Free India Black and the Gentleman Thief by Carol K. Carr

for a good thirty minutes. I was getting restless, anticipating a drink of whisky and an early night, preferably early enough to give French a bit of instruction in interrogation techniques, when the odiferous lad turned up. French related our encounter with the captain and as he spoke a sly grin appeared on Vincent’s face, which grew broader as the story neared its end.
    “Oi! There’s somethin’ afoot, alright. I went back to those blokes who loaded the crates and they said they do it regular-like. The ship sails to India every two or three months, and for nearly a year, they been stowin’ tools from this Bradley company on board.” Vincent’s smile was now triumphant. “And they say that ever’ time they load, the same bloke comes down to watch ’em put the crates on board, and then the captain takes him down to the Jolly Tar and they have a pint and a chin wag.”
    “An elderly man, with grey hair and a beard?” asked French.
    “Not ’ardly. ’E’s a young bloke with blond hair.”
    • • •
    The fact that the captain had been less than honest with French and me did not surprise us. After all, we are agents of the Crown and we’re accustomed to a certain amount of subterfuge and obfuscation in our line of work. And then I’m a whore, so I’m well acquainted with the probity of the average man, which, I can tell you, is in short supply. Tate’s deceit, however, did prompt a few more questions in my mind.
    “I’ll lay odds that the captain sends word to the blond bloke that we’ve been asking about him,” I said. “Do you really think it was a good idea to produce that note from Dizzy? Now the blackguards will know that government agents have an interest in their affairs.”
    “A moment ago, you wanted your own note from the prime minister,” said French.
    “Wot note?” If Vincent had been a terrier, his body would have quivered. “’Ow come I ain’t got a note from ole Dizzy? Wot’s it say, anyway?”
    “The city would not be safe if you carried around an imprimatur from Dizzy. You’d plunder the place in a week,” I told him.
    Vincent smiled wistfully. “Wouldn’t that be sweet? Oh, the fings I could do.”
    “Will you two forget about the bloody note? If you must know, I wrote it myself and forged the prime minister’s name.”
    “I find that shocking, French,” I said. “What sort of upbringing did you have? How did you get your hands on the prime minister’s letterhead? Is it a good likeness of Dizzy’s signature? Could you write a letter of recommendation for me and sign it with his name? I’ll hang it on the wall at Lotus House.”
    French gave me that steely eyed gaze of his, which he knows very well has absolutely no effect on me. “If we could just return to the matter at hand
—
”
    “Certainly, French. Let us apply some logic to the situation. If the captain gave us a false description of the man who consigned the tools for shipping, then the captain must be involved in this conspiracy, or fraud, or whatever it is we’re investigating.”
    “Or he might just be the cautious type, who doesn’t want to disclose any information about his clients to two strangers, even after one of them trots out a note from the prime minister.”
    “Either way, I would guess that he’ll try to contact the blond fellow to let him know that someone is asking questions about his business.”
    “I agree,” said French, which was a pleasant surprise as he usually finds fault with most of my suggestions. “But will the captain send a messenger or deliver the news himself?”
    “The ship will be sailing soon,” I pointed out. “Would the captain leave the
Comet
at a time like this?”
    “I don’t know. I suggest we watch and see if anything happens.”
    We had a natter about who would watch whom and who would follow whom and finally decided that if the captain left the ship or dispatched a fellow to communicate with Bradley, then French and I would follow. Vincent was