Malum followed his line of sight to confirm it for himself—Beckworth. The astute businessman and smuggler was dressed even more casually than he was. Having traveled through the night to deliver important evidence, Malum couldn’t exactly hold Beckworth’s rough appearance against him.
“West. Standish. A pleasure, as always,” Beckworth greeted, his tone all affected brightness as he dipped his chin.
Malum smirked faintly, long accustomed to Beckworth’s brand of irreverence.
“You’re looking well,” Westcott said, his brow lifting just so.
Unbothered, Beckworth merely gave him a disarming smile. “It comes naturally.”
“Right. How’s the wife?”
“Settling in surprisingly well, all things considered,” Beckworth replied, though the faintest trace of sincerity softened his usual banter. But then his gaze swept the area, expectant. “Helton not joining us?”
“He sent word he might be late—was informed of a major story earlier this morning.” Standish grimaced. “I’ll catch him up later.”
Malum nodded. Not ideal, but Helton would come through in the end.
So, with a glance towards the man who’d knocked on his door serendipitously that very morning, Malum began. “Beckworth received some interesting correspondence this week—from the captain ofThe Phantom Gale.”
The others looked toward the smuggler, who took over from there. “A tea clipper went down in the waters just north of Lisbon—would have been three weeks ago. Was known asThe Tempest’s Shadow—and it was laden with opium-funded tea.”
“How do we know this for certain?” Standish asked.
Malum, of course, had zero doubts. “The captain ofThe Galehad his crew confiscate several notable items before…watchingtheTempestgo down.” Malum reached into his pocket.
“This captain…” Westcott cocked one brow. “Is he…?”
“A good friend of mine.” Malum allowed the hint of a fond smile to lift the corners of his mouth.
“And by that, you mean?—?”
But Malum wasn’t going to reveal anything more. “Here, take a look,” he said instead, handing over a single letter. Itsedges were worn, but it clearly displayed the Duke of Crossings’ seal. “An agreement, written in Crossings’ own hand and signed by him, made with his estate manager in Malda. It includes an invoice for one hundred and twenty chests of opium to be exchanged for tea and various spices. Hard, irrefutable proof.”
Westcott shook his head. “It’s not enough to convince the Home Office to arrest a duke, though, is it?”
Standish straightened in his saddle, his expression tightening. “Losing this shipment will ruin him—and make him even more desperate.”
“He won’t take this lightly,” Westcott added grimly.
“Agreed,” Malum said. “Which is why we need to move swiftly. I’ve already met with the Home Office about a discreet arrest, and the secretary seems to think there’s a good possibility that they can make the charges stick.”
“But how?” Standish asked. “We still don’t have enough evidence.”
“The letter is damning,” Westcott added, “but everything else we have is circumstantial.”
Which brought Malum to his final play, the one that would seal Crossings’ fate forever. “We have a witness, someone who’s been actively working with Crossings for over a year.”
Silence followed his announcement, and then, a heavy sigh from Standish.
“Northwoods.” He shook his head. “I should have realized…” His frown deepened. “If I’d returned to London sooner, I never would have allowed him to so much as speak to my sister.”
“You couldn’t have known… Bloody Northwoods has the ability to make people think he’s harmless.” Westcott’s eyes narrowed. “But he has always been an opportunist. How can we trust him?”
“We don’t need to trust him,” Malum said flatly. “We simply allow Northwoods to be his typical cowardly self. He’ll act in hisown interests, as he always does. Now that Crossings’ luck has turned, he’ll switch sides. And if that isn’t enough to induce his testimony?—"
“You have leverage,” Beckworth supplied.
“I have leverage,” Malum confirmed. For all practical matters, he essentially owned the man.
