Shadow of the Hangman(43)

To someone in Nason’s position, the reward was a real temptation. It was large enough to pay off his debts and still leave him with an appreciable amount of money. He would even be able to worm his way back into his wife’s favour by buying her the new dress she sought. There was, however, an irremovable problem and a man with his legal expertise saw it at once. In causing the arrest of O’Gara and Dagg, he’d also be putting a noose around his own neck because they were sure to disclose the fact that he’d been responsible for writing their account of the massacre at Dartmoor and for advising them how best to frame their demands. His hand had held the pen that threatened the life of the Home Secretary. Though he deprecated everything the two Americans did, Nason would be seen as a conspirator.

Having momentarily considered reporting them, he now saw that it was more important to save them from the law than deliver them up to it. If they were arrested, his name was bound to be mentioned. Two minutes with the fugitives would be enough to determine that neither was able to write legibly, reason soundly or compose a well-structured narrative. During their interrogation, someone would demand to know which scrivener they’d employed. Having no loyalty towards him, they would never dream of protecting him. He recalled what his wife had said about letting such low company into their home. O’Gara and Dagg should have been sent on their way but that would have offended Dermot Fallon and he was loath to do that. Against his will, Nason had been forced to comply with their wishes.

They needed to be warned. None of the three men was likely to read any newspaper. Until Nason had pointed it out to them, O’Gara and Dagg had not heard that a joint commission had been set up to inquire into events at Dartmoor. They would be equally ignorant of the fact that a reward had now been offered for their capture. In drawing it to their attention, Nason believed that he’d earn their thanks and, possibly, payment of sorts. He hoped that he’d also persuade them to go to ground so that they’d elude the manhunt that would be set in motion. His safety depended on theirs. He needed to make urgent contact with them.

A difficulty confronted him. He had no idea where they lived.





Instead of going home to face the strictures of his wife, Chevy Ruddock elected to report first to his superiors. He therefore squelched his way to The Peacock and found Yeomans and Hale quaffing a tankard of ale apiece. If he’d hoped for even a scintilla of sympathy, he was disappointed. The two Runners took one look at him and hooted with laughter. Their amusement was tempered by anger when they learnt that Paul Skillen had been responsible for Ruddock’s dip in the River Thames.

‘Did you actually see him push you?’ asked Yeomans.

‘No,’ replied Ruddock, ‘but I certainly felt his hands.’

‘How do you know it was Skillen?’

‘Who else could it have been?’

‘That’s for you to find out, Chevy. If he was ahead of you when you reached the river, how could he possibly get behind you?’

‘I’ve been puzzling over that myself.’

‘You got what you deserved,’ said Hale, uncaringly. ‘I told you when you first joined the foot patrol that you needed eyes in the back of your head. That advice should always be borne in mind when you’re dealing with the Skillen brothers.’

‘Can we arrest him for assault?’

‘No,’ said Yeomans, ‘we have no proof that he even touched you. Were there any witnesses?’ Ruddock shook his head and sprayed both of them with the water in the folds of his hat. ‘You felt hands on your back but, in truth, you’ve no idea to whom they belonged. We can’t prosecute a phantom, Chevy.’

‘Someone should be made to pay.’

‘I’ll do that,’ volunteered Hale, opening his purse. ‘You deserve a tankard of ale for the fun you’ve given us by turning up like that.’

He walked off to the bar and left Ruddock alone with Micah Yeomans.

‘Paul Skillen tricked me,’ said the younger man, sadly.

‘You obviously gave yourself away.’

‘But I didn’t, I swear. He couldn’t possibly have seen me hiding there. How could he when he didn’t stir from the house the whole day? It was only when that little friend of his from the shooting gallery called that he ventured out.’

‘Jem Huckvale went to see him?’

‘Yes – he was in the house for less than five minutes.’

‘Then we can put a name to your attacker. It was Huckvale.’

‘But he went off in the opposite direction, Mr Yeomans.’

‘No, lad, he only appeared to do so. I daresay he agreed to a rendezvous at the river and was on hand to shove you in. Don’t worry,’ he went on, putting a consoling hand on the sodden sleeve of Ruddock’s coat, ‘far better men than you have been hoodwinked by Paul Skillen. If he didn’t see you there, Huckvale certainly did. They worked together to get rid if you, Chevy. When you’ve supped your ale, go home and put on dry clothes.’