"We could have narrowed the choice, with better parameters on the anthropometry," Tobias said. "But just take your time, sir, and look closely. If we have him, he's here."
Mallory stared at the glowering ranks of numbered scapegraces, many of them with disquietingly misshapen heads. He remembered the tout's face with great clarity. He remembered it twisted with homicidal rage, bloody spittle in the cracked teeth. The sight was etched forever in his mind's eye, as vivid as the knuckle-shapes of the beast's spine, when first he'd seen his great prize jutting from the Wyoming shale. In one long dawning moment, then. Mallory had seen through those drab stone lumps and perceived the immanent glow of his own great glory, his coming fame. In just such a manner, he had seen, in the tout's face, a lethal challenge that could transform his life.
But none of these dazed and sullen portraits matched the memory. "Is there any reason why you wouldn't have this man?"
"Perhaps your man has no criminal record," Tobias said. "We could run the card again, to check against the general population. But that would take us weeks of Engine-spinning, and require a special clearance from the people upstairs."
"Why so long, pray?"
"Dr. Mallory, we have everyone in Britain in our records. Everyone who's ever applied for work, or paid taxes, or been arrested." Tobias was apologetic, painfully eager to help. "Is he a foreigner perhaps?"
"I'm certain he was British, and a blackguard. He was armed and dangerous. But I simply don't see him here."
"Perhaps it is a bad likeness, sir. Your criminal classes, they like to puff out their cheeks for criminal photography. Wads of cotton up their noses, and suchlike tricks. I'm sure he's there, sir."
"I don't believe it. Is there another possibility?"
Tobias sat down, defeated. "That's all we have, sir. Unless you want to change your description."
"Might someone have removed his portrait?"
Tobias looked shocked. "That would be tampering with official files, sir. A felony transportation-offense. I'm sure none of the clerks would have done such a thing." There was a heavy pause.
"However?" Mallory urged.
"Well, the files are sacrosanct, sir. It is what we're all about here, as you know. But there are certain highly placed officials, from outside the Bureaumen who serve the confidential safety of the realm. If you know the gents I mean."
"I don't believe I do," Mallory said.
"A very few gentlemen, in positions of great trust and discretion," Tobias said. He glanced at the other men in the room, and lowered his voice. "Perhaps you've heard of what they call 'the Special Cabinet'? Or the Special Bureau of the Bow Street police?"
"Anyone else?" Mallory said.
"Well, the Royal Family, of course. We are servants of the Crown here, after all. If Albert himself were to command our Minister of Statistics"
"What about the Prime Minister? Lord Byron?"
Tobias made no reply. His face had soured.
"An idle question," Mallory said. "Forget I asked it. It's a scholar's habit, you seewhen a topic interests me, I explore its specifics, even to the point of pedantry. But it has no relevance here." Mallory peered at the pictures again, with a show of close attention. "No doubt it is my own faultthe light here is not all it might be."
"Let me turn up the gas," the boy said, half-rising.
"No," Mallory said. "Let me save my attention for the woman. Perhaps we'll have better luck there."
Tobias sank back in his seat. As they awaited the Engine-spin, Mallory feigned a relaxed indifference. "Slow work, eh, Mr. Tobias? A lad of your intelligence must long for a greater challenge."
"I do love Engines," Tobias said. "Not these great lummox monsters, but the cleverer, aesthetic ones. I wanted to learn clacking."
"Why aren't you in school, then?"
"Can't afford it, sir. The family doesn't approve."
"Did you try the National Merit Exams?"
"No scholarship for meI failed the calculus." Tobias looked sullen. "I'm no scientist, anyway. It's art that I live for. Kinotropy!"
"Theatre work, eh? They say it's in the blood."
"I spend every spare shilling on spinning-time," the boy said. "We have a little club of enthusiasts. The Palladium rents its kinotrope to us, during the wee hours. You see quite amazing things, sometimes, along with a deal of amateur drivel."
"Fascinating," Mallory said.
"I hear that, er" He had to struggle to recall the man's name. "I hear that John Keats is quite good."
"He's old," the boy said, with a ruthless shrug. "You should see Sandys. Or Hughes. Or Etty! And there's a clacker from Manchester whose work is quite splendidMichael Radley. I saw a show of his here in London, last winter. A lecture tour, with an American."
"Kinotrope lectures can be very improving."
"Oh, the speaker was a crooked Yankee politician. If I had my way, they'd throw the speaker out entirely, and run silent pictures."
Mallory let the conversation lapse. Tobias squirmed a bit, wanting to speak again and not quite daring to take that liberty, and then the bell rang. The boy was up like a shot, with a scratchy skid of his worthless shoes, and back with another set of fan-fold paper.