“We suspect her, but we do not have direct evidence. Only questions.”
“I think we probably should talk to Avalon,” Harlow muttered.
“That is risking a great deal, Harlow.” Max’s tone was no longer tinged with misgivings. “I say we go to the coast with all speed, take a look around and then decide. Let us give ourselves two days to formulate a plan of action…”
“With one caveat,” Harlow interjected. “If we see anything that indicates that the two sisters could be in danger, we let their father know.”
“Agreed.”
“What news do you have of the missing boat of Revenue men?” Harlow moved to sit behind his desk and leaned forward, hands clasped.
“They found the riding officers…all six of them…dead. The boat was floating off the coast of Cornwall. A British man of war spotted it. The Home Office wants the person or persons responsible to hang for this. They need us to get this situation under control. We have been investigating it for almost a year, with only small successes. I do not feel I am ready to name the chief suspect—yet.” Max’s tone was sober. “Prinny is sending an agent, someone who has experience inside the smuggling trade, to meet with us. The only name they provided was John Cressey. We are to meet him at the Anchor’s Away Public House on Boswell Street at four of the clock. He will approach us and ask to share our table.”
“Sounds cryptic. However, the name is familiar to me.” Harlow was pouring himself another whisky when the door opened, and a footman brought in a tray full of soup and sandwiches. “This should help us think. I cannot conjecture where I have heard that name before, but I recognize it.” He motioned for the footman to put the food on the game table near the fireplace.
“Of course, my lord. Will there be anything else?” the footman inquired.
“No, thank you, Wells.” Harlow nodded appreciation.
The two men took their glasses and seated themselves at the table as the footman left the room, pulling the study’s heavy wooden door closed behind him.
“Someone has to be operating from the inside. No one could be as auspicious as they have been without help. They know when the big shipments are coming—which ships have prime cargo. Those are the ships picked off by whoever this is.” Harlow drained his glass. “Pass me that decanter, friend. I believe I need more.”
“You are besotted,” Max quietly observed. “The Harlow I know is much calmer than this. I know you for your coolness under pressure. You are like to become foxed if you keep swilling the juice in this fashion.”
“Yes. I am noted for my self-possession. I am afraid I walked into this association with my eyes wide open. It was as if I could not control myself. She draws me to her like a moth to a flame.” Harlow smiled to himself and swirled the last vestiges of his drink around in the glass before swallowing it. He glanced at the silver tray still sitting on a small stand next to the table. “Excellent! Wells brought a pot of tea. So, you see, I will not succumb to my potations.”
“Your cook is excellent,” Max said, pouring himself a cup of hot tea. “I will have tea for now.” He toasted Harlow. “I have not had turtle soup this good in many a year.”
“Would you mind if we again turn our attention to the smuggling?” Harlow put down his glass.
“Apparently, Cressey is already immersed into the smuggling trade and was key to taking down, a few months ago, that major gun and ammunitions organization which was trading to the French. He will send us a message with a meeting place. We are to meet him this afternoon before we leave for Cornwall.” Max wiped his mouth. “I notice you have not touched your soup. If you do not want it, I will eat it. I slept late this morning and am just now breaking my fast,” he offered.
“It would be unusual if either of us left a single snack.” Harlow laughed, reaching for a warm roll and smearing butter on it. “We know several of those involved in the Tintagel smuggling ring, just not the leader, and we need to determine who on the inside is providing their information. As you are aware, they only attack certain boats and seem to know exactly the ones to take. Thus, they must have an informant,” he added, shifting back to the subject at hand.
“The Prince Regent is most interested in this matter since the murder of the six tax assessors. While he has been known to enjoy smuggled French brandy, himself, one of the men was a particular friend of Prinny’s, if you get my meaning,” Max put in as he finished the soup.
“I had heard something of that. From what I understand, Cressey operated as an intelligencer, and Prinny has asked that he lend his services from within the thieves’ network.” Harlow put down his napkin. “The meeting is set for this afternoon, we need to stir ourselves.”
An hour later, they were approaching the public house where Harlow had seen the black coach when the heavy, blackened oak door opened and a tall, burly man tossed a drunkard
