Part 15 (1/2)
Mr Earle Joliffe drew a riding crop back and forth through his fingers. A thickset man of undistinguished when, he sat back in his chair, his pale gaze, as pale as his pasty complexion, fixed on the young roughneck he'd sent into town to track their quarry down. ”As to that, I ain't sure.” The youngster took a swig from his tankard.
They were in a rundown cottage three miles from Newmarket, the best they'd been able to rent at short notice. Four men sat about the deal table--Joliffe, the youngster whose name was Brawn and two others-Mortimer Babbacombe and Ernest Scrugthorpe. The latter was a hulking man, rough despite the severe clothes of a clerk; he sat silently glowering into his beer. Mortimer Babbacombe, a slight figure in the attire of a would-be dandy, s.h.i.+fted restlessly; he clearly wished himself elsewhere.
”She got into a gig and drove out eastwards. I couldn't follow.”
Scrugthorpe grunted.
”See? Told you she'd go to the Green Goose.
Couldn't keep away, meddling witch. ”
He spat contemptuously on the floor; the action made Mortimer even more uncomfortable.
”Ye-es, well.” Joliffe transferred h~ gaze to Scrugthorpe.
”Might I remind you that she should, by now, have been in our hands? That but for your lack of foresight, she would be?”
Scrugthorpe scowled.
”How was I to know it were a race-week? And that gentlemen would be using that road? Everything went perfect, else wise Joliffe sighed and raised his eyes heavenwards. Amateurs-they were all the same. How had he, who had spent his life thus far successfully extracting a living from the rich, descended to the company of such? Lowering his gaze, his glance fell on Mortimer Babbacombe. Joliffe's lips curled in a contemptuous sneer. ., ”
Ought to mention,” Brawn put in, surfacing from his tankard.
”She was walking the street with a swell today--right chummy--looked like the same swell as wot rescued them.”
Joliffe's eyes narrowed and he sat forward.
”Describe this swell.”
”Fair hair--like gold. Tall, looked like he'd strip to advantage. One of them bloods with a fancy cape.”
Brawn grimaced.
”They all look the same to me.” Not so to Joliffe.
”This blood--was he staying at the Barbican Arms?”
”Seemed so--the ostlers and all seemed to know him.” ”Harry Lester.”
Joliffe tapped a pensive nail on the table.
”I wonder...”
”Wonder what?” Mortimer looked at his erstwhile friend and most urgent creditor, his expression that of a man well out of his depth.
”Would this man Lester help US ? ' Joliffe snorted.
”Only to the hangman's noose. But his peculiar talents bear consideration.”
Leaning forward, Joliffe placed both elbows on the table.