On the walk back to their house, Peter and Charlotte Skillen had their servant in tow so it was not possible to have a proper conversation about the misadventure. When they got home, however, and when Meg Rooke had returned to her domestic duties, they were able to tell their respective stories.
‘I failed,’ admitted Peter. ‘I thought that I’d caught one of the kidnappers in the act but all I’d done was to apprehend an innocent woman who’d been offered money for receiving and passing on a purse.’
‘So you didn’t see the purse being given to someone else.’
‘No, Charlotte. The park was too crowded.’
‘Yes, my view was often obscured.’
‘The gentleman is hopping mad and blames me for ruining
everything. We’re no closer to identifying the people who abducted Mrs Horner.’
‘That’s not exactly true, Peter.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Unlike you, I did see the exchange – or at least, I think I did. As soon as that woman took the purse from him, she walked straight towards a second woman and seemed to brush past her.
That’s
when the purse would have changed hands.’
‘I’m sure that you’re right.’
‘The second woman headed for the trees and walked within yards of me. She was joined by a man who came out of hiding and escorted her quickly towards the exit. I only had a glimpse of him but I did see the woman’s face.’
Peter was excited. ‘And you recognised her?’
‘Oh, yes, I knew her at once.’
‘Who was she?’
‘Her name is Jane Holdstock and she took archery lessons from Gully. I spoke to her on one occasion. She’s the last person you’d expect of being a kidnapper. On the other hand,’ she added, thoughtfully, ‘she’s equally unlikely to want instruction in the use of a bow and arrow.’
David Beyton was so confused that he walked straight past the Home Office. It was only when he crossed a road that he saw what he’d done. Turning around, he decided that he needed time to recover before facing his colleagues again. Otherwise, one of them was bound to notice his obvious distress and the fact that his hands were trembling uncontrollably. Peter Skillen had let him down badly. That was how he viewed the situation. In seeking the help of the detective, he’d relied on comments made about him by the
Home Secretary and decided that, if Sidmouth saw fit to employ Skillen, there was no better man in London. Beyton’s assessment of him was different. He believed that the detective was solely responsible for the loss of the money. Having someone to blame was a form of consolation.
It was several minutes before he felt able to return to his work at the Home Office. Letting himself back into the building, he exchanged a few words with one of the junior clerks then had a short conversation with Bernard Grocott as the latter emerged from Sidmouth’s room. In spite of his misgivings, Beyton didn’t attract any undue attention or awkward questions. What everyone else saw was the quiet, sober, dedicated senior clerk. Having missed so much of the day, he tried to make amends by staying at his desk when his colleagues began to drift out of the building. When he looked through the window, he could see Micah Yeomans and Alfred Hale coming to collect the Home Secretary. Once the three of them had departed, Beyton knew that he was the only person in the building.
Instead of being able to relax, however, he was assailed by demons yet again so he found work to occupy his mind: writing a series of letters then reading all the documents put on his desk for consideration. Hours raced past. When he checked his watch and saw how late it was, he decided to go home. It was only when he reached the front door that he noticed the letter laying on the mat. The familiar handwriting made his stomach lurch and his heart pound. Snatching it up, he opened the letter and read the new demand that it contained.
Then he slumped to the floor in a dead faint.
When they escorted Viscount Sidmouth back to his house, they said nothing about the intelligence that had fallen into their lap for fear that he would insist on passing it on to Peter and Paul Skillen. Instead of helping the brothers, Yeomans and Hale were bent on displacing them and regaining their status. Once they’d done their duty as bodyguards, they repaired to The Peacock. When he saw that Chevy Ruddock was already there, Yeomans ordered Hale to buy a drink for the younger man. All three of them then adjourned to a table in the corner and nursed their tankards.
‘What else did you find out?’ asked Yeomans.
‘I discovered that the fight is usually a bloodbath,’ said Ruddock with a shiver. ‘The boxers don’t abide by Broughton Rules. They make their own up as they go along.’
‘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.’
‘I know that. I’ve said it to myself a thousand times.’
