A massive figure loomed out of the mist. The heavily built man was garbed in a bulky coachman’s coat and a low-crowned hat. The glare of the nearby gas lamp glinted dully on the large, long-barreled pistol in his beefy fist.
“Well, now, what ’ave we ’ere?” the man asked in a rasping voice. “Looks like a couple of gentry coves nosin’ around in my business.”
Baxter heard Charlotte draw a sharp, alarmed breath, but she did not cry out.
“Stand aside,” Baxter ordered.
“Not so fast.” There was enough light to see several large, dark holes in places where the villain’s teeth should have been. “You just came out of my house and I ain’t lettin’ you leave with anything that belongs to me.”
“Your house?” Charlotte stared at him in amazement. “How dare you? I happen to know that particular house was recently owned by someone else.”
“Uh, Miss Arkendale,” Baxter said softly. “This may not be a good time—”
“It’s my house, I tell ye,” the big man snarled at Charlotte. “I spotted it three nights back and I been watchin’ it real close ever since.”
“Watching it for what reason?” Charlotte demanded.
“Making sure the owner was gone for a good long while and weren’t planning to come back unexpected-like in the middle of the night, of course.”
“Good heavens, you’re a professional housebreaker.”
“I am that, right enough. Real professional.” The man grinned with pride. “Never been caught on account of I’m real careful. Always make sure the owners are out of town before I go in and help meself. I was getting ready to make my move tonight and what do I see? A couple of the fancy trying to beat me out of my profits.”
Baxter softened his voice. “I said, stand aside. I will not tell you again.”
“Glad to hear that. Ain’t got time for any dull lectures tonight.” The man dismissed Baxter with one last, mocking glance and turned his toothless grin back on Charlotte. “Now, then, Madam Busybody, just what did ye make off with? A bit of the silver, perhaps? A few trinkets from the jewelry drawer? Whatever it is, it belongs to me. Hand it over.”
“We took no valuables from that house,” Charlotte declared.
“Must have taken something.” The man scowled at the sketchbook. “What’s that?”
“Just a book. It’s nothing to do with you.”
“I ain’t interested in no book, but I’ll have a look at whatever ye got inside that cloak. I’ll wager ye tucked a few nice candlesticks and maybe a necklace or two in there. Open that cloak.”
“I will do no such thing,” Charlotte said with icy disdain.
“Mouthy bitch, aren’t ye? Well, here’s a little illustration of what’ll ’appen if ye don’t give me my rightful earnings.”
The man whipped around with surprising speed. He brought the pistol up high as if it were a club and swung it in a short, savage arc aimed at Baxter’s head.
“No,” Charlotte gasped. “Wait, don’t hurt him. He merely works for me.”
Baxter was already moving, ducking swiftly to avoid the slashing pistol. He yanked one of the glass vials out of the small box in his pocket, snapped it open, and hurled it straight into his assailant’s face.
The special phosphorous compound flashed into a harsh, startling light on contact with air. The villain roared in shock and rage and awkwardly leaped back, clawing at his eyes. The pistol clattered on the paving.
Baxter stepped forward and slammed a fist into the man’s jaw. Still partially blinded by the instantaneous light that had exploded in his face, the villain reeled.
“Ye’ve blinded me, ye bloody bastard. I’mblind.”
Baxter saw no reason to assure him that the effect was only temporary. He seized Charlotte’s arm. “Come. I hear the carriage.”
“It ain’t fair,” the villain whined. “I’m the one what spotted that vacant house. It’s mine. Go find yer own house.”
Charlotte glanced back at the outraged villain. “We’re going to inform the magistrate that you’re skulking about in this neighborhood. You’d better leave at once.”
“That’s enough.” Baxter saw the carriage lamps in the distance. He hauled Charlotte forward. “We’ve got our own problems.”
