Page 39 of The Trick of the Treasure
“No idea. Went off with the rest of ’em, his bag on his shoulder.”
“I don’t suppose you know where I can find Captain Tybalt?”
The fact that Solomon knew the captain’s name seemed to reassure the watchman, who told him an address not too far away to walk. Solomon thanked him and set off. The first hope of certainty had gone, but this chance discovery was as close as all his deliberate and painstaking inquiries had come in ten years. He would not give it up lightly.
The captain’s house was a modest affair, chosen for convenience to the river rather than comfort, Solomon suspected.
A knock brought the man to the door. He was not young, perhaps in his forties. Nor was he tall or particularly imposing in appearance, but his unquiet face bore all the hallmarks of a restless spirit, the kind of man who was only truly happy at sea. Solomon had encountered many such men during his life.
“Captain Tybalt? My name is Solomon Grey.” He presented his personal business card, and the man’s eyes widened as if he recognized it. Solomon didn’t think Tybalt had ever worked for him—he knew most of his sea captains—but perhaps he had heard of him and hoped for another ship. “I’m looking for one of your crew,” he said quickly, to avoid false hope. “A man called Johnny something?”
“Johnny?” Tybalt repeated. “What’s he done?”
“Do you expect him to be in trouble?”
“Lord, no. Seemed a decent fellow, willing and able and never gavemeany trouble. But I don’t know him well—picked him up at Madagascar when one of our own took ill, and he stayed on. Said he’d never been to England before, let alone to London.”
“Then where did he go when he left the ship?” Solomon asked.
“I don’t know. A couple of the crew, Jackson and Squibbs, took him along with them.”
“Can you tell me where their lodgings are?”
“No, but I suspect you’ll find them in the Crown and Anchor.”
The Crown and Anchor was not a house Solomon had ever frequented. Nor would he have advised anyone else to risk it, whatever their station in life, especially not someone who had never been in London before. He’d be lucky to get in and out with only his pockets picked.
Also, it was getting dark, and he had to take Constance to the opera. Still, he couldn’t leave the matter until he had laid eyes on this Johnny. So he extracted the names of the crew members who had been with him when last seen, thanked the captain, and walked on toward the notorious alehouse.
He was so deep in thought and in so much of a hurry that he almost missed her, even though she stepped out of a doorway on his left, almost bumping into him. She was vaguely familiar, so he touched his hat somewhat mechanically before he realized she was twittering his name.
“Mr. Grey! What a surprise to see you in this neck of the woods, as it were.”
It was Miss Audrey Lloyd, his client’s maiden sister, all flustered untidiness and kind eyes. “Miss Lloyd. I have to say the same. May I escort you somewhere?”
“Oh no, there is a hackney stand close by. I am quite used to the neighborhood, you know. Charity… Though I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell my brother precisely where you met me. He worries so…”
Solomon was not entirely surprised if she frequented areas like these in the dark. Although he really wanted to be elsewhere, he felt obliged to offer his arm and slow his steps.
“So kind,” she murmured. “Are you here in search of my brother’s lost treasure?”
No. My own. “Something like that.” In spite of the search crowding the forefront of his mind, curiosity pierced its way in. He regarded her thoughtfully. “You are a very independently minded lady, are you not? Considering your brother’s—ah…caring nature.”
“Oh well, a spinster lady has to go her own way if she is not to vanish into the woodwork,” she said in a vague kind of way. “I do so enjoy my charities, and one likes to feel useful.”
“I’m sure you are and have been extremely useful to your brother’s family.”
“Oh no. The children are dear, but they always had nannies, you know, when they were very young. And Christine is the most ferocious housekeeper, leaving me nothing to do but eat my head off.”
She reminded Solomon of a tiny, starving bird in winter. He could not imagine her eating her head off anywhere at any time.
“Have you not your own conveyance, Mr. Grey?” she asked anxiously.
“Why no, I traveled by hackney also. I shall take the one after you.”
“You are welcome to share mine,” she offered with the timidity of one used to being refused in all things.
“I have one more errand first.”
