The Repentant Rake (40 page)

    'Yes,'
said Christopher, reading the query in her face. 'I promise that we will keep
you informed of any progress we make. It's a blessing that Mr Bale's house in
Addle Hill is so near to Knightrider Street.'

    'I
hope that you will find time to come yourself, Mr Redmayne.'

    'Of
course.'

    'I
still believe that you may be the one to gain Lucy's confidence.'

    'As
long as I have yours,' he said.

    'You
do,' she assured him.

    Jacob
was summoned and given instructions. All four of them soon left the house
together. Pausing in the street, Susan bestowed a valedictory smile on
Christopher.

    'Where
will you go now?' she asked.

    'To
pay a call on a man who will not be pleased to see us.'

    'Who
is that, Mr Redmayne?'

    'Mr
Arthur Lunn.'

    'Are
we to search the coffee houses for him?' said a worried Jonathan.

    'No,
Mr Bale,' said Christopher, 'we'll call at his home first.

    Even
if he is not there himself, we may find out something of crucial importance.'

    'What
is that?' said Susan.

    'If
he has a servant with a wounded arm and a broken nose.'

    Fleet
Lane was well outside Tom Warburton's territory but he could not refuse his
colleague's request. He had been with Jonathan Bale when the dead body was
discovered and he had the same commitment to finding the killer. Choosing a
vantage point with care, Warburton kept the printing shop under surveillance.
His dog, Sam, seemed to realise the significance of the assignment. Instead of
wandering off to forage, he stayed close to his master's feet, curling up and
falling asleep. The constable's orders were simple. He was to watch customers
going in and out of the shop and await a signal from the printer. Miles Henshaw
had given him a description of the wanted man so he knew his salient features.

    It
was a lengthy wait. Several customers appeared but none of them resembled the
person that Warburton was after. He stamped his feet to fight off cramp. Sam
opened an eye to see if he was needed then closed it again. A group of people
sauntered down the lane towards them. A young man, who had attached himself to
the rear of the group, suddenly peeled off and went into the shop. Warburton
took close interest. One glimpse of the customer alerted him. Nudging the dog
awake, he kept his gaze on the printer's shop. The latest customer was inside
for some time. When the man emerged Miles Henshaw came out with him to trade a
few words before waving him off. Warburton moved forward, ready to break into a
trot at the printer's signal. Sam emitted a low growl. But it was all to no
avail. As soon as the customer had gone a few yards, Henshaw turned to the
constable and shook his head vigorously. It was not the wanted man. Warburton
drew back and Sam curled up again. The dog was soon fast asleep.

    When
he opened the front door, the servant was taken aback to see a burly constable
standing there with a young man whose face was covered in lacerations. He
recovered quickly and looked from one to the other.

    'May
I help you, gentlemen?' he said.

    'We
have called to see Mr Lunn,' said Christopher. 'Is he at home?'

    'Yes,
sir, but Mr Lunn is not receiving visitors today.'

    'Tell
him it's a matter of some urgency.'

    'I
will pass that message on to him' said the man, dismissing them with a cold
smile. 'Good day, gentlemen.'

    'Wait!'
ordered Jonathan. 'Close that door in our faces and you'll answer to me.'

    'My
master is not available today, sir.'

    'Tell
him that Mr Redmayne and Mr Bale wish to speak to him.'

    'It
would make no difference,' said the man with exasperation.

    'We'll
not be denied,' warned Christopher.

    'I
never admit strangers.'

    'We
are both known to Mr Lunn. I was with him at a gaming house last night and Mr
Bale here has shared a table with him at a coffee house.'

    Jonathan
winced at the reminder. 'I come on official business,' he said. 'If you try to
turn us away, I'll fetch a warrant to gain entry. What will your master say to
that?'

    The
man's certainty slowly vanished. He could see how determined the visitors were.
Leaving them at the door, he risked his master's displeasure and went to report
the request. When he returned he had a hangdog expression.

    'You
are to come in,' he mumbled, 'but Mr Lunn can spare you very little time.'

    'We
will not require much,' said Christopher.

    They
were conducted into a large hall with a high ceiling. The floor was marble and
a marble staircase curled its way upwards. Located in St James's Square, the
house was bigger and more sumptuous than those of either Sir Marcus Kemp or
Peter Wickens. Christopher estimated the number of servants it would take to
run such an establishment. Arthur Lunn was in the dining room, seated at the
head of a long table with writing materials set out in front of him. He was
still in his dressing gown but he wore his periwig. His paunch was accentuated,
his swarthy face darkened even more by a scowl. When the visitors entered he
gave them no word of greeting. He stared at Christopher's injuries without
comment then glowered at Jonathan.

    'What
is this nonsense about a warrant?' he demanded.

    'It
did not prove necessary,' said Jonathan.

    'I'll
not have you upsetting my servants.'

    'How
many do you have here, Mr Lunn?' asked Christopher.

    'That's
none of your damn business, Mr Redmayne.'

    'Is
one of them nursing a wounded arm?'

    Lunn's
eyes bulged even more recklessly. 'Wounded arm?' he said. 'Is that why you came
here - to discuss the condition of my servants?'

    'It
may be relevant, sir.'

