‘Can you see him?’ hissed the Reverend once the curate caught up with him outside.
‘See who?’ Percy panted, hurriedly releasing Flossy from her cosy cocoon – much to the little dog’s disgust.
‘If only Freddy was still here,’ Augustus Shackleford lamented.
‘Who are we looking for,’ the curate repeated, bending down to give Flossy a quick fuss.
‘That deuced gentry cove,’ breathed the Reverend, staring around wildly. ‘It was him, Percy, I know it was.’
Abruptly, Flossy began to growl again, pulling against her lead. Both men’s eyes followed the direction she was straining in. ‘What was he doing with the Bishop?’ asked Percy, trying to see what had the dog’s hackles up.
‘How the devil should I know?’ muttered the Reverend.
‘Is that him, Sir?’ Flossy was now practically strangling herself trying to reach the man they’d seen in the Bishop’s receiving room.
‘Tare an’ hounds, I remember now - Flossy didn’t like the fellow when she saw him in the Red Lion.’ The Reverend gave a delighted grin. ‘Freddy’s popped down to give us a hand. Follow that gentry cove, Floss.’
The little dog needed no further urging. Indeed, both the Reverend and Percy struggled to keep up. ‘What do you suppose he’s doing in Exeter?’ Percy questioned as they followed their man into Fore Street.
‘Could be he lives here,’ the Reverend responded, without taking his eyes off their quarry. ‘Though I can’t imagine him wanting George living on his deuced doorstep.’
‘But he knows the Bishop,’ Percy panted, ‘or at least he knows somebody who knows the Bishop.’
‘A bit devilish odd, I agree. And who did he mean when he said,He wouldn’t forget this.’
The Reverend stopped suddenly. ‘Fiend seize it, where’s the varmint gone?’
Their quarry appeared to have vanished. Nevertheless, Flossy was still tugging on her lead. ‘Let her go where she will, Percy,’ Reverend Shackleford directed. A few seconds later, she pulled them into an alleyway. Dark, fetid and unfortunately empty. ‘It’s a dead end,’ Augustus Shackleford muttered.
‘No, it’s not, Sir,’ Percy whispered. ‘Look.’ He pointed to a shadowy gap in the buildings, about fifty yards away.
‘Right then, lead on, Flossy.’ The Reverend’s eyes were glinting, adding to Percy’s unease. He knew of old what that look meant.
The two men tiptoed down the alley. The only noise was Flossy’s almost constant grumbling as she continued to drag them along.
‘Strange she didn’t take to the fellow,’ the Reverend whispered. ‘But then I suppose she can spot a blackguard half a mile away.’ He paused before adding, ‘Just like Freddy could.’
They reached the shadowy gap which turned out to be an even narrower passageway – filled almost to bursting with detritus that had clearly accumulated over a long period of time.
‘You think George lived here?’ Percy asked, covering his nose with his hand.
‘Wouldn’t think so,’ the Reverend murmured in response. ‘It don’t look as if anybody’s actually lived here in years.’ He nodded towards the tall crumbling buildings leaning perilously close to one another, almost completely blocking out the light. ‘I reckon these buildings are used as storage, if anything at all. The whole deuced place needs knocking down.’
Percy looked apprehensively into the dank alleyway. ‘Do you really think our gentleman went down here?’
‘Well, unless he’s got deuced wings, he couldn’t have gone anywhere else.’ The Reverend looked down at the little dog who was still grumbling under her breath. ‘And Flossy looks convinced.’ Craning his neck forward, the clergyman squinted into the murky passage. ‘I can see a couple of doors halfway down,’ he muttered. ‘Come on, Percy.’
The Reverend stepped gingerly into the alley, wrinkling his nose. ‘Stay close to me, lad,’ he murmured. Percy didn’t need to be told twice. Indeed, he was all but sitting on his superior’s shoulders.
‘I’m sure I can hear something, Sir.’ His panicked whisper directly into the Reverend’s ear caused the clergyman to jump and step in a particularly noxious pile of …something.
‘Thunder an’ turf,’ Augustus Shackleford muttered, lifting his foot up to inspect it, just as a loud voice sounded at their feet. Rearing backwards in surprise, his foot still in the air, the Reverend threw his arm round Percy’s neck. After wobbling dangerously for a couple of seconds, the two men fell backwards into the same pile of mulch decorating the clergyman’s boot. Behind them was a small window set into the brickwork at ground level.
‘Is that a finger?’ Percy’s voice was a panicked squeak as he held up what looked like a piece of bone. The Reverend recoiled. ‘Put the deuced thing down, Percy. It could be some poor fellow’s Thomas for all we know. With a panic-stricken whimper, the curate tossed his gruesome discovery as far as he could before frantically wiping his fingers on his robe. Glancing over at him, the Reverend realised the smaller man was on the verge of legging it until Flossy climbed up onto his shoulders and bared her teeth at the small window.
Both men turned to peer in through the grimy glass, gradually making out the figures of two men, one of them carrying a flickering candle. The other was the man they’d been chasing.
‘We have run out of time,’ their quarry’s voice lashed out in a furious undertone. ‘And I swear Atkins, if I’m cropped, you’ll be swinging right next to me.’
