An Affair Without End (42 page)

“You think he’s the ringleader?”

Oliver shrugged. “It certainly seems a possibility.”

“What are we going to do?”

Oliver tossed her an amused glance. “I assumed
you
would have a plan of action.”

She smiled. “I do. He’s unlikely to tell us anything freely, so it would take either force or money, and I imagine either of them would do better outside the tavern. So let’s watch and follow him when he leaves.”

Oliver nodded. “My thoughts exactly.” He studied her for a moment, then leaned over to say, “Does it not worry you at all? The possible danger?”

Vivian smiled up at him. “I know I’m safe with you.”

He looked startled, then pleased, but his face quickly turned serious. “I will do my best to keep you so. Vivian . . .”

“Oh, look.” She had caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, and she straightened. “He’s leaving now.”

The man they sought had slid off his stool at the bar and was weaving his way through the crowd. Oliver stood up and unobtrusively followed, with Vivian on his heels. By the time the man reached the door, they were only a few steps behind, and in the empty street outside, they quickly closed the gap.

“Excuse me!” Oliver’s voice was not loud, but it was sharp and loaded with authority.

The man in front of them turned around. He was a good two inches taller than Oliver and a stone heavier. His eyes flickered over the two of them assessingly. Obviously dismissing them as threats, he shrugged and started to turn away again.

“I have a few questions for you,” Oliver said quickly, and again the firm tone of authority seemed to have an effect on the other man.

“Yeah? Maybe I don’t want to answer them.” He looked at them suspiciously, but stayed where he was.

“I doubt that a magistrate will be concerned with your wishes.”

“A magistrate. I ain’t seeing no magistrate.” The man sneered.

“No? Then I fear you will have to talk to me.”

The man grinned and swung his large fist at Oliver. It would have been a hard blow had it landed, but Oliver easily ducked beneath the swing and came up hard, popping the other man in the nose. After a sickening crunch, blood spurted from his nose. The man swung again, enraged, and Oliver lightly sidestepped him, delivering two quick jabs to his opponent’s side. They continued in this fashion, with the larger man swinging his fists or trying to pull Oliver into a bear hug and Oliver darting in and out, his feet always moving as he ducked blows and delivered punches to the man’s torso and face.

Finally, blinded by blood and fury, his opponent charged Oliver. Oliver jumped to the side, sweeping one leg out low in front of the man and connecting sharply with his shins. The man stumbled and crashed to the ground, and Oliver was immediately on him, one knee
planted firmly in his back. He seized one of the man’s arms and twisted it painfully up behind him, so that the man could not move or buck him off without causing himself excruciating pain.

“Perhaps now you’d like to answer my questions.”

“Yes. Yes! All right. Just let go!”

Oliver eased up on his hold. “You’ve been stealing jewelry the past few weeks.”

“Not me! I swear! It’s others as does it. I just get it from them.”

“Get it? They just give it to you?”

“No, course not. I pay ’em.”

“And then what do you do with it?”

The man shrugged, and Oliver twisted his arm tighter. He let out a yelp. “All right! All right! I take it to somebody and he pays me.”

“You pawn it, you mean? You sell it?”

“No, I mean, yes, I guess I sell it to him.”

“Who?”

“No! I can’t tell you that!” The man turned his head toward Oliver as much as he could, his eye wheeling with fear. “He’d kill me, he would.”

“The leader, you mean? The one who organizes it?”

The man nodded frantically. “Yes. Yes. It’s him as runs it all. I don’t know nothing about the others.”

“What others?”

“The others he’s got stealing things. There’s more’n me. I’m just one.”

“More intermediaries, you mean?” At the man’s blank expression, Oliver went on, “More chaps like you, with several people thieving for each of them.”

“Yes!” The man nodded. “Yes. Men like that. There’s the ones that creep into houses and the ones that work round Drury, then the ones round the toffs’ gambling dens.”

