The Masters of Bow Street by John Creasey Page B

and breeches with pale-blue bands beneath the knees. His boots were of pale hogskin which looked as pliable as silk. He inclined his head towards Eve as if to make sure that no one else could hear and there was an undercurrent of excitement in his voice.
    ‘Mistress of his bed, more like!’
    ‘With him, she’ll be that too.’
    ‘I wonder what Lisa Braidley will say to this new competition?’ Eve asked, obviously wanting no answer. ‘The woman is young and comely, you say?’
    ‘Yes, Eve, in all fairness that must be said.’
    ‘And she goes to Sebastian Smith’s church, Saint Hilary’s?’
    ‘Yes,’ answered Peter Nicholson. ‘Her husband would never go but she always does.’
    ‘Peter,’ Eve said, touching him on the arm with her gloves, ‘make sure that Lisa Braidley is made aware of this new situation soon, and make sure the Reverend Smith is also acquainted. Neither of them will be fooled by what kind of mistress she is called.’
    ‘It shall be done, Eve, and quickly.’
    ‘And carefully, remember, as a piece of gossip, not as by the common informer!’
    ‘As a delightful morsel of gossip,’ he assured her. ‘And the Reverend Smith, with his nose for prudery, will be in a right mood to admonish her!’
    They walked on for a few moments in silence, reached a yard leading to Long Acre, and turned and began to walk back. The singer’s voice seemed to have died away and there was very little traffic in the roads which ran about the great square.
    Suddenly Eve Milharvey said, ‘The boy. What is the boy doing?’
    ‘The boy James?’
    ‘Who else would I mean?’ she demanded impatiently.
    ‘He is still with grocer Morgan, who sells coffee and tea and spices.’
    ‘He won’t be for long, if I know John Furnival,’ she said, and her voice became momentarily strident. Another silence followed and lasted until they were close to the south entrance, when she took Peter’s arm again and said with quiet venom, ‘Listen to me, and make sure everything is carried out as I say. Have a boy of Marshall’s age dressed as he dresses and carrying parcels and pushing a cart as he does. Have this boy go into a shop ahead of Marshall and leave by the back way. Do you understand me?’
    ‘I do declare I even understand what you are planning,’ her companion said, his eyes glowing.
    ‘As young Marshall passes the shop have the shopkeeper raise a cry of “Stop thief!” And be sure,’ went on Eve Milharvey, ‘there is a thief-taker at hand to stop the Marshall boy and search his baskets.’ She looked levelly into her companion’s eyes and went on slowly. ‘It will not be difficult to find the stolen money in one of those baskets. Make sure the shopkeeper will swear to it and make sure some independent witnesses are stopped who will swear they saw the boy go in and come out again. If there is no one who can be proved an honest citizen, Furnival will get the boy out. We shall need them all in court when he comes up for hearing, and at the Sessions their evidence should be enough to have him hanged. Take all the time you need in which to prepare.’
    ‘Eve,’ Peter Nicholson said, ‘you are magnificent!’
    ‘I trust you will be competent,’ Eve said coldly.
    ‘I know the very shopkeeper to do just what he is told,’ Nicholson assured her. ‘A silversmith off Fleet Street close by the Cheshire Cheese, and there is a magistrate close by. I will pay five pounds each to two thief-takers who will whip the boy off to Newgate before Furnival or anyone else knows what has happened.’ He gave an excited laugh. ‘Truly, m’dear, it is worthy of the great Fred himself!’
     
    Early on a Friday, a few days later, James Marshall set out for Morgan’s. It was a damp morning with a hint of rain but in places a promise of sunshine. He had two hundred yards fewer to walk to work from Bell Lane, and this was his fourth morning of leaving home from the cottage behind Bow Street. He had been surprised by the news,