Page 74 of Thief Taker

“Salter!” Elias pounded again on the locked door. “Let me out, you bastard!”

Frustrated, he spun away and kicked the card table instead, sending it crashing over. Chest heaving, fists clenched, he caught his breath. If Marlborough was here, if Kit was—

The door behind him opened.

Whirling around, he came face-to-face with a lean man of about his own height, a gentleman by his dress but possessed of a trader’s canny eye—Tobias Salter himself. A burly footman, looking more like a flash-man, stood at his shoulder. “Keep your hair on, Mr. Cole,” Salter said, glancing around the room. “I charge for damage caused.”

“Where is he?” Elias said. “If you’ve hurt him—”

“Yes, yes, I know—you’ll see me hang, or cut my balls off, and all the rest of it.”

Elias was taken aback. Salter might dress like a gentleman, but he certainly didn’t aspire to be one. And that meant he wouldn’t act like one either, so Elias needed to change tack. “Look, Kit ain’t no use to you. But if he comes to harm here, people will know. They’ll ask questions, they’ll—”

“Bloody hell, the pair of you are tedious buggers.” Salter flashed a barrow-boy smile. “I might say, Mr. Cole, that you seem very familiar with Kit—for his valet.”

Elias held his tongue and refused to be drawn further. Which is what he should have done from the start.

Salter studied him for a long moment, then said to the footman, “Bring us a tray of tea and close the door behind you.” The footman did as he was bid, and Salter waved a hand towards the two armchairs. “Let’s sit. I’d like to know why Duvall thinks the infamous thief taker, Elias Cole, is his valet.”

Elias made no move towards the chairs, even when Salter sat down, legs stretched out and watched him in expectation.

“Yes,” Salter went on. “I know who you are, Cole. And you should be bloody glad I do, or you and Kit would have had a rougher go of it.” His face hardened with the suddenness of a gunshot. “I don’t take kindly to robbery. But Hal Foxe won’t have a hair touched on your turnipy head, will he?”

Elias swallowed. “You work for Hal Foxe?”

“We’ve an arrangement,” Salter said, steepling his fingers. “And I ain’t so foolish as to cross him when it comes to you.”

An old mixture of relief, gratitude and irritation washed over him. He didn’t need Hal’s protection, not anymore. Or, rather, he didn’t like to think that he needed it. But if it had done him and Kit a favour today, he couldn’t begrudge it.

Damn, but this was a mess and no mistake.

“Take a bloody seat,” Salter said. “I ain’t about to snuff you, Cole, but you’re not leaving until you tell me what the bloody hell is going on. And don’t try to tell me you’re working as a fart-catcher, because that’s bollocks.”

Elias hesitated. He didn’t want to tell this man anything, but he was under no illusions either. Salter knew who he was and he’d never believe he was Kit’s valet. To give himself time to think, he walked around the chair and hesitated before sitting down.

The footman returned just as Elias sank onto the edge of the seat. There were a few moments while the footman poured tea and fussed about, and, throughout, Salter’s steady scrutiny didn’t leave Elias. It was bloody unnerving, the way the man scrutinised him. If he didn’t know better, he might think Salter could see right through his skin to all the lies that lay beneath.

When the door closed again, Elias picked up a cup and took a sip—it was good tea, smooth and expensive-tasting. “You’re right,” he said at last. “I ain’t really his valet.”

“So, what then?” Salter’s eyes twitched, a slight narrowing. “His lover?”

The lurch of discovery unsettled him, but if Salter was an associate of Hal Foxe, it was reasonable to assume he either shared or didn’t care about Elias’s tastes. But Elias wasn’t prepared to betray Kit’s secrets, so he just said, “It’s a job.” Half the truth. “I’m on the trail of someone.”

“Who?”

“Ain’t none of your business.”

“It led you here—that makes it my business.”

Elias took another sip of tea. “That ain’t what brought me here,” he said after a little thought. “I’m helping Kit—” He bit the name off too late, his cheeks heating as Salter lifted an eyebrow. “Duvall has his own problems, and I’m helping him.”

“I know all about Duvall’s problems,” Salter said. “What I don’t know is why you’re here, helping him.” He tipped his head to the side, considering. “Out of the goodness of your heart, I suppose?”

“To win his trust.” Another fraction of the truth. “I need his trust to do my job.”

Salter took his measure in a long, inscrutable look. “In other words, you’re tupping him for business.”

“No!”