“I’ve kept it safe for ye,” he told me. “What did you want with Hawes?”
I remained stern. “To ask him a question. Hawes already knows the answer, which is why he ran from me. Was he seeking sanctuary here? The poor fellow got more than he bargained for, didn’t he?”
“Mr. Hawes ain’t your business,” the man told me.
“No? Whose business is he, then?”
The man with the candle glowered at me. “The one who don’t want you on his patch.”
“Ah.” I wondered if these two had been part of the gang who’d fought Brewster and me in Curzon Street. It had been too dark to distinguish anything but fists. “You mean Mr. Arthur.”
“My friend talks too much,” the first man said. “But it so happens, he has the right of it. Leave Hawes to us.”
“Very well.” I dropped the remaining makeshift bandages onto Hawes’s back. “Then I’ll take my walking stick and go.”
“No, you’ll wait.”
I regarded him impatiently. “If Mr. Brewster finds me before whatever I’m waiting for occurs, you’ll not be happy, I think.”
I spoke with confidence I did not feel. I had no way of knowing exactly where I was, if Bartholomew had noticed where I’d disappeared to, and if he or Brewster would reach me before Arthur decided to kill me.
The lead man was not impressed. “We wait.”
I assessed my chances of fighting my way free without my walking stick and finding my way out of this place in the dark. They were not good.
I moved to the head of the table, where Hawes lay groaning. “In the meantime, Mr. Hawes, perhaps you will answer my question.”
“I don’t have the bloody token,” Hawes croaked. “He took it, didn’t he?”
“The man who killed Mr. Pickett?”
“Yes.”
Neither of the toughs appeared astounded that Hawes had witnessed a murder, but they frowned when Hawes mentioned the token.
“Did these gentlemen assist you that night?” I went on.
“Not them.” Hawes twitched his fingers at the pair. “But yes.”
“Mr. Arthur came to your aid.” I clarified.
“Yes.”
The lead man grunted. “’Course he did. Hawes is one of ours.”
“I see.”
I thought I truly did see now. The dark dankness of this cellar had cleared the murk from my mind.
“Did you assist in killing Mr. Pickett, even if you didn’t strike the fatal blow?” I asked Hawes. I did not think so, but I needed to be certain.
“No.” Hawes’s answer was adamant if strained. “I found him dead on his carpet. What was I to do?”
“Send for a watchman, perhaps?” I suggested.
“A watchman,” the man with the candle sneered. “They’d have arrested ’Awes for the deed, wouldn’t they? ’E’d even now be in the dock or dancing on the wind.”
“Probably so,” I agreed. “Night watchmen haven’t much imagination, and even Runners would rather have an easy solution. They’d claim Hawes stabbed Pickett in order to steal his winnings, and I’m certain any judge and jury would believe it. But you say you don’t have the token, Mr. Hawes?”
