Jonathan Broughton - The Russian White - A Victorian Thriller

“No,” repeated Mister Ridley.

“Why not?”

“Because when we caught him he didn’t have it on him. That’s why not.”

William disliked false acts of bravura. His distain provoked a sneer of cold retribution. “You are sure?”

“Look sir. We had the clothes off his back and cut them to ribbons. There was nowhere he could be carrying it and we wouldn’t find it.”

“So he must have hidden it.”

“Might have done.”

“Did you search for it?”

Mister Ridley shifted again and wiped his greasy face. “And where would I start looking, may I ask?”

A high-pitched squeak came from the cage, interrupting his reply. William glanced behind. One of the mice was lying on its back having convulsions.

“What’s the matter with that?” Mister Ridley half-rose from his chair.

“You haven’t answered my question,” William snapped. Mister Ridley sat down. “I repeat, did you search for it?”

“Look sir.” Mister Ridley’s cheeks flushed. “Your instructions were to catch this man and take the diamond—”

“Not so loud.”

Mister Ridley lowered his voice. “To relieve him of what he was carrying. This man didn’t live nowhere, there weren’t no house we could go searching in, he was a gyppo, and if it weren’t on him, then God knows where he put it.”

“Why didn’t you bring him here for questioning?”

“I didn’t think you’d want the inconvenience—sir.”

“I would have thought that common sense might have told you that once caught, interrogation was the obvious approach.”

“You never said.”

“No. I never said. I just presumed, always a mistake when dealing with the criminal classes.”

“Sorry sir?”

“What proof do you have that he is dead?”

Mister Ridley smirked. “Don’t you believe me?”

“Don’t play games with me Ridley.”

“Threats now is it? That wasn’t part of our gentlemen’s agreement.” He bent down, picked up the sack, untied the rope, and tipped out the contents. A severed head rolled across the floor and came to rest under the desk.

William recoiled, unprepared for this grisly sight.

“Squeamish are we sir?” Mister Ridley grinned.

William grimaced at the milky eyes staring back at him, and the grey skin blotched brown with patches of dried blood.

Mister Ridley laughed. “Now, you ask him yourself where he’s put it.”

William resumed his composure. He cursed himself for a fool to have trusted this nasty little man. He had his suspicions that such an outcome might occur, but optimism and a secret wish for success had prevailed. Stupid. Mister Ridley’s instinctive intelligence was no better than a common murderers’. Nothing of his anger betrayed its presence as he faced the gloating fool.

“Well—congratulations on being so-thorough. Did he put up much of a fight?”

“Not as you’d notice.”

The man’s bumptiousness was nauseating. He had failed in his task. Didn’t he see that? Or, had his loyalties shifted?

“Mister Ridley—did you take the diamond?”

“What?”

“Did you take the diamond?”

“You callin’ me a thief?”

“The truth or the consequences will be dire.”

Mister Ridley blustered. “I don’t like the way you’re speaking to me sir.”

“Give me the diamond.”

The door opened and Terrington stepped into the room, unseen by either man.

“I don’t have it.”

William glared. “Are you going to blackmail me?”

“Yeah. I might just do that. Blackmail? Sounds good, an’ it won’t be a first neither.”

“Well if you do, your life will be forfeit.”

Mister Ridley leaped up. “Right, go on then. Search me. Go on, search me. You don’t believe me, all right, so come on.” His angry spit hit William’s face. “I don’t like being called a liar. And I don’t like threats. I’m honest. I might not be on the straight and narrow but I’m honest.”

“Well there’s a contradiction in terms.” William drew out his handkerchief and dabbed his cheeks.

“What?”

“Oh sit down Mister Ridley. And stop shouting. I know you don’t have the diamond.”

Mister Ridley straightened his jacket and frowned. “I don’t like being made a fool of sir.”

“I wasn’t making a fool of you. I wanted you to understand that this is a very serious matter.”

Mister Ridley perched on the edge of the chair. “Your ways of working make a man feel uneasy.”

“And your ways don’t?”

“That’s different.”

“Of course it is. That’s why I employed you.” William bent down and picked up the head. The hair felt dry and brittle. “I’ll be keeping this. And I will pay you half the money that we agreed upon.”

“That wasn’t the deal.” Mister Ridley was up again.

“I know it wasn’t. Retrieve the diamond and return it to me, that was the agreement, but you don’t have it and that is why I am not going to pay you the full amount. However—”

Mister Ridley’s open-mouthed protest was silenced, and a look of expectancy transformed his anger into hope as he slowly sat down. Really, thought William, it was so easy to manipulate the lower classes.

“Go on looking for the diamond. I will pay you for as long as it takes to find it. You see Mister Ridley, you might make a great deal more money than we originally agreed upon. I think that’s fair, don’t you?”

Mister Ridley wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Or was he hiding a smile? “For as long as it takes me to find it?” He repeated the phrase like a child learning their ABC.

“That’s what I said.”

“And you go on paying me?”

“Agreed.”

Mister Ridley weighed up the possibilities as he looked from William to the severed head and back again. “Yeah, all right then.”

“Excellent. I knew we could still do business.” It was like taking sweets from a baby. He placed the head on the edge of his desk. “Now, will you join me in a nightcap to seal our new agreement?” He gestured towards his untouched tumbler of whiskey. “A drink to warm you on your way?”

Mister Ridley beamed. “Don’t mind if I do, thank you sir.”

William poured a tumbler of whiskey from the bottle and handed it to him. Then he picked up his tumbler and the two men clinked glasses.

William took a sip and then yawned. “Oh dear, do excuse me. It has been a busy day. I travelled down from London this morning and it’s quite worn me out.”

Mister Ridley took the hint, and downed his whiskey in one. “I’ll be going then sir.”

“So soon? Please, have another.”

“My wife will be waiting.”

“Ah yes, and your children too. How many are there now?”

“Five sir.”

“Five, my,my.” He feigned considered thought. “So you really must be going?”

“Yes sir.”

“And, Mister Ridley, where exactly must you be going to?”

“Sir?”

“Are you going home?”

“That’s right sir, yes.”

“Or are you going to your grave?”

“What?”

“Oh Mister Ridley, to die a pauper and a murderer, what an unjust world we live in. Never to see your family again. To leave them to starve on the street, spat on for the scum that they are.”

Mister Ridley’s hand went to his belt and the knife that he kept there. “What have you done?”

Terrington was suddenly beside him, his fist smashing onto his arm and jolting the knife out of his hand. At the same moment a look of incomprehension passed across Mister Ridley’s face.

The first wave of poison, thought William and, as if to confirm his diagnosis, Mister Ridley’s legs twisted from underneath him, and he fell to his knees. Blood dripped from his mouth.