Westminster just to tell me that?’
‘Not just that, Bishop.’ He strode briskly over to the Bishop, his hands held loosely behind his back. ‘It seems Quaint put the frighteners on Peach, and he spilled his guts. Now he knows about Hawkspear, and he knows about the whisky! He knows it was drugged. Plus, he’s been hanging around the police station, trying to see his employee…the one incarcerated for the murders.’
‘Once again, Mr Reynolds, I find myself asking how this affects me? Do you really think that I pay you to be involved in petty details? This man Quaint doesn’t know of
your
involvement in this, does he? Or my own? Then I fail to see how this can be connected to my office and, as such—I don’t care a whit about it. This is
your
plan, remember? Perhaps you should choose your men more carefully in future.’
Reynolds gripped the back of Courtney’s chair, his face tense. ‘Quaint is no fool. I told you, I have history with him. I know the way he thinks.’
‘Unless I am missing something, this man is a mere circus magician, is he not? An old has-been entertainer who now runs a circus? He’s hardly a threat, Reynolds. I mean, it’s not like he can read minds, is it?’
‘Actually, some folk say he can,’ said Reynolds grimly. ‘He’s a terrier, Bishop—once he gets a whiff of something, he’ll not rest until he digs out the answers—and with his circus strongman involved to boot, it’s practically lit a fuse right under him! We need to be on our guard, my Lord.’ The slender man paused, mulling over his next sentence carefully. ‘I think we should call off Hawk-spear for a bit…let things simmer down.’
‘Absolutely not!’ The Bishop’s temper rose swiftly. ‘Mr Reynolds, may I remind you that Mr Hawkspear is on lease from Blackstaff prison to perform a service for me, and that service is to scare the wits out of everyone who lives in that flea-pit of a borough. You’re just letting your nerves get the better of you, that’s all. The plan will continue as we agreed—no deviation! So far we only have three corpses on the streets, not nearly enough to send a clear-cut message to those people, and certainly not enough to make them pack up and leave town. Do not forget, I need that district cleared of its inhabitants within the week, Mr Reynolds—or need I remind you of my schedule?’
‘What? You think we should just carry on, and hope that Quaint doesn’t get wind of our plan? You want me to be continually looking over my shoulder, do you, hoping Quaint’s not stood there? That’s taking a lot of unnecessary risks, Bishop.’
The Bishop buried his head in his hands. ‘All right…let me think. This man you speak of…this Cornelius Quaint chap…if he really is as dangerous as you say, perhaps we can arrange for a little…
accident
to befall him.’ The greasy skin of the Bishop’s face caught a glint from the fireplace, as he leaned forward in his chair. ‘Get some men together, some good, reliable men lacking in morals and with questionable consciences. Pay them whatever it takes, and see to it that Mr Quaint finds himself in their company.’
CHAPTER XI
The Day After the Night Before
S ERGEANT HORACE BERRY was seated at his desk in Crawditch police station, idly tapping his knuckles with a pencil. He looked over at the clock on the wall and rolled his eyes in horror. Hearing the station’s main doors burst open; Berry was about to stand and get a better look at who had entered, when a bellowing Scottish voice drifted over the tops of the desk partitions. Berry knew instantly that Commissioner Dray had arrived. Considering that it was gone midnight, and now encroaching the early hours of the morning, he would surely be in a ridiculously foul mood—not that the time of day seemed to have any impact on Dray’s demeanour. He was just as reliably grouchy in the morning as he was at midday or during nightfall. It was a permanent state for the man.
‘Over here,
‘Not just that, Bishop.’ He strode briskly over to the Bishop, his hands held loosely behind his back. ‘It seems Quaint put the frighteners on Peach, and he spilled his guts. Now he knows about Hawkspear, and he knows about the whisky! He knows it was drugged. Plus, he’s been hanging around the police station, trying to see his employee…the one incarcerated for the murders.’
‘Once again, Mr Reynolds, I find myself asking how this affects me? Do you really think that I pay you to be involved in petty details? This man Quaint doesn’t know of
your
involvement in this, does he? Or my own? Then I fail to see how this can be connected to my office and, as such—I don’t care a whit about it. This is
your
plan, remember? Perhaps you should choose your men more carefully in future.’
Reynolds gripped the back of Courtney’s chair, his face tense. ‘Quaint is no fool. I told you, I have history with him. I know the way he thinks.’
‘Unless I am missing something, this man is a mere circus magician, is he not? An old has-been entertainer who now runs a circus? He’s hardly a threat, Reynolds. I mean, it’s not like he can read minds, is it?’
‘Actually, some folk say he can,’ said Reynolds grimly. ‘He’s a terrier, Bishop—once he gets a whiff of something, he’ll not rest until he digs out the answers—and with his circus strongman involved to boot, it’s practically lit a fuse right under him! We need to be on our guard, my Lord.’ The slender man paused, mulling over his next sentence carefully. ‘I think we should call off Hawk-spear for a bit…let things simmer down.’
‘Absolutely not!’ The Bishop’s temper rose swiftly. ‘Mr Reynolds, may I remind you that Mr Hawkspear is on lease from Blackstaff prison to perform a service for me, and that service is to scare the wits out of everyone who lives in that flea-pit of a borough. You’re just letting your nerves get the better of you, that’s all. The plan will continue as we agreed—no deviation! So far we only have three corpses on the streets, not nearly enough to send a clear-cut message to those people, and certainly not enough to make them pack up and leave town. Do not forget, I need that district cleared of its inhabitants within the week, Mr Reynolds—or need I remind you of my schedule?’
‘What? You think we should just carry on, and hope that Quaint doesn’t get wind of our plan? You want me to be continually looking over my shoulder, do you, hoping Quaint’s not stood there? That’s taking a lot of unnecessary risks, Bishop.’
The Bishop buried his head in his hands. ‘All right…let me think. This man you speak of…this Cornelius Quaint chap…if he really is as dangerous as you say, perhaps we can arrange for a little…
accident
to befall him.’ The greasy skin of the Bishop’s face caught a glint from the fireplace, as he leaned forward in his chair. ‘Get some men together, some good, reliable men lacking in morals and with questionable consciences. Pay them whatever it takes, and see to it that Mr Quaint finds himself in their company.’
CHAPTER XI
The Day After the Night Before
S ERGEANT HORACE BERRY was seated at his desk in Crawditch police station, idly tapping his knuckles with a pencil. He looked over at the clock on the wall and rolled his eyes in horror. Hearing the station’s main doors burst open; Berry was about to stand and get a better look at who had entered, when a bellowing Scottish voice drifted over the tops of the desk partitions. Berry knew instantly that Commissioner Dray had arrived. Considering that it was gone midnight, and now encroaching the early hours of the morning, he would surely be in a ridiculously foul mood—not that the time of day seemed to have any impact on Dray’s demeanour. He was just as reliably grouchy in the morning as he was at midday or during nightfall. It was a permanent state for the man.
‘Over here,
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