“But the workers—”
“Will just have to wait. That order is signed by the magistrate.” Niall took Annie’s arm. “There is nothing we can do right now.” She reluctantly allowed him to lead her down the steps, but she was unusually quiet. Niall just hoped she wasn’t plotting something. “Hopefully, we will have some answers by Monday.”
****
Standing in the shadows, Kingsley watched through the office window as MacDonald and the Ferguson woman left. He sheathed the knife he’d been holding and breathed a sigh of relief. Murder was always messy. Not just the blood splattered all over his clothes, but the need to cover his trail as well. Kingsley was well aware of the rules. If he got caught, the prime minister would hardly vouch for him.
But he needn’t concern himself about that today. So far, everything had gone smoothly. The anonymous letters delivered to the magistrate and the excise man contained enough information to warrant the investigation, but not enough to betray the sender. The danger of discovery had passed, at least for the moment. Dawn had broken. Within the hour, MacQuarrie’s men would be back to search every corner of the warehouse, but Kingsley would be long gone by then.
He took a small, black leather notebook from the satchel he carried and smiled as he thumbed through it one final time, noting the entry dates of gold received and the investments made. Once Haines was convicted, that money would be turned over to the Crown. Kingsley had originally thought perhaps Haines would have hidden the little book behind a false compartment in the desk. That search had turned up nothing, so while Haines had been at the Monday night meeting at Walker’s Hotel, Kingsley had picked the lock to the flat where the man lived and found it stashed behind books on a shelf. How predictable. But then, most criminals were.
Kingsley moved to the desk and pulled open the bottom drawer. He pushed the notebook toward the back and covered it loosely with papers. Not visible, but it would be found when MacQuarrie’s men searched the place.
Closing the drawer, he walked into the warehouse and looked around. Tobacco leaves lay strewn everywhere along with cracked and splintered barrels from yesterday’s raid. The gold, of course, had been taken away. Kingsley didn’t have time to open the boxes and crates that had not yet been searched, but the bolts of woolens were wrapped only in linen cloth to keep them clean. Reaching into his satchel again, he withdrew two dozen sealed packets of opium powder—the smuggler who had been questioned had been most generous in turning over the stuff—and started sliding the small sacks between layers of wool. Even though there was enough evidence from the barley shipments to brand Haines a criminal, Kingsley liked to hedge his bets. He was nothing if not thorough. Lord Liverpool might not be able to hang the label of treason on Haines, but this incident would send a strong message to those contemplating rebellion.
Kingsley looked around the warehouse to make sure he had left nothing behind to indicate he had been here. Then he turned and slipped out the door, latching it behind him.
His work at Haines Consolidated was done. It was time to move on to another target.
****
“’Tis a lot of unrest about town,” Owen said Saturday evening as the group had once again convened in the private parlor after dinner. “Every place I went, I heard nothing but talk of what’s happened.”
“I heard the same on the quay today,” Niall said. “The warehouse workers did nae lose any time spreading the word to the dockhands that everything has been torn apart inside the building and that they did nae get paid Friday.”
“I kenned they would be angry.” Annie sighed. “I probably should have ignored the sign and gone into the office—”
“Nae!” Niall nearly growled the word. They’d argued all the way home yesterday, but not a word of what he said had sunk in, apparently. “Do ye want to be sitting in gaol as well?”
Annie frowned, looking as though she were about to start the argument all over again when Aidan interrupted.
“’Tis to be expected the workers are angry, but right now, ye can do nothing to help them.” He turned to Owen. “What sort of unrest areyereferring to?”
“And where did ye hear it?” Niall asked.
“Various places,” Owen answered. “I had lunch at Walker’s Hotel. The overall tone of the conversations was surprise that Haines had been smuggling.”
“That is an understatement,” Annie said wryly. “I still can nae believe Mr. Haines was doing such a thing.”
“Smuggling is nae that uncommon. The wars with France and the States have caused tariffs to rise excessively. People are not happy with the English government and do not want to paythe high taxes on goods they need.” Owen shrugged. “Men are out of work too, so smuggling provides an income. They get a percent of the goods and the other people avoid the revenue man.”
“Well, Mr. Haines did nae avoid Tevis Shaw,” Annie said. “I wonder how he found out.”
Owen nodded. “That is the question Kingsley brought up.”
“Kingsley?” Annie asked. “Where did ye see him?”
“At Walker’s.”
“I guess he is nae longer sick then.”
“He did not seem to be, although he said he could have kicked himself for not being there to help Haines when the magistrate arrived.”
Annie shook her head. “There was nae much he could have done.”
“Probably not,” Owen agreed, “but he was also upset that he has, more than likely, lost his job.”
“He is nae the only one.” Niall looked at Owen. “Where else did ye go?”
