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Mr. Green stepped from the back room, settling his hat over graying hair, his lips pinched. He paused when he noticed Charles and Andrew standing near the door. “Good day, Dr. Mason. Mr. Fremont.”
Charles dipped at the waist in a small bow. “Is there trouble, Mr. Green?”
The gentleman’s mouth tightened further, his brown eyes glittering in anger. “My blasted horses were taken right from my stables last night. Two of my prime hunters.”
“Any idea who stole them?” Andrew asked.
“None,” Mr. Green said. “Though I heard tell of a band of gypsies in Donning Grove.” He raised his voice so no one in the building would be able to miss it. “I did hope to find more help here, but I think old man Jolly is losing his touch.”
The nickname was a bit humorous when one considered that Mr. Green was likely the same age as Jolly. But regardless, that was no way to provoke Jolly to helpfulness. The man was greedy—nothing more. In Charles’s experience—and that of his friend Nick Pepper’s—the only thing to stimulate helpfulness was money.
“We’ve lost some horses, too,” Andrew said, his voice lowered. “We came here for information.”
Mr. Green scoffed, slapping his hat against his leg. “Good luck. If you hear anything, pass it on. I promise to do the same.”
Andrew nodded as Mr. Green passed them. They waited for the door to shut behind the man, the taproom growing quiet once more. “Shall we make an attempt?”
“We ought to try,” Charles said, leading the way to the back. Jolly stepped through the doorway before they could call for him, resting his large hand on the frame, his wide mustache quivering over a grin. “What can I do for you boys?” He glanced at Charles. “Back for another round?”
Charles’s cheeks warmed. It was a testament to how little he drank when even the innkeeper noticed his measly three drinks.
Or was it four?
“No, we’re here on other business.”
Jolly’s smile wavered. “If you’re asking about the horse thieves, I know nothing about it. I told Green the same thing just a minute ago.”
“We heard.” Andrew’s mouth pressed into a grim line.
Jolly’s broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Guess you’re outta luck.”
“It would appear that way,” Andrew said. “Thank you for your time.”
Charles stepped forward, unable to leave things so unsatisfying. Jolly was too quick to shrug them off, too quick to let this go. He had to know more than he was letting on, but the question was why? “You will let us know if you hear anything, yes? We will gladly pay for information.” He dug into his pocket and took out a small sack of money to prove his willingness to part with it. “And handsomely, at that.”
Jolly’s round cheek clenched, his shrewd gaze passing between them and the money before giving a final nod. “I’ll send word if I hear of anything.”
“One of our missing horses is rather dear to us,” Charles pressed, hoping his tone sounded as cold and steel-like as he was attempting. “I do not plan to give up the search easily.”
A moment of silence passed over them, the words laying thick in the musty air before Jolly nodded. “I am a man of my word. I will send for you if I learn anything worth sharing.”
Charles had to refrain from laughing. A man of his word? No, not in the least. But Charles could at least count on Jolly’s greed working in his favor—or so he hoped.
They left the inn, retrieving their horses and riding away from Graton. When they got far enough from town to feel safe from prying ears, Andrew shifted in his seat to look at Charles. “You didn’t believe him.”
“Not in the least. He was hiding something.”
“Yes, but what?”
“That’s the rub,” Charles said. “I haven’t any clue. The only thing that would keep Jolly from giving us information would be if he had a stake in the outcome of keeping his knowledge to himself. But why would he? He’d tell ten men the same thing if they each paid him.”
“You are probably correct, then. He must have a stake in it,” Andrew said.
“He wasn’t stealing the horses himself. He was in the taproom last night, and so was I.” Even if Jolly had managed to slip away in time to lie in wait on the road to Sheffield House, he was not the man who’d snatched Howard’s reins. Charles only saw the figure for a brief moment, but it had been long enough to see that the man did not have Jolly’s girth.
“It looks like we have more investigating to do.”
“It certainly does.” Charles swallowed, the tips of Falbrooke Court’s chimneys coming into view above the trees. “Now, who’s going to tell your sister?”
