The other two men continued to ignore their erstwhile partner in crime. After positioning the longboat to a spot several feet below the ship’s rail, Lyman climbed down into its stern and loosened one of the pulley ropes in readiness for lowering it into the river. Adderley moved to the bow and swung one leg over the rail.
“Stop!” repeated von Stockhausen.
“Or what?” sneered Adderley. “You’ll cut my throat?”
Another laugh from Lyman.
“Poison is a pampered aristocrat’s weapon. You’re too lily-livered to do it, face-to-face.” Adderley brought his other leg over the rail and turned his back on the Prussian, readying himself to drop down into the longboat.
A shot rang out. Limned in a shower of fire-gold sparks, Adderley toppled headfirst into the longboat, the impact of his weight sending Lyman flying out of his seat. He twisted in midair and just managed to catch hold of the outer gunwale with one hand to keep from falling into the river.
“Ja,I don’t feel beholden to kill face-to-face,” jeered von Stockhausen through the silvery haze of his smoking pistol. He dropped his spent weapon and drew another one from his valise. “I do whatever is most pragmatic.”
“Holy hell,” uttered Tyler, his eye widened in surprise. “Who would have thought . . .”
“Not I,” admitted Wrexford. He darted a look over his shoulder, trying to spot the wherry through the mist that was beginning to rise from the river. At first, he saw nothing, but then suddenly a sail flickered in and out of the fog. The shift in the wind had slowed its progress, but it was creeping closer and closer.
His attention snapped back to the drama unfolding between the two conspirators. With unexpected agility, von Stockhausen leaped into the longboat and dumped Adderley’s lifeless corpse over the side. It hit the water with a dull splash and began to sink.
Lyman spat out a curse. His face was streaked in blood—he must have struck his head on the combing while being thrown from the longboat—and he redoubled his efforts to pull himself back into the cockpit.
The click of the pistol’s hammer caused him to freeze. “Be reasonable, von Stockhausen. In our world, there’s always a deal to be made. You uncock your weapon, and I row you to shore.”
“You think me too soft to wield the oars, just as you thought me too soft to spill blood? You stupid, stupid man—I spent a number of years exploring the wilds of Spanish America, and faced a myriad of dangers in the jungle that would make your hair stand on end. Trust me, I can fend for myself.”
Bracing his legs for balance in the rocking longboat, he calmly took aim at Lyman’s forehead.
“I’ll return your money!” Lyman’s arrogance had dissolved to a desperate wheedling. “I’ve a safe place where we can shelter from the authorities, and a network of smugglers who will get us out of the country.”
“The time to make a deal is past.”
Wrexford stared in shock as von Stockhausen pulled the trigger and Lyman’s skull exploded in a sickening spray of shattered bone and brains.
“I suppose I should feel a twinge of pity . . .” He thought about the British troops betrayed by Lyman and shook his head. “But if ever a man deserved an ugly death, it was him.”
“Amen to that,” said Tyler, his breathing a little ragged as he labored to keep the oilcloth-wrapped specimen afloat.
“Our friends will be here shortly,” said Wrexford. “I’ll stay with you if you’re tiring, but otherwise . . .”
A heavy splash indicated that von Stockhausen had worked the block and tackles to lower the longboat into the water.
“Otherwise, I’d like to make sure that our nemesis doesn’t escape.”
“Go!” gurgled the valet as a wave slapped his face. “I’m Scottish—a little cold and wet won’t do me a lick of harm.”
The oars thudded into the brass oarlocks. It appeared that the Prussian hadn’t lied about his survival skills. He maneuvered the boat around with practiced ease.
“I shall count on that,” replied Wrexford, keeping his eyes on von Stockhausen, who began rowing toward the south bank. “I would greatly miss your everyday insolence.” With that, he drew in a deep breath and submerged beneath the rippling waves.
The Prussian’s course was angling close to the floating fog in which they had taken cover. Propelling himself underwater with silent strokes, he passed the longboat and quickly pivoted and raised his head just enough to gauge the perfect moment to grasp the prow.
Wrexford heard a grunt from von Stockhausen as the drag of his own weight slowed the longboat’s momentum. The currents in this part of the river were fitful, and he was counting on that to keep the enemy from becoming suspicious. Sure enough, he heard a low oath as von Stockhausen redoubled his efforts.
All the better that the dastard was fatiguing himself.
Keeping a grip on the longboat’s front cleat, Wrexford took a moment to regain his breath. His plan was a simple one—rowing required von Stockhausen to face the rear. While the Prussian huffed and puffed over the oars, the earl intended to work his way down the railing until he was almost abreast of the center seat—and then to tip over the longboat with a sudden yank and spill von Stockhausen into the river.
In another few moments, Charlotte and Sheffield should swoop in and capture him as he flailed around in the water.
