Edward Marston - The Repentant Rake

'Mr Henshaw!' he called.

The shouting stopped and the boy's ordeal was temporarily over. Composing his features into the flabby smile he reserved for customers, Henshaw came into the front of the shop. He was a tall, big-boned, corpulent man in his fifties with tiny eyes glinting either side of a hooked nose. When he saw Christopher's facial injuries, he blinked in surprise. Sobbing was heard from the back room. Henshaw gave an explanatory chuckle.

'The lad must learn the hard way,' he said, rubbing his hands together. 'I was an apprentice for eight years and a blow from my master taught me quicker than anything else.' He broadened his smile. 'What can I do for you, gentlemen? If you wish to have something printed, you have come to the right place.'

'We want to discuss your work, Mr Henshaw,' said Christopher.

'Has someone recommended me to you, sir?'

'Not exactly.'

Christopher performed the introductions then took out the page from the diary. Handing it over to Henshaw, he studied the man's reactions. The printer's jaw tightened visibly and his smile congealed. He glared at Christopher.

'Why have you brought this to me?' he said.

'Because we believe that it is your handiwork.'

'There's some mistake. This is not mine.'

'Do you not use that typeface, Mr Henshaw?'

'From time to time,' the printer conceded.

'Then rack your memory,' said Christopher. 'Try to recall when you used it for this particular commission. It's very important.'

Henshaw sniffed. 'I'm sorry,' he said tossing the page on to the counter. 'I've never seen this before. Nor would I care to, sir. It's not the kind of thing a respectable shop like mine would be interested in touching.'

'How do you know? You did not read it through.'

'I saw enough.'

'Let me speak to your apprentice,' said Christopher.

'Why?'

'I fancy that he may be more alert than his master. He may recollect setting the type for this particular commission. Call the lad through, Mr Henshaw.'

'No, sir.'

'What harm can it do?'

Henshaw was belligerent. 'My apprentice has work to do and so do I. If you are not here to do business, I bid you farewell.' He grabbed the page from the counter and thrust it at Christopher. 'Take this out of my shop.'

'Not until you tell us what we came to find out,' said Jonathan, taking the page from him. 'You recognised this work as soon as you saw it. I dare say that you have printed others from the same source.'

'Go your ways,' snarled Henshaw.

'All in good time.'

'I cannot help you.'

'You mean that you will not,' said Jonathan levelly. 'At the moment, that is.'

'Obviously, you require a little persuasion,' said Christopher easily. 'I'm sure that you are familiar with the name of Elijah Pembridge.'

'I know Pembridge and all his pernicious tribe,' sneered Henshaw. 'Booksellers are the bane of my life. They outnumber us completely and enforce terms that take away any profit we might enjoy. The Stationers' Company will be the ruin of us.'

'We did not come here to listen to your woes,' said Jonathan bluntly.

'Then take yourselves off.'

'You have not heard us out yet,' resumed Christopher. 'Mr Pembridge is a friend of mine. When it comes to printing, I respect his judgement. According to him, that page is your work, Mr Henshaw. I'd take his word against yours.'

'So would I,' added Jonathan.

'Pembridge is wrong,' insisted Henshaw.

'Is he?' said Christopher. 'Supposing that Mr Bale and I were to show this to every other printer in the city. What would happen if every one of them denied any knowledge of it? The trail would lead us straight back to you, Mr Henshaw. Why not save us a great deal of time?'

The printer hesitated. Jonathan wearied of his lying. It was time for action.

'You will have to come with us, Mr Henshaw,' he declared.

'Why?' said the printer.

'Because I'm placing you under arrest, sir.'

'On what charge?'

'You are an accessary to blackmail.'

'That is ridiculous!'

'Save your protests for the magistrate, sir,' said Jonathan, going round the counter. 'We have evidence to link you to a conspiracy to extort money by means of blackmail.' He held up the page. 'This is only the first link in the chain.'

'Stay away from me!' said Henshaw, pushing him away.

'Leave him be, Mr Bale,' said Christopher. 'He may yet be innocently involved here. Let me explain the seriousness of the situation, Mr Henshaw,' he went on, turning to the printer. 'We are not just talking about blackmail. Murder has also occurred.'

'Murder?' gasped Henshaw.

'The killer tried to add me to his list of victims. As you see, I still bear the scars of the encounter. But let me tell you exactly what we are dealing with here.'

Christopher gave him a terse account of the crimes, omitting the names of the blackmail victims but mentioning the amounts of money demanded. Henshaw's face was eloquent. Shock gave way to fear, then quickly changed to self-pity.

'I knew nothing of this, Mr Redmayne!' he protested. 'I swear it!'

'Did you print that page?' asked Christopher.

Henshaw bit his lip. 'Yes,' he admitted.

'Have you printed anything similar?'

'Not yet, sir. But another commission is promised to me.'

Christopher looked around. 'Do you have the diary on the premises?'

'No, sir. The gentleman said he'd bring it in due course.'

'What gentleman?' said Jonathan.

'The one who paid me handsomely for that single page,' replied Henshaw.

'Did he give you a name?' asked Christopher.

The printer nodded. 'Yes, Mr Redmayne. A name and an address.'

'Excellent!' Christopher leaned forward with excitement. 'We want them.'

'I'll need to look in my book,' said Henshaw, easing Jonathan back so that he could reach behind the counter. He pulled out a ledger and set it down, beginning to flick through the pages. 'Here it is,' he said at last, finding the correct place.

'Give us the name!' demanded Christopher. 'Gabriel Cheever, sir,' announced Henshaw. 'He lives Knightrider Street.'

Susan Cheever tried hard to conceal her disappointment but it showed clearly in her eyes. Hoping that they had returned with good news, she was dismayed when Christopher explained what had happened at the printer's shop. What hurt her most was the fact that her brother's name had been used to disguise the identity of someone who was implicated in his murder. It was a detail she intended to keep from her sister-in-law.

'I am sorry that it was all such a waste of time, Mr Redmayne,' she said.

'But it was not,' said Christopher. 'We feel heartened by what we discovered.'

'Heartened?'

'Yes, Miss Cheever. We know who printed that extract from the diary and he assures us that his customer promised to return soon. Mr Bale has left a colleague of his watching the shop. When the man does return,' he said 'Mr Henshaw will give a signal and an arrest can be made.'

'Are you sure that you can trust this printer?'

'Oh, yes. Thanks to Mr Bale. He frightened the life out of Miles Henshaw.'

'It was the only way to get his help,' said Jonathan with a smile. 'He was a surly fellow who had been sworn to secrecy by his customer. He was very obstructive at first. When I threatened to haul him before a magistrate, he thought better of it.'

'Was he aware that Gabriel's diary was being used for blackmail?'

'No, Miss Cheever. He was simply paid to print that extract.'

'By whom?'

'That is what we've yet to establish,' confessed Christopher, 'but Mr Henshaw gave us a good description of the customer. Apparently, he was a well-built young man with a handsome face but a rough manner. I have a strong feeling that I met the fellow in the dark last night.' He grinned quietly. 'After the way I flattened his nose, he may not be quite so handsome now.'