By the time I concluded my interrogation, Mr. Blackburn was too inebriated to make his own way home-quite near too inebriated to stand, in fact. I placed him in a hackney and sent him on his way, reasonably hopeful that the coachman would do as I had paid him and not merely rob the poor fellow.
Though I had myself taken a bellyful of drink and was not the most clearheaded, the hour was not yet late and I thought I might still pay a visit to Mr. Cobb and inform him of this latest intelligence. I first needed to think matters through and determine if such was my best course, so I returned inside to sit by the fire of the tavern and sip the remains of my final pot. As I did so, I thought better of such an excursion, for I regained enough of my senses to recall that I did not work for Mr. Cobb any more than I worked for Mr. Ellershaw. I worked for myself, and my primary employment was to disentangle myself from this opaque web. I would say nothing for so long as I could.
I called over the pliable young Annie and requested a pen and some paper, and then I wrote two notes. The first was to Mr. Ellershaw, explaining that I should not be at Craven House the next day, for I had been laid low-inspired by the plight of the unfortunate serving girl-with a bloody flux. When a man has a cold or a debilitating ache of one sort or another, he often invites unwanted unsolicited medical advice, so I pretended to a more unpleasant ailment, believing it would preclude further inquiry on his part.
My second note was to Elias Gordon, asking that he meet me in such a way that our movements could not be observed. I gave these missives, along with another coin, to Annie, who promised that the kitchen boy would run them immediately.
It was then that I caught, if only fleetingly, the eye of a smallish fellow of middle years who sat huddled in the far corner. I had seen him upon my entrance and thought nothing of him, and I would have thought nothing of him now, except that in the instant he looked away from me he looked toward Annie. It might have been of no moment, mere tavern curiosity, but my suspicions were now aroused and I performed a subtle examination of this man.
He was dressed in a disheveled brown suit, and his old outdated wig shed like a sick lapdog upon the tattered shoulders of his coat. He wore small spectacles halfway down his nose; I could not tell much of the cast of his face because of the poor lighting, yet from what I did observe he seemed nothing so much as a poor scholar. It was entirely possible that the man was an agent of some force or other and merely used the visage of an impecunious university man as a disguise. I must also consider the possibility that the man was no more than he appeared and that circumstances had conspired to make me overly uneasy.
This option sat ill with me, however, for the scholar held open before him an open octavo of black binding, at which he spent most of his time glancing. A man could avail himself of far superior lighting than where he had lodged himself, and even a man whose eyes wanted no spectacles should have a hard time reading amid the gloom this man inhabited. I could not but conclude that he was a spy, though for Cobb or the Company or some other power, I could not say.
I therefore elected to remain where I was. If he wished to follow me when I departed the tavern, I could certainly take my chances. I would either lose him entire or he would follow me back to my lodgings with no harm done. But if he rose and attempted to stop the boy, I would have to follow, because I could not allow my letters, particularly the one to Elias, to fall into the hands of some unknown enemy.
Once more, I called Annie over, and bade her bend down low and close, and I set a hand upon her inviting bottom. “Laugh,” I said, “as though I had just said something of the greatest amusement.”
To my great surprise, she let out a laugh without further question.
“Now, pray don’t turn around, but there is a bookish sort of fellow in the far corner. Do you know who I mean?”
“What’s this about, then?”
“It’s about you earning another shilling.”
“Oh, all right then. Aye, he’s been here all night, that one. Same as you.”
“And what’s he been drinking?”
“Nothing but milk, if you can credit such a thing. A grown man, him, drinking milk with no bread, like he was a child.”
I could believe it indeed. The boy to whom I had entrusted the letters no doubt had other chores to complete before setting out, but I now saw him leave the tavern. In an instant, the scholar rose to follow. I waited a moment, until he was just stepping past the door, and, even as I put another piece of silver in the girl’s hand, I took to my feet and after the sham academician.
When I came out to Market Hill, the scholar was already coming up hard by the boy. The ground was hard with packed snow and I should hate to have to run upon it, but run I would, if it were required.
“Hold there,” the scholar called after the boy. “Hold there, my fine young man. A word with you, and a reward for it too.”
The boy turned to look and saw, instead of a smiling and harmless fellow, a pained face as I struck the man in the back of his head and sent him down into the muddy street.
“He meant you no good, but only injury,” I told the boy. “Go deliver your messages. I’ll take care of this rascal.”
The boy continued to stare, however, fascinated by the raree-show before him, but, the villain being quite incapacitated, I thought little of the delay. The scholar, for his part, was in discomfort and disoriented but still quite alert. I stood over him, putting one of my shoes upon his hand so he would not be tempted to rise. Though I offered no instructions, he quickly observed that any movement he made met the response of added pressure.
“Now, sir, tell me for whom you work.”
“It is an abominable thing to strike a man of the universities. Once the world learns this crime was done by a Jew, there shall be terrible consequences for your fellows.”
“And how would you happen to know I’m a Jew?”
The scholar said nothing.
“Whether you are a man of one of the universities or no is not my concern. It is my concern that you have been observing me and that you meant to stop that boy from delivering my correspondence. Now, will you tell me who employs you?”
“I shan’t tell you anything.”
As it happened, I believed him, nor did I particularly think that knowing it was Cobb or Ellershaw or anyone else would much change my plans, so rather than try to force him to speak, I knocked his head against the ground until he was unconscious. I then searched his things and found little except for a ten pound note issued by the very same goldsmith whose notes Cobb used to pay me.
I looked up and saw the boy had not yet departed but stood still in fear. “Give me the notes,” I said. “If there’s one villain about, there may be another. I shall arrange to have them delivered differently.”
The boy gave the notes to me and ran off, leaving me alone in the street. I held them in one hand and continued to stare at the still form of the scholar, wondering if I had lost my temper too soon with him and whether he might have had more to tell me. The subject was perhaps moot, however, for in an instant I felt a hand upon the back of my head, pushing me hard into the snow and sludge of the road. I went down, though not hard, and recovered myself in a moment, though a moment too late. When I looked up I saw the figure of a man running off with my notes in hand.
IN AN INSTANT I was on my feet and after the thief, but he had already gained a considerable advantage. I could see him far ahead, a bulky man who moved with improbable grace. I, on the other hand, having years before broken my leg most severely, could not run with the same speed, and I feared that, despite the most diligent effort and my determination to ignore the pain of my old wound, the villain would escape.