Simon was one of the last to emerge. He called a cheerful good night to his new friends, fended off a persistent woman who clearly knew money when she saw it, and strode away towards Christ Church. Thomas ran to catch up with him. When Simon heard him coming, he turned and waited. ‘Ah, Thomas, there you are. I do hope the waiting wasn’t too tedious.’
‘It was. How did the evening go?’
‘It wasn’t an easy part to play, but I believe I carried it off rather well.’
‘And?’
‘I had to be at my best to lose to those clods. Or do I mean worst?’
After three cold, solitary hours, Thomas’s temper was short. ‘For God’s sake, Simon, I know you have a high opinion of your theatrical talent, but this is not a play. Abraham and Jane are dead, Rush is still at large, and we are trying to find Fayne. Did you lose your money?’
‘Of course. My apologies. I must have been carried away by the moment. Eventually, I did. And I made it obvious that there is plenty more where that came from and that I would be back tomorrow. I even asked if there were any young men in town who might like to play for higher stakes.’
‘And are there?’
‘It seems that there might be. Word of a visiting merchant with deep pockets and a knack of laying foolish wagers will be passed on. There’s a decent chance Fayne will hear of it and come tomorrow.’
‘Was there any mention of Fayne?’
‘No. Nor of Francis. Christian names are preferred.’
‘A pity. I had hoped he would be known there. Anything else?’
‘Only that they are expecting me tomorrow evening at seven.’ They had reached Merton, where Simon bade Thomas good night and went to change his clothes before evening prayers with the queen.
Back at Christ Church, Thomas wondered again what foolishness he had embarked upon. A devout Franciscan acting the part of a gambling merchant, and a homesick bookseller lurking in the street for three hours — all in the vain hope of luring their prey into a trap. And planning to do it all over again tomorrow. What would Montaigne have said?
After an interminably long and wearisome day, Simon the merchant and Thomas the watcher set off again the following evening for the house by the west gate. They found Tomkins and Smithson already there and anxious for news. At least this time Thomas would have company. When Simon had left them to be about his business, he told them what he knew. ‘We must hope that Fayne does not owe money here,’ he said.
‘It’s unlikely because it’s the rougher places he prefers, where he can drown his disappointments and take his revenge on helpless women,’ replied Tomkins.
‘Helpless women’ immediately brought to Thomas’s mind a hideous picture of Jane lying on a bed bleeding to death. Had other women suffered as she had? If so, all the more reason to find Fayne. One eye is brown yet the other is blue. The eyes that had shown him the way to break the cipher. Beautiful eyes, a beautiful lady. Rush might have escaped, but if there was a grain of justice in the world Fayne would show his face tonight.
The three men stood together in the shadow of a broken wall almost opposite the house, very near to where Thomas had kept his vigil the previous evening. Thomas Hill, Hugh Tomkins and Philip Smithson — each of them for their own reasons determined to find Francis Fayne. Looking at the others, Thomas could see precious little difference between them. Both were medium height, about Thomas’s age, dressed in black coats, hats, breeches and boots, and armed with swords and knives. They looked exactly what they were — officers of his majesty’s army. Simon, Silas and he had agreed that the two men were genuine in their loathing of Fayne, and desperate to bring him to justice.
To pass the time, Thomas asked, ‘Are you gentlemen in the same regiment as Fayne?’
‘No, sir,’ replied Tomkins. ‘Fayne was in Colonel Pinchbeck’s Regiment, now joined with Sir Henry Bard’s. We are with Colonel Bagot.’
Thomas knew of the regiment. ‘Ah, yes. Richard Bagot — one of the first regiments formed to fight for the king. Were you at Newbury?’
‘We were, sir, and by God’s will, lived to tell of it. Many friends died there.’
‘And you’re sure Fayne avoided the battle by subterfuge?’
‘Quite sure, sir,’ replied Smithson. ‘He claimed to have been in a skirmish, but he was lying. One of his men admitted as much.’
‘Yet you play dice with him.’
‘We did. Not any longer. You saw yourself what the man’s like. An evil temper and quick with his fists. When we heard about Newbury, we had no more to do with him.’
‘Do you think he’ll come tonight?’
‘Who knows, sir? We can only wait and pray.’
‘Indeed. Although I’ll leave the praying to you. I’ve never been much of a hand at it.’
‘Not a church-goer, sir?’
‘Family occasions only. Now, if Fayne arrives, we’d better have a plan.’
‘What do you suggest, sir?’ asked Tomkins.
‘Well, I have inspected the house. There are no other doors, or windows wide enough for a man to squeeze through. It would be a mistake to charge in after him. Others might take his part. We could find ourselves trapped and outnumbered. We’ll wait until he comes out. Simon will be behind him, and we will be in front. He won’t escape.’
Smithson and Tomkins exchanged a look. ‘That sounds sensible, sir,’ said Smithson. ‘We’ll wait on your order to take him.’
‘Good. Now I shall wait here. You two go to either end of the street. Between us, we’ll see him if he comes.’
With three pairs of eyes watching, they would surely not miss Fayne if he came. The question was — would he come?
For an hour and then another, they saw the comings and goings of visitors to the gambling house, the guards changing and a woman noisily vomiting against the wall. They heard dogs barking, cats wailing, and a man and his wife arguing angrily in a nearby cottage. They did not see or hear Fayne. Each man kept steadfastly to his appointed position, not wanting to be the first to weaken. As the evening grew colder, a man peering out from the house opposite would have seen three men, apparently unconnected, stamping their feet and blowing on their hands, and wondered why they did not go and find fires to sit in front of. Thomas was very close to giving up and leaving Simon to lose his money alone, when all three of them saw a solitary figure enter the street from the direction of the gate and walk towards the house. Each of them shrank back into the shadows and watched.
Although the man walked with shoulders hunched and head down, they could tell that he was tall. As he approached the house, he turned and looked furtively around, as if afraid of being seen. His face was in shadow and his head covered by a broad black hat. He reached the door of the house and knocked. The door was quickly opened, and the man took off his hat before entering. Even in the dark, his long fair hair was clearly visible. It was Fayne.
The moment he entered the house, Smithson from one end of the street and Tomkins from the other ran towards Thomas in the middle. No more than a pace or two from him, both turned sharply towards the house. Smithson knocked, the door was opened and they disappeared inside. Thomas, too astonished to react, stood and stared blankly at the closed door. As his wits returned, the realiz ation dawned that he had misjudged them: they had planned to ignore Thomas’s instructions to take Fayne alive. Simon might be in danger. He too ran to the door and knocked loudly.
As always, the door was opened at once. Instead of being ushered in, however, Thomas was knocked to the ground by a figure hurtling out. From inside came confused shouts of alarm and instruction, followed by Tomkins and Smithson, swords drawn, pursuing the fleeing figure. Thomas struggled to his feet and gave chase. As a student, he had been a noted runner, seldom defeated over any distance less than a mile, and often the toast of those wise enough to put their money on him. A little out of practice but unencumbered by a sword, he quickly closed on the two men, and overtook them just as they reached the end of the street. For some reason, the fleeing Fayne had run off in the direction of the town, not the gate, from which he might have been able to make his escape. Thomas raced past Tomkins and Smithson, just in time to see Fayne disappearing round a corner. He paused to throw off his heavy coat, then he was off again and picking up speed. As long as he kept Fayne in view, the bigger, heavier man would not throw him off.