Matthew Hawkwood Thriller Series Books 1-3: Ratcatcher, Resurrectionist, Rapscallion. James McGee

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СКАЧАТЬ mastery over the oceans, Bonaparte’s plan would fail; but if the actions of just one submersible managed to bottle up the entire British Navy, the Emperor could start to breathe again. The balance of power would shift dramatically. The fabric of the nation was at stake.

      Ezra Twigg returned, bearing maps. There wasn’t room on the desk so they had to spread them out on the floor. By the time they had been laid out, there wasn’t much carpet visible, but what they had amounted to a bird’s-eye view of the Thames, stretching from Cheyne Walk to the River Lea.

      Hawkwood looked despairingly at the distances involved. Nearly eleven miles of waterway, not to mention tributaries, canals and docks. How could they be expected to find one small boat, twenty feet in length?

      “By elimination,” James Read said. “For example, a hiding place upriver beyond the London dock is unlikely, otherwise he’d be giving himself too much water and too many vessels to negotiate.”

      “If I were Lee,” Hawkwood said, pointing, “I wouldn’t attack from downstream either. It would make more sense to run with the current. Once I’d destroyed the ship, I’d want to get out as quickly as possible.”

      The Chief Magistrate stared at the mosaic on the floor. “I agree. But where does that leave us? The area between Bermondsey and the Isle of Dogs, perhaps? A little over three miles, I fancy. So, where would be the best place to conceal a submersible?”

      Hawkwood was trying to remember Colonel Congreve’s estimate of the submersible’s speed. Lee probably wouldn’t want to expend too much energy or time manoeuvring the craft into position, and three miles still seemed an awful long way. But then, what else was it the colonel had said? Stealth was more important than speed.

      Hawkwood looked down at the remaining map sheets. “The vessel was damaged. That’s why they needed the clockmaker. They couldn’t carry out repairs in the open, it would attract too much attention, too many prying eyes. Which means the thing has to be under cover somewhere. So we’re looking for a shelter, a building, something opening on to the river – a warehouse, for instance. Lee isn’t acting on his own. We know that. He has contacts. Which of them is most likely to have access to a warehouse? Someone who deals with cargoes and such? Some sort of trader? A merchant type, perhaps?” Hawkwood looked pointedly at the Chief Magistrate.

      The Chief Magistrate slammed his palm on to the desk. “Of course! It’s been staring us in the face!”

      “It ‘as?” Jago said.

      The Chief Magistrate grabbed his clerk’s arm. “Fetch the file on Lord Mandrake, Mr Twigg. We are looking for property owned or rented by his lordship, with river access.”

      “Very good, sir.”

      Jago caught Hawkwood’s eye and grinned. “I can see why they made you an officer.”

      Twigg left the office once more. He was gone less than two minutes. When he returned he was clutching a bundle of documents bound in black ribbon. Even Hawkwood, familiar with Ezra Twigg’s uncanny knack for accumulating and evaluating intelligence, was impressed. The Chief Magistrate, on the other hand, clearly took his clerk’s abilities for granted.

      “Very good, Mr Twigg. Locations, if you please.”

      As Twigg read out the details, Hawkwood’s hope’s began to fade. All the warehouses used by Lord Mandrake’s trading companies were situated inside the new docklands.

      London was the busiest port in the world. Because of their size, large cargo ships were unable to sail upriver beyond London Bridge, so unloading had been restricted to the north and south banks below the bridge, which meant, as trade increased, the buildings and wharves had extended downriver. As the size of vessels grew larger, so did the congestion in the port area. The wharves became crowded and confused. Ships sometimes had to wait weeks for their cargoes to be checked and for customs dues to be paid. Added to which was the problem of river pirates and all the other criminals who preyed on shipping. The profits from crime were huge. It was to ease the overcrowding and protect vulnerable and valuable cargoes that the first commercial docks had been built.

      Ships could now come up the river at high tide and enter the dock basins. Cargoes could be unloaded and either stored in warehouses or transferred to smaller, shallower-draughted vessels for immediate distribution.

      Mandrake’s warehouses were spread evenly between the London Dock in Wapping, the West India Docks, north of the Isle of Dogs, and the Grand Surrey Docks in Rotherhithe.

      “Looks as if we were wrong,” Hawkwood said, unable to hide his disappointment. “There’s no way Lee would risk taking his submersible inside the dock area. Too impractical, too damned public.”

      James Read nodded glumly. “I fear you’re right. Even our Mr Lee wouldn’t be that presumptuous. Though, perhaps we should have the buildings investigated anyway. I’ll contact the River Police and have them make searches – discreetly, of course.” Still despondent, Read turned to his clerk. “Thank you, Mr Twigg. As always your files have proved most illuminating. However, it appears we must look elsewhere for our information.”

      The Chief Magistrate frowned. His clerk was not paying attention. Ezra Twigg was staring intently at one of the documents. Suddenly aware that he was being observed, he looked up. “Forgive me, sir.”

      “Mr Twigg?” The Chief Magistrate regarded his clerk with concern.

      The clerk blinked owlishly. “Er … I believe I may have found something, sir.”

      “And what might that be, Mr Twigg?”

      The clerk gathered himself. He held up the document. “There’s another warehouse, sir.”

      The Chief Magistrate gripped his clerk’s arm. Twigg winced.

      “It’s entirely my fault, sir. It’s just that when I was looking at the list of his lordship’s premises, it occurred to me there was no mention of the timber yard.”

      “Timber yard?”

      “Yes, sir. You see, when his lordship moved his businesses to the new docks, he sold his existing properties to raise the finance. They consisted of …” Twigg consulted the document “… warehouses at Griffin’s Wharf, Battle Bridge, Brewers Quay and New Bear Quay. Also two properties at Phoenix Wharf, Wapping, and storage houses at Trinity Street in Rotherhithe. All sold, sir, all accounted for, except one. His lordship used to import timber from the east, sir. His company had a separate warehouse and timber yard for the purpose. I can find no record of the sale.”

      “And where is this warehouse, Mr Twigg?”

      A pause.

      “In Limehouse, sir.”

      Less than a mile and a half upriver from Deptford.

      The Chief Magistrate read Hawkwood’s mind. “Take Sergeant Jago with you.”

      “What about warning the ship?” Hawkwood asked.

      The Chief Magistrate looked thoughtful. “That might be a problem. If Lee does indeed have other friends in high places, warning the ship will surely alert Lee that we’re on to him. Neither would we want to start unnecessary panic. And don’t forget, for all we know, Lee believes you’re dead. That may work to our advantage. No, gentlemen, until we know for certain who is friend or foe, I СКАЧАТЬ