The Thief-Taker : Memoirs of a Bow Street Runner by T.F. Banks Read Free Book Online

on every count!”
    Sir Nathaniel turned his attention to the passing scene. The sunlight falling into the carriage illuminated the Magistrate's long, pale hands, still clutched tightly around the morning news. After a moment he turned back to Morton. “I regard you as a person of principle, Mr. Morton, and I'll not say that for all your colleagues. You're an adept at your profession, yet I'd like to believe you take no more than is your due for it.”
    “I thank you for your confidence,” murmured the Runner.
    “You and your comrades have interrupted affairs of honour before?”
    “Many times.”
    “Then tell me, sir, how much does it cost a man to fight a duel in the environs of London and not find himself before a panel of Magistrates?”
    Morton smiled a bitter inward smile, though he regarded his superior with a level gaze. How much, indeed. Who was doing the dueling? Who was doing the arresting?
    The Chief Magistrate had been in his position at Bow Street for a little more than a year. He would stay perhaps another year or two, and then go on to another government appointment, courtesy of some other well-connected friend. Henry Morton would work with men like George Vaughan and Jimmy Presley all his life.
    Did Sir Nathaniel realise what he was asking of Morton?
    “Whenever I've interrupted a duel, sir, I've brought the principals before my Magistrate, you may be sure. But occasionally we do find that reconciliations haveoccurred before our arrival. Perhaps apologies have been tendered. Gentlemen do occasionally resort to their own better instincts. In such cases a warning is all that's required—indeed, there is little more we can do.”
    Sir Nathaniel gazed at him for a moment, shook his head, and leaned back in his seat.
    “Very well, Mr. Morton,” he replied coldly.

    Sir Charles Carey, the coroner, was waiting for Sir Nathaniel and Morton on his front step and they went directly on to Portman House. After they had viewed the body in the small sitting-room, Lord Arthur Darley introduced them to Sir William and Lady Caroline Glendinning in his library. The dead man's parents were already dressed in silken mourning suits, cut to a style of the last century more commonly glimpsed now in the country than in London. Both had powdered hair. They sat on Lord Arthur's elegant sabre-leg chairs with a rigidity that Morton guessed reflected both repressed grief and a deep distaste for the conversation they were about to endure.
    “I'm sure that the gentlemen from Bow Street do not require Lady Caroline's attendance,” murmured Darley in considerate tones.
    “Thank you, Lord Arthur,” she replied, “but I will stay.”
    Sir Nathaniel cleared his throat.
    “The question before us is whether or not my officers should be directed to make further enquiry into this unhappy event.” Sir Nathaniel glanced at Morton. “It is Mr. Morton's opinion that your son's death is of a somewhat… anomalous nature. His whereabouts before hisarrival at this house last night are… uncertain, the causes of mortality… imperfectly understood.”
    Morton could see the effect of these words on Lady Caroline. It was the first she had heard of such things, he felt sure.
    Lady Caroline raised a handkerchief to her mouth. “But what are you suggesting?”
    “Only that the matter might bear looking into,” Sir Nathaniel said.
    “I do not mean to distress you, Lady Caroline,” Morton said, fearing Sir Nathaniel was being too delicate. He addressed both parents. “I'm quite certain we know where your son was before he took a carriage for Portman House, and it was a particularly notorious criminal den, where—”
    “How can that be, sir?” Sir William interjected. “What are you suggesting about my son? That he consorted with criminals?” Like his wife, he had a faint north country or Scots accent.
    “Indeed not, sir. Your son is said to have been a man of character. That is why I have suggested we look into this matter a little