“I know that as well.” Thompson sighed. “I have no evidence on him, unfortunately. If I did, I’d be making many arrests and laughing as loudly as your Runner, Pomeroy.”
“If I discover anything more about him from Mr. Denis, I will tell you,” I promised.
“Thank you.” Thompson gave me a brief smile then sobered. “I would stay clear of Mr. Creasey, Captain. He dislikes anyone poking in his business, and those who do often end up in the river.”
“That’s what I tell ’im,” Brewster said. “Not that he’ll listen.”
“I’m not as heedless as all that,” I said. “I have met Mr. Creasey, and I am not in a hurry to face him again. He’s a cold, hard man. I’ll not go poking him, as you say.”
I discerned by Brewster’s and Thompson’s expressions that neither man believed me.
BEFOREILEFTThompson at the Wapping Docks, I asked to look at the carbine once again. Thompson relinquished it to me, and I studied the pieces of the gun on a table in a dim room inside the River Police quarters, with Brewster hovering beside me.
“It’s fairly new.” I brought up the barrel and sighted down it. “It’s rifled, as you can see.” I peered inside the metal barrel at the spiral grooves. “In very good condition.”
“Warrilow was a small planter?” Brewster asked. “Maybe he kept it to keep birds off his land. Or his laborers frightened into working harder.”
“A farmer would carry a different sort of gun,” I said. “This is a military weapon. It makes me wonder very much indeed where he obtained it.”
Thompson cocked his head. “He bought it from a former military man, perhaps?”
“Possibly. Antigua is British. The many forts there are used to fend off attacks on the fortified harbors. Lord Nelson himself had a naval command there. The army forts could have sold off surplus weapons, but I somehow doubt that.”
“Maybe one in the King’s army purloined the gun,” Brewster offered. “And sold it to Warrilow.”
Many possibilities, none of them pleasant.
I returned the weapon to Thompson, thanked him for his time once more, and Brewster and I departed.
We hunted up Hagen, who’d remained with the coach near the watery entrance to the London Docks. He chatted with a drover but kept an eye on his surroundings. This was not the most agreeable area of London, but Hagen was a large man with ham-sized fists and a stern gaze. Men scrutinized the luxurious coach but gave it a wide berth.
“My guess is Mr. Warrilow stole that shooter,” Brewster said as he boosted me into the carriage. My leg hurt even more now, and I didn’t reject his assistance. “Found it on the ship he was traveling on or came across it while kicking about in Antigua. He wanted to sell it and chucked it under the floor until he could find a buyer.”
I stifled a grunt of pain as I settled on the seat. “Someone who wanted the gun but was reluctant to pay might have killed him for it. Except it was well hidden, and not taken.”
“Killer never found it.” Brewster shrugged. “Warrilow sounds an unpleasant cove. Most like he provoked a gent until that gent coshed him on the head.”
“Most like.”
As Brewster slammed the door and resumed his perch on the back, I tried not to picture Eden losing his temper and going at Warrilow with the heavy porcelain wash pitcher. Eden had always been an amiable chap, but every man has his limits.
The ride home was slow, as the streets were now choked with carts, carriages, horses, and wagons. I had plenty of time to think over what I’d seen and learned from Mr. Clay, Thompson, and Warrilow’s landlady, and what we’d discovered in Warrilow’s chamber.
By the time we arrived in South Audley Street, daylight was fading. I expected to find Donata out, stubbornly making her rounds of calls, but she met me on the stairs.
She’d dressed in one of her well-made ensembles of striped silk, but the gown was meant for dining at home. I was always bemused that her casual clothes were as stunning as her theatre garb.
“Peter was not happy with my announcement that he was to go to Oxford,” she said by way of greeting. “Perhaps you could speak to him. He’s more apt to listen to you, at his age.”
Instead of being dismayed, I felt a frisson of pride at Peter’s respect for me. “I would be happy to.”
Donata looked me up and down, noting how I used both walking stick and railing to keep myself upright. “Shall you rest first?”
“Better tackle it at once,” I said. “Are you going out later? Or will you take supper with me?”
“I have very few invitations tonight, nothing of consequence, and I have already sent my regrets. I will tell Barnstable the two of us will be dining.”
I looked forward to it with pleasure. Most nights, Donata went on endless outings to soirees, the theatre or opera, musicales, or lectures. I often joined her, but many evenings she moved in her own circles, which she had been doing since her debutante days, while I sought Grenville for conversation or brandy, if he too was not out in the social whirl.
