The Repentant Rake

    'Oh?'

    'My husband and I stayed with friends in Sussex.'

    'How long were you away?'

    'Several days, Mr Redmayne.'

    'And when did this visit take place?'

    'A fortnight or so ago,' she recalled. 'Are you suggesting that the letter was stolen from the house while we are away?'

    'Unless you took it with you, Lady Ulvercombe.'

    She flared up. 'You are starting to irritate me again, sir.'

    'There are only two possibilities here,' he said. 'The first is that you had it in your possession and mislaid it. That, I know,' he went on swiftly, 'is well nigh impossible as you would never be so careless.'

    'Or so foolish.'

    'Then we have to accept the second possibility. It was stolen from you.'

    'Why?'

    'In order to blackmail Henry and embarrass you.'

    'But nothing else was taken,' she argued, 'and I have a whole drawer of keepsakes. The house is well guarded while we are away. There were no reports of a burglary when we returned.'

    'Then we must look elsewhere, Lady Ulvercombe.'

    'Elsewhere?'

    'At your servants.'

    Her eyes flashed again. 'I refuse even to countenance that suggestion. Each and every one of them is above reproach, Mr Redmayne. They have been with us for years.' She remembered something. 'With one exception, that is.'

    'Who might that be?'

    'A chambermaid we took on six months ago.'

    'I see.'

    'But I would exempt her from any suspicion,' said Lady Ulvercombe. 'She came to us with the highest recommendation. The girl was formerly in the employ of one of your brother's friends, as it happens.'

    'A friend of Henry's?' said Christopher, his curiosity aroused.

    'I mentioned that my steward was looking to engage a new chambermaid.'

    'And Henry found one for you?'

    'The girl was looking for a new post.'

    'Who was this friend of his?'

    'Miss Hemmings,' she said. 'Celia Hemmings.'

    The afternoon sun beat down on Fleet Lane and made their protracted vigil even more uncomfortable. Both men were sweating profusely. Jonathan Bale was hungry, Tom Warburton was bored and the dog had grown restless. There were several hours to go before the printer's shop closed and they would have to resume their position early next morning if they were to be there when Miles Henshaw opened for business. Warburton was fractious.

    'We could be here for days, Jonathan.'

    'If that is what it takes, I do not mind waiting.'

    'You are not even sure he will come.'

    'No, Tom. I am following my instinct.'

    'I would rather follow my belly.'

    Jonathan smiled. 'So would I, but someone has to keep watch. Leave me here on my own. You and Sam have done your share. The pair of you deserve some solid food.'

    'Shall we bring something back for you?'

    'No, Tom. But you might give a message to Sarah.'

    'Her husband is starving?'

    'Just tell her that I may be late back.'

    'I will.'

    Having elected to go, Warburton nevertheless loitered for a while, torn between a sense of duty and the need to eat. Eventually, he decided to make his move. The dog jumped eagerly to his feet. Before they could leave, however, Jonathan motioned in the direction of the printer's shop. A young man was approaching on a horse. They were too far away to see his face beneath the broad- brimmed hat but they saw how gingerly he carried his right arm. Looped round his neck was the strap of a leather satchel. The man dismounted, tethered his horse, took off the satchel and went into the shop. Neither Warburton nor Sam wanted to go now. They waited as patiently as Jonathan.

    A quarter of an hour passed before the customer reappeared. Miles Henshaw came out with him, ostensibly to wave him off but really in order to give a signal to the watching constables. Jonathan anticipated it. Before Warburton could move, Jonathan came out of hiding and strode purposefully towards the shop. Henshaw saw him coming and squandered the element of surprise. When he saw the expression on the printer's face, the customer became suspicious and glanced over his shoulder to see a constable bearing down on him. Pushing the printer away, the man rushed to mount his horse, using his left hand to help himself up into the saddle.

    'This is him!' yelled Henshaw.

    'Hold there, sir!' cried Jonathan. 'I want a word with you.'

    'He brought more pages of the diary.'

    The rider kicked his horse forward but Jonathan managed to grab the reins. The animal neighed loudly as it described a rapid circle. Jonathan held on firmly. He looked up at the man and saw the ugly swelling around his nose. Identification was confirmed.

    'You are under arrest, sir,' he declared.

    'Stand off!' warned the man.

    Taking a pistol from his belt, he pointed it at Jonathan, shifting it to cover Warburton as well when the other constable lumbered towards him. Jonathan was uncertain what to do. The man could not shoot both of them. Still holding the reins, he took a step closer, but it brought him within range. The man slipped a foot from his stirrup and kicked out to send Jonathan sprawling. The bridle was now free and escape possible. Pistol in hand, the man urged his horse on with a sharp dig of his heels and it lunged forward. The ride was short-lived. Before it reached the end of the lane, the horse was confronted by a small terrier. Yapping noisily, Sam showed no fear of the flashing hooves. It was the horse that took fright. Sliding to a halt, it reared up so abruptly^ on its hind legs that its rider was thrown from the saddle, knocking his head on the ground with an audible thud. Warburton did his best to control the horse while Jonathan got up to run across to the fallen man. The rider was unconscious, blood trickling from a gash in his skull to disfigure his face even more.

    Having done his work, the dog went off to lift his leg against the wall of a house.

    'There,' said Warburton proudly. 'I thought you might need us, Jonathan.'

    Christopher Redmayne rode down Knightrider Street at a canter until he reached the house. Before he could even dismount, he was given a welcome. Flinging open the front door, Sir Julius came bursting out to him. His daughter was close behind.

    'Where have you been, Mr Redmayne?' said Sir Julius. 'Is there any news?'

    'A great deal,' replied Christopher, 'but I did not think to find you back in London, Sir Julius.'

    'Father arrived this afternoon,' explained Susan, delighted to see Christopher again and annoyed that her father was monopolising him. 'Let Mr Redmayne come in, Father. We can hardly talk out here in the street.'

    'Why not?' said Sir Julius. 'I've waited long enough. I've been watching through that window for you this past hour or so, Mr Redmayne.' He peered up at him. 'Look at those scratches. You have been in the wars, I see. Susan told us how well you fought. You merit our congratulations.'

    'It is Mr Bale who has earned the congratulations.'

    'How?'

    'The news from him is good' said Christopher, dismounting to tether his horse. 'But there is so much of it