For a moment, Raven stared down at his boots, the battered brim of his cap hiding his face. And then he looked up.
“Does it have to do with DeVere’s murder?” A pause. “I’m bloody glad the miscreant is dead.”
Sheffield hesitated, and then gave a gruff nod. “So am I, lad. But his death clearly ties into Becton’s demise, and that is a crime for which all of us wish to see justice done.”
“And Wrexford saw Daggett, one of the American scholars, sneaking away from the scene,” interjected the boy.
“Yes, he’s a scholar,” replied Sheffield, “but he’s also an officer in the American Navy, and sailed here from New York with DeVere and Quincy. Apparently, the three of them were thick as thieves for a while, and one can’t help but wonder—”
“Whether they quarreled over whatever dark mischief they’ve been plotting,” finished Raven.
“Logic says yes,” answered Sheffield. “And we know how fond Wrex is of logic.”
Raven grinned. “Now we just have to prove it.”
“Precisely.” Sheffield rose and began to pace. “It occurred to me that one reason Daggett may have betrayed DeVere and Quincy is because he’s made a better deal for himself with new partners in crime.”
“You’re getting very good at devious thinking, sir.”
“Thank you,” replied Sheffield absently. “So I thought we might ask around among your friends about whether Daggett has been spending time here in the dockyards and with whom he is consorting.”
“Strings, Mary Mussels, Chips, Smoke . . .” Raven rattled off a few additional names. “Oiy, they all keep their peepers open. A flea can’t scratch its arse down here without one of the gang noticing.”
“Excellent! Shall we—”
“Just two things, sir.” The boy eyed Sheffield’s coat and trousers with a critical squint. “You can’t come with me. You stick out like a rose in a dung heap. Within minutes, every wharf from here to Billingsgate will be abuzz with the news that some toff is making inquiries.”
“But the workers around here are used to seeing me,” protested Sheffield. “I often visit the harborside tavern and mingle with people.”
“Not the people I need to meet.”
To his credit, Sheffield surrendered without further argument. “And the second thing?”
“What does Daggett look like?”
“Oh, er—right. Let me think on how to describe him . . .” A gust of wind rattled the windowpanes. Clouds were scudding in, and a greasy grey mist was beginning to drift in from the river.
“He’s about my height, with sun-bleached auburn hair, worn long—nearly to his shoulders—and often tied back in a queue. In the right light, the color is distinctive—a rich, reddish brown.”
Sheffield spoke slowly, appearing to choose his words with care. “His eyes are slate-blue, and his gaze scrapes like flint over your skin. He has broad cheekbones—they’re sharp as well—and his face tapers to a pointed chin with a cleft. There’s a small, but noticeable, scar cutting across it.”
Raven gave an approving nod. “You’re learning to notice the little things, just like one of us urchins.”
“High praise, indeed,” responded Sheffield dryly. “Oh—and one last thing. Daggett moves with a catlike grace, and yet his gait has a tiny hitch. He seems to favor his left knee.”
“You’ve painted a very good picture, sir.” Raven tugged at his cap and turned for the door.
“Just a moment.” Sheffield stepped into a small storage alcove. He reappeared a few moments later wearing a shabby coat, well-worn boots, and battered hat.
“Give me a little credit,” he murmured in response to Raven’s raised brows. “I’m trying to establish my own friendships in the area, and I’m not so beef-witted as to think I can do that if I’m prancing around in my Mayfair finery.”
He joined Raven by the door. “Er, we need to move very stealthily. I would prefer that Lady Cordelia doesn’t see us leave.”
“I wasn’t planning on going out through the main corridor,” answered Raven. “We’ll use the side door next to the storage room at the back of the building. The stairwell leads down to the cellar warehouse, and from there, we can slip out into the alleyway leading to the chandlery yard.”
“We can?” Sheffield looked perplexed. “How the devil do you know that?”
“You still have a lot to learn about skulduggery,” responded the boy patiently. “It’s important to be familiar with your surroundings, and have several options of how to slip away if trouble suddenly strikes.”
