy Old Books blog

Leslie Scase is the author of historical crime series The Inspector Chard Mysteries. A former Customs and Excise officer, he was born and educated in south Wales but now lives in Shropshire. He is a member of the Crime Writer's Association and of the Crime Cymru writers collective. He regularly gives talks on crime in the late Victorian period, has appeared at many literary festivals and been interviewed on BBC radio. His interests include military history, fly fishing, cooking, real ale, football and rugby.mehr
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Produkt

KlappentextAfter a plot to assassinate the Czar of Russia is foiled by government agents, Inspector Thomas Chard is ordered to apprehend an assassin, thought to be under the protection of a gang of anarchists somewhere in south Wales. Recently stationed back in Pontypridd, Chard's focus is on restoring his reputation after being falsely accused of murder. But events soon overtake this aim, and his efforts to find the assailant are frustrated by a series of apparently random murders. As the anarchists plot to promote unrest, the body count begins to grow. Soon a local politician is amongst the dead. Tensions rise as the radicals fight amongst themselves. Still the killer's true objective remains a mystery... one that Chard must solve, and quickly. 'Part-Ripper Street, part-Alexander Cordell... Leslie Scase fuses the smoke and sweat of the foundry with Pontypridd's shadowy, gas-lit streets.' - Liz Jones 'I think I may have a new favourite author and his name is Leslie Scase.' - Grumpy Old Books blog

Leslie Scase is the author of historical crime series The Inspector Chard Mysteries. A former Customs and Excise officer, he was born and educated in south Wales but now lives in Shropshire. He is a member of the Crime Writer's Association and of the Crime Cymru writers collective. He regularly gives talks on crime in the late Victorian period, has appeared at many literary festivals and been interviewed on BBC radio. His interests include military history, fly fishing, cooking, real ale, football and rugby.
Details
Weitere ISBN/GTIN9781781727638
ProduktartE-Book
EinbandartE-Book
FormatEPUB
Format HinweisePub Wasserzeichen
FormatE101
Verlag
Erscheinungsjahr2024
Erscheinungsdatum10.06.2024
ReiheInspector Chard
Reihen-Nr.4
SpracheEnglisch
Dateigrösse2774 Kbytes
Artikel-Nr.15525360
Rubriken
Genre9201

Inhalt/Kritik

Leseprobe

ONE

T hat´s our man. Bring him to me!´ The gloved hand indicated a man in his mid-thirties, with neatly-trimmed sideburns and moustache, heading towards Shrewsbury station. Slightly stocky and not markedly tall, he carried a small suitcase in one hand whilst the other held the lead of a Staffordshire bull terrier that padded obediently alongside.

Unaware he was being observed, Thomas Chard entered the station and waited on the busy platform for the train which would take him back to South Wales.

The impending journey weighed heavily on his mind. He knew that he should feel elated about returning to his recently adopted town of Pontypridd; instead he had a feeling of apprehension which he just couldn´t shift.

Caught up in a scandal eighteen months earlier, Chard had left Shrewsbury and started a new life as a police inspector in South Wales. Just a matter of weeks ago, he´d been accused of a double murder back in Shrewsbury and sent to the feared Dana prison. He had escaped from his cell, uncovered the true killer and cleared his name, but there had been casualties. Two people he cared for had come from Pontypridd to help his endeavours, and both had suffered as a result. Facing them would be difficult but necessary.

I don´t suppose you´re in the least concerned about going to your new home, are you boy?´ Chard asked of his recently acquired dog.

In response, it just lay down on the platform, totally ignoring its master.

Mr Thomas Chard?´

Yes?´ responded the inspector, turning to face a tall, stern-faced man.

Come with me please, Mr Chard. I´m afraid you´ll have to miss your train.´ The man spoke quietly, so as not to be overheard by other travellers.

I beg your pardon?´

This is a matter of the utmost importance. My instructions are to take you to my superior. He´s waiting outside the station.´

Then he can bloody well wait a long time. And it´s Inspector Chard by the way.´

We know exactly who you are. My instructions are to bring you willingly, if possible.´

Is that some kind of threat?´ demanded Chard, feeling his temper rise.

Just lower your voice and do as I ask please, sir.´ The stranger discreetly opened his coat to reveal a pistol holster strapped to his belt. This is a matter of national importance and I´m sure Superintendent Jones would rather have his inspector oblige us.´

Chard was taken off guard. Whoever seemed to be intent on meeting him clearly knew he was an inspector and the name of his senior officer. After a moment´s hesitation he nodded an assent.

You can oblige me by carrying my case. I´ll keep the dog.´

The stranger´s face remained expressionless as he picked up the case and indicated with a nod of his head that Chard should head for the exit. Their departure was accompanied by a loud rumble as the train for South Wales came into the station.

You´ll be on the next one, don´t fret yourself, sir,´ said the stranger as Chard gave the train a wistful look over his shoulder.

