Who Speaks for the Damned (Sebastian St. Cyr #15) - C. S. Harris Page 0,37
o’ brass and I see there’s this other hidden keyhole, and sure enough, me lockpick opens it real easy.”
Sebastian poured the cracksman another drink. “What was inside?”
“Next t’ nothin’. Jist some papers and an old watch.”
“Some papers and a watch? No banknotes?”
“Nope. Jist the watch.”
“What was he expecting to find?”
“That’s what ’e said ’e wanted—the watch. Said it was ’is by rights, given t’ ’im by ’is granddaddy when ’e was a wee tyke. Said they was always real fond o’ each other, and ’e weren’t gonna let ’is da keep the watch jist t’ be mean.”
“You didn’t help yourself to anything else on the way out?”
A sly smile slid across the old man’s face. “Well, maybe I tried t’ lift a purdy little statue that was jist sittin’ there by the door. But Hayes seen me and made me put it back.”
“And that was it?”
“That was it.”
“You didn’t take any banknotes?”
Tintwhistle’s eyes bulged. “No. Not sayin’ I wouldna taken ’em if I’d seen ’em, but there weren’t none.”
“When was the last time you saw Hayes?”
“Me? Come into the shop jist this last week, ’e did.”
“He did?”
“Aye. Meybe Tuesday or Wednesday.”
“Alone?”
“Well, ’e ’ad a little nipper wit ’im. Can’t remember the lad’s name. Real quiet and polite, ’e was.”
“Do you know where the boy is now?”
Tintwhistle gave him a blank look. “No. Why would I?”
“The child is missing.”
“Huh. Don’t know nothin’ about that.”
“Why did Hayes come to see you?”
Tintwhistle looked vaguely affronted. “Wot ye think? That a feller cain’t stop by t’ see an old friend?”
“I was under the impression yours was more of a business relationship than a friendship.”
“Well that jist goes to show wot ye know, don’t it? Tried to ’elp ’im, I did, when the constables jumped ’im in Smithfield that day. Weren’t no use, of course. But ’e come by t’ thank me fer it anyway.”
“I’ve heard that Hayes’s cousin, Ethan, told the authorities to look for him in Smithfield.”
“That’s right.”
“Did Hayes know that?”
“Sure enough did. Swore ’e’d kill the man too if’n ’e ever got the chance.”
“He did?”
“Course ’e did. Who wouldn’t?”
“He told you when he came to your shop that he was planning to kill Seaforth?”
“What? No, I’m talkin’ about what he said all them years ago, when they was gonna hang him.”
“So the only reason Hayes came to see you at your dolly shop was to thank you for trying to help him eighteen years ago?”
“That’s right.”
“Did you see him again?”
“Why would I?”
Which wasn’t, Sebastian noted, precisely the same as saying no. He reached for the bottle and topped up the man’s glass. “You heard that Hayes was murdered two days ago?”
“Aye.”
“Who do you think killed him?”
Sebastian expected the man to say, How the blazes would I know? Instead, Tintwhistle laid a finger along the side of his nose and said, “Who ye think?”
“I honestly have no idea.”
“Huh.” The retired cracksman leaned forward and dropped his voice. “Seen somebody, I did, when ’is nibs was in the shop. Somebody I recognized. Looked t’ me like ’e was followin’ ’im.”
“Someone was following Nicholas Hayes?”
“That’s right.”
“Do you know this person’s name?”
Tintwhistle turned his head and spat on the floor. “Lots o’ folks know that cove. Used t’ be a Bow Street Runner, ’e did. If’n there was any justice in this world, they’d ’ave ’anged ’im fer murder. But there ain’t no such thing as justice in England. Not fer poor folk like us.”
Sebastian shook his head. “Who did you see?”
“Poole. Titus Poole.”
“Never heard of him.”
Tintwhistle stared at Sebastian. “Ye ain’t? Well, I wish I ain’t neither—that’s fer certain.”
“This Titus Poole was following Hayes?”
“That’s what I’m sayin’.”
“You’re certain?”
“Sure enough looked that way t’ me.”
“Why would Poole be following Nicholas Hayes?”
“Reckon somebody was payin’ ’im. Why else? That’s wot Poole does these days, ye know. Hear tell ’e makes more money now than ’e ever did as a Runner.”
Sebastian studied the ex-cracksman’s alcohol-ravaged face. “Who do you think was paying him?”
“Somebody wanted Hayes out o’ the way, I reckon.”
“You’re suggesting someone paid Poole to kill Hayes?”
Tintwhistle sniffed. “Seems likely t’ me. Don’t it t’ you? Otherwise, why didn’t ’e just nab ’im and ’and ’im over t’ Bow Street?”
“Did you tell Hayes someone was following him?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“’E said he knowed it. Didn’t know the feller’s name till I told ’im, though.”
“Did he say who he thought might be paying the man to follow him?”
Tintwhistle laughed. “Said he reckoned it could be any one of four people. But he didn’t name ’em.”