A Murder on London Bridge Read Online Free PDF Page B

have produced a magnificent display,’ said Phillippes. He shook his head in bafflement. ‘It should have lifted off and filled the sky with a blossom of falling purple lights. I still do not understand why it did not work. It was a good theory.’
    ‘If you say so,’ said the landlord flatly. ‘But you can find somewhere else to test the next one.’
    He stamped away, leaving Kaltoff to embark upon a long and tediously detailed report about some obscure aspect of the King’s new tide-dial. Phillippes listened, but looked bored, and his gaze roved aimlessly over the tavern’s other occupants. It settled on Chaloner, who was still pretending to be asleep. Phillippes stiffened, studied the intelligencer intently for a moment, then jabbed Kaltoff with his elbow and whispered something in his ear.
    ‘Are you sure?’ Kaltoff asked, his voice much lower than when he had been holding forth about his work. Fortunately, Chaloner had excellent hearing.
    Phillippes nodded. ‘I am good with faces – he has not been here before. Moreover, I do not like the look of him. Why does he choose to nap here?’
    ‘Perhaps he is tired,’ suggested Kaltoff.
    Phillippes glared at him. ‘How can you be so blasé? You know what is at stake, and what we stand to lose, should we be found out. He is a spy, sent to watch us. I feel it in my bones.’
    ‘But we have been careful,’ objected Kaltoff, while Chaloner braced himself for trouble. ‘No one knows our plan. You are worrying over nothing.’
    ‘Worrying is wise, given what we have agreed to do,’ retorted Phillippes firmly. ‘So I recommend we follow him when he leaves, and ask him a few questions.’
    ‘But that will tell him there is something to be interested in,’ Kaltoff pointed out uneasily.
    Phillippes’s lips set in a grim line. ‘Then we shall have show him that curiosity is dangerous.’
    Chaloner had no intention of being trailed home by Phillippes and Kaltoff when he left the Beggar’s Bush, and nor was he inclined to spend the rest of the day pretending to be asleep in the hope that they would decide he really was just a man who had nodded off over his beer. Moreover, he wanted to know whether their enigmatic remarks pertained to the murder of Blue Dick – both looked agile and strong enough to have been the killer – but it was clear he was not going to find out by eavesdropping. Keeping his face hidden by his hat, he pretended to come awake, then stood, stretched and made for the door.
    He walked briskly, and although he was occasionally aware of Kaltoff and Phillippes behind him, they were adept at keeping out of sight. He was impressed, and realised that here were no rank amateurs, but men who had some idea of what they were doing. He was loath to waste time with games, though, and had his own questions to ask. He cut down a narrow, shadowy lane to his right, and ducked into the first available doorway, so as to be hidden when they turned the corner.
    But they did not appear. He frowned. Were they less able than he had surmised, and the tactic had flummoxed them? Or had they guessed his intentions, and had their own ideas about how the situation was going to evolve? If the latter, then he would have to be careful, because he did not want them knowing where he lived.
    He was about to abandon the doorway and take a tortuous route that would foil even the most experienced of trackers, when he heard footsteps coming from his right. It was not the direction from which Phillippes or Kaltoff should be approaching, and the clatter indicated that several men, not two, were on their way. A second rattle told him that people were approaching from the left, too, and a quick glance into the lane showed eight men converging on him. Phillippes led one group, and Kaltoff the other. Disgusted, Chaloner saw he had allowed himself to be outmanoeuvred.
    ‘I know you are in here,’ Phillippes called softly. ‘So you may as well come out. My friends here will be vexed if you