The Diamond Thief by Sharon Gosling Page B

his food then looked back at Rémy, his expression suddenly serious. “You want to keep away from ‘im, though. Abernathy, I mean. I reckon ‘e’s dodgy as a fish stall after four o’ the clock.”
    She leaned forward. “Why? Why do you think that?”
    J resumed shovelling food into his mouth, taking a breath to lift his now-empty pint glass. “Could murder another pint o’ porter, I could.”
    Rémy shook her head. “Tell me about Lord Abernathy, then we’ll see.”
    “What do you want to know about ‘im for, anyway?” J asked, evasively.
    “He stole something. Something valuable. Something I want. Something the police think I already have.”
    J snorted. “The coppers? They’re about as useful as a cold cup o’ tea. They won’t follow you down ‘ere, and they won’t do nuffin about Abernathy, that’s for sure.”
    “How do you know?”
    “‘E’s got friends in ‘igh places. He’s a lord, ain’t he? Stands to reason. And…” J trailed off, staring at his plate.
    “And what? Come on, J. Tell me.”
    J shrugged. “People ‘ave been going missing for months down ‘ere,” he said. “No one cares, cos it’s just us, ain’t it? But me mate, he went one night, and I got to thinking. Got to looking around a bit more, like. And I reckon… Well, I reckon it’s ‘im.”
    “Abernathy? You think he’s kidnapping people?”
    “Ssh,” J hissed, looking around to see if anyone had overheard. “For gawd’s sake, keep your voice down!”
    “All right, all right,” said Rémy, lowering her voice.
    The boy fiddled with his glass for another moment, before he said, “I dunno. It’s just a hunch. The Sally Ann reckon ‘e’s all about building new ‘omes for us poor folk. They say that’s why e’s bought up all the old mines. Improvin’ our lives, they say. ‘E’s definitely got something going on down there in those tunnels. But I don’t think he’s buildin’ bits o’ ‘omes. I reckon it’s something else.”
    “What?”
    J shrugged. “How should I know?”
    “Have you told anyone?” Rémy asked.
    J snorted again, but this time it was a sadder sound. “Oo’s goin’ to listen to me?”
    Rémy shrugged. “I am.”
    The boy eyed her. “Yeah, but you’re like me, really, ain’t you? I mean, besides being a foreigner ‘an all that.”
    “Where are these mines?’ Rémy asked after a moment. “Can you take me there?”
    J looked at her with the steady stare of someone speaking to an addled mind. “As if. You’d not catch me getting close to ‘em. I’m not being caught. No, sir. Life’s bad enough already.” He banged his empty glass on the table. “I can take you to ‘is house, though. So, what about that porter, eh? Fair’s fair, ain’t it?”

Six
    Suspicions and Accusations
    Having interviewed as many of the circus folk as he could find and searched around for clues, it was the early hours of the morning by the time Thaddeus returned to Scotland Yard. The old building glimmered in the fresh rain and he was surprised to see that there were still lights on in the wing occupied by the detective division. His colleagues were not known for working late.
    He felt eyes following him as he pushed through the wooden double doors and headed for his desk. There was a sudden hush, as if all conversations in the room had become unnecessary. Collins appeared from nowhere, looking surly.
    “About time you showed up, boy. This place is in uproar because of you.” Collins nodded over his shoulder to the shut door of Chief Inspector Glove’s office. “He’s out for blood.”
    Thaddeus nodded wearily as he dropped into his chair. He’d known as much, even without being told. “What is being done?” he asked Collins. “Have they questioned the guards? Do they have any more information about the girl?”
    The other policeman crossed his arms. He opened his mouth to speak, too, but before Collins had a chance, the Chief Inspector’s door opened and Glove appeared. His gaze