He considered the information Crispin had just provided, then told him, “You’re going to take me to the warehouse so I can reclaim what’s mine.”
Crispin started shaking his head. “He’ll kill me for the betrayal.”
Adrian’s blade connected with Crispin’s throat in a flash. “I’ll kill you right now if you don’t comply.”
Crispin’s eyes bulged and fine droplets of sweat appeared on his brow. He nodded. “All right. Yes. I’ll do as ye say.”
Instead of easing the blade away, Adrian pressed it more firmly against him, forcing Crispin’s head back. “Any attempt at trickery will put you six feet under. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” Crispin wheezed.
Adrian held his gaze for a few more seconds, then slowly retreated. He returned the blade to the table and straightened his jacket before telling Murry, “We need to prepare in case it’s a trap.”
Considering what O’Leary had said — the threat he’d issued about taking Adrian down and stepping into his shoes — there had to be more to this situation than a mere theft.
For while the theft had proven problematic, it wasn’t worse than what could be solved with some added funds and a few apologies, even if it meant taking a loss. Adrian had other forms of income. He would recover. So if O’Leary meant to destroy him, this wasn’t the way to go about it, which made Adrian highly suspicious.
“We could involve Kendrick,” Murry suggested, his voice a low whisper. “Have Crispin lead him and his Bow Street Runners to the warehouse. Let them seize the goods.”
“Kendrick would know the liquor was smuggled,” Adrian murmured while pondering Murry’s idea. “I’d have to sacrifice my profits and pay compensations to all the shopkeepers if I’m to prevent him from learning of my involvement. It will cost me at least 800 pounds.”
Murry arched an eyebrow. “Might be worth it though, don’t you think?”
It probably wouldn’t be what O’Leary expected and that alone was enough for Adrian to make his decision. Instead of taking the bait and trying to reclaim his stolen goods, he’d leave it to Kendrick.
In the meantime, he’d regroup, gather more information, and plan a counterattack.
The morning air was wet. A heavy cloud cover blocked out the sun, muting the light that fell on the churchyard. The effect was perfectly dismal. Appropriate for the funeral taking place, Keith Orwell decided, while staring at the freshly dug grave. From where he stood, he could just about glimpse the top of the simple wood coffin in which his friend, Stewart Warren, lay.
“Earth to earth,” the vicar droned while Stewart’s family wept, “ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
A fistful of dirt was thrown onto the coffin, the soft thud sending a jolt through Keith’s chest. He stiffened his spine and ignored the way his stomach clenched when the bag of dirt was pressed into his hands next.
This was not how it was supposed to be.
The four friends had all survived the war. How many times had Keith thanked the Lord for sparing them?
But then, Howard had died. A tragedy that would stay with Keith forever. And now this? It wasn’t right. He and his brothers in arms were supposed to reminisce over battlefield stories when they were old men.
Yet now only Keith and Proctor Kipling remained.
Keith drew a ragged breath, then took a step forward. Praying for death to spare him and Proctor, he tossed additional dirt onto the coffin.
“Have you seen today’s paper?” Proctor asked Keith after the service. The pair had offered their condolences to Stewart’s parents, then walked to the nearest tavern so they could drink in his honor.
“Which one?”
“The Morning Post and The Chronicle had the same announcement.” Proctor folded his arms on the table and leaned forward. “Bow Street is asking for information from people who knew Stewart.”
“I’m aware, though I’m not sure we’ll be of much help.”
“We were with him the night he died.”
“True, but we didn’t see anything.” Keith dipped his chin. “As far as I know, Stewart had no enemies. Can you think of any?”
“No.” Stewart had been a likable fellow. It was difficult to imagine anyone finding a motive to kill him.
“Then we’ve nothing much to add, have we?”
