Young Sherlock Holmes_ Death Cloud - Andrew Lane [26]
A pile of empty wooden crates lay in a rough stack nearby, and Sherlock moved silently over to hide behind them. He watched intently as the men stacked up the cart with what looked like the final load. They were cursing and jostling each other as they picked the boxes up and moved them one by one on to the cart. Judging by the dirt on their clothes and the sweat on their faces, they had been working like that for a while.
The man who Sherlock had followed through Farnham helped with the last box, then brushed his hands together and wiped them down his waistcoat as if he’d been working there all day. His hands left yellow stains behind as the dust – whatever it was – transferred to the coarse material. One of the other men – a big bruiser with a shaven head, tattoos that covered his arms down to the wrists like sleeves and a lit oil lamp hanging from a strap on his belt – glanced scornfully at him.
‘Enjoy your little excursion?’ he asked with mock interest.
‘Hey, I was workin’ too,’ the first man replied.
‘What’s the story with Wint’s gaff?’
The new arrival shook his head. ‘The Baron was right – ’e were taking stuff from us on the sly and tryin’ to sell it on. There was jackets and trousers all piled up beside ’is bed.’
‘Anyone see you?’
‘Nobody. I was like a rat.’
‘You got it all?’
The man nodded towards the canvas sack. ‘I collected it all together and put it in there.’
‘All right – throw that on the cart as well.’
As the newcomer went over to pick up the sack, his burly co-worker called after him: ‘Did you burn Wint’s gaff?’
The newcomer shook his head. ‘Didn’t see the need.’
The burly man shrugged. ‘You can explain that to the Baron when you see him.’
‘Hey, Clem – we’re not gonna use the other one,’ a man shouted, jerking his head towards the spare cart.
The burly man half-turned towards the gang of workers. ‘Leave it,’ he said. ‘Chances were we weren’t going to need it anyway, but the Baron don’t like to take chances. A cautious man, is the Baron.’ He turned back to the newcomer and pointed at the powdery yellow stains on the man’s waistcoat. ‘You got some of their stuff on you. Wint’s gaff’ll be contaminated too. The Baron’ll want it burned, just like he does this place. Get rid of any evidence.’
The newcomer looked down at his waistcoat. ‘What is this stuff?’ he asked.
His co-worker laughed with a sound that was a cross between a snort and a cough. ‘Best not to know,’ he said.
The newcomer looked at his hands. He glanced back at the burly man, and his face was suddenly pinched and white. ‘Hey, Clem, does this mean what happened to Wint’ll happen to me?’
Clem shook his head. ‘Not if you wash it off properly, like the Baron told us.’ He turned towards the other men, who were standing around talking now that the boxes had been loaded on to the cart. ‘All right, you lot – time to go. Martin and Joe – you’re with the cart. You know where to take it. Stouffer and Flynn – you head off after the Baron.’ He turned to the newcomer. ‘Denny, you and me’ll sort this place out. Burn it down. Place is so big that there’s no knowing what we might have left behind.’
The newcomer – Denny – looked around at the barn. ‘Do we have to?’ he asked plaintively. ‘Just think what we could do wiv this place once the Baron’s finished wiv it. Set up a business, maybe, or turn it into the biggest tavern in the area. We could have girls singin’, and dancin’, an’ everything. Seems a shame jus’ burnin’ it.’
Clem’s face contracted into a thunderous scowl. ‘You want to go and explain your little scheme to the Baron, you be my guest. Me, I’m gonna follow the instructions I was given.’
Denny seemed to shrink under the other man’s heavy gaze. ‘I was only askin’,’ he said.
One of the men over by the cart put his hand up to attract Clem’s attention. ‘When do we get paid?’ he asked.
‘When the gear’s been delivered,’ Clem growled. ‘Everyone meet up tomorrow, at Molly’s tavern. I’ll get the cash