Sawney pivoted slowly. His look was murderous.
“He was
“That’s what I was coming to tell you,” Sal said quickly. She turned to the verger. “What was his name?”
“I can’t … no, wait, it was Hawkwood, Officer Hawkwood.”
“
Sal bit her lip. “He told me his name was Matthews. Said he was a pal of Doyle’s and he was looking for him ’cos there was chance of work for the two of them.” Sal paused. “Didn’t look like a bloody constable. Bastard!”
“He still here?” Sawney asked.
Sal shrugged. “Don’t know. I left him to come to you.”
“What do we do?” Maggett asked. There was a fresh light in the big man’s eyes, promoting him instantly from low-witted bruiser to competent lieutenant awaiting orders.
“If he’s still here, I want a look at him,” Sawney said. He put down his mug and moved to the wall. Maggett and Sal followed. Symes brought up the rear.
There were several candle brackets set in the walls, all at eye level. Sawney moved to the middle one. Reaching up, he extinguished the candle flame with his finger and thumb, then tilted the bracket to one side. He stepped back, allowing access to the small two-inch aperture left in the plaster, and nodded at the verger. “Take a look. If he’s there, you point the bugger out. You got that?”
Symes stepped up and placed his eye to the hole.
“Well?” Sawney pressed.
Symes couldn’t see a thing at first. So poorly was the taproom lit that it took several seconds for his eye to focus and his brain to register what he was seeing. He was aware that the room was still crowded but in the gloomy interior, with tobacco smoke hanging over the counter like a bank of sea fog, it was hard to make out faces. Gradually, however, his eye grew accustomed to the light and individual features began to take shape.
“Chris’sakes!” Sawney breathed. “How long’s it bleedin’ take?”
The verger bit his tongue and continued to search the room.
Suddenly he stiffened. He backed away from the wall. “He’s in the corner booth, to the right: the tall one, with the coat and the long hair. He’s wearing military breeches, a yellow stripe down the seam.”
Beside him, Sawney heard Sal draw in her breath.
“You’re sure it’s him?” Sawney said.
Symes nodded. “He’s dressed rough, but yes, it’s the same man. I’m certain of it.”
Sawney pushed the verger aside and took a look for himself. When he stood back, his mouth was set in a grim line.
“What?” Maggett said.
“Sal was right. He don’t look like a constable. My guess is it’s because he ain’t. Verger said he called himself Officer Hawkwood. I’m bettin’ he’s a bleedin’ Runner.”
“Bloody hell!” Maggett said, alarm in his voice. “What’s he doin’?”
“He ain’t doing anything. Just sittin’ there, nursin’ a wet.” Sawney stepped away from the wall, his face thoughtful.
“Let me see.” The girl moved to the wall. She had to stand on tiptoe to reach the eye-hole. There was a pause and then she said, “Yeah, that’s him. A few of the girls asked him if he wanted some company before me, but he turned us all down. He’s not bad lookin’ – for a Runner.”
She stepped away and found Sawney giving her a hard stare. His eyes narrowed. “Don’t you even think about it. You do, I’ll slit your gizzard.”
Seeing the look on Sawney’s face, the girl’s expression faltered. “I was only jokin’, Rufus.”
“I wasn’t,” Sawney said softly. “What did you tell him?”
“Nothing. Said I’d never heard of Doyle. I told him he’d probably got the wrong pub. He should try the Dog and Dray.”
Symes had registered the flash of fear in the girl’s eyes. A chill moved through him. There was an awkward silence. “What should we do?” he asked.
Sawney’s gaze moved from the girl to the verger.
“Rufus?” Maggett said. He was over by the wall, taking a look at the individual who was causing all the fuss.
“Hold on,” Sawney said, “I’m thinkin’.” He took a drink, swilled the grog around his tongue and swallowed. He poured out a fresh mug, then looked at the verger. “You’re positive he didn’t see you?”
The verger shook his head firmly, more confident now. “I’m sure.”
Sawney mulled over the verger’s reply. After a few seconds he nodded. “Then I don’t reckon we’ve got anything to worry about. There’s no one here’s going to talk. They know what’s good for them. The bastard’ll be old news in a week. I’d say we’re in the clear.”
Sawney straightened. “Right, worth a drink, I reckon.” He looked at Symes. “How about it, Verger? Not much point us fallin’ out, not when we’ve more work lined up. What’s done is done. Tell you what, we’ll get some more booze in. Good stuff, not this rotgut. Come on, Maggsie, let’s see if we can’t find ourselves a couple of those bottles Hanratty keeps under the counter for the special customers.”
Maggett frowned. He was wondering what bottles. He was also wondering which special customers Sawney was talking about.
Sawney rolled his eyes at his lieutenant’s expression then turned to Symes. “Be best if you hung around, anyway, Verger, at least until that bastard Runner has slung ’is hook. Go on, have a seat, take the weight off. Sal here’ll look after you. How’d that be? Sal, entertain the man. That’s an order.” Sawney winked. “We’ll be back in ten minutes. Give you two a bit of privacy. Come on, Maggsie.” Sawney ushered the still-frowning Maggett towards the door. He turned. “An’ you be gentle with him, Sal, y’hear?”
Sal grinned and poked her tongue out. “Don’t you worry. I’m always gentle with Lucius.” She turned to the verger and chuckled. “Ain’t that right, sweet’eart? Go on, sit yourself down.” She nodded towards the chair. “Make yourself comfortable.”
Sawney and Maggett left the room. Symes watched them, a worried expression on his face.
“Don’t worry about them,” Sal whispered, as the footsteps retreated. “It’s just you and me. We’ve got the place to ourselves.”
The verger hesitated. Sal tugged gently on his sleeve. “You know you want to.” She dropped her gaze. “I can tell.”
The verger coloured, but he did not resist when she led him to the wing-backed chair and pressed him down into the seat. She leaned over him, placed both hands on the arms of the chair, and gazed at him from beneath her dark lashes. “Will it be the usual, then, sir?” she asked teasingly.
Symes closed his eyes, cursing himself for his weakness. He kept them shut as Sal knelt down and began to undo his breeches. When she had done so, she reached for him. Symes caught his breath as he felt the touch of her palm.
Sal grinned as she took hold. “Toot-toot,” she said softly, as she lowered her head.
The verger’s eyes were still clamped shut when Sawney re-entered the room. Symes was breathing heavily. His left hand was on the arm of the chair. His right hand was resting on Sal’s shoulder. Sal’s head was bobbing up and down in his lap. Neither of them seemed aware that Sawney had returned. A yellow-toothed grin creased Sawney’s face as he studied the verger’s rapt expression. Sal increased her rhythm. The verger’s breathing grew ragged. Without altering her position, Sal looked up, caught Sawney’s eye, and winked. Sawney felt himself stiffen. He reached down and adjusted himself through his breeches.
The verger was close to the point of no return. He emitted a low moan as Sal increased the pressure of her lips. She was still looking at Sawney and continued to gaze up at him as he leaned over the back of the chair. Suddenly the verger grunted. At the moment of release Sawney, with exquisite timing, looped the cord round the verger’s throat and pulled tight. Caught in that moment of confusion between pleasure and pain, the verger shuddered. As the realization of what was happening struck him, his eyes shot open and he clawed at the cord encircling his throat. Legs kicking, he flailed from side to side in a vain attempt to free himself. Scrambling away