    'To
what?'

    'Something
that happened to me last night. I was attacked.'

    'I
can see that. But do not expect any sympathy from me.'

    'What
I would like is an explanation, Mr Lunn,' said Christopher, moving closer.
'When I spoke to you last night, you were very brusque with me. Someone
followed me from the gaming house and waited for the moment to strike. Is that
not a coincidence?'

    Lunn
hauled himself up. 'Are you suggesting that I set someone on to you?' he said.
'That's a monstrous allegation.'

    'Is
it a truthful one?'

    'No,
of course not!'

    'You
seemed very annoyed with me.'

    'I
was, Mr Redmayne, but I'd never let anyone else do something that I would enjoy
myself. Had I wanted you beaten, I'd have thrashed you with a horsewhip.'

    Christopher
met his gaze. 'It would not have stayed long in your hand.'

    'Mr Redmayne
was not beaten,' said Jonathan solemnly. 'An attempt was made on his life. We
have reason to believe that the man responsible has killed already.'

    'Why
tell me all this?' demanded Lunn.

    'We
wondered if you might know the fellow, sir.'

    'How
could I?'

    'By
employing him to run errands for you,' said Christopher. 'Was he the same
person you sent to Miles Henshaw, the printer?' Lunn looked bewildered. 'What
is he? A servant? A friend? Or merely a hired assassin?'

    'Will
somebody tell me what this is all about? I'm baffled.'

    'Let
me jog your memory. An unknown person has been sending blackmail demands to a
number of people,' he said, glancing at the correspondence on the table. 'My
brother Henry was the first to receive one, Sir Marcus Kemp came next and the
latest victim, as far as we know, is Mr Peter Wickens. There is a clear
pattern. Large amounts of money are demanded. The blackmailer has to come from
within my brother's circle or he would not be in possession of the sensitive information
that he has acquired. Mr Bale and I have been searching for the man.'

    Lunn
was incredulous. 'Are you accusing me?'

    'We
merely wish to ask you some questions.'

    'Am I
supposed to have written these letters?'

    'Let
us just say that our enquiries have led us to your door, Mr Lunn.'

    'Then
they can lead you straight back out again,' snapped Lunn. 'Sir Marcus Kemp,
Peter Wickens and your brother are all close friends of mine. Why should I want
to blackmail them?'

    'You
have expensive tastes.'

    'I
can afford them, sir.'

    'Even
when you lose heavily at cards?' said Christopher. 'That was why you resented
Gabriel Cheever. He took a small fortune from your purse and then he discarded
your friendship like an empty bottle.' Lunn shuddered at the reminder. 'I
suggest to you that you got your revenge on Gabriel and stole his diary so that
you could recoup some of the money that you had lost. Is that what happened?'
Lunn's head sank to his chest and he sat down again. 'How many blackmail
demands have you sent?'

    'None.'

    'None
at all? Then who has been sending them?'

    'You
tell me, Mr Redmayne,' said Lunn, looking up at him. 'I want to know.'

    'We
think that you are involved somehow.'

    'Oh,
it's true. I am involved.'

    'To
what extent?' said Jonathan.

    'I am
the latest victim,' he explained picking up one of the letters from the table.
'If you came in search of proof, here it is. A blackmail demand for five
hundred guineas. Even I would not be stupid enough to send a letter to myself.'

    Christopher
suddenly felt very uneasy. He did not dare to look at Jonathan.

    'I
think that we owe you an apology, Mr Lunn,' he said at length.

    Lunn
waved the apology away. 'You were only doing what you felt was right,' he said
wearily. 'And it's a relief to know that somebody is trying to catch this
devil. When I got his letter this morning, I all but collapsed with the shock.'

    'Was
anything sent with the letter?'

    'Not
this time.'

    'This
time?'

    'I
figure largely in Gabriel's diary, it seems,' confessed Lunn. 'If I do not pay
five hundred guineas, an account of my exploits will be printed and distributed
throughout London. It's too hideous to contemplate. No man knew my weaknesses
better than Gabriel. He was in a position to crucify me.'

    'You
must accept some of the blame, sir,' Jonathan pointed out.

    'Why?'

    'You
could not be blackmailed over vices you did not have.'

    'Save
me from the fellow's morality, Mr Redmayne,' said Lunn angrily.

    'I
was only offering an opinion, sir.'

    'This
may not be the most appropriate time, Mr Bale,' said Christopher tactfully. 'Mr
Lunn,' he continued 'the other victims were kind enough to let me peruse their
letters so that I could compare the handwriting. Would you please extend the
same privilege to me?'

    'To
you, Mr Redmayne,' said Lunn, eyeing Jonathan, 'but not to Mr Bale.'

    'Thank
you.'

    Christopher
took the proffered letter and read it quickly. It was couched in the same terse
language as the other missives and written by the person who sent the original
letter to his brother. He gave it back to Lunn.

    'I
can see why you did not wish to receive visitors today.'

    'While
this is hanging over me, I'll not show my face in the streets.'

    'Do
not be cowed by it.'

    'Now
I understand why Henry was so loath to venture out with me,' said Lunn, 'and
why Sir Marcus refused even to let me in. And Peter Wickens is a victim, too?'