An Honorable Thief (17 page)

"Aiee-ya!"

Hugo grabbed him by the neck. "I have you now, you scoundrel! Give up."

The man seemed to sag with defeat. He allowed Hugo to pull him slowly towards him, then suddenly he twisted and kicked out, hitting Hugo in the groin.

Hugo doubled over in instant agony and sank to the cobblestones. Waves of pain and nausea swamped him and Hugo gradually became aware of one thing. There was no sign of the Chinaman. He could hear a horse galloping away.

"The devil!" He groaned and tried to straighten his pain-racked body. His head ached from the brandy and the blow the boy had fetched with his cudgel. His entire lower body throbbed with agony. His ego was severely bruised also
— to be felled by a boy and a very small man.

Hugo groaned again. He had to stand up before someone came from the house to investigate the noise. He had no desire to be caught in such an undignified position, bent double, crouched on the ground at the back of the house of a respectable spinster of the
ton\
He wanted to remove himself from the scene altogether.

He probably ought to inform the Misses Singleton that they'd been targets of the notorious Chinese Burglar, but if he did they would be asking questions. Embarrassing questions. They'd be worried about the state he was in. They might even try to minister to his injuries
—some ladies did that, he understood.

And he was not going to explain how he'd been bested for the second time by a man half his size.

The blackguard had been chased off. He would not return tonight. Hugo would call on the Misses Singleton in the morning, and inform them of the danger. He would be more up to the task after a glass of the best French brandy, a bath and a good sleep.

"Have you seen Maggie?" asked Kit, poking her head into the kitchen. "I have rung for her several times and she has not answered."

"No, Miss Kit. I am sure I wouldn't know where Bone is," said the cook with formal coolness. Not all of the servants approved Kit's habit of calling Maggie by her first name. She also seemed slightly affronted at the intrusion of Kit into "downstairs" territory.

Kit had little patience with such pretension, but she hid her irritation. Maggie was her friend as well as her maid. Cook could have no idea of the circumstances in which she had Maggie had met and lived. They'd been of such an extreme nature, there was no place for formality and the division between servant and mistress. But it was the custom here for servants to be addressed by their surnames, and she was used to adapting, more or less, to odd customs.

"And what about you, Higgins?" she addressed the kitchen maid. "Do you know where my maid has gone?"

The kitchen maid glanced wildly at the outside door. "I dunno, miss. I, er, I think she popped out for a minute, to, um, fetch something. You want me to run and get her, miss?"

Kit noted the swift minatory scowl the maid received from the cook. The girl blushed and hung her head, avoiding the eyes of both. She knew something.

There was some mystery here.

"No," she said slowly. "I am sure Maggie will return when she has finished her errand. Will you please let her know I was looking for her and ask her to come upstairs at once?"

"Yes, miss."

Kit walked thoughtfully back upstairs. It was not like Maggie to go off without saying anything while Kit was in the house. It was not as if Kit kept her on the sort of close leash that most other servants were; Maggie was free to come and go as she pleased. Only, it was not like her to go out and not say a word. Particularly when she knew Kit had planned to finish the alteration of the gaucho jacket this morning. She was planning to wear it out this afternoon, and she needed Maggie to pin the hem at the back for her.

"Excuse me, Miss Kit." The butler, Porton, interrupted her thoughts. "Miss Singleton's compliments, miss, but would you please step down to the drawing room? The first of the morning visitors have started to arrive."

"Oh, yes, Porton. Of course. Is it that time already?" said Kit. The gaucho jacket would, have to wait. She followed Porton downstairs to the drawing room, where two ladies had already arrived.

"Yes, Mr Devenish. The Misses Singleton are indeed at home to you. Please step this way."

Hugo followed the butler, taking in his surroundings as he did so. Not a wealthy home, but well enough. Furnished for comfort as much as style, but a little over-fussy for his taste. He had a seaman's dislike of clutter, and this house abounded in it
—little statuettes, china plates, amateurishly hand-painted, lace mats and embroidered cloths, little arrangements of dried grasses and flowers, vases, bottles, carvings, brassware, silver bibelots—scarcely a surface was bare.

The butler opened a door. "Mr Devenish."

Hugo entered and instantly regretted coming. At this early hour
—for a so-called morning visit, that is—he had not expected to find anyone other than the Misses Singleton present, but in fact there were four other ladies as well. At the butler's announcement the room fell abruptly silent.

Hugo took a deep breath and greeted the ladies. Miss Singleton rose to greet him and made the necessary introductions. After a great deal of bowing and exchanging of greetings he was finally able to sit down, a little stiffly, feeling that he'd walked into a zoo
—as the main exhibit.

One of the ladies, a matron clad in deepest purple, returned to finishing the tale she'd been telling when he arrived, and Hugo took the opportunity to inspect Miss Catherine Singleton in her home environment.

She was examining him with equal intensity, he realised with interest. Unaware of his observation, her eyes skimmed him from head to foot, almost anxiously, but then their eyes met. Her look of faint trepidation vanished instantly and was replaced by a bright inquiring glance, as if to ask him what he was thinking.

He responded with a bland look. She raised an eyebrow, turned pointedly to the speaker and fixed the bright interested gaze on her.

Hugo's lips twitched. He was coming to learn and appreciate some of her mannerisms. The gaze directed at the matronly lady was in fact a reprimand to himself, for daring to appear to imagine she might find anything about him of interest.

He set himself to wait until the other ladies had taken themselves off; he did not want to spread alarm unnecessarily.

It was more than half an hour before the last of the ladies made their departure, their obvious curiosity at Mr Deven-ish's visit having made them linger considerably longer than the usual morning visit. The moment the last lady left, he leaned forward.

"Now, Miss Singleton," he said, addressing Miss Rose, but including Miss Catherine Singleton in his glance, "I have some news which you may find disquieting."

