Page 81 of An Alleged Rogue

A door opened at the far end of the room, and two gentlemen entered the lobby and began walking toward him.

“I appreciate your promptness in bringing this matter to our attention, sir. Be assured, your funds remain untouched, and I will see to it that any checks written against your account are refused.” The bald-headed man’s voice was loud enough to carry.

“Very good. And please advise your employees that until this matter is fully settled, all my banking will be done in person. Any transactions done otherwise are to be treated with suspicion.”

Freddie stood completely still, barely breathing. Hadford. He was sure of it. He had spoken with the man long enough yesterday to pick up on his inflection. But how had he reached London so fast? And more to the point, why was he at the bank so early in the morning? Freddie’s mind replayed the conversation he had just overheard, and the first tendrils of fear took hold. He knew. Somehow, Hadford had discovered Freddie’s ruse.

Forcing himself to wait until Hadford and the bank manager had passed by, Freddie sidled up to a young lady who was headed toward the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the gentleman who had been hidden by the second pillar step around it and advance his way. Toole. Freddie kept his steps even until he reached the first pillar. The dark-haired man was watching his approach with an attentiveness that placed Freddie on high alert. Toole was not working alone. Freddie glanced at the doorway. He was within ten yards of it now. He took a small step to the left, and Toole began to run.

“That’s him, Dunsbourne! Stop him!”

The dark-haired man lunged forward. Freddie swerved and barreled directly into the young woman. Pushing her into the path of his pursuer, he dashed for the exit. He heard her cry and the gentleman’s exclamation as she fell, but Freddie did not turn around. The bank doors opened to admit another customer, and Freddie shoved the unsuspecting gentleman out of the way, racing past him and leaping down the steps to the pavement. Shouts of consternation filled the air as he tore down the street, and the pounding of footsteps followed.

Darting into an alley, he struggled to visualize the nearby roads as he wove around the large potholes littering the ground. Cornhill Road would give him the greatest access to hackney carriages, and that would be his best means of escape. Veering left, he cut through the unkempt yards of three or four businesses before joining a second alley that connected to the main road.

Behind him, men shouted instructions, and the thunder of feet continued. The brick walls on either side of him gave way as the alley opened onto Cornhill Road. Looking to the left and then the right, he spotted a hackney turning onto the road. He ran toward it and raised his arm to alert the driver. The old man pulled on the reins.

“Don’t stop,” Freddie yelled. “I’m late.”

Giving him a troubled look, the driver slowed enough for Freddie to grasp the door handle whilst still running. “Charing Cross Coaching Inn,” Freddie panted. “As fast as you can get there.” Yanking on the door, he pulled it open and leaped inside. He had the door closed behind him as the first of his pursuers appeared at the mouth of the alley.

The dark-haired gentleman shouted at the hackney driver, but the old man was either too deaf to hear or unwilling to take another passenger. Toole joined him, and both took chase, but the carriage was picking up speed, and seconds later, they were hidden from view by a bend in the road.

Freddie moved away from the window and threw himself against the seat cushion. Dunsbourne. As soon as he’d heard the name, he’d known why the dark-haired man looked familiar. He was a younger, taller version of the poor sop Freddie had tricked out of his entire fortune. Freddie uttered a string of colorful swear words as his anger boiled. He should have learned exactly where Hadford lived before targeting him. There could be no doubt that his neighbor, Dunsbourne, was the one who had alerted the gentleman to his subterfuge. He was the one to blame for the failure of Freddie’s well-laid plans; he was the one who would ultimately regret it. Freddie already knew exactly where to locate Dunsbourne. He would strike before the gentleman was ready—and there would be no recovery.

“Blast it all!” Adam bent over, his hands on his thighs as he battled to catch his breath. He had been closing in on Payne before the hackney had appeared—almost near enough to draw the pistol in his pocket. For a few ludicrous seconds, he’d even held out hope that he could catch the carriage before it sped up again. He was a fool.

“Every time, Toole! How does he evade us every time?”

The Bow Street runner had caught up to him as the carriage had disappeared around the bend, and he was staring after the missing vehicle.

“This time’s different, my lord. You mark my words.”

“Enlighten me.” Adam could not rid himself of his frustration that fast. “As I see it, he escaped again.”

“He did that. But there’s a few new twists this time.” Toole turned and began walking back the way they had come. Adam fell into step with him. “First off, he didn’t get the money—and he’s going to be fuming over that for a bit. Second, you and I got a pretty good look at him. I know he’s one to change his appearance at the drop of a hat, but I reckon what we saw today was the real Freddie Payne—and that’s going to rattle him. And third, I’m going to ask old Joe Lambeth exactly where he dropped off the passenger who was in such a hurry this morning.”

“Who is Joe Lambeth?”

“He’s the man currently driving Freddie Payne out of our reach.”

Adam stared at him. “You recognized the driver?”

Toole shrugged. “In my line of work, it pays to know the fellows who pick people up and drop people off around town. They’re an extra set of eyes and ears when I need them.”

Adam ran his fingers through his hair, trying to make sense of this new development. They had reached the alley that led back to Threadneedle Street.

“So where do we go from here?”

“Well, the way I see it, an angry gent doesn’t think straight, and a scared one takes risks. Right now, Payne is both those things. We’ve got him on the run, and I’m counting on the fact that he’s going to do something foolish—something he hasn’t planned out as well as he usually does. With old Joe’s assistance, I’ll know where to start looking.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Go home.”

“You cannot be serious. You know how long I have wanted to see Payne behind bars. I will not walk away now.”

Toole stopped and turned to face him. “The Lord Dunsbourne I know would not have gone this whole time without showing some concern for the lady Payne pushed to the floor in the bank or thought to ask what happened to Mr. Hadford back there. If you’ll forgive me for saying so, my lord, your state of mind is not so very different from Freddie Payne’s at the moment. And as much as I wish him to do something foolish, I do not want you doing the same.”