Hearing the sound, the fellow blanched and pulled his hand out empty. “Thiswas the fellow you fought with? Amajor?” the Frenchman hissed at Malet. “Gah! You have to be the most incompetent English soldier I’ve ever met. No wonder you were cashiered!”
“Ticktock, gentlemen,” Joshua said. “Either make the decision now or I will make it for you.” And to emphasize his determination, he half-cocked the pistol aimed at Malet’s knee.
Joshua was itching to shoot Malet, and not in the knee either. But he figured that Fitzgerald wouldn’t approve of that method of settling the situation. And Joshua really did wish to prove himself worthy of the post Fitzgerald was offering him.
So he shifted his gaze to the Frenchman. “The document, sir. Give it to me now, and I will let you leave.”
Not that it mattered. If Dick the Quick was as fast as his name attested, he was somewhere in the tavern waiting for this to be resolved so he could follow the Frenchman. Joshua knew he couldn’t keep control over two men in a public place, but he didn’t have to. Malet was the traitor.
Still, that didn’t mean he wanted to watch the French spy go free. And that was where Dick came in. He could tell Joshua exactly where the man was residing, and Joshua would pass that information on to Fitzgerald.
The Frenchman sighed, then shoved the sheaf of papers at Joshua.
“Go on, then,” Joshua said, but didn’t move his pistol until the spy rose and headed for the door.
Then he slipped it into his coat pocket and steadied his other pistol between Malet’s legs. “I suggest, sir, that you hand me the purse and come with me. Or you will have a very unhappy future.”
Malet looked fit to be tied, but he handed over the purse, which Joshua slid into his coat pocket. And when Joshua rose and stood behind him with his pistol against the man’s neck, Malet knew he had no choice but to stand and go with Joshua.
No one could see the gun Joshua held on Malet, and even if they could, they wouldn’t care. Malet had obviously chosen a rather low tavern so that no one would notice what he was up to with some Frenchman. That worked in Joshua’s favor. He could use his cane to walk with one hand while holding the pistol in Malet’s back with the other.
“Where are you taking me?” Malet asked.
“To a friend of mine, who will be delighted to hear that I’ve caught a traitor.”
“You don’t even know what’s in those papers,” Malet said as they walked out into the night.
“Actually, I do. And anyway, it doesn’t matter. I caught you selling them to the French. That’s all that counts. You will hang for treason, which is no less than you deserve.”
Malet got quiet as Joshua steered him toward the nearest coach stand. They were nearly there when Malet kicked Joshua’s cane out from under him, pushed him into the waterman for the stand, and ran.
Cursing a blue streak, Joshua quickly righted himself, but the streets were crowded and Malet seemed to have disappeared.
“Damnation!” Joshua cried.
It was a miracle neither of his pistols had gone off. But they were new enough that the half-cock notches had done their job and kept them from firing. Before anyone could see the one in his hand, he shoved it into his greatcoat pocket.
“Are you all right, sir?” The waterman stood and brushed himself off. “That bloody arse was in a hurry, he was.”
“He was, indeed. And I’m fine, thank you,” Joshua said as he scanned the streets. He felt like an utter fool, and clumsy to boot. He also couldn’t see the bastard anywhere.
He should never have taunted Malet with the fact that he would hang for treason. He should have waited to get the arse into the hackney first.
“Looks like you’re bleeding, sir,” the waterman said. “Probably banged your head on my bucket.”
“What?” Joshua touched his hand to his forehead. Sure enough, hewasbleeding, but he didn’t care. He’d lost Malet.
For the next hour he questioned the hackney coachmen and roamed up and down Chelsea. But it was no use. Malet had escaped. Damn his soul to hell. At least Joshua still had the papers Malet had tried to sell and the money he’d expected to get for them. Joshua would have to be content with that.
He hired a hackney, meaning to go to Fitzgerald’s, when something dawned on him. Malet was a vengeful sort. In his anger, he might try to kidnap Gwyn, either for revenge or ransom or to trade her for the papers.
Joshua scowled. Not onhiswatch. That man was not going near Gwyn ever again. Joshua could report to Fitzgerald in the morning. Tonight he had to make sure Gwyn was safe.
So he told the driver to take him back to Armitage House. Even if Joshua knew which opera Gwyn and the rest had been planning to attend and whether they’d even decided to go, he couldn’t head there in his present attire.
On the way, he very carefully restored each pistol to its uncocked position. He started to return them to his greatcoat pockets, but it occurred to him that if there were any chance he might encounter Malet at the house, he should be prepared for it.
So he put only one pistol into his greatcoat pocket. He had the perfect hiding place for the other. He pulled out the cloth he generally used to stuff the boot of his bad leg so he could wear it. Plenty of room in there without the fabric, sadly enough. Good to know that he could keep items in there if he needed to.
