had been thickened by repeated punishment.
'Did you see the fight at Twyford?' asked Millgate.
'No – worse luck! I'd have given a week's wages to be there.'
'The Bargeman was robbed and so were we.'
'That's what I was told,' said Leeming, nodding seriously. 'They reckon that Mad Isaac fought dirty.'
'That lousy Jew was full of tricks,' said Millgate, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. 'So were his friends. I was there and saw it with my own eyes. When the Bargemen staggered back against the ropes, one of Mad Isaac's men punched him in the kidneys. Another time, he was hit with a cudgel. And, three times in a row, that sneaky Jew kicked him when he was on the ground.'
'He should have been disqualified.'
'The referee and the umpires had been bribed.'
'They must've been,' agreed Leeming. 'Rotten, I call it. I had money on the Bargeman to win. He's a true champion.'
'And fought like one as well. Gave no quarter.'
'So I gather. My friend was there to support him. More or less worships the Bargeman. In fact, it was Jake who told me about your beer. Comes in here a lot to watch the young boxers learning their craft.'
'Jake, you say?'
'Jake Bransby.'
'Oh, yes,' said Millgate, cheerily, 'I know him.' 'He's a bit on the quiet side.'
'That's him, sir, and no question. A shy fellow but he understands milling. He comes in regular, does Jake. Friend of yours, is he?'
'A good friend.'
'When I drew up a list to see how many of us would be going to the fight, Jake was one of the first to call out his name.'
'You went there as a group?'
'The Seven Stars sent over a hundred people to Twyford,' bragged Millgate. 'Well, you'd expect it. The Bargeman trains here.'
'How is he now, Ben? He must've taken a real beating.'
'Took one and gave one to Mad Isaac. But he's as strong as an ox. Back on his feet within a day or two. As a matter of fact,' he went on, head turning towards the back room as more applause rang out, 'he's watching the novices showing off what they've learnt.'
'Then I'll take the opportunity to shake his hand,' said Leeming with genuine interest. 'I've followed his career from the start. I knew he had the makings of a champion when I saw him fight Amos Greer in a field near Newport Pagnell.'
'I was there as well. The Bargeman fair killed him.'
'He did at that. Greer was out cold.' He glanced around the bar. 'So all your regular customers went on that excursion train, did they?'
'Every last one of them.'
'What about newcomers?'
'Newcomers?'
'Strangers. People who drifted in for the first time.'
'We don't get many of those at the Seven Stars.'
'In that case, they would have stuck out.'
Millgate smirked. 'Like a pig in a pair of silk drawers.'
'Can you recall anyone who popped in here recently?' asked Leeming, pretending only casual interest. 'When you were drawing up that list for the excursion train, I mean?'
Ben Millgate's face went blank and he scratched the scars on the top of his head. A memory eventually seemed to come to the surface.
'Now that you mention it, sir,' he said, 'there was someone and he was certainly no Bethnal Green man. I could tell that just to look at the bugger. Odd thing is, he was asking about your friend, Jake Bransby.'
'Really? Could you describe this man?'
'Annie was the one who spoke to him, sir – she's my wife. You'd best ask her about it. Annie'll be in the back room with the others,' said Millgate, moving away. 'I'll take you through so that you can meet her. Bring your drink and you'll see the Bargeman in there as well.'
'Wonderful!' said Leeming.
Millgate lifted a hinged flap in the counter and opened the little door to step through into the bar. He led the visitor to the room at the rear then stepped back so that Leeming could enter it first. His arrival coincided with the loudest cheers yet as one of the young boxers knocked his opponent to the floor with a well-timed uppercut. The Sergeant was instantly enthralled.Crowded around the ring were dozens of people, veteran fighters, local men who followed the sport, eager youths hoping to take it up and a few women in gaudy dresses. Leeming also noticed a couple of well-dressed gentlemen, standing near the edge of the ring, members of the Fancy in search of new talent to sponsor, potential champions on whom they could wager extravagant amounts.
The fallen boxer got to his feet and was quickly revived by his bottleman. Scolded, advised and ordered to fight harder, he came out for the next round with greater determination. Both men pounded away at each other. Ordinarily, Leeming would have watched with fascination had his attention not been diverted to the far corner where a legendary prizefighter was standing. It was the first time he had seen his hero so close and he marvelled at the size and bearing of the man. In the course of their fight, Isaac Rosen had left his signature all over Bill Hignett's face. One eye was still closed, both cheeks were badly puffed and there were ugly gashes above his eyebrows. The Bargeman's hands were heavily bandaged and some more bandaging could be seen under the brim of his hat but the various wounds only increased the man's stature in Leeming's eyes. He felt an almost childlike thrill.
Millgate, meanwhile, had been talking to his wife and to a couple of men standing beside her. They looked across at Leeming. Annie Millgate, a stringy woman with a vivacity that took years off her, tripped over to the visitor and took him companionably by the arm.
'I can tell you about that man, sir,' she said, pulling him away, 'but not in here. It's like Bedlam when a fight starts. Come into the yard where we can talk proper.'
'Thank you.'
'My husband says that you know Jake Bransby.'
'Very well,' replied Leeming, still admiring the Bargeman. 'He's told me about the Seven Stars so many times.'
'This way, sir.'
Annie Millgate opened a door and ushered him through it. Leeming found himself in a yard that was filled with empty crates and barrels. A mangy dog yelped. The detective turned to smile at the landlord's wife.
'You must be Annie,' he said.
But there was no time for proper introductions. Before he knew what was happening, Leeming was grabbed from behind by strong hands and spun round. Held by one man in a grip of iron, he was hit hard by someone who had been taught how and where to punch. The tankard fell from Leeming's fingers, hitting the ground and spilling its contents over his boots. His nose was soon gushing with blood and his body felt as if it were being trampled by a herd of stampeding horses. A fearsome blow to the chin sent him to the ground where he was kicked hard. The mangy dog sniffed him then licked his face.
Ben Millgate came out to get in a gratuitous kick of his own.
'Jake Bransby?' he said with a sneer. 'Think we can't read, do you? It was in all the newspapers. That two- faced bastard was a public hangman and he got what he deserved on that train.'
'What shall we do with him, Ben?' asked his wife.
'Like us to finish 'im off?' volunteered one of the men.
'We'd enjoy that,' said the other, baring his jagged teeth.
'No,' decreed Millgate, spitting on the ground. 'Annie will search him for money first then you can toss this nosey devil into a cesspit so that he'll stink of Bethnal Green for weeks to come. That'll teach him to come lying to me about Jake Bransby!'
