Page 105 of Marigold and the Marquess
The owner, Ogilvie, had been listening and sought to assure Leo, as well. “My drivers will take their orders from me. I’ll make certain it is done.”
Leo dug into his breast pocket. “Wilbur, when you get to the Blind Bear, buy Mr. Ogilvie’s driver an ale and some food if he is hungry. For yourself, as well.”
He then turned to Ogilvie and handed him enough to cover Wilbur’s fare and more than a little extra for his cooperation.
“Very generous of you, m’lord.” He smiled as he tucked the payment into his shirt pocket. “Come around any time you need assistance.”
Leo now regained Wilbur’s attention. “It is likely the scoundrel had the driver drop him off at a corner location. Wilbur,” he said, looking Homer Barrow’s nephew squarely in the eyes, “on the chance the driver saw him go into a tavern or a private house, just get the location and report it to me at the Blind Bear.”
The boy’s mouth drooped in disappointment.
Dear heaven, Leo did not want this untrained boy trying to be a hero. “Do not confront this man on your own. You will only put your life and that of an innocent driver at risk. Got it?”
The lad nodded, but there was a glint in his eyes that worried Leo. He understood how eager the lad was to prove himself. But Cummings had shown himself to be dangerous, not to mention twisted in the head. What reason did he have to steal Marigold’s dog other than to torment her? Nor would he hesitate to kill Wilbur if he caught him snooping around.
“I’ll need your promise,” Leo insisted. “You are not to go anywhere near the fellow, only report his whereabouts to me or your uncle.”
“I promise, m’lord,” he said, impatient with Leo’s persistence and obviously disappointed to be reined in.
It felt like forever, but took less than two hours before Wilbur and the driver, who was indeed this Abner Simmons, turned up at the Blind Bear. Homer Barrow and two of his best men had turned up only minutes earlier. Leo immediately questioned the driver. “M’lord, the man I picked up went into the White Rose tavern with the dog.”
Leo also tried to make out Wilbur’s scrawl on the notes he had taken down. Since none of the other drivers had reported picking up a fare with a dog, this was the obvious lead to be pursued.
“Did you notice anything else about the man, Mr. Simmons?”
“How do you mean, m’lord? Well, I did not get a very good look at him considering it was dark on the street, but he was not a young man, I can tell you that. As I told the lad, and he took down m’words…I’d guess him to be in his forties. On the portly side. Dark hair. Not pleasant. I’m sorry, m’lord, but I think he might have been hurting the dog to keep him quiet. The little tyke was whimpering and cried out a time or two.”
Leo’s heart tugged.
Marigold would be devastated to hear of this.
If there was any good to be gleaned from the fellow’s report, it was that Mallow was still alive and had not been drugged. Hopefully, the little fellow would suffer only from bruising and nothing worse. “Stay with us, Mr. Simmons. We’ll need you to identify the man once we capture him.”
“Aye, m’lord. With pleasure. I don’t take kindly to anyone so low as to steal a lady’s dog.”
Homer Barrow knew of the White Rose tavern. “It is a nasty place, my lord. However, the owner owes me a favor. Wilbur, wait with Mr. Simmons in his hack. That tavern is no proper place for a peach-faced lad.”
Leo allowed Homer to take the lead when they reached the tavern. It was now after three o’clock in the morning. Despite being six of them together, Wilbur, Simmons, the three Bow Street men, and himself, they all kept their hands on their weapons and remained ever on the alert along these dark and eerily empty streets.
A lone thief was of no concern, but men operated in gangs around here.
Leo hoped he and his companions looked tough enough to be left alone.
When they reach the tavern, Leo reminded Wilbur to remain in the hack with Mr. Simmons while he and Homer Barrow went inside. Homer had positioned his two men by the back door on the chance Leo’s cousin attempted to run.
The owner was a portly fellow with sharp eyes and a grizzled voice. He gazed at Leo warily, but seemed comfortable enough speaking to Homer. He told them where they would find the gent with the dog. “Upstairs. Third door on your right. This makes us square, Homer. I don’t owe you no favors anymore.”
“Until I do you another good turn and save your worthless hide,” Homer replied.
They climbed the narrow stairs and made their way with stealth down a dark hallway that was hardly wide enough to walk down one at a time. As they approached the room in question, Leo heard Mallow’s frantic barks and then a sharp yelp of pain. “Stupid dog! You’re more trouble than you’re worth. I ought to kill ye and be done with–”
Leo burst through the door, easily shattering the flimsy latch and old, rotting door. He’d drawn his pistol and Homer also had his drawn, both weapons trained on…who was this stranger? He was not Leo’s cousin. “Touch that dog and I’ll put a hole between your eyes.”
Mallow, who was unbound, now leaped into Leo’s arms and began to lick his face. “Are you hurt, little fellow?”
To Leo’s relief, the spaniel only appeared frightened and perhaps a little sore. Otherwise, he did not look to be seriously injured. However, the scoundrel now cowering and begging Leo not to kill him was a thin, wiry man, a complete stranger who nowhere fit the description the hack driver had given them of Mallow’s abductor.
Of course, Leo knew his cousin had been the culprit.
