Shadow of the Hangman(60)

‘I begged them to leave that out, sir, but they refused.’

‘O’Gara and Dagg were too naive. In trying to get recompense for what they allege is one appalling crime, they offered to commit another. We do not live in the Old Testament. A life for a life is not an acceptable dictum in a civilised society. And, of course, they chose the wrong target. Viscount Sidmouth is not the governor of Dartmoor, nor can he be held responsible for the things that happened there. You should have advised them as much.’

‘The Home Secretary is the symbol of law and order in this country,’ said Nason. ‘That was enough for them. Fallon was all for threatening the Prime Minister as well, but I put a stop to that.’

‘What of the allegations put by O’Gara and Dagg?’

‘I believed them wholeheartedly.’

‘That comes through in the document.’

‘I sympathised with their plight but – hand on heart – I can assure you that I do not condone what they plan to do if their demands are not met.’

‘Where are they now?’

‘I couldn’t tell you.’

‘Concealing the whereabouts of escaped prisoners is a heinous crime.’

‘They were living with Fallon in a tenement behind Orchard Street but I’ve not long returned from there, having warned them that the newspaper was carrying a description of them and offering a reward for their capture. As a result,’ said Nason, ‘they may well have fled to another refuge. Where that might be, I have no idea.’

‘What drove you to warn them – concern for their safety or for your own?’

‘Unhappily, the one is fettered to the other.’

Peter sat back and studied him shrewdly. Nason was a despicable man in many ways: weak, untrustworthy and sly. Being alone with him in such a small space was an unpleasant experience. He reeked of failure. Yet he was plainly no conspirator. What he’d done for O’Gara and Dagg had been done under duress. That being the case, Peter wondered if the man really deserved to be broken on the wheels of justice.

For his part, Nason was thinking of his wife. The gentleman she’d let so enthusiastically into the house might be about to take her husband out of it forever. He could imagine only too clearly how Posy would react when she learnt that a clerk who’d made his living out of the law could now face its ultimate sanction.

Peter’s face was inscrutable. Nason knelt before him and grabbed his hands.

‘What’s to become of me, sir?’

‘I’m still grappling with another question,’ said Peter, thoughtfully. ‘Should I be your friend or your foe?’





Anne Horner had worked out her plan. The woman was her means of escape. There was no point in even talking to the man. He ignored her completely but his accomplice had at least spoken to their prisoner. That showed a measure of sympathy. The man usually delivered the meals and the food was surprisingly good. On some evenings, she was even given the treat of a glass of wine, something she never had in the normal course of her life. The problem with the meals was that they were irregular. Gaps of varying lengths appeared between them. On one occasion she’d been left for seven hours without food. By way of compensation, they’d given her an additional meal late the same evening.

The dungeon was not just holding her against her will. It was depressing her spirit. Anne had been forced to wear the same clothing every day and to make use of the bucket. She felt dirty, embarrassed and debased. Action simply had to be taken. It was the man who brought her breakfast and who emptied the slops in the bucket. A long interval then followed. When it came to an end, Anne heard daintier footsteps coming down the cellar steps. The woman was there at last. Opportunity beckoned.

‘Stand back from the door!’ ordered the woman.

‘That’s what I have done,’ said Anne.

The bolt was drawn back and the door creaked open. Holding a tray, the woman made sure that Anne was standing against the far wall before she came in.

‘There may be some more wine this evening,’ she promised.

‘Thank you.’

‘We’ve no reason to make this any more unpleasant than it has to be.’

‘Why are you keeping me here?’

The woman clicked her tongue. ‘You know better than to ask that.’

She put the tray down on the table. During the seconds when her back was turned, Anne shot across the cellar, dived through the door, slammed it shut and pushed home the bolt. Ignoring the cries of rage from the woman, she crept up the steps, gingerly opened the door at the top and peered out. There was nobody about. She went into the kitchen, opened the rear door and ran out into the garden. The sense of freedom was invigorating.