“There would have been papers there if that were so,” Darnley replied. He took a drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “There were no papers. We looked everywhere. We tore that bloody place apart.”
“We did get some money, Jack,” McEnery said. “We did not come away empty-handed.”
“Bollocks! What we got was no more than a good journeyman makes in about a week,” said Darnley, savagely. “Not even what a rich man would keep around the house for spending money.”
“Well, so he had it stashed away, then,” said McEnery. “Where?” Darnley practically screamed, so that everyone turned toward him once again. “We cut that man to ribbons,” he said softly, through gritted teeth, “and he kept saying over and over that there was no more money. A pox on his lying soul! He had it hid somewhere, I tell you. We must have missed something. We must have!”
One of the Steady Boys came up to the table and whispered a few words into McEnery’s ear. McEnery glanced up at him with surprise. His comrade nodded and pointed over toward another table that stood nearby. McEnery nodded back to him.
“Go on then,” he said, “and keep an eye on him. Make certain that he does not leave.” He turned to Darnley. “Jack,” he said, “methinks you might want to come and have a drink or two with that chap at yonder table there.” He jerked his head in that direction.
Darnley glanced at him darkly. “What the hell for?”
“Because he works for Liam Bailey, that’s what for,” McEnery said.
“So? Why should I care a fig about Liam bloody Bailey?”
“Because Tuck bloody Smythe works for Liam bloody Bailey now and then, remember? And because Smythe said something very interesting to this chap he works with about what happened at the Genoan’s house that night, and this chap is drunk and running off his mouth about it.”
Darnley sat and stared at him a moment. “Is he?” he said, after a long pause. “Well then, let us go and listen to what he has to say.”
They got up and walked over to the table where the loquacious Bobby Speed sat with a couple of the Steady Boys, apparently deeply in his cups. He was holding forth with elaborate, expansive gestures that nearly caused him to overbalance on occasion and teeter on his stool. One of the Steady Boys reached out and grabbed his arm, to keep him from falling over.
“Take it easy there, friend,” said Darnley, laughing goodnaturedly as he clapped Speed on the back, pulled up a stool, and sat down next to him. The transformation from the dark and scowling brooder of a few moments ago to the cheerful boon companion seemed dramatic to McEnery.
It was as if Jack had become another man entirely. This was the Jack Darnley that always seemed to be the center of attention, the one the girls all liked so much, the charmer and the wit. But he knew another side of Darnley, a much more dangerous side that he both feared and respected. And also idolized. It was the Jack Darnley who had slashed away repeatedly at Master Leonardo while the others held him, demanding to know where he kept the money.
“Eh? And who might you be?” Speed asked, in a slurred voice.
“The name’s Jack,” said Darnley, holding out his hand to Speed. “Everyone knows me around here. What’s your name, friend?”
“Bob-bobby,” Speed replied. His cheeks puffed out and then he belched profoundly.
“Well, Bobby, you look as if you could use another drink,” said Darnley, clapping him on the shoulder. “Something to drown that frog in your throat, eh?” He signaled the serving wench to bring more beer.
“You give him much more an’ he’ll pass out,” one of the other Steady Boys said.
“Oh, now, never fear, Henry,” Darnley replied. “Ole Bobby looks like a man who knows how to hold his drink. Is that right, Bobby?”
“Ri… riiiiiiiight!” Speed belched in response.
“A ripper!” Darnley exclaimed. He took the pitcher from the serving wench and refilled Speed’s tankard. “Bottoms up, eh?”
He picked up his own tankard and made as if to drink, but refrained while Speed quickly quaffed his down.
“Now that’s the way to do it, eh?” Darnley said. “You know, they tell me that you work with my good friend, Tuck Smythe.”
“Ah. Good ole Tuck. Here’s to ‘im!”
“Right, here’s to him,” Darnley said, refilling Speed’s tankard and watching as he drank. His tone was jovial, but his dark eyes were like a predator’s, sharp and intense. “You know, Tuck was saying something about that Genoan merchant who got killed the other day. Methinks his name was Leonardo, was it not? We have all been talking about that. Terrible thing.”
“Aye, terrible, terrible,” said Speed, nodding so loosely it seemed as if his head would roll right off his neck. “Poor bloke.” He held up one finger dramatically. “But despite it all, they still didn’t get ‘is money!”
“They?” said Darnley, softly. “But I thought there was just one killer. And they have him locked up in the Marshalsea.”
“Hah!“ Speed barked, swaying slightly on his stool. “Hah! That’s what they think!” He leaned close to Darnley, conspira-torially. “Tuck says they got the wrong man!”
“Do they, indeed?” Darnley said. “How does he know?”