‘Then I won’t labour the point,’ said Peter. ‘We need to decide on a means of dealing with this new crisis. Let’s take the first demand in that letter. Are you able to raise that amount of money?’
‘I can’t just conjure it out of the air, Mr Skillen.’
‘The kidnappers seem to think that you can. My guess is that you were followed home at some point so that they could see where you lived. Do you have a large house, sir?’
‘It’s very large, as it happens. I inherited it from my father.’
‘Then they’d assume that you could borrow money against the property.’
‘That would take time and they don’t really give me any.’
‘They clearly think you are wealthier than perhaps you are.’
‘I’m not impoverished, Mr Skillen,’ said the other with a touch of indignation. ‘I managed to provide the full amount of the first demand from my savings. I was assured by you that I wouldn’t lose any of it because you would intervene. And what happened?’ he asked, fixing Peter with a stare. ‘I forfeited the whole amount and am now asked to pay twice as much.’
‘I’ve apologised for my misjudgement,’ said Peter, earnestly, ‘and will make amends next time.’
‘But that’s a stipulation made in the letter. I am to go alone. If they see any sign of a confederate, Mrs Horner will suffer as a result.’
‘She already
is
suffering, sir.’
‘Then how do we rescue her?’
‘I have a plan to do that, Mr Beyton,’ said Peter, ‘but I can’t put it into effect until we know the details of the exchange. Last time, they chose a busy park. The chances are that they’ll select somewhere less crowded next time so that anyone who comes in support of you will be spotted easily.’
‘Or to put it another way,’ said Beyton, dolefully, ‘they’ll get away scot free with the money and I’ll be financially ruined.’
‘That won’t happen, sir.’
‘There’s no way to prevent it.’
‘I believe that there is. We’ve had a setback and we must put it aside. Granted, we lost the ransom but the episode was not without a positive gain.’
‘We gained absolutely
nothing
.’
‘Then I must contradict you, sir. Involving my dear wife during the exchange has delivered a bonus for us. She recognised one of the kidnappers.’
Beyton sat up. ‘She did? Who
is
the man?’
‘It was the woman, sir, the one who walked away with your money.’
‘Do you know her name?’
‘We know the one that she gave at the shooting gallery,’ said Peter, ‘but it may have been an alias, of course. She took instruction there from Mr Ackford. I’ve never met the woman but my wife
did so and has given me a description of her. I’m hoping that Mr Ackford may be able to tell us a little more about Jane Holdstock, as she was called. Shortly before you arrived, I sent a servant to the gallery with an urgent message.’
Paul Skillen was at the gallery when his brother’s message was delivered. He discussed it with Gully Ackford and Jem Huckvale.
‘Do you remember this woman?’ he asked.
‘I remember her very well,’ replied Ackford.
Paul chuckled. ‘I didn’t know that you trained people in abduction, Gully.’
‘All she learnt from me was how to use a bow and arrow.’
‘She became a useful archer very quickly,’ said Huckvale. ‘When I whitened the target she’d been using, I could see how many of her arrows had hit the mark. Mrs Holdstock was only aiming over a short distance, mind you, but she had real skill.’
‘I can endorse that,’ said Ackford. ‘As soon as she learnt to hold the bow properly, she got better and better. Each time she came, it was obvious that she’d been practising at home.’
‘Why did she come in the first place?’ asked Paul.
‘She said that she wanted to teach her nephew how to be like Robin Hood.’
‘Did you believe her?’
‘I did at the time. In view of what Peter says in his letter, however, I’ve become doubtful. This nephew could well be a figment of her imagination.’
‘So why did she bother to pay for lessons?’
‘I used to wonder that,’ said Huckvale. ‘What use is a bow and arrow to her? You would have thought that a respectable woman like that would have better things to do with their time.’
‘Perhaps she intends to murder her husband,’ joked Paul.
‘Then she should have learnt how to shoot a pistol. That would have been much easier and more effective.’
‘We can rule out her husband,’ said Ackford, reflectively. ‘She called herself Mrs Holdstock but I didn’t get the impression that she was married. I saw her left hand when she took off her gloves. There was no wedding ring.’
‘I wish that I’d met her,’ said Paul. ‘She sounds like an intriguing lady. What sort of a person was she, Gully?’
