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Dash distracted himself from images of stealing Perdita away from the ball and into the garden by watching each passerby. It was always surprising how busy the streets of London were in the middle of the night. No one caught his attention. Mainly common folk going about their business.
“Here he comes.” Dash watched Armfield cross the street and signal to a hackney coming down the street. The hackney must have had a passenger since it didn’t stop.
“At least he had enough wits not to travel in his own carriage.” Jones chuckled. “But not enough to pay the driver to wait for him.”
Armfield stood on the corner, drawing attention with his expensive wardrobe in this working-class neighborhood near the Tower of London. God, the man was a dunderhead. A massive street thug approached Armfield and grabbed the elegantly clad gentleman’s arm to spin him around and punch him in the face.
Dash was first to jump out of the carriage and run to Armfield. The attacker was bent over an unmoving, prone Armfield, searching him for cash and hopefully not the papers which took hours to forge.
Instead of intervening, other men on the street changed direction, not wanting to get involved or become the next victim.
The watcher, who had been leaving the area after completing his job, sprinted toward the mugging. Dash and Jones were already moving in on the attacker who now raced away, after emptying Armfield of his belongings. They were headed toward the Tower of London and the labyrinth of alleys and streets.
“Check on Armfield,” Dash shouted to the watcher as he ran. Jones, no slouch, kept pace with Dash. Was this an attack by the French or Haversham to reveal Dash’s team since they were blowing their covers by chasing the thief?
Dash was fast for a big man, and his long strides caught up with the villain.
Jones was barely winded when he dove and grabbed the man by the knees, bringing them both to the ground.
“You get all the fun.” Dash had pulled out his pistol and aimed at the man, watching him closely to prevent him from reaching for a weapon as Jones searched him. Dash wanted him alive to question, but if this was a suicide mission, the villain wouldn’t have any trouble trying to take out Jones before succumbing.
“Hell, I done nothing wrong. A man can’t go out for a walk to get away from the old lady.”
The bulky man in a soiled shirt and torn breeches had rotted teeth and smelled of sweat and manure.
From his outward appearance, he was no mastermind spy. But Dash had a scar on his arm as a reminder to never to accept appearances.
“Stand up.” Jones pulled the stocky man to standing, searching the front of his shirt to pull out a wad of cash.
“Look, we can split it.” The man grinned, showcasing his front missing tooth.
“You think you can bargain?” Jones rolled his eyes. “Turn around.”
The papers were tucked in his back pants.
“You can keep everything.” He backed up with his hands in the air.
Jones handed the papers to Dash who confirmed that none were missing.
“Who hired you?” Dash asked. This should be interesting.
Confusion spread across the wrinkled, soot-covered face. “I ain’t in no gang. I just need cash… Mabel at the tavern has cut me off.”
Dash signaled with a head shake to Jones, who was busy binding the man’s hands. The man appeared to be a common street thug with the bad luck to have picked Armfield as his pigeon.
Dash lifted his gun and pointed it at the man. “Don’t try to run. I’ll shoot.”
Tonight was like so many others in the past three years. Shifting through the muck to find one possible pearl of information. Nothing exciting or sexy about spy work, but it sure beat the hell out of attending balls and soirees. Or did it? Both were facades but at the end of the latter, he’d have the pleasure of Perdita. Unlike tonight, when he would be alone in his empty bed with no warmth to sustain him.
“Get the cash and the papers back to Armfield. Act the part of a good Samaritan.” Not that Jones needed any guidance. “And send over the watcher to take this… man back to Abchurch.”
The man wasn’t anyone important, but he would still be taken back to headquarters to be questioned. The buffoon had just become of interest to His Majesty’s intelligence department.
Dash, pulling his cap down, headed to the hackney to wait and see whether Armfield would take the papers tonight or not. It complicated the operation if Armfield was too shaken to finish the job. Dash and his team would have to watch Armfield until he did.
Climbing into the hackney, Dash leaned against the squabs, closed his eyes, and fantasized about having Perdita waiting for him in his bed.
