Expecting to see nothing more than piles of bricks and stacks of timber, they were taken completely unawares when two figures suddenly sprang out at them. Christopher Redmayne unleashed his pent-up rage by flinging himself at one of the thieves and knocking him to the ground. Samuel Littlejohn, sweating profusely from his close confinement beneath the tarpaulin, grappled with another man and showed no mercy. It was not simply a case of apprehending the thieves. Architect and builder alike wanted revenge. They were possessive about their house. It had been defiled by intruders. It made the pair of them rain hard, unforgiving blows on their respective quarries.
Still free, the man with the cudgel did not know whether to save himself or help his fellows. In the event, self- interest won his vote. After a few ineffective swings at Littlejohn with his cudgel, he took to his heels and raced towards the boat which was moored at the jetty. He did not get far. Lurking in the shadows was a bulky figure who stepped out to block his way. The cudgel swung again but the blow was easily parried by a staff. Before the thief could defend himself, the end of the staff jabbed deep into his stomach to take the wind out of him then it clipped him hard on the side of the head. He dropped his cudgel and fell.
Jonathan Bale caught him before he hit the ground.
'Come, sir,' he said. 'Let us get you back to your fellows.'
The constable gave a call and three watchmen came out of their hiding place to take charge of the thief. When they had deprived him of a dagger, they dragged him up the garden of the house.
Surprise had been decisive in catching the other men. Swiftly overpowered, they now lay groaning on the ground. Christopher stood over them with a sword in his hand while Littlejohn used an arm to wipe the perspiration from his brow. Blood dripped from the builder's cheek but it was not his own. It belonged to the man whose lip he had opened with his angry knuckles. Littlejohn was now panting heavily but delighted with his night's work.
'We did well, Mr Redmayne,' he boasted. 'Very well.'
'Not well enough,' said Christopher. 'We only caught two of them.'
'The third is also taken,' announced a voice. 'I had thought to arrest all three myself but it seems that you have done my office for me.'
Christopher and Littlejohn were amazed to see the constable coming towards them with the thieves' accomplice in the grip of the watchmen. They were thrilled that all the malefactors had been caught. In the gloom, Christopher did not at first recognise the constable.
'You came at an opportune moment,' he said.
'I was acting on information, sir,' explained Jonathan.
'Information?'
'Yes, sir. I was roused from my bed and advised that a crime was about to take place on this site.'
'Who gave you such advice?'
'Jesus-Died-To-Save-Me Thorpe.'
Littlejohn was baffled. 'Who?'
'A neighbour of mine, sir. A Quaker. He chanced to overhear these rogues plotting their crime. After following them here, Mr Thorpe came straight to my house to warn me.'
'We are most grateful to him,' said the builder. 'And grateful to you as well. These villains have already stolen far too much from this site and they had to be caught. They deserve to rot in prison.'
'They will, sir.'
'We hope we may recover some of the property taken earlier.'
'That depends where it went,' said Jonathan, glancing at the men on the ground. 'These men came by boat so the likelihood is that they had a warehouse nearby where they could take the stolen goods. Do not worry, sir, I am sure they will tell us all we wish to know.'
Jonathan grabbed each of them in turn by the scruff of his neck and pulled him upright. Both were too dazed to resist, let alone to attempt an escape. Two of the watchmen seized a man apiece. The constable was very pleased. In a crime-infested ward, the forces of law and order had achieved a small triumph. Jesus-Died-To-Save-Me Thorpe had been instrumental in securing one arrest. A man who had violated several laws on his own account that night had helped to foil a serious crime.
Christopher took a closer look at the providential constable.
'Do I not know you, friend?' he said.
'No, sir,' protested Jonathan. 'We have never met.'
'Yes, we have. I remember you now.'
'I have no memory whatsoever of you, sir.'
'But you must have,' said Christopher, warming to him. 'You came to my aid once before. It was near St Paul's when a pickpocket robbed me of my purse. Yes, you are Jonathan Bale, are you not?' he recalled. 'I had a feeling we would meet again one day. I am Christopher Redmayne. I offered you a drawing of the cathedral by way of thanks. Surely, you remember me now, my friend? I was the artist whose purse you restored. Christopher Redmayne.'
Jonathan took a deep breath before issuing a polite rebuff.
'You are mistaken, sir. I have never heard that name before.'
It was almost three weeks before Sir Ambrose Northcott returned to London and he did so in high spirits. They were temporarily dampened when he learned of the crimes at the site but lifted once more at the news that three thieves were now in custody along with the man who received and paid for their stolen goods. Everything taken from the site was still in the latter's warehouse. Complete restitution occurred. Northcott was delighted that he had suffered no real loss. His only regret was that the malefactors would not appear before him when he sat on the Bench. It deprived him of the pleasure of imposing vile punishments upon them.
Building had continued apace in his absence. The improvement was dramatic. With the cellars complete, the bricklayers were able to start on the exterior walls of the house. Additional men had been taken on by Littlejohn to construct the high wall around the garden, ensuring both privacy and a higher level of security. Though much still remained to be done before skilled craftsmen were brought in to work their magic on the interior of the residence, Northcott was vastly encouraged. The house now bore a much closer resemblance to the one which first began life as an architect's vision on a sheet of paper in Fetter Lane.
Christopher Redmayne earned his employer's warm gratitude. It was his initiative which had helped to ensnare the thieves and which led, indirectly, to the return of the materials which they stole. Northcott pressed the architect to dine with him at a select tavern. Christopher accepted with alacrity though his pleasure was diluted somewhat when he realised that there was a third person at the table with them. He found Solomon Creech more repellent than ever. The lawyer was at his most unctuous.
'Yes, Sir Ambrose,' he said, washing his hands in the air, 'I was most insistent that we solved the crime before your return. I could not have you coming back to find us hampered by such setbacks. I made that clear to Mr Littlejohn and to Mr Redmayne here,' he said, offering a weak smile to Christopher. 'I had perforce to speak sternly to them on your behalf but my firmness paid dividends.'
'So it appears, Solomon,' said Northcott.
'I had half a mind to hide under that tarpaulin with them.'
'Brave man!'
'Age alone held me back.'
'Yet I believe that Mr Littlejohn is older than you,' said Christopher, annoyed at the way in which the egregious lawyer was trying to wrest glory from them. 'Age did not deter him. He fought like a lion.'
'Solomon is more of a fox,' remarked Northcott.
I knew that he was some kind of animal, thought Christopher, but he did not express it in words. Sir Ambrose Northcott was an astute man. He would not be taken in by the lawyer's claims. Christopher could rely on his employer to sift arrant lies from the plain truth.
When the meal was over, Northcott gave a signal and Creech rose to leave, covering his exit with obsequious thanks and bending almost double as he backed out of the room. Northcott turned to his other guest.