Shadow of the Hangman(40)

‘Do you mean that I have to fear attack at the hands of three men?’

‘No, my lord – the scrivener means you no harm. He was paid to write and not to be party to any assassination.’

‘That letter makes him a party.’

‘In legal terms, I suppose that it does.’

‘He’s an accessory before the fact.’

‘That doesn’t mean he agrees with their declared intentions.’

‘Then why didn’t he have the grace to warn me?’ asked Sidmouth. ‘When he became aware of a conspiracy to kill a member of the government, any public-spirited man would raise the alarm at once. This fellow is colluding with them.’

‘I dispute that, my lord.’

‘On what grounds, pray?’

‘These are desperate men. They will have bought his silence by intimidation. If he reveals their whereabouts, his life will be forfeit. Under those circumstances, even the most public spirited of citizens would hesitate.’

Pausing to consider what he’d been told, Sidmouth crossed to the window, looked out of it for a few moments then withdrew sharply, as if suddenly aware that, in presenting himself as a target, he could be shot dead through the glass. He went back to his desk and sat behind it.

‘Forgive me if I appear unduly anxious,’ he said.

‘I sympathise with you, my lord. None of us will ever forget what happened to our last Prime Minister. His eminence was no protection against an assassin.’

‘Spencer Perceval was a man for whom I had the highest admiration. He may have been short in stature but he would have gone on to be a political giant in due course. Sadly, he was deprived of the plaudits he would surely have received for bringing the ship of state safely into harbour after the French and the American wars.’ A smile flitted across his face. ‘It’s curious, isn’t it? When I was Prime Minister, the whole of the French nation wished for my death and I had a number of political enemies on this side of the Channel who would have cheered at my funeral. Yet, oddly enough, I never felt the imminent danger that’s been prompted by a letter from two escaped prisoners.’

‘Forget about them, my lord,’ said Peter. ‘If they are still in London, my brother and I will find them. On the subject of searches,’ he added, ‘I really came here to tell you what I’ve learnt with regard to Mrs Horner.’

‘Of course, of course,’ said Sidmouth, apologetically. ‘I’ve been so concerned for my own safety that I quite forgot the poor woman. That’s unforgivable. What have you discovered?’

Peter told him about his nocturnal walk along the route home taken by Anne Horner and how he’d found someone who was nearby on the night when the necessary woman was abducted. He didn’t name or describe the prostitute who’d given him the information. Peter merely said that it came from a reliable source because Lily’s mother had been in the lane on the night in question.

‘It was very dark,’ he explained, ‘but my informant does remember seeing a woman go past her. It must have been Mrs Horner because she was the same person who went down that lane regularly. My informant had seen her many times before.’

‘What happened?’

‘Two people suddenly emerged from a gateway and overpowered Mrs Horner. Her scream for help was soon muffled. They dragged her back down the lane and went right my past my informant.’

‘Did your informant have any idea whom they were?’

‘No, my lord,’ said Peter, ‘but I learnt a significant fact. One of the people who kidnapped your cleaner was a woman.’





When she heard someone coming down the steps of the cellar, she got up from the bed and waited for the door to be unlocked. Expecting the man to bring her a meal, she was ready to plead with him once again for her release. But it was not her usual gaoler who came with a tray of food. It was the woman who’d helped to abduct her.

‘Why are you keeping me here?’ she demanded.

‘That’s our business,’ replied the woman. ‘Behave yourself and no harm will come to you. In the fullness of time, you’ll be released.’





CHAPTER ELEVEN




Paul Skillen had spotted him immediately. When he realised that he was under surveillance, he’d pretended to stay in the house all day so that Alfred Hale would be forced to stare at it in vain. In fact, Paul had slipped out by the rear entrance and made his escape through the garden gate. Hale – and the man who’d later replaced him on duty – had been standing guard fruitlessly. Paul, meanwhile, had had his usual fencing lesson with Gully Ackford and spent the whole day away from home. When he’d let himself back into the house that night, the watching Runner had been none the wiser. A new day had brought a new sentry. Micah Yeomans was clearly trying to inhibit his activities by keeping a close watch on him. It was not something Paul was prepared to tolerate.