Oliver let up a little in astonishment. “How many of them are there?”

At that moment the door to the tavern burst open and two men came tumbling out, followed by a swarm of their compatriots, all of them punching, swinging, and kicking. One of the combatants knocked into Vivian, sending her tumbling, and Oliver jumped up to try to catch her. He missed, and she went down, and one of the fighters reeled into Oliver. Oliver dispatched him with a swift uppercut, then shoved another fighter out of his way. By the time he reached Vivian and dragged her to her feet and out of the melee, the man he had been questioning was gone.

Letting out a curse, Oliver whirled to see the fellow racing up the street, a good half block ahead of him and gaining speed. Oliver turned back to Vivian. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Nothing hurt but my dignity—and you know how little I have of that.” Vivian grabbed his arm and pulled him to the side as another tavern patron reeled backward toward him.

Oliver took Vivian’s hand and hauled her away from the tavern. “I think it is time for us to depart.”

They strode quickly down the block and turned the corner, heading toward Oliver’s carriage, which was parked unobtrusively down the side street. As they walked, a man and woman came into view at the next intersection. The woman carried a small dog that squirmed and wriggled, then jumped out of her arms and headed straight toward them.

“Good God! Pirate!” To Oliver’s amazement, the dog made a flying leap, and Oliver automatically caught him.

“That’s Cam!” Vivian exclaimed in a dumbfounded voice. “And my brother!”

Camellia and Gregory, who had come dashing after the dog, came to a sudden halt, staring at them.

“Cousin Oliver?” Camellia asked.

“Oh, dear.” Gregory sighed in a resigned way. “Stewkesbury, I know you’ve every right to be furious, but—” He stopped and peered at Oliver’s companion. “Vivian?” His voice and eyebrows rose dramatically.

For a moment, all four of them simply stared at one another; then everyone burst into a torrent of questions and explanations. One word, however, jumped out of the babble.

“Dead!” Oliver repeated, staring at Camellia, then swiveling to look at Gregory for confirmation. “Did you just say you found someone dead?”

Vivian drew in her breath sharply.

“Yes! That’s what I’ve been saying!” Camellia exclaimed. “We found Cosmo, and he’s dead!” She half turned, gesturing behind her.

“Your stepfather?” Oliver stared. “What happened? How—never mind. Just show me.”

They started back the way Gregory and Camellia had come, pausing long enough for Oliver to grab a lantern from his coachman, still sitting placidly waiting for him. As they walked, the story of her evening came out in fits and starts from Camellia, her story added to now and then by Gregory. Oliver remained grimly silent.

They reached the narrow, dilapidated building and started up the stairs. This time the lantern provided ample light to see their surroundings, but the view was not improved. And the stench was just as bad. Vivian placed her hand over her nose and mouth, breathing shallowly. When they reached the room, Gregory opened the door and stepped inside, followed by Oliver. Pirate jumped lightly down from Oliver’s arms and renewed his explorations.

Vivian remained by the door with Camellia, but even at this distance, it was clear that the man on the floor had breathed his last. Vivian’s stomach roiled, and she turned away queasily.

“The devil!” she heard Oliver say, and then her brother’s low voice as he pointed out the murder weapon.

“I’ll inform my Runner,” Oliver said. “And return here with him. But first let’s get the ladies home.” He turned a hard look at Camellia. “Where you belong, I might add, Cousin.”

“I had to come,” Camellia protested. “I had to do something. And look at Vivian. You brought her here, and she’s wearing boy’s clothes.” Her look at Vivian’s attire was envious.

“I am not Lady Vivian’s guardian, thank heaven. And you are not getting out of this that easily, Camellia. You endangered your life by coming here alone.”

“Gregory was with me.”

“Only by accident, if I understand your story correctly.” Oliver turned toward the other man. “Thank you, Seyre, for looking out for her.”

