I said my goodbye and started for the door, only to be called back.
“By the bye, Jeremy, you did not happen to mention to Mr. Zonder-van — or to anyone else, for that matter — that you believed you had heard Constable Patley’s voice in the house, did you?”
What was he getting at now? “No sir, I told only you.”
“That’s as it should be,” said he. “Keep it so.”
Like many an errand boy before me, I sulked the distance to my destination and dawdled all the way back. I dawdled willfully and skillfully, investigating streets and shops that had not, until then, received proper attention from me. So much time did I waste that before I knew it, dark had fallen without my notice. When at last it did come to my attention, I thought it likely that I was late for dinner. But then, with Annie gone, would there be any dinner?
In any case, I hastened home to Number 4 Bow Street and arrived in time to see the last few of the constables disappearing into Sir John’s chambers at the end of the long hall. An operation of some size was under way.
Jog-trotting down the hall, I was stopped by Mr. Baker, who was checking his armory.
“What’s afoot?” I asked him.
“Something big,” said he. “Pistols and cutlasses for all, and I’ve been invited along. He’s been asking for you, Jeremy. Better get inside.”
As I stepped into the magistrate’s chambers, I did a swift survey of the Bow Street Runners in the room and counted but nine present. Constable Perkins, Brede, and Patley were missing.
Sir John stood before them. “… and much as I dislike it, it will be necessary to divide our meager force …”
ELEVEN
There would be little point in presenting to you, reader, only what I saw and heard on that decisive night, for though I saw much in the company of Sir John, I did not see all. This was, I daresay, the most far-reaching and ambitious undertaking ever attempted by the magistrate and his Bow Street Runners. In fact, so bold was it that the assistance of both the Army and the Coast Guard was required.
As Sir John explained his plan to the listening constables at the start of the evening, it was necessary to divide his force into three much smaller groups. There had to be Bow Street Runners at the residence of Lord Mansfield in Bloomsbury Square, at the Zondervan house in St. James Street, and at the dock in Bermondsey, where a Dutch ship by the name Dingendam prepared for departure — and all parts of the divided force had to be in place more or less simultaneously.
“It would not do,” Sir John explained, “if one or more should escape our net and run to tell his fellows at another location before our net has closed upon them. Now, you all have timepieces, do you not?”
There was a general sound of assent throughout the room in response to his question. Perhaps only I was without one of my own.
“Be in place by eight. Wait in concealment until you have action from the two houses of the sort I have described. Those of you who are assigned to the dock in Southwark, simply wait, but if they should try to take the tide and slip out, stop them. You may not be able to do that, but if you can’t, the final move will be out of our hands. Mr. Bailey will be in charge of the Bermondsey group, and he will make all decisions of that sort. If you have questions, ask them quickly and ask them now.”
There were a few. The most fateful of them came from Mr. Bailey himself: “Just how much force are we permitted to use, sir?”
“As much as is necessary,” responded Sir John. “If there be any casualties this evening, let them not be constables. That is as clear as I can be on that question. Pistols and cutlasses. Do with them what must be done.”
It was well over an hour afterward that Sir John and I sat in the coach loaned us by Black Jack Bilbo. The coach sat some houses down from Lord Mansfield’s grand place in Bloomsbury Square. With the door to the coach open, I had a good view of the house. Mr. Rumford sat next to me, as did Constable Queenan, and across from us, altogether relaxed, sat Sir John, curled comfortably within the generous space of the coach interior. He had a smile upon his face. It was as if, having planned this undertaking as precisely as he had, he was certain that it had already taken place and had come to a good conclusion. Nevertheless, the event had not yet taken place, and the conclusion to which it might come was still open to doubt. All we could do was wait and see.
“Do you see anything?” asked Constable Rumford; it was, in fact, the third time that he had put that question to me.
And again I responded, “Nothing yet.”
Mr. Bilbo’s driver and footman seemed to be getting restless, as was the team of four horses. I knew those animals. They were rather high-strung. When they were in harness, they wanted to be off and running. Such inactivity as was not their lot made them fractious and nervous.
It was now well after dark, of course, and though the square was well-lit with streetlamps, there was no moon at this hour of the night. There were dark corners and spaces enough to hide a good many. I paid particular attention to those places, looking for movement. At last I saw a bit of it, as a figure in black emerged from a passageway which seemed to run beside the house just beyond Lord Mansfield’s. As the figure moved closer to the nearest streetlamp, I saw better; it was a woman, one wearing a voluminous skirt, a shawl, and a prim little kerchief upon her head. She looked familiar.
Of course she did! I had indeed forgotten that the last such robbery had begun with a woman seeking refuge from an attacker. That was how the robbers had cozened Arthur, Mr. Trezavant’s butler, into opening the door to them. This was doubtless the woman. Further, she looked at a distance quite like Mary Pinkham, formerly Lady Lilley’s personal maid. I had come to suspect that she had played this role earlier. She looked the street up and down, paying little mind to Mr. Bilbo’s coach, for the driver had pulled up in such a way that it faced away from her; in appearance, it seemed simply to be waiting for a passenger to emerge from the house. Having satisfied herself, the woman removed her shawl and waved it several times in the direction of Great Russell Street. From where I sat, it was impossible to see who or what she waved at without dismounting from the coach. I had no intention of doing that.
Before I saw their wagon, I heard the sound of horses’ hooves and the squeak of the wheels. Then at last it appeared. The wagon was an unusual covered sort, so that quite a number of men could be carried in back without being seen.
“They’re here,” said I very quietly.
Constable Queenan shuffled and stamped, collecting himself, and was near out of the coach before Constable Rumford grabbed him and pulled him back.
“Don’t jump out just yet,” said he to him. “They’re not supposed to know we’re here.”
“Oh … oh yes, sorry,” said Mr. Queenan.
“The idea,” said Sir John, “is to catch them between you two on the outside and Mr. Perkins and Mr. Brede on the inside. You see the sense of that, don’t you, Mr. Queenan?”
“Yes sir, I do sir.”
“Just be careful not to shoot or slice any of our fellows, won’t you?”
“Oh, I will, sir.”
As this whispered discussion continued, I kept my eyes upon the odd-looking wagon as it pulled up before Lord Mansfield’s residence. Five men jumped out the back, well-armed, dressed in black, and all likely wearing black face paint as well. One, whom I took to be the leader, held a hurried conversation with the woman — Mistress Pink-ham? They parted, nodding in seeming agreement, and the leader beckoned the others to follow.