My work here was not difficult. They took themselves to a tavern off Covent Garden on Great Earl Street and seated themselves in the back, calling at once for drink. I was able to find a dark corner for myself that gave me a fine vantage point but offered little risk of being seen. I called the barman over and inquired what these two worthies were drinking.

“They ordered wine,” he said, “but wouldn’t pay for nothing but what was cheapest. Finally settled for some very poor claret that’s a week or more vinegar.”

“Send them two bottles of your best,” I said. “Say only they were paid for by a gentleman who overheard their order and then departed.”

He looked at me quizzically. “There’s something that don’t sound right in that. Oughtn’t they to know who it is that gets them drunk? Mayhap I should tell them your proposal and let them make up their own minds.”

“If you tell anything of me, I’ll break your leg,” I said to him. Then I grinned. “On the other hand, if you don’t I’ll give you an extra shilling.”

He nodded. “Well, then. Looks like I’ll be doing some lying, don’t it?”

“There are worse fates than being bought wine by a stranger,” I said, to further soften his misgivings, but my efforts were wasted. The promise of the extra shilling had already done all that could be done.

I sat in my dark corner for the better part of two hours, slowly drinking small beer and eating some hot rolls I had the barman fetch for me from the baker around the corner. Finally, the two men rose, and rose most unsteadily. They called their thanks to the barman, and one of them approached the fellow and shook his hand. He was easily the more drunk of the two, so I set my cap at him.

I rose and followed quickly so as not to lose them, but I needn’t have rushed. They remained just outside the tavern, dropping coins and then picking them up, only to drop them once more and then laugh. I remained in the dark of the doorway and waited an infuriating five minutes while they performed this ritual and then said their toddling goodbyes. One went off, presumably to safety. The other had a much harder fate awaiting him.

I did not wait long. As soon as he departed a more trafficked street, I quickened my pace. In doing so, I made my approach louder, but I was prepared to take that risk, given the depth of his inebriation. Nevertheless, he turned, startled at the sound of my approach. He stopped and opened his mouth to speak, but I silenced whatever words he had planned with my fist.

Down he went into the muck, his fall softened only by the large dead rat that served as a pillow under his head. While he lay in confusion, I reached over and pulled his pistols from his pocket and his blade from his scabbard. I little doubted he was unprepared to use these weapons, but I saw no point in letting him try the experiment. Now he stared at me. A thin stream of blood ran from his lip, and in the darkness it looked as black as tar.

“Do you recollect me?” I asked.

I could see the drunkenness spilling out of him. “Weaver,” he said.

“That’s right.”

“I wasn’t bothering you.”

“Not tonight you weren’t, but you might recall that you’ve tried to arrest me once or twice in the past.”

“That is only business,” he said.

“And so is this. Tell me why, precisely, Riding Officers are seeking to bring me in.” I knew the answer full well, but I wished to hear it from his own lips. He hesitated a moment, so I grabbed him by the hair and yanked him up to a sitting position. “Tell me,” I said again.

“It’s Dennis Dogmill that wants it,” he said.

“Why?”

“I don’t ask such things. I just do what he tells me.”

I thought about this: how to find out information that would be of use to me. “How do you know what he wants of you? How does he contact you?”

“It’s his man,” the Riding Officer said. “All the customs men meet at a tavern near the Tower called the Broken Lamp, on Thursday nights. We get paid what we’re owed, and if he’s got special instructions, he tells us then. Sometimes if it’s urgent, such as when you broke loose, we get a note, but otherwise it’s always a Thursday.”

I sensed I was getting close to something. “And who is his man?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. He don’t say his name. He just pays us. If you want to find out, you can come Thursday.”

Good advice, but how could I dare to go if he knew I would be attending? “Where do you live?” I asked. He hesitated a moment, so I kicked him in the ribs. “Where do you live?” I asked again.

He groaned. “In Mrs. Trenchard’s house off Drury Lane.”

“You know I do not work alone,” I told him. “You have been thwarted by my aides in the past and you will be again, if you don’t leave the metropolis without mentioning a word of this to anyone. You may come back in a few months, but if I see you sooner, or if any of my allies see you sooner, we shall not hesitate to burn Mrs. Trenchard’s house down about your ears and with you still in it too.” I gave him another kick to cement my point, though I don’t know that my efforts were required. “Now get away,” I said, and watched him attempt to push himself to his feet.

I then walked off slowly in an effort to show my contempt. I would not know if my warning had meant anything until I visited the tavern come Thursday.

As for Littleton, I wanted to hear from his own lips that Melbury had hired him. I could not say what this information would give me other than the satisfaction of knowing the woman I loved was married to a liar, but that seemed reason enough. I awaited him as he came out of Mrs. Yate’s house that morning, and when he turned a corner I grabbed his arm.

“Off to do some rioting?” I asked.

He flashed me his easy grin. “It’s good weather for it, I think. I guess you’ve seen me and the boys down there, giving as good as Dogmill’s boys, and then some. We might not be able to make them go away, but we can keep the odds even. Sooner or later, Dogmill will agree to a truce.”

“That’s Melbury’s thinking, is it?”

He made a face as though he’d tasted something sour. “Melbury be damned. That tightpurse wouldn’t pay for a good riot if the election depended on it, which it does.”

“What?” I demanded. “If Melbury isn’t paying you, why are you rioting? Surely it is not for the pleasure of facing off against Greenbill and Dogmill.”

“I won’t deny there is a pleasure, but it’s more than that. We’re getting paid, I can tell you, only not by Melbury. It’s a risk, you know. If Dogmill wishes, he might send us to the devil for rioting against Greenbill, but I don’t think he will. If we go, he won’t have nothing but Greenbill’s boys on the quays, and then they’ll be able to set their wages as they like. No, this way we get a few shillings in our pockets to get us through the winter, and we have a fine time as well.”

“Who pays you?”

He shrugged. “The devil, for all I know. A dapper Irishman called Johnson offered me the coin if I would take Melbury’s part. It seemed to me too fine an offer to turn away; the boys had grown restless at any rate.” He stopped to stare at me. “Now that I think on it, did you not inquire of me regarding a man named Johnson? Is this the same?”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t think so.”

That evening I sat in my room, staring at a book without reading. Mrs. Sears knocked on my door and told me I had a visitor, so I dusted myself off and walked into my sitting room, where I found myself face-to-face with Johnson once more. He bowed to me and then politely dismissed the landlady.

“These are fine rooms you’ve taken, Mr. Evans.”

Until he spoke my name, I don’t think I recalled that in our previous encounter, Mr. Johnson had known me only as Weaver. It was now evident that he had discovered my false persona. I had made every effort to be careful when leaving and returning to these rooms, but I had not been careful enough.