A Spy's Devotion Read Online Free PDF Page B

his shoulder caused him to gasp. He ignored the pain and sat up.
    “Sir, are you hurt?” A man hurried toward him. “I saw the whole thing from my apothecary shop across the street. Those filthy beggars. Who should think such foul fellows could be lurking around this part of London?”
    Nicholas accepted the stranger’s offer to help him get to his feet. The pain in his shoulder was intense, like a fiery poker stabbing him. Had all the mending in his shoulder been undone? He suspected if he looked inside his coat he’d see the wound open and bleeding again.
    It was as if the miscreants had known of his shoulder wound and had purposely attacked him there. But how could they have known? And how did they know about the diary? Stealing the diary was obviously the object of their attack. They hadn’t demanded money, and they could have killed him if they’d wanted to.
    “If you can make it across the street to my shop, you can rest yourself there awhile.” The man fetched Nicholas’s hat and handed it to him.
    Nicholas took a few steps. “I am very grateful for your help. I think I am well enough now, and I have an appointment that I must keep. But thank you for your kind offer.” Nicholas looked him in the eye. “May I have your name?”
    “Adam Brewer, apothecary. That is my shop there”—he pointed across the street—“where my son is my apprentice.”
    “Nicholas Langdon.”
    “Imagine, a gentleman being attacked in the streets of London. What is this country coming to, I ask you? A crying shame, it is. If my son were here, he’d help you look for the brigands, but I sent him on an errand not ten minutes ago.”
    Nicholas smiled at the man’s good-natured fussing. “It would be fruitless to try to catch my assailants now. I must see to my business. Good day, Mr. Brewer. And thank you again.”
    “Most readily, most readily. I shall keep a sharp eye out for those blighters, you can be sure!”
    Nicholas went on his way, but his stomach sank at the thought of having to tell McDowell at the War Office that he had lost the diary. If only Beechum had told him how important the book was. But the only thing he had said was, “Give this to Garrison Greenfield at the Horse Guards . . . Whitehall, London.” Those were his last words. After he’d handed Nicholas the diary, he had slipped into unconsciousness and died a few hours later.
    When Nicholas reached the War Office, his shoulder still burned ferociously and his head throbbed. But he forced himself to concentrate on his task. This had now become a more serious matter than he had imagined.
    He was taken to McDowell’s office, where the young man, near Nicholas’s age, stood and greeted him. Philip McDowell had always been an amiable, but not overly talkative, gentleman. He had sharp blue eyes, which Nicholas remembered, and a trim, reddish-brown beard, which was new.
    “Thank you for seeing me,” Nicholas began, “but I am sorry to say, I have bad news.” He swallowed and took a breath. “I was attacked on the way here. I was bringing you a diary given to me by Richard Beechum just after I was wounded in the Peninsula. Two men stole the diary out of my coat pocket.” He quickly added, “But I copied the entire diary, and the copy is at my father’s house in Mayfair.”
    Both men had remained standing, and now McDowell stared hard at Nicholas. “This is serious indeed. Did you see your assailants’ faces?”
    “I saw one man’s face, but he was not familiar to me. They wore handkerchiefs over their faces. Both had brown hair, and one of them had green eyes.”
    “If they weren’t after your money and only stole the diary, they must have known already of the diary’s existence.”
    “Exactly,” Nicholas agreed. “I am afraid I mentioned the diary to a friend at a party I attended two nights ago.”
    “Whose party? What friend?” McDowell seemed to lean toward him, his expression intense.
    “At the time, I was completely unaware the