Outside, they headed towards a two-horse carriage and as they approached, the door was opened and a black leather-gloved hand beckoned Chard inside. The inspector handed the dog lead over to the man carrying his case, warning him as he did so, Be careful what you say in front of the dog. If you accidentally say the attack command, Barney will rip your foot off.´ A glance at the man´s discomfited face looking at the dog´s powerful jaws made it necessary for Chard to suppress a smile. The docile animal gave a yawn and sat on the stranger´s foot.

Welcome, Inspector Chard. Take a seat, please,´ said the person inside the carriage.

I hope you´ve got a damn good explanation for this,´ said Chard, taking in the man´s appearance. He was craggy-faced and bore the same stern expression as his subordinate. The most striking thing about his appearance, though, was his dress. He was attired completely in black, even his shirt. Chard didn´t know it was possible to get starched black shirt collars, but evidently this man had his especially made.

Indeed I do, Inspector. Though I have probably spent too much time on your involvement than is really justified. It may turn out to be unnecessary, but there is too much at risk not to cover all eventualities. Hopefully, this will be the only time we shall meet. I have more pressing business elsewhere.´

Perhaps we can begin by you telling me who you are?´ suggested Chard.

My name is Farrington. Here is my card, and this document will verify my authority.´

Chard took the card, which had the man´s name on it, a London address and a telephone number. The document held more interest, and the inspector raised an eyebrow when he saw the signature.

Sir Matthew White Ridley, the Home Secretary,´ Chard read aloud.

Farrington took the document back, but indicated that Chard should keep the card. I´ll get right to the point, Inspector. I am aware you have been somewhat preoccupied recently. However, I must ask if you have read anything about the arrest of Patrick Tynan?´

The papers have been full of the attempts to get him extradited, but I´m afraid my understanding of the whole business is rather cloudy,´ admitted Chard, curious as to why the affair had anything to do with him.

I´ll be as brief as possible. Our contacts in the American police uncovered a devilish plot involving Tynan. He was already wanted by us as the sole survivor of the so called Irish Invincibles´, who planned and executed the murder of Lord Cavendish in Dublin some years ago. However, that deed would have paled into insignificance in comparison with their new plan, if they had managed to carry it out. It involved an unholy alliance with Russian nihilists, facilitated by Belgian anarchists; the target being the Czar and Czarina of Russia.´

Good Lord!´ exclaimed Chard.

The intention had been to blow up the Czar on his way back from Balmoral after his meeting with the Queen. There were four Irishmen involved. Two of them went to Antwerp to liaise with the bomb makers. Another went to Scotland to make preparations, whilst Tynan travelled to the continent to oversee arrangements and meet with the Russian malcontents. Having caught wind of the plan reasonably early, we worked with our overseas counterparts and tracked their operation through America, Italy, Belgium and France. The intention was to catch everyone involved.´

I understand you were successful,´ ventured Chard, noticing that Farrington had an expression of discontent. Apart from Tynan, that is.´

Farrington shrugged. Forget him. He´s out of the picture. The French won´t give him to us so he´ll return to America as a hero to his Fenian friends. The fact that he failed won´t matter. He´ll write a book no doubt, and live on the fame for the rest of his life. However, he may yet have something additional to crow about, and that´s the problem.´

May I stop you there?´ interrupted Chard. There´s something I don´t understand. Why on earth should those Irishmen want to kill the Czar of Russia? What´s in it for them?´

Farrington gave a sardonic laugh. You are indeed an intelligent fellow, aren´t you? That is exactly the point. When we searched the bomb factory in Antwerp, we found a number of papers, and they gave us most of the answer. It was a case of quid pro quo. Killing the Czar requires more than one assassin, since he´s so careful with his security. The Russian secret police know everyone back in their own country and he cannot be targeted. The nihilists realised he would be an easier target on his visit to Queen Victoria, but a group of Russian peasants suddenly appearing in Scotland would be extremely noticeable. As I said, one man wouldn´t be enough.´

Hence the reason why they enlisted the Irish. Because they could move around England and Scotland with relative ease,´ said Chard They are also experienced in the use of explosives, and it would take a bomb to guarantee a kill. But where is the quid pro quo?´

We´re not entirely sure,´ sighed Farrington. We found a certain name which is very unsettling. Someone who at some time was called Lucheni, but that doesn´t get us very far, other than we know he´s an assassin and he has killed at least half a dozen people. On this occasion he´s been hired by the nihilists to pay their debt to the Irish. We were able to ascertain from the papers found that he´s been settled over here for up to a year, planning his kill.´

Who is his intended target?´ asked Chard.

I regret to say we don´t know Lucheni´s current name, his nationality, where he is, or his intended target. The only clues we have are a charred piece of paper with the name Lucheni, a missing burnt section, then a name Edward. We also have a list of anarchist sympathisers and locations which we presume is where we might find our man.´

Could the target be the Prince of Wales? His middle name being...
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