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Vale nodded. “MacDonald seemed to be the leader of that little gang, but you’re right; Brown had just as much reason to stop the march as MacDonald.”
“Or they might’ve been in it together.” Sam shook his head. “But in either case, how would they have known the route we’d take?”
Vale shrugged. “Wasn’t Brown friends with Allen?”
“Yes. They often shared their fire with Ned Allen.”
“And as an officer, Allen would’ve known the route.”
“He might’ve carried a message, if they’d bribed him.”
“Surely not to a Frenchie?” Vale’s eyebrows had shot up.
“No. But all they needed was an intermediary who could take a message to a neutral Indian, and as you know, there were plenty who either switched sides or dealt with both French and English.”
“If Allen talked to someone about the route the regiment took, it would certainly be a motive to kill him.”
Sam thought of the pathetic bag of bones they’d just found, and grimaced. “Yes, it would.”
Vale shook his head. “There’re holes to that theory, but in any case, we need to talk to Thornton again and determine what he remembers.”
Sam frowned. Thornton had made him uneasy from the first. “Do you think that’s wise? Bringing Thornton in on this? For all we know, he’s the traitor.”
“All the more reason to confide in him. If he thinks we trust him, he’s more likely to slip.” Vale touched his lips with a long, bony finger. Then he smiled, almost sweetly. “Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.”
were in the East End stews. The crumbling buildings were packed so closely together that sometimes only a walkway wide enough for a man separated them. They’d have to make the rest of the journey on foot.
Sam raised his eyebrows politely. “You can stay behind in the carriage if you’re afraid.”
The other man snorted.
The door opened and a footman set the step. The servant watched them with a knitted brow as they descended. “Shall I come with you, my lord? ’Tisn’t safe hereabouts.”
“We’ll be fine.” Vale clapped the man on the shoulder. “Stay and guard the carriage until our return.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sam led the way down a dark alley.
“He’s right,” Vale said behind him. “Do we really need to visit Ned Allen?”
Sam shrugged. “I don’t have many others to question. There weren’t a lot of survivors, as you know. And Allen was an officer.”
“Hardly any survivors at all,” Vale muttered. There was a splash and he swore.
Sam hid a grin.
“What happened to your lieutenant? Horn, wasn’t it?”
“Matthew Horn. He’s traveling the continent, last I heard.”
“And the naturalist?”
“Munroe?” Vale’s voice was casual, yet Sam knew he’d somehow won the other man’s complete attention.
They entered a tiny courtyard, and Sam cast a swift glance around. The buildings here looked like they’d been erected hastily after the great fire and were already in the process of decaying. They leaned ominously into the small courtyard, which, judging from the smell, was also the local privy.
“The man who survived with you,” Sam said. There had been a civilian naturalist attached to the 28th, a quiet Scotsman who had been one of the men taken captive by the Wyandot.
