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PROLOGUE
The men around the table sat perfectly still. A small beeswax candle’s feeble attempt to light the room was swiftly snuffed out, shrouding everyone in darkness. The atmosphere grew tense and expectant as everyone looked at the looming black mass of the door.
“Answer it,” the boss ordered quietly.
The small, rotund man seated to the left of him hurried across the room. Rather than head straight to the door, he crept to one side of the window and peered through a small crack in the shutters.
Assured that it was who they were expecting, he nodded to his colleagues but realised they weren’t able to see him. It would be more than his life was worth to speak so he did as instructed and hurried to the door. Yanking it open, he grabbed a fistful of the courier’s shirt and hauled him inside before he slammed the door shut again. The move happened so swiftly that the man on the doorstep never even had the opportunity to open his mouth.
Once inside, the heavy thud of the bolt across the door shattered the silence. The sound appeared to be the signal for the candle to be re-lit, but it’s meagre flame did little to penetrate the blackness.
The stunned courier peered nervously through the gloom. The silence lengthened. He waited for someone to speak.
“Sit,” the tall man at the end of the table snapped.
The courier tried not to stare at the man as he perched tentatively on the edge of a seat, but it was difficult. It was the first time he had seen three of London’s hardest gangsters in one room like this. It was terrifying. Sweat began to pop out on his forehead, but he daren’t swipe at it. He knew that if he showed these men any sign of weakness, they would be on him like wolves on a rabbit. There was no possibility of him ever being able to out-run Fate. Death would be upon him before he could even reach the door.
Now that he was there, he wanted to get his task over with so he could go home again. While he waited for someone to break the unearthly silence, he took a closer look at the men present.
Alfie Gutteridge was someone most sane people avoided. A thug by trade he had, over the course of his fifty something years, become a bully by nature. His reputation was legendary; his exploits were less than pleasant even to consider. There were rumours, of course. There are always rumours about some people but whether true or false about Gutteridge nobody knew. Even the most scurrilous gossips were cautious about what they said about him. He looked harmless enough. To anybody passing him on the street, he was an ordinary, hard-working gentleman in his workman’s shirt, waistcoat, and breeches, going about his business. However, to people who knew him, Gutteringe was a murderer; a thief and a chancer best avoided.
The two other men in the room sat in the shadows, but the darkness that encased them only emphasised their menacing qualities.
The tallest of the trio was none other than Terrence Sayers himself. Just saying his name in his head made the courier blanch with fear, and he leaned back in his seat a little to put a bit more distance between them. The man positively exuded menace, even sitting down, and he hadn’t said anything yet.
Quickly turning his attention the man seated opposite, the newcomer found himself immediately pinned by the third man’s piercing glare. The whites of those bulbous eyes were nothing short of sinister. The look he levelled on him was so searching, so threatening, that the courier began to feel like one of the precious gems the man reputedly recut for Sayers. Roger Chadwick was Sayers’ master forger. According to unnamed sources, the man could forge anything. He was a jeweller’s apprentice by trade, but rather than using his skills to progress in life, he had instead turned to crime. At the moment, it was rumoured that Chadwick was busy cutting and re-setting precious gems Sayers’ associates stole to order. But, of course, nobody would confirm it. Given Sayers’ current activities, Chadwick was, by far, Sayers’ most valuable man.
“Well?” Sayers demanded.
The courier jumped.
“Where are they?” Chadwick snapped when the courier didn’t immediately answer.
“I d-don’t have them,” the courier stammered.
He closed his eyes as soon as he said the words and began to pray.
When nothing happened, he risked a tentative peek across the table, and caught the telling look that passed between Chadwick and Sayers. It meant dire things for his future he knew but was at a loss to know how to bargain for his life.
Everybody looked at Sayers, waiting for the man to do something, or say something.
When Gutteridge shifted in his seat, Sayers held up a hand and threw him a hard look of warning.
“What happened?” Sayers demanded quietly.
His manner was far too quiet for comfort. He kept his gaze locked on the table-top while he waited for the newcomer to explain what had gone wrong.
The courier glanced about the room, silently seeking reassurance from somebody. Of course, he got none. He knew there was no easy way to tell them. Although what had gone wrong wasn’t his fault, he was the one sitting in the chair right now. He would be the one who would pay the ultimate price if Sayers became angry when he found out what went wrong.
“I went to fetch them as instructed but we got ambushed.” He met Sayers’ steady gaze. “Someone tipped the authorities off because they were lying in wait for us. Everything we did went to plan. We would have gotten away with it as well if it weren’t for the half dozen men who came out of nowhere. They were everywhere.”
“Did anyone get caught?” Sayers asked.
The man nodded. “Bamber. He told me to get out of there. I stopped long enough to watch Bamber being carted off
to prison. Then I just ran, and managed to avoid being carted off with him.”
“Where is Bamber now?”
The courier shrugged. “He is over at Standforth, I think. I don’t know for sure. Once I had taken the box from him and saw where he was going, I got out of there.”
“Where is the box now?” Sayers asked, looking a little happier at the prospect that the man had gotten the goods after all.
The courier dug around in his pocket and slapped a small square box onto the table.
“It won’t do you any good, though,” he snorted.
Now that the worst of the tension within the room had lifted, and Gutteridge had removed his vile threat, he felt more able to talk freely.
“Someone switched the contents, and it wasn’t Bamber. He didn’t get the time to tamper with them. As soon as he lifted them, he took off out of the window, but two men chased him. I was hiding in the trees. When I saw he wasn’t going to get away, I ran toward him. He threw the box at me. I stuffed it into my pocket and just ran. Everyone went one way, and I went the other. As soon as I was clear, I took a look inside. You know, just to make sure none of the contents were dropped or anything.”
“Was the box opened?” Sayers asked calmly.
“Yes. I opened it, but there was nothing inside. Look.” The courier lifted the lid of the box. “That is all that was there.”
He pointed to the small white card nestled inside the box. Sayers made no attempt to pick it up.
“What does it say?” he murmured quietly.
The courier shrugged.
“I dunno. I can’t read,” he replied with a frown.
Sayers swore beneath his breath. Rather than take the card out of the box, he lifted the candle and tipped it toward the box’s contents. He flicked the card over with the tip of one finger and swore again when he read what was on it.
With the compliments of the Star Elite.
“Did you get a good look at any of the men who captured Bamber?” Sayers asked.