“Well, if that isn’t the most unfair thing I’ve ever heard!” Camellia gasped. “You ring a peal over me and you thank him!”

“You are the one who came up with the scheme, and
he
came along only to keep you safe. That makes a great deal of difference.” Oliver turned back to the room and snapped his fingers at the dog. “Come, Pirate.”

The dog obediently trotted to him. Oliver walked over to Vivian and, taking her arm, steered her toward the staircase. “Are you all right?” he asked in a low voice.

Vivian nodded. “I’m sorry. I should be more stoic. It is just . . . I have never seen a dead body before. I mean, well, except in a casket. All that blood! Someone must have hated him very much.”

“I suspect a number of people did. I had little liking for the man myself. However, I think that for some people it doesn’t take hatred or much of any emotion at all to kill a man.”

“That’s even worse.” Vivian shivered, and Oliver curled his arm around her.

“There’s a traveling rug in the carriage. You’ll be warm soon.”

She smiled up at him. “Thank you.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “But perhaps you’d better remove your arm; it might look a trifle odd.”

Oliver started guiltily and dropped his arm. “Sorry.” He cast a glance back toward Gregory. “I’m not sure how to explain this to your brother.”

“There’s no need to,” Vivian told him firmly. “I am not accountable to my brother, as Gregory himself would tell you. He’s most progressive in his thinking. Besides, he’s the most unflappable man alive.” She paused, then said, “Don’t be too hard on Camellia. I am sure she is just as shaken as I am.”

“Perhaps. One hopes it will curb her tendency to jump into danger, at least somewhat.”

“I imagine so. It will certainly have a restraining effect on me.”

Oliver glanced at her. “Really? Are you saying you’re willing to leave this matter alone and let my Runner look into it?”

“Of course.” Vivian nodded. “I’m quite capable of being reasonable, Oliver. It’s one thing to visit gambling dens and masquerade in taverns and speculate on who might be stealing things. That is all rather fun and exciting. But murder is an entirely different matter. Besides, as you said, a Runner is surely better equipped to handle this situation than we are.”

Oliver relaxed. “I am greatly relieved.” He turned back to look at his cousin and Gregory, walking behind them. “What about you, Camellia? Will you promise to let the Runner take care of this and not go investigating on your own?”

Camellia nodded. “I don’t know how I’d go about doing
anything, anyway. I have no idea who Cosmo was afraid of—or if that was even who killed him.”

“One thing I don’t understand,” Gregory said thoughtfully. “Why do you
have
a Runner, anyway?”

“Yes.” Camellia perked up a little. “And why were the two of you here tonight? Dressed like that?”

“We were investigating a series of jewel thefts.” Stewkesbury explained as briefly as possible the events leading up to their expedition this evening.

“But jewels were what Cosmo was wanting from me.” Camellia’s voice rose in excitement. “He wanted to steal the Talbot jewels.”

“That fact struck me when you said it.” Oliver nodded.

They had reached the carriage, and the group fell silent for a moment while getting into the vehicle. But as soon as they were settled in their seats, Gregory started the conversation again.

“Do you think the two incidents are related? This murder and the jewel thefts?”

“It seems likely to me. Clearly, from what we have learned, there is a ring of professional thieves operating, and their prime target is jewelry. The only difference seems to be the method by which the jewels are taken—some by burglarizing a house, others by simply grabbing it from people on the street. Cosmo apparently had promised someone to get jewelry from Camellia’s relatives, which would lead one to believe that Cosmo was involved with these same thieves.”

“Do you think it was the leader who murdered him?” Camellia asked. “I know that Cosmo was well able to anger a number of people, but he was clearly frightened of this man who wanted the jewels from him.”

“I would say that he is the most obvious choice,” Gregory
spoke up. “But from what you said, Stewkesbury, there seems to be a chain of command. There are the lowliest ones, who actually do the stealing, and they turn their ill-gotten gains over to someone higher, such as the man you questioned tonight.”