“It does.” Though based on the sergeant’s disgruntled expression, it didn’t satisfy him.
Henry didn’t blame him; justice was too often elusive.
It didn’t take long to make their way to the area where Marcus often seemed to be. Henry didn’t want to simply exchange messages through the Royal Arms; he wanted to see the lad for himself to ensure his well-being.
But without knowing where Marcus lived, it was impossible to know where to look. They walked up one side of the street and down the other, watching for any sign of him—aswell as for trouble. With each minute that passed, Henry’s guilt and worry increased threefold. Was Marcus truly well? Had he been hurt worse than they realized?
Just as he was about to give up, the boy darted toward them from across the street, expertly dodging a passing cart.
“Wotcha! Fieldy, as I live and breathe,” the boy began with his customary grin.
“Marcus.” Relief filled Henry as he looked him over from head to toe. “You’re well?”
“Well ’nough.” Concern darkened his eyes as his gaze held on Henry’s face. “You?”
“Same.” There was so much Henry wanted to say, but he didn’t think the lad would appreciate any of it. Still, an apology was in order, even if the bombing wasn’t his fault. “I’m sorry you were hurt.” And frightened.
The boy gave a one-shouldered shrug. “All in a day’s work, eh?” He wiped his nose with his sleeve.
“Not usually,” Henry countered, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I’m truly sorry.”
“Weren’t your fault.” Marcus shook his head, his expression set, as though he expected hardship.
“Did you crack your head like Inspector Field did?” Fletcher asked, his gaze still seeming to assess the lad’s health.
“Only a bit.” He grinned at them both. “Saw stars for a minute or two, fer certain.”
“Your parents must’ve wondered what happened, eh?” Fletcher pressed.
Henry caught his breath, hoping the boy would answer truthfully.
Marcus snorted. “Not likely.” Well, that probably wasn’t a lie. He turned his attention to Henry. “I only wanted to tell you wot I learned, though I s’pose you’ve solved the case by now.” He looked quite disgruntled by the thought.
“Actually, we haven’t.” Henry lifted a brow. “Care to share your information?” He had no intention of giving up on learning more about the lad and would continue to ask with the hope that one day, he’d tell them the truth. All of it.
Marcus’s eyes widened with excitement. “It was Samuel Cobb who did it.”
Henry shared a look with Fletcher. Cobb? He was one of the employees who worked at the jewelry shop, but they’d had no reason to suspect him. Not until now. “You’re certain?”
“He tried to sell some of the loot, but none wanted to touch it. Got it stashed somewhere. Waitin’ ’til you coppers stop lookin’ afore he sells it.”
“Thank you, Marcus.” Henry handed him a silver coin. “Your skills never fail to amaze me.”
The boy palmed it with a smooth movement and a nod. “Happy ta help. See ya.”
And before Henry could say another word, the lad had disappeared down the street and around a corner.
“Samuel Cobb,” Fletcher murmured. “Excellent. Shouldn’t be hard to wrap up that case now.”
“If only the rest were that simple.”
They returned to the Yard, where Sergeant Johnson at the front desk greeted them. “Director Reynolds is looking for you, Field.”
With a nod of thanks, Henry made his way to the Director’s office, Fletcher directly behind him. “You wanted me, sir?”
Reynolds looked up. “The magistrate denied our request for a search of the sanatorium.”
Disappointment swirled with irritation. “Unfortunate,” Henry muttered. And definitely unexpected.
