Shadow of the Hangman(58)

‘No, no,’ insisted the Runner, adjusting his features into an expression of deep solemnity. ‘Your safety is of paramount concern to me and my men.’

‘Peter and Paul Skillen subscribe to that feeling as well.’

‘We felt that they needed some help, my lord.’

‘Did they ask for it?’

‘No, but we have provided it gratis.’

‘That’s very kind of you, Mr Yeomans,’ said Grocott with light sarcasm. ‘It’s a pity that you didn’t offer the same assistance to them when they arrested Ned Greet. You’d been after the rogue for several months. He’d never have been caught, if the Skillen brothers had not stepped in.’

Yeomans was needled. ‘That’s a matter of opinion, Mr Grocott.’

‘I’ve just given you mine.’

‘It accords with my own view,’ added Sidmouth, ‘but we digress. At the risk of seeming to jog your elbow, I must ask why exactly you are here.’

‘We’ve found them, sir,’ said Yeomans, thrusting out his chest.

‘You’ve found whom?’

‘We’ve located the American fugitives.’

‘That’s very heartening,’ said Sidmouth. ‘Have they been apprehended?’

‘Not as yet but they soon will be. It’s taking time to round up enough men. The place where O’Gara and Dagg are being hidden is a haunt for Irishmen. They can be obstreperous, my lord. We need to go in force.’

‘I approve of that.’

‘I just wanted to be able to put your mind at rest.’

‘You’ve certainly done so, Mr Yeomans. I thank you.’

‘I add my thanks,’ said Grocott, ‘though it might have been more sensible to arrest these villains before you boasted about it to the Home Secretary. We don’t doubt your ability to catch them and we congratulate you on finding out where they’ve been concealed all this time. How did you contrive that?’

‘We have our methods,’ said Yeomans with a cryptic smile.

‘Since you need plenty of support,’ said Sidmouth, ‘I take it that you’ll be calling on the Skillen brothers to lend a hand.’

Micah Yeomans swelled up with righteous indignation.

‘We don’t need them, my lord,’ he asserted. ‘They had their chance and they failed to take it. While the Skillens are still searching in vain, we will catch the fugitives and put them behind bars.’





CHAPTER FOURTEEN




On the walk back home, Jubal Nason hoped that the fugitives would heed his warning and flee the tenement instantly. If they were caught, his chances of survival were slim. O’Gara and Dagg might not name him but Dermot Fallon certainly would. He had a spiteful streak and he would want to drag Nason down with them. It was the former clerk’s own fault. That’s what made it so sickening. He was the unwitting architect of his own downfall. It grieved him that he’d been so gullible. When Nason was attacked in Oxford Street, by what he thought was a mad dog, Fallon’s appearance had not been fortuitous. It was carefully timed. In driving the dog away, he’d ingratiated himself with Nason who, apart from thanking him profusely, had actually pressed some money into his hand. The Irishman had seen him as the unwary pedestrian that he was and pounced on him, a memory that now scalded his brain. Nason chastised himself for being so easily taken in by a clever trickster and for making himself vulnerable to a second approach by Fallon.

No comfort awaited him at home. He would have to invent a story to tell his flint-hearted wife, who was bound to ask what fee he’d earned while he was away. If he told her the truth about the situation in which he’d become embroiled, he’d get no sympathy. Posy Nason was far more likely to admonish him in the most hostile terms and maintain a ceaseless rant about his grave shortcomings as a husband and provider. When he turned into his street, therefore, his pace immediately slackened to a trudge. Reluctant to return home, he was tempted to walk past the house and enjoy another hour or so of freedom from the domestic desolation that lay within its walls. In the event, his courage failed him. Drawn ineluctably back to the house, he began to rehearse his excuses.

When he let himself in, his wife came bustling down the stairs with her statutory frown replaced by the kind of benign smile he’d not seen on her face since their wedding day. Nason backed away in confusion.

‘A gentleman has called to see you, Jubal.’

‘Who is he?’

‘He’s come to engage your services.’

‘What does he want?’

‘He’s ready to pay well.’

‘How long has he been here?’