Haywood’s brows snapped together. “You have appalling manners, Captain Lacey. I am not the only one who says so.”
I gave him a conceding nod. “I am aware that most of London wonders why Grenville has bothered with me.”
I was also aware of a flicker of fear in Haywood’s eyes. His anger at my abrupt question was meant to hide it.
“My business with Mr. Denis is my own,” Haywood stated.
“He was arrested this morning.”
“Yes, I know. Why this is a concern of yours, I cannot imagine. Good night, sir.”
Haywood began to rise, but I put a strong hand on his arm and forced him back down. “Mr. Denis is something of a friend of mine. I do not want to see him tried when I know he did not kill Mr. Pickett.”
Haywood’s pointed face flushed. “None of that has anything to do with me.”
“I know that you met with Denis in an out-of-the-way house in the middle of the night, right before a man was killed on his doorstep.”
“I met with him there because Mr. Denis understands the need for discretion. Something you need to learn, it seems.”
“If I did not intend to be discreet, I would have simply shouted at you in the lobby,” I said. “I am trying to piece together what happened. It would be in your interest to do the same, do you not think?”
“Of course it would be. I am not a fool, and I know the Runners could accuse me if they knew I’d been there. But neither do you need to interfere in a business that does not concern you.”
“It concerns me when the man has done me good turns in the past.”
“He has done good turns for many.” Haywood’s mouth hardened. “But he does not give out his favors freely—he expects something in exchange. Quite a lot of something, in fact.”
Such was the manner by which Denis kept himself living well and free from pursuit. Many a prominent man in England—and likely beyond it—was indebted to him.
“Perhaps he has done you a favor you cannot pay back,” I suggested. “If he dies, then you no longer owe him for it.”
Sweat beaded on Haywood’s upper lip. “It is never that simple.”
“I agree. I imagine his death would be a disaster for many.”
“I am pleased you are following along, Captain.”
I bit back exasperation with his obliqueness. “At least tell me something that will help him. What did you see or hear when you were in Seven Dials? Anything might be useful.”
“Nothing,” Haywood growled. “I spoke with Mr. Denis in his drawing room, and our conversation was quite focused. I did not watch who passed in the street, in case a ruffian was lying in wait for the buffoon who managed to get himself killed. The murder happened early this morning anyway, long after I departed.”
“True, but was there a hint of anything worrisome? Perhaps Mr. Pickett tried to approach the house while you were there. I have learned he had an appointment with Denis earlier that evening and missed it. Was he searching the street for Mr. Denis’s abode, perhaps?”
“If there was a hint of anything at all, I did not note it,” Haywood said impatiently. “I was more worried about my own errand—and no, I will not tell you the nature of it—than about what went on in and around Mr. Denis’s home.” He paused to catch his breath. “The butler is a cold fish, but I’ve met him several times before. Loyal to the death, I’d say. The other fellow …” He broke off. “I did not know what to make of him. Wouldn’t trust him very far, I think. I hadn’t seen him there before.”
Stout, he meant. I thought about my encounter with that man and again wondered why Denis had not only hired him but brought Stout deeply into his confidence.
“You saw nothing outside?” I asked.
Haywood turned a sneer on me. “First, it was quite dark when I arrived, and Mr. Denis’s dour butler drew the curtains as we sat down. When I departed, it was still dark and had started to rain. Between the front door and the door to my carriage, I saw nothing. I wanted to leave that place as soon as I could.”
“I am surprised your coachman would enter Seven Dials after dark,” I observed.
“He was reluctant, that is true. He left me at the door and disappeared, turning up again in an hour, as I’d instructed. I imagine he found a safer place to wait the time.”
“Perhaps I could speak to your coachman,” I said.
Haywood’s belligerence rose anew. “What the devil for?”
