Convicted Innocent(52)

Horace fumbled for a moment before he found a pulse, but there it was: weak, perhaps, but steady.

Harker said something, a question inflecting his tone.

Horace shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“He…asked if you would…untie my hands.”

Powell’s eyes fluttered open and then his face screwed up in pain.

“Oh! Hush, lad,” Horace commanded gently, and then bent to do as Harker had asked.

“I’m glad…God, that hurts—!” the papist groaned. “—I’m glad…you didn’t…didn’t kill him. He’s in—…innocent.”

“I’m glad as well. Your warning was well-timed. Now please stop speaking.”

The detective kept a quiet vigil over the little priest until the band of bobbies he’d parted from at the blonde’s request trooped into the arena. The pushed quite a number of the gang before them; aside from the weasel-faced chap who’d fled, Horace thought they might’ve captured all of the two dozen or so he’d counted.

From the other tunnel, Sergeant Bartholomew and his squad (his crew’s numbers had swelled) brought with them the final heavy and Conway Duke.

Horace beckoned to Bartholomew as soon as he caught the sergeant’s eye.

“Sir, glad to see you,” the sergeant began, but Horace cut him off.

“Watch Mr. Duke very carefully.”

“Sir?” A puzzled Bartholomew glanced back to where a protesting Conway Duke was being handcuffed the same as all the assembled heavies. Turning to the inspector, comprehension suddenly dawned on the bobby’s face. “Is he—?”

“Yes. Particularly note if he makes or seems to make any sort of hand signal to anyone.”

“Of course, sir.”

Conway Duke was given his own personal detail of constables.

The last group of policemen to enter the chamber had the fine goods factory owner in tow.

“What is the meaning of this?!”

Archibald Harker had been none too happy when a few policemen had shown up on his doorstep to ‘invite’ him to accompany them during a raid on his factory. By the time he’d been led down to the fighting arena, the man was nearly apoplectic.

“The indignity of traipsing around in the darkness—! Harassment by the police!” he was ranting when he caught sight of his nephew and stopped.

“Nicholas?” Archibald spluttered. “This is where you’ve been?”

The boy shrugged and nodded.

Horace stood and, grasping the young man by the elbow, drew Nicholas to his feet as a pair of constables took over tending the little papist (who’d mercifully lost consciousness again).

“We found him down here,” the detective confirmed. “As well as the fellow behind it all.”

He nodded toward Conway Duke, who was still playing innocent. Horace watched the senior Harker’s reaction.

Archibald frowned. “You’ve given up the nonsense about my nephew being some criminal mastermind, then?”

Horace said nothing.

“Nicholas has not been cuffed like the others,” the senior Harker noticed. “You know he’s not a murderer.”

“Seems unlikely,” the inspector conceded, watching with concern as David Powell and Lewis Todd were loaded onto stretches for transport out.

“Lord! It’s about bloody time!” Archibald seemed both exasperated and relieved. “You’re alright, son?”

Nicholas nodded, pulling the suit jacket his uncle had doffed and given him about his bare shoulders.