‘Who did you talk to?’
‘There was a man sweeping up in the warehouse and he’d heard all the gossip. The Black Assassin is an American sailor and he’s replaced a boxer who had to drop out at the last moment. Nobody knows what the newcomer is like but they all know Johnson and think it would take a Cribb or a Belcher to beat him.’
‘It’s a bit late for Jem Belcher,’ noted Hale. ‘He died a few years ago. I once saw him beat Jack Bartholomew. When he lost an eye, Jem became a publican and served good beer. It’s a shame he didn’t last longer.’
‘Spare us your reminiscences, Alfred,’ said Yeomans, ‘Let him speak.’
‘The place is very rough inside,’ explained Ruddock, ‘and it stinks to high heaven. They’ve got chairs and benches but most people prefer to stand, especially when things get exciting. I made a point of measuring it out so that I could do a drawing.’ He produced a rough sketch from his pocket and unfolded the paper before using a stubby finger to jab away at it. ‘This square is where the fight takes place. There’s sawdust on the floor. Over here is the main entrance but there are two other ways in and out – here and here. We’ll have to keep all three covered to stop either of the fugitives getting out.’
Yeomans was impressed. ‘You’re a clever lad, Ruddock.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘And you’re sure that this Black Assassin is Moses Dagg?’
‘I’d put money on it, Mr Yeomans.’
‘That means Thomas O’Gara will be there as well.’
‘And Dermot Fallon,’ said Ruddock. ‘He often goes to the warehouse. The man I talked to says that Fallon is well known there.’
‘We’re home and dry!’ cried Hale, slapping his thigh.
‘Don’t count your chickens, Alfred,’ cautioned Yeomans.
‘All we have to do is to deploy our men properly.’
‘We did that when we raided the tenement behind Orchard Street and it was an ignominious failure.’
‘That’s because somebody knew we were coming.’
‘The same thing could happen tonight.’
‘It could be even worse,’ said Ruddock, artlessly. ‘The Skillen brothers could get there before us once again.’ He recoiled from the barbed looks they directed at him. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.’
‘Then don’t ever say it again,’ ordered Yeomans.
‘I won’t, sir, I promise.’
‘Forget that you’ve ever heard of Peter and Paul Skillen. We are the true police here in London and tonight will show us at our best.’
‘I’ll take care of O’Gara,’ volunteered Hale. ‘I can manage him. If the nigger is good enough to get into a boxing ring, I’d rather leave him to you, Micah.’
‘What about me?’ asked Ruddock. ‘Can I arrest Dermot Fallon?’
‘You can do what you’re told,’ said Yeomans. ‘What time is the fight?’
‘It won’t start for hours yet.’
‘Then you can round up some other members of the foot patrol for us. We need to go there in force.’ After downing the rest of his ale in one gulp, he gave a loud belch. ‘I can’t wait to see the Home Secretary’s face when we deliver O’Gara, Dagg and Fallon up to him.’ He straightened his shoulders. ‘There ought to be a knighthood in this for me.’
It took a long time for David Beyton to stop gibbering and to speak coherently. Peter Skillen waited until his visitor eventually thrust the letter into his hands. He read it calmly then looked up.
‘It’s impossible!’ cried Beyton. ‘I can’t get that amount of money so soon.’
‘We have to lure them into the open somehow, sir.’
‘They’re demanding twice what I paid them before.’
‘Yes,’ said Peter, handing the letter back to him, ‘but the interesting thing is that the nature of the threat has changed dramatically. What you were facing the first time was the possibility that your wife might be informed of your infidelity. Yet there is no mention at all of Mrs Beyton in the letter you received today. They’ve shifted attention to their captive. If you don’t comply with their demand, Mrs Horner will be killed.’
Beyton groaned. ‘I can’t have her death on my conscience, Mr Skillen.’
‘It’s good to know that you’ve rediscovered a conscience, sir. Had you possessed one earlier, the relationship that landed you in this situation would never have taken place and you would now be sitting at home with your wife, untroubled by any peccadilloes in your past.’