The Brothers of Baker Street by Michael Robertson

of the corridor now, and an usher opened the door at the side exit of the courthouse. Reggie stepped out first, into a heavy rain, and he took a quick look about.
    At least two news vans from the BBC, along with perhaps a dozen reporters and photographers from the paper media, were assembled at the far end of the street, waiting at the main exit on Holborn.
    At the near end of the street were five parked Black Cabs—oddly parked, facing the wrong way. But in any case, all of them had their out-of-service lights on. That was not good.
    Reggie opened an umbrella, attempting to shield Darla and Walters from both the rain and the news hounds on Holborn, and hoping to find an active cab and be gone before anyone knew. But the media were vigilant—a scout at the intersection was watching, saw the side door open, and shouted out. Cameras and reporters began to hurry toward them, in a flock of black umbrellas; the news vans began to turn around. It was not looking good.
    But now the five out-of-service Black Cabs—all purely black, with no adverts to distinguish any of them—started their engines and turned on their lights. Then each pulled into the narrow street.
    One cab stopped in the middle of the street, blocking a news van approaching from Holborn.
    The other four cabs all pulled up curbside in front of Reggie, Walters, and Darla.
    “I’ll take this one,” said Walters, jumping into one. “He’s a mate. You take another, and we’ll lose them.”
    Passenger doors opened in all four cabs. Reggie began to hustle Darla into one, just as the reporter in the lead position of the running flock—a young woman, with short blond hair and fresher legs than all of the other reporters apparently, and flashing a Daily Sun badge—shouted out to Reggie, loud enough for all on the street and the BBC cameras to hear, “What technicality did you use to get your client out, Mr. Heath?”
    She was accompanied by a photographer, close on her heels. She had not identified herself, but Reggie had an idea who she was. And although he knew better than to respond, he could not resist. He paused just for a moment before following Darla into the cab. “The technicality that he was twelve miles away when the crime was committed,” he shouted back. Then, with cameras flashing, Reggie jumped into the cab, and shut the door.
    All five cabs now took off down Ellis Street. The running reporters—even the young blonde woman—gave up the chase, and now there were only two BBC news vans to deal with.
    At the intersection, the lead cab stopped and remained in place, and the other four split off in pairs in opposite directions. At the next intersection, the pair split off as well.
    Reggie looked through the back window of the cab and saw that they had shaken their pursuit.
    “Nice trick,” said Reggie to Darla. “How did you arrange it?”
    “I had no idea of it,” she said. “I only called for the one cab.”
    “Nicely done,” said Reggie to the driver now. “But they all know where Walters lives. They’ll just go directly there.”
    “I’m sure they will,” said the driver. “And they’ll have a nice long wait for him, too. We’ll just drive him about for a time, have a pint and a chat, and bring him back when all the news mongers are too tired and hungry to care anymore.”
    There was silence for a moment, as their cab mingled anonymously now among the traffic on the Embankment.
    And then the driver said, as if they were just any fares that had gotten into his cab, “So where to, then?”
    “We can drop you first, if you like,” said Reggie to Darla, “And then I’ll go back to chambers for my car. Where is your office?”
    “Why on earth should I want to go back to my office? You can drop me at home, or we can go to the Seven Stars to celebrate. Those are the options.”
    “How far is home?”
    “Not far, if it’s one way.”
    Reggie looked at her and pondered her expression for a moment, but he wasn’t quite certain she