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Climbing from the unsteady boat came three men. The first was a tall, weather beaten man with a short grizzled grey beard.
“I am Gustav Larson” he told Bailey, offering his hand, “I am Captain of the Marie.”
“I am pleased to meet you” Bailey replied. “My name is Thomas Bailey; I am the representative of the Crown here on Saint Albans.”
“Very good!” the tall Swede declared, “Then these Gentlemen belong to you!”
He turned and indicated the two men who stood behind him looking damp and miserable. Bailey turned his attention to them and grinned. One of them was Joseph Arkwright, another of the Chatham magistrate’s men.
“Joe” he nodded.
“Tom” Arkwright replied, “May I have the pleasure of introducing Mister Isaac Melchior, sent to us from London to help us with our little problem here on Saint Albans…”
Bailey nodded to the small stranger who bowed in reply, then produced a sealed wax paper envelope.
“This is for you Mr Bailey” he smiled. “I was asked by his Honour Lord Blake if I would carry this to you.”
Bailey took the envelope and tucked it into his jacket.
“This is Morgan de Hogue” he replied, motioning with his hand, He is with the Admiralty.”
“Ah yes. Mr de Hogue.” Melchior stepped forward and extended his hand with a knowing look. “I was told the Navy had a man here, I am glad to make your acquaintance.”
“Like wise, Mr Melchior” de Hogue replied, but now, perhaps we ought to get out of this rain?”
All nodded, except Captain Larson, who held up a finger.
“Just one moment gentlemen” he cried. He reached down into the boat, where on of his sailors passed up a waxed post bag. “I think you might want to remember this?”
“Ah yes, the post bag!” Melchior replied with a broad smile. The rain running down his nose. “I promised to deliver it to the Chandlery…”
“Here, I’ll take it” de Hogue replied.
“Let’s get indoors eh?” Arkwright nodded to the pub.
“It’s no good Joe.” Bailey replied. “Given the nature of our business, I don’t think it’s wise to be a calling out what we needs to be talking of. We’ll go back to my place, its just five minutes walk from here. Morgan, will you meet us there?”
De Hogue nodded and after thanking Captain Larsen they made their separate ways. De Hogue dropped the post off at the Chandler’s then returned to the inn and Annie Sheppard’s brother.
“What do you what with her?” was the immediate, obvious answer, delivered with a fair degree of hostility and bravado.
“We need to ask her about her friend, Mary Coleman” de Hogue replied.
Sheppard made a dismissive gesture, but the look in his eyes faded from anger to sadness. He licked his lips and then nodded.
“Alright, I’ll take you there now if you want.”
De Hogue nodded and stood aside. Sheppard downed the last of his drink and slapped the pewter mug down onto the bar.
The two men trudged down through the village, past the church and out along Shore Lane until they reached a low roofed cottage set back from the road against a dark line of trees.
A young woman opened the door to greet them. Unlike her brother, she was very short and plump. Her eyes were red rimmed and timid.
“This is Mister de Hogue. He’s come to ask you about Mary” her brother told her.
Annie Sheppard looked up at de Hogue’s face with something like gratitude and opened the door wider.“Come in Mister de Hogue” she smiled sincerely.