Page 78 of The Viscount of Shadows

“How much?”

Wollstonecraft dug into his pockets with shaking hands and brought forth a few notes. “Four pounds,” he whispered miserably.

Jedi and his men burst out laughing. “Not near enough. But we will take it and buy bread and cheese for you to nibble on. Maybe you can share it with the rats.” Jedi hadn’t seen any rats below, but he thoroughly enjoyed seeing the blood drain from Wollstonecraft’s face at the prospect.

Birch snatched the money from Wollstonecraft and then pushed him toward the large fireplace. In a manner of minutes, Wollstonecraft was secured below.

“What now?” Birch asked.

“Let the toff stew a bit down there. Bring him bread and water at midnight. Then we will send a note along to his viscount brother. If he pays the money, we will let the sniveling bugger go. If The Sentinel is involved in this somehow, he will show up, maybe with friends in tow.”

“What about the coppers? The viscount could call in the police instead of paying.”

“Maybe. But I will put in the note no coppers, or else—” Jedi made a slashing motion across his neck. “That’s why you are going to the station to bring Constable Nigel Lindon to me immediately. He works nights and feeds me information.”

Birch rushed out the door.

Jedi sat patiently and waited. He cocked his ear toward the trapdoor. There was a noise which sounded like whimpering. A slow, satisfied smile crept across his face.

Lindon stood before him fifteen minutes later. He described Simpson as about six feet, dark blond, blue eyes, early thirties. The description fits the man who gave orders during the raid. Was it Simpson? Some of the puzzle pieces snapped into place; others did not.

“What else can you tell me about him?” Jedi asked.

“I heard he’s mates with a bunch of nobs. He’s been hanging about at a viscount’s place lately.”

Jedi’s head snapped up. Viscount? It would be too much of a coincidence. In the paper, Jedi read there were over one hundred viscounts currently. What were the odds it would be Tensbridge? Regardless, it was a nugget of information that Jedi tucked away for future use.

“Is Simpson at the station now?”

“Aye, he is. He was just made Detective Sergeant, the miserable bastard. Everything by the book, strict orders and such, and—”

“Enough. Take Birch with you and point him out. Birch, stick to this bloke Simpson like glue. I want to know his comings and goings.”

Both men departed, leaving Jedi with his thoughts. He was not wholly convinced Simpson was The Sentinel, but he would pursue this to the end on the outside chance that he is.

No one would interfere with his business.

Copper or not.