Convicted Innocent(46)

If he weren’t mistaken, the inspector thought he might’ve just stepped onto the spectators’ berth in a prizefighting arena. And prizefighting was quite illegal. Very much so.

Putting this thought aside, Horace skimmed his companions. Whoever the magician was had quite the number of hired muscle at his disposal. Adding the eight or so on the ledge with him to the number of men left in the tunnel, and there were easily two-dozen bodies to concern the police.

Besides the fair-haired fellow and his underlings (or so Horace gathered from the deference they showed the former), were three men with heads shrouded by hoods; two of the men – one tall, one short – were bound as well. The tall and short one (these had to be Lewis Todd and David Powell) stood several paces to Horace’s left, heavies on either side of each of them. The third hooded fellow had been led in from a tunnel to Horace’s right and stopped a few paces away from and directly in front of the detective. This fellow was otherwise unbound and had a single thug as a guard; he appeared to shake in trepidation.

And to Horace’s left, almost but not quite hidden in the shadows behind Todd and Powell and their guards, was the long-sought Nicholas Harker.

When the man patting the inspector down finished and was waved back by the blonde, the arena fell silent.

Horace felt certain the magician had to be close if he weren’t in the room already, and he was willing to let his quarry make the first move in their wretched game.

The blond fellow bobbed his head to acknowledge some signal the old detective missed. Pulling a thin sheaf of folded parchment from a pocket, the blonde yanked the hood off the man in front of Horace and thrust the parchment at the fellow.

Now the detective was mildly surprised, for the third captive was none other than Conway Duke.

Duke blinked blearily in the relative brightness, and then jerked his head around in a low panic, taking in the surroundings.

“Where—?” He began faintly, but stopped when the blonde slapped the parchment on his chest again. Duke hesitantly took the paper and unfolded it at the other’s command to read it aloud.

Horace said nothing.

“Ahem.” Conway Duke cleared his throat. His gaze flicked up and he seemed to notice Horace for the first time; Duke’s eyes grew wide.

“You’re here!” he breathed. “Are you with—?”

Duke’s question ended when the blonde gave him a glancing cuff to the head.

“Read.” The leader commanded sternly.

Horace said nothing as the other studied the parchment for a moment and then complied.

“‘On account of my speech impediment,’” Duke began, “‘I have had my demands written so that you may understand me plainly. My uncle will speak my words to you now, since he was an effective messenger before.’”

At this, Duke looked toward the shadows and his nephew and swallowed sharply.

Horace said nothing.

“‘Detective Inspector,’” Duke continued, “‘you have harassed my family for many years. I was hardly more than a babe when you first arrested my grandfather. Your continued, unjust persecution sent my great-grandfather to an early grave, and our family enterprise has suffered several times from your misguided attentions. My grandfather, my uncles, and my cousins are not the criminals you paint them to be.

“‘I, however, am.’”

Movement to Horace’s left caught his attention just then; he looked and saw that both Todd and Powell had jerked their hooded heads up, as if the words had somehow caused astonishment. Nicholas Harker, for his part, was silent and unmoving in the shadows.