‘She was very pleasant but single-minded. Mrs Holdstock had no time at all for conversation. She never told me where she lived or what her husband – if he ever existed, that is – thought of her coming here. Charlotte met her one day and even she couldn’t get much information out of the woman. Mrs Holdstock let none of us know about her private life.’
‘Did you get the feeling that she was hiding something?’
‘Oh, yes – there’s no question of that.’
‘I saw her leaving on one occasion,’ recalled Jem. ‘As I was coming down the street, Mrs Holdstock left the gallery and walked to the corner where she was met by a tall, dark gentleman who raised his hat to her then offered his arm. So perhaps there
is
a Mr Holdstock, after all.’
‘He might also be her accomplice,’ said Paul, interest rising. ‘Mrs Horner was abducted by a man and a woman. You might have been looking at
both
of them, Jem. Describe this fellow.’
His first attempt was a disaster. The arrow missed the tree altogether and bounced off the stone wall at the end of the garden. Jane Holdstock laughed. She showed him how to hold the bow before fitting the arrow into place. Then she helped him to draw back the
bowstring. When he released it, the arrow hit the outer edge of the target that hung from the tree.
‘That was a definite improvement, Vincent,’ she said, encouragingly.
‘It was only because you were helping me.’
‘I struggled at first then, all at once, I got the knack of it.’
‘I’ll leave it to you from now on.’
After retrieving the arrows, Vincent Diamond led the way back into the house. Though pleased to have received the ransom money, they were still annoyed that their instructions had been disobeyed.
‘I was afraid that Beyton might do something silly like that,’ he said. ‘It was just as well you hired someone to take the purse from him. Otherwise, you’d have been grabbed by that man and I’d have been obliged to shoot.’
‘I’m glad that it never came to that.’
‘So am I. There were too many witnesses.’
‘Do you think that Beyton will be able to raise the money in time?’
‘That’s his problem, Jane,’ he said. ‘We’ve given him two days and it should be enough. That beautiful house of his is well beyond the reach of most clerks at the Home Office. Beyton must have private wealth.’
She smiled. ‘Then we’ll help to spend it wisely for him.’
‘A fool and his money are soon parted.’
‘What about Mrs Horner?’
‘She stays where she is until he pays up for the second time.’
‘Being locked up down there is really telling on her, Vincent,’ she said with a vestigial sympathy. ‘Whenever I go to the cellar, she’s weeping.’
‘Stop looking at her as a human being. She’s just a pawn in a game.’
‘Suppose that Mr Beyton refuses to obey our demand?’
‘Then his wife is going to have a very nasty surprise,’ he said. ‘But I doubt very much that we’ll be in that position. Beyton frightens easily. If he thinks that he’ll be responsible for Mrs Horner’s death, I’m sure that he’ll do as he’s told.’
Before they got within fifty yards of the old warehouse, they could hear the raucous noise from within. Hundreds of patrons were enjoying the spectacle of a terrier killing rats with methodical brutality in the ring. Bets were being laid about how many he’d dispatch in a certain length of time. Money changed hands briskly. When the corpses began to pile up, a man tipped another sack of live rats onto the sawdust. Most of them scurried to the corners of the ring and some even tried to run up the boards. When they saw the dog, a few even made the mistake of attacking him and were snapped in half by his gleaming teeth. Spectators urged the animal on and its owner shouted commands. The crowd surged to and fro around the ring.
It was into this maelstrom that Moses Dagg stepped. A place full of foul-mouthed ruffians, drunken sailors and a smattering of prostitutes was familiar territory for him. He’d been in similar establishments in ports around the world. As a regular visitor, Dermot Fallon felt completely at home, waving to people he knew and collecting a series of greetings. The only person who had reservations was Tom O’Gara. He’d seen the complacent grin on the face of Donkey Johnson, who was lounging in a corner with a tankard in his hand and a couple of burly friends beside him. For the first time, O’Gara realised the scale of the challenge that Dagg was taking on. In the mounting delirium, and with the vast majority of people cheering him on, Johnson would be a formidable opponent.