Richard walked over to the oaf and pulled the knife out of the beam, motioning with it for him to join Nick and the barkeep at the counter.
Leaning nonchalantly against the bar, Nick pulled the daggers out of the wood, saying, “I’ll get straight to the point. I want to know everything you can tell me about the men who attacked me nearly a week ago just outside your door.”
The two men exchanged a look and clamped their lips shut.
Nick trailed the tip of a blade along the bar, cutting a nice groove in the grain. The barkeep cringed. He must be the owner. He would have noticed Darcy.
Leaning in, Nick cut deeper.
The owner relented. “Tell ‘em, Grimbly. I don’t want no trouble. You gents talk to Grimbly,and you leave.”
Grimbly narrowed his eyes at Nick. “Is that how you got away from those blokes? You did one of them fancy tricks with yer daggers?”
Nick nodded. Blokes. There had been more than one. “Something like that. The buggers got away from me though, and I mean to make them pay.”
Grimbly looked at him askance. “You sound like the same gent what came here last week, but ye’re different.”
“I wasn’t angry before.” Nick flicked a chunk of wood off the edge of the bar.
Grimbly swallowed hard. “What d’you want to know?”
“Tell me everything you remember. What they looked like.”
“One had an eye patch.”
That described too many men. “Which eye?” Nick asked.
“The left.”
Nick frowned. He knew several sailors who’d had a line snap in their face or a cannon blast debris into their eyes. Eye patches were not entirely unusual. “What else?” he pressed.
“They were English, but sometimes they spoke funny. A bit like you when you first came in.”
Nick felt his frown deepen. An accent like his. He waved Grimbly to continue.
“The other one was bigger than me, solid and square. And he was missing the tip of his finger.”
Nick went cold. He asked, “Which finger? Which hand?”
“Little finger, right hand.”
Blast the mizzenmast.
Richard’s brows furrowed at Nick for a moment before turning to Grimbly. “How is it you know all this?”
Grimbly grinned, his eyes as hard as flint. “The boss told me to keep an eye on the gent. Make sure he left the property … unharmed, you see.”
More likely that his employer sent Grimbly to swipe Darcy’s purse and steal his boots. Nick headed to the door. He was done here. He knew who had Darcy.
At the door, he tossed back, “Ye follow us, I’ll aim for yer neck.”
Nick charged down the street, the colonel hurrying to keep up. When they reached a wider street, he hailed a carriage.
Only then did Richard speak. “You know who is responsible.”
Nick pursed his lips, his nostrils flaring as he let out his breath. “Aye.” He pounded his fist against the squabs.
He spent the rest of their journey across town attempting to convince himself he was wrong. He nearly succeeded, too.
