Marbeck and the Privateers Read Online Free Page B

master steward, but I saw him walk towards the house … He would have come in by those doors, I believe.’ He pointed to the main entrance, twenty feet away.
    â€˜The riverfront doors are locked,’ Langton said, with growing severity. ‘And I hold the means of entry.’ He indicated a ring of keys at his belt. ‘Perhaps you’d care to confirm it for yourself?’
    He gestured towards the doors, but Marbeck’s mind was already busy. He had dealt with too many experienced deceivers, among them those who lied for a living. Langton was good, but his denial rang hollow. The question was, why should he lie? Yet now, Marbeck’s instinct told him, was not the time for confrontation, and he must keep to his role. He knew the doors would be locked, but nevertheless went through the motions of going over and trying them. He even rattled the handles, then walked back to the steward with a sheepish expression.
    â€˜Perhaps I was mistaken,’ he murmured.
    Langton made no answer.
    â€˜And besides … it’s none of my concern.’
    â€˜That is so.’ The man cleared his throat and made as if to move away. Then as an afterthought, he said: ‘My lord has made it known that you should have whatever you need – I trust all is to your liking?’
    â€˜It will serve. I thank you,’ Marbeck said.
    He watched the old man walk off … and a suspicion arose: that a little piece of theatre had just been played for his benefit. He had been allowed to see Simon Jewkes arrive, and to have his curiosity aroused. Was the Lord Secretary playing one of his games? And if so, to what end?
    Thoughtfully he climbed the stairs and made his way towards the study, then remembered Daniel Miller telling him of the turret. He walked past his own door to another one at the end of the passage, which opened on to a spiral stairway. Descending quickly, Marbeck found himself emerging from a narrow doorway at the south-east corner of the house, with the Savoy towering above him to his left. He walked through the garden, which was cluttered with barrows and builders’ rubble, to the waterfront. The skiff was still there, and sitting in it was the boatman, puffing on a blackened pipe. The tide was in, the boat rocking gently with the swell. When Marbeck suddenly appeared above him, the man almost jumped out of his skin.
    â€˜Mercy, master …’ Removing his pipe, he touched his cap. ‘Do you wish to go somewhere? I was, er …’
    Adopting a brusque manner, Marbeck peered at him. ‘You’re Miller?’ When the other gave a nod, he went on: ‘I saw you land a visitor earlier today. As it happens he’s one of my acquaintance – do you know if he’s still here?’
    A moment passed; he watched Miller carefully, and was not surprised when the other put on a puzzled look. ‘Visitor?’ he echoed. ‘Nay, master, I’ve been here all morning – you must have been mistook …’
    But he broke off, uncertain what to make of Marbeck’s expression. For in that moment he had taken a decision: Daniel Miller’s offer to provide him with women of the streets, he guessed, could only have been made with the connivance of his father, who no doubt provided the transport. Here was a man open to persuasion. Dropping to one knee so that he and the boatman were close, he put on a conspiratorial expression.
    â€˜Save your tale – you may speak freely with me,’ he said. ‘I know you brought that man here in your boat. He’s a city dealer, the sort who’d skin his own mother and sell the flayed hide back to her. So – if I name a price, might we not do business?’
    But Miller was uneasy. He trusted no one, Marbeck saw, and rapidly considered his options. The man hesitated, apparently considering his too. Finally he said: ‘I may have brought a passenger, but I don’t know who he was.’
    â€˜Your son