AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Maximus looked up with a glare. “Not on purpose, I assure you.”
The dragoon captain grunted, looking tired. He was leading his horse, having entered the alley from a very narrow lane.
Maximus rose, glancing from the narrow lane to Trevillion’s rangy mare. “I’m surprise you didn’t get stuck in there.”
The other man raised a sardonic eyebrow. “I think Cowslip’s surprised, too.” He gave the mare an affectionate pat on the neck.
Maximus blinked. “Cowslip?”
Trevillion glared. “I didn’t name her.”
Maximus grunted noncommittally. He supposed he hadn’t any leg to stand on, considering the names his sister had given his dogs. He bent to examine the ground close to the wall of the opposite building.
“What are you looking for?”
“He dropped his dagger. Ah.” Maximus bent and picked up the knife with satisfaction, stepping closer to the dragoon and the better moonlight.
The dagger was a two-edged blade, a simple, narrow triangle, with hardly any guard and a leather-wrapped handle. Maximus turned it in his hands, peering for any sort of mark without result.
“May I?”
Maximus looked up to see the dragoon captain holding out his hand. His hesitation was only a split second long, but he saw Trevillion’s knowing glance anyway.
Maximus handed over the dagger.
The dragoon examined it and then sighed. “Common enough. It could belong to almost anyone.”
“Almost?”
A corner of Trevillion’s thin lips cocked up. “He’s an aristocrat. I’d bet Cowslip on it.”
Maximus slowly nodded. Trevillion was an intelligent officer, but then he’d always known that.
“Did you get a look at his face?” the captain asked, handing him back the dagger.
Maximus grimaced. “No. Slippery as an eel. He made sure I couldn’t catch hold of that scarf.”
“Outwrestled by a man older than you?”
Maximus glanced up sharply.
Trevillion shrugged at his look. “He had a small bit of paunch about his middle and he sat his saddle a bit stiffly. He’s athletic, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he were older than forty.” He considered a moment as if thinking over what he remembered of the highwayman, then nodded to himself. “He might even be older than that. I’ve seen men on the far side of seventy riding to the hounds without problem.”
“I think you’re right,” Maximus said.
“Was there anything else you noticed about Old Scratch?”
Maximus thought about that glint of green at the highwayman’s throat and decided to keep that hint to himself. “No. What do you know of the man?”
“Old Scratch is without fear—or morals, as far as I can see.” Trevillion looked grim. “He not only robs both rich and poor, he doesn’t hesitate to harm or even murder his victims.”
“How broad is the area he frequents?”
“Only St. Giles,” Trevillion said promptly. “Perhaps because he meets little resistance or because the people here are more vulnerable and not as protected.”
Maximus grunted, staring at the knife in his hands. A highwayman who hunted only in St. Giles and said he’d not been back for many years. Could he be the man who’d murdered his parents so long ago?
“I have to return to my men.” Trevillion placed his boot in Cowslip’s stirrup and swung himself up into the saddle.