The two ladies glanced curiously at each other. "Pray, do not keep us in suspense, Mr Devenish."

"I had...occasion to be passing this house last night." He ignored the way Miss Catherine raised her brows, a little pointedly, he thought. "And I noticed something suspicious occurring around the back."

"I see," said Miss Catherine affably. "You not only had...
occasion
to be outside our house, you had occasion to walk down our back alley too. How very odd. Is it not extremely dirty there? Can I ask why you were
—"

"Hush, Kit," hissed Miss Rose Singleton.

Ahh, he thought. She was called Kit, not Catherine. It suited her much better. Kit.

"Go on, Mr Devenish," said Miss Rose encouragingly.

"To cut a long story short," he said with dignity, "I disturbed the blackguard known as the Chinese Burglar! He was about to break into your home."

Both ladies gasped in surprise.

"The Chinese Burglar! But how
—?"

"Why did you not warn us? Did you summon the Watch?"

Hugo felt once again that his collar was a little too tight. "Er, no. I... There was a scuffle."

"Do you mean to say you vanquished him, Mr Deven-ish? How very brave you are, indeed!" said Kit admiringly.

"No. He...got away
—ran off—rode off—on horseback, to be precise."

"Oh!" Kit Singleton sat back, disappointed. "You let him get away," she said reproachfully.

"Yes. Sorry."

Miss Rose Singleton was much more concerned. "Oh, Mr Devenish, you could have been hurt, murdered! I believe those foreign criminals can be frightfully dangerous
—''

"Unlike nice safe English criminals," interpolated Kit irrepressibly.

"Hush, Kit. You know what I mean. Mr Devenish could have been hurt."

Kit leaned forward, suddenly serious. "And were you hurt, sir?"

Mr Devenish hoped the sensation he was experiencing did not mean he was turning bright red. He was not going to explain to two maiden ladies just where the thief had managed to kick him to put him so effectively out of action.

"Not at all. A couple of scrapes and bruises, nothing at all."

Kit sat back. "I would have thought a man of your size could have vanquished a Chinaman," she said. "I believe them to be a small, slight people."

"He was very quick," said Mr Devenish stiffly.

"And how did you know it was the Chinese Burglar? Did you see his face?"

"No, I saw his long black pigtail."

"You saw his pigtail?"

"It bounced against his back as he ran away."

She sat very still for a moment, then suddenly smiled at him warmly. "Well, even so, it was very brave of you to tackle the fellow and I join my aunt in thanking you."

"Yes, yes, of course, but, Kit, you have not thought what this means," said Rose anxiously. "It means the burglar was after something in this house."

"My thoughts exactly," said Hugo.

There was a short silence.

"And he will be back!" exclaimed Rose. "Oh, Heavens! What shall we do?"

The door opened suddenly. "Mrs Groombridge," said the butler and ushered in another lady visitor.

Mrs Groombridge was big with news. No sooner had the polite greetings and pleasantries been disposed of than she launched into her story.

"Have you heard? He struck again last night! Who? The Chinese Burglar, of course! Colonel Grantley's house!"

After the initial outcry of surprise and amazement, it finally became clear: the Chinese Burglar had broken into the home of a gentleman called Colonel Grantley and stolen the famous Eyes of India.

"The Eyes of India?" asked Kit curiously. "What on earth are the Eyes of India?"

"Oh, my dear
—of course, you are newly come to London, but they are very famous! They are jewels, my dear, the most fabulous emeralds—simply magnificent! I would give my eye teeth to own them—or I would have." She tittered. "There is a necklace, a tiara, one or perhaps two bracelets, earrings and several rings. Poor Colonel Grantley
is devastated. And Mrs Grantley
—inconsolable, poor dear."

"But how do they know it was the same burglar who robbed the other places?" asked Kit

"Oh, my dear, haven't you heard? He left behind another sheet of paper, covered in that outlandish writing
—all bird scratches, it looks to me. Quite pretty, but utterly incomprehensible."

"If you are not Chinese, that is," said Kit.

Mrs Groombridge looked at her hard as if suspecting mockery, but she could see none, so she decided to laugh instead.

"And does anyone know what the writing says?" asked Rose.

Mrs Groombridge nodded. "Quite meaningless, apparently. It is just pages of poetry or some such
—torn from the same book."

"I did not know the Chinese had books," commented Kit. "I thought they only used scrolls."

Mrs Groombridge shrugged. “Well, I have no idea about that, but I can tell you, my husband has hired extra guards
—we cannot be too careful, if there is a gang of foreign thieves about! I cannot imagine how the fellow got past the Watch! Disgraceful, that's what it is!"

They conversed a little more, but it was soon apparent that Mrs Groombridge knew very little more than the barest facts of the robbery.

She soon rose. "Oh, well, I must be off. So delightful to meet you, Mr Devenish, goodbye, dear Miss Singleton and Miss Catherine. So many calls, so little time," and she bustled out.

The three inhabitants of the drawing room looked at each other in silence.

"Do you suppose," said Kit, "that having been foiled from his burglary here, he made off to Colonel Grantley's house?"

Mr Devenish looked thoughtful. "No," he said. "I don't."

"No," agreed Kit. "It is stretching credulity too far for him to be disturbed at a house which has few treasures and then just happen across a fabulous emerald set." She fixed him with a look. "Then what do you think he was doing here? It is a great mystery, do you not think so?"

"Yes," said Mr Devenish meditatively. "It is a mystery."

"Perhaps he was hiding the jewels. Or passing them to a confederate," suggested Rose.

"Oh, Aunt Rose, what a clever notion," agreed Kit instantly. "That's what it must have been. To think, our back alley used as a meeting place for a desperate gang of foreign thieves. How very exciting."