“It is a luxurious question, for it depends upon my having escaped the hangman’s noose and regained my reputation. But yet, I have wondered.”

“It would be improper for a woman of my station to have a friendship with a man of yours.”

“I understand,” I said. I had heard this position before, after all.

She smiled once more. “But if I find I have had something stolen, I may need to pay you a visit. And, sadly, I am none the most cautious of my belongings.”

With Miss Dogmill fully willing to lend me aid, I had nothing to do but wait to take the appropriate steps on the heels of the notes I’d sent. It seemed to me unwise to wait too long. Twenty-four hours were enough to induce the anxiety and anger I wished for. More than that might produce action. Less would result in insufficient emotion. These were, however, a very anxious twenty-four hours, and I knew I should be happier if I found some occupation for myself. Fortunately, there was one more task left to me, and if it was not wise, it was at the very least justifiable. I therefore found myself in need of calling one more time upon Abraham Mendes.

He answered a note I sent him and met me that evening in a tavern off Stanhope Street near Covent Garden. There was something amusing upon his face as he saw me. Perhaps he thought that if I should manage to extricate myself from my dangers, I should never bear the same contempt for him or his master. How little he knew me if he believed it. Nevertheless, Mendes served me as I hoped he would, and I left my meeting with him hopeful that all should go as I wished.

As I anticipated, I received a note the next day, and it was very much to my liking.

Evans,

I know who and what you are, and I promise you that you cannot succeed in any plans you may be pursuing. If you end this charade now and vacate the metropolis, you may yet live. Dogmill

I wrote back at once, suggesting that Dogmill meet me that very evening at a tavern close by Whitehall. I chose the location because I knew it to be popular with Whigs, and I believed it would make him more comfortable and confident. Such was what I required of him. When I received a note in return confirming our rendezvous, I made my final preparations and fortified myself with a glass of port.

I arrived nearly half an hour late, for I wished Dogmill to be there in advance of me. I had no doubt he had arrived early, but I had no wish to surprise him and catch him unprepared. I arrived and asked the innkeeper for Mr. Dogmill and, much as I had anticipated, he told me I might find him in one of the back rooms.

I walked into the room to find Mr. Dogmill sitting at his table with Hertcomb at his side. Standing behind them, with his arms crossed, was none other than Mr. Greenbill. I was surprised that Dogmill should want another man to threaten violence, but perhaps he was, in this case, not willing to take risks. I was further surprised that he would risk Greenbill’s presence in the room, for he had obviously gone to great lengths to hide his association with this porter. I could only presume that Dogmill had little intention of leaving me in a state fit to report what I knew.

All appeared agitated, as well they might be. I grinned at Dogmill and Hertcomb. “Good evening, gentlemen,” I said, as I closed the door behind me.

Dogmill glared at me. “You will have to be very careful if you do not wish to die this night.”

“I cannot say how careful I shall be,” I told him. I took a seat at the table and poured myself a glass of his wine. I sipped it. “This is quite good. You know, from the look of this place, I should hardly think they would have claret of this quality.”

Dogmill snatched the glass from my hand and threw it against the wall. It did not break, no doubt to his disappointment, but it did splatter rather ferociously, staining Mr. Greenbill, who attempted to appear as though his dignity had not been assaulted.

“Where is my sister?” Dogmill demanded.

I stared at him. “Your sister. How should I know?”

“Allow me to put him to the question, Mr. Dogmill,” Greenbill said, taking a step forward.

Dogmill paid him no mind.

“I know who you are,” he told me, through his teeth. “I took the liberty of writing to some gentlemen from Jamaica.” He now held up the letters I had forged. “I have been informed that you have used the name Matthew Evans before, though it is not your true name. Instead, you are a scoundrel known as Jeremiah Baker, a confidence trickster, who has made his wretched living by abducting young ladies and then demanding money for their safe return. One of these gentlemen, upon receiving my note, rode all the way to London to warn me of you. Shortly after receiving this intelligence, I thought it wise to make certain of my sister’s whereabouts, but she had not then been seen for more than a day.”

I took a glass that I presumed to have been Dogmill’s and emptied the contents upon the hard dirt floor. I then poured a fresh helping from the bottle and sipped from it. “You have thus saved me the trouble of informing you of the current situation. We may now agreeably come to terms.”

Dogmill slammed his hand upon the table so hard I thought it should break. “There are no terms but that I shall get my sister and then I shall rip your head from your neck.”

Hertcomb reached forward and put a hand on Dogmill’s shoulder. “I don’t know that you are giving the fellow a reason to negotiate in good faith.”

“Nicely said, Hertcomb.”

“Don’t think to play my friend,” he said petulantly. “I restrain Mr. Dogmill out of concern for his sister, not you. You betrayed my trust.”

“Your trust is hardly so precious a thing that one need treat it with care,” I answered.

Hertcomb opened his mouth but said nothing. I thought he might weep, and I confess I felt some remorse at having spoken to him so, but I played a part, and I would play it to the end.

Dogmill took a deep breath and turned to me. “You had better understand, Baker, that you have chosen to cross the wrong man.”

“This,” I asked, “is your idea of negotiating in good faith?”

“It is,” he said, “for I tell you the truth. You shan’t get a penny from me. Not a farthing. I will not endure that a fellow of the lowest sort like you should force me to pay to see my own sister returned. Instead, I shall offer you something else. If you send my sister back unscathed, I will give you a single day before beginning my pursuit of you. In that time, if you are wise, you can get yourself gone and from my grasp, for if I do catch hold of you, I will rend you to pieces. That is the best offer I can propose.”

I shook my head. “I must tell you, it is not what I had in mind when I took your pretty sister, tied her hands behind her back, and shoved a rag in her mouth.”

Greenbill, standing behind his master, suppressed a grin. Regardless of his loyalties, he liked a good bit of violence against a young woman when he could have it.

I thought that Hertcomb would be called on once more to restrain his friend, but Dogmill did not move. “You may have thought to gain something else, but you shan’t. You must now decide if you wish to sacrifice your life along with your hopes of wealth.”

“Most men,” I said, “are willing to part with a few pounds if it will save the life of a person they love. And it is you who are threatened here, not me. It is time you recognized that.”

“You think I have nothing more to show for myself than bluster?” he asked. “You’ve tasted a small portion of my wrath, you may recall. But I have more than that.” He turned to Hertcomb. “Have Mr. Gregor walk in.”

Hertcomb rose and disappeared for a moment, only to return with a tall thin gentleman in tow. He smiled at me and took a seat.

“You know this gentleman, I believe?” Dogmill said.

“I do,” I answered, for the gentleman in question was Elias Gordon.