The Repentant Rake Read Online Free PDF

them.'
        'That
satchel contains more than a few drawings,' said Mills, levelling the pistol at
him. 'Hand it over or I'll be forced to take it from your dead body.'
        Christopher
shrugged. 'If you insist.'
        'I
do.'
        'Then
first let me prove that I'm a man of my word - unlike you, I may say.' Christopher
opened the satchel to take out a piece of folded parchment. 'Here, see for
yourself. A town house in the Dutch style, commissioned by Sir Julius Cheever.'
        Mills
took the parchment and flicked it open to glance at the various drawings. They were
neat and explicit but he was still unconvinced. The pistol was turned in the
direction of the satchel.
        'I'll
wager there's something else in there, Mr Redmayne, or you'd not have been
nursing it like a baby throughout dinner. I'm wondering if this illustrious
client of yours might not have given you some money on account. Is that what's in the satchel?'
        'Alas
no!' sighed Christopher. 'But have it, if you must.'
        He
slipped an arm through it and lifted the strap over his head. Mills glanced down
at the drawings in his hand. It was a fatal mistake. Christopher moved at
lightning speed hurling the satchel into his face and diving straight at him,
knocking him against one of the stalls with such force that the pistol dropped
from his hand. It was no time for social niceties. Grabbing his adversary by
the throat, Christopher pounded his head against the stout timber. Mills
cursed, struggled and kicked but he was up against someone stronger and more
determined. Christopher was annoyed at himself for being duped and that gave
him extra power. When
        Mills
tried to pull out his dagger, Christopher hurled him to the ground and stamped
on his wrist until the weapon slid uselessly away. The commotion had upset the
horses and they neighed in alarm, shifting in their stalls as the two men
grappled together on the straw-covered floor.
        It
was when Mills's flailing body squirmed on to the drawings that Christopher
really lost his temper. They were only early sketches but they represented
something very important in his life and he was not going to have them treated
with disrespect With a burst of manic energy, he sat astride his opponent and
subdued him with a relay of punches to the face, ignoring the pain in his
knuckles until Mills lapsed into unconsciousness. Breathing heavily and with
bruises of his own from the fight, he hauled himself to his feet. His first
priority was to secure and silence the other man. When he found the rope in the
saddlebags he used it to bind Zachary Mills to a solid oak post, then took out
the latter's own handkerchief to use as a gag. Though his first instinct was to
deliver the man up to the local constable, he saw the drawbacks. It would mean
an interminable delay as he tried to explain what had happened and Mills would
assuredly contest his version of events. Pain and humiliation would be the
highwayman's punishment. Trussed up tightly and covered in blood, he would have
time to repent of his folly in choosing the wrong victim. It might be hours
before he was discovered and released by the departing travellers. Christopher
would be in the next county by then.
        Slipping
the satchel over his shoulder, he recovered the pistol and dropped it in with
the money from Sir Julius. He then picked up the parchment with the drawings on
it and smoothed it out reverently. When Mills opened a bloodshot eye,
Christopher showed no sympathy for him. He held up the parchment.
        'You
shouldn't have creased this,' he said. 'My drawings mean everything to me.'
    ----
        

Chapter
Three
        
        Dead
bodies held no fears for Jonathan Bale. He had looked on too many of them to be
either shocked or revolted. Those dragged out of the River Thames were the
worst, grotesque parodies of human beings, bloated out of all recognition and,
when first hauled from the dark water, giving off a