Read Online The Masters of Bow Street by John Creasey - Free Book Online

had taken his pair of pistols and his dagger.
    ‘Let me go,’ begged Miller. ‘Let me go and I’ll put a name on a dozen thieves, each worth as much as I. Five hundred pounds’ worth, well nigh. Take what I have and let me go!’
    Tom Harris clapped the heavy manacles on him, and rejoined: ‘The only place you’re going is Bow Street, and after Mr. Furnival has questioned you, to Newgate to wait trial. Do you know what I would do with the likes of you, Miller? I’d hang you from the nearest tree and swing on your genitals until you died. Get on your horse!’ He gave a sardonic laugh. ‘Get on my horse, Miller; it’s mine in forfeit now.’
    Soon, all of them were riding back to London, the carriage last except for one of Furnival’s men who had come with Tom Harris. Lilian was quiet now, her head resting on her husband’s shoulder, while Red Foster talked with an undertone of excitement in his voice.
    ‘There’ll be forty pounds each for the prisoners, m’dear, and the horses will be worth half as much again. We won’t know how much money Miller has on him but Furnival is an honest man; whatever there is we’ll get our share and I can be out of debt.’ For a moment he was silent, and then he went on: ‘I’ve been in terror of going back to Newgate, Lil. God bless you for keeping me free.’
    She did not answer. She was crying.
     
    John Furnival was sitting in the back room downstairs when Moffat came in a little before midnight. Lisa Braidley had been gone for nearly two hours, and Furnival had been reading, his legs up on a stool with a feather cushion on it, a blanket wrapped around him and a voluminous jacket over his shoulders. The embers- glowed both red and gold on the half-full glass of French brandy by his side, and a book was open and supported by another pillow on his thighs. When the mood took him he would go to the bed in the alcove, perhaps to sleep at once, perhaps to ponder.
    He heard Moffat but did not look around.
    ‘I have news you would like to know, sir,’ announced Moffat.
    ‘Then why keep me waiting?’
    ‘Dick Miller was taken tonight, with a youth believed to be his son. Both are lodged in the cells here, the better to be questioned tomorrow.’
    ‘So the trick worked,’ Furnival said with satisfaction. ‘How many witnesses do we have?’
    ‘Five, sir.’
    ‘Not even the most besotted jury could argue with that,’ declared Furnival. ‘One rogue the fewer to haunt the highways:’ He picked up his glass and added testily, ‘Come where I can see you, man!’ When Moffat appeared by his side, so grey, so tired, Furnival looked at him intently for a moment and then said, ‘I would want to talk to you but sleep will be better for us both. Tell me one thing, Silas.’
    ‘If I can, sir, I most surely will.’
    ‘Oh, you can, for I want only your opinion. Does it seem to you that for every rogue we hang at Tyburn or at Newgate or at any gallows, two grow in his place?’
    Moffat spread his hands towards the fire, not only for warmth but for time to think. His master did not urge him, just sat up bundled in his warmth and comfort while Moffat looked as if his flesh were too thin to hold any warmth at all.
    At last he answered, ‘Yes, sir, it does. But it also seems to me that if the one wasn’t hanged there would be three instead of two’.
    ‘You’re a great comfort, Silas,’ Furnival said. ‘King Solomon could have been no wiser. Now off to bed with you.’
    Soon after his man had gone, John Furnival stirred himself and went to the necessary room behind the alcove. In one corner a brazier glowed, and there was an overpowering perfume of flowers, which always reminded Furnival of the flowers the judges carried to overpower the stench which came from prisoners ‘fresh’ from Newgate or one of the other stinking holes.
    It was a good night for John Furnival, sleeping with the window open, for he could afford the window tax and preferred both light and air.
    Out beyond