The silver-haired man said something to the rotund one and the two of them finished their pints in several long gulps. As they stood to leave, Round Freddy saw the constable by the front door stretch and stand up. The constable by the bar was already moving forward through the crowd.
As they left the table, the silver-haired man snatched up the satchel and began moving for the front door. When he got there, the heavy constable stepped in front of him and put a hand on his chest.
“You’d best remove your hand, friend, before you lose it,” the Dealer said.
“I think you are the one who stands to lose something,” Round Freddy responded as he pulled up behind the pair. “Your liberty, if I am not far wrong.”
The Dealer turned to look at him with cold, blue eyes. “And who the hell are you?”
Round Freddy smiled and nodded a small bow. “Detective Sergeant Frederick Hume of the York Police. And you, sir, are under arrest for extortion, along with your colleague here.”
Goodwin started to struggle as a constable began to put the manacles on him.
“Easy, son,” the Dealer said. “This is only a minor inconvenience.”
“Indeed,” Round Freddy said, taking the satchel from the Dealer as the other constable put the manacles on him. “The inconvenience is that you shall have to speak to me about where you’ve hidden the funds given you by the vicar and Mr. Lund.”
The Dealer’s eyes widened. “The vicar? How would you know . . . .” He shut up as fast as the words had spewed out.
“The vicar has given us a good accounting of what has transpired with Mr. Goodwin, as has Mr. Lund concerning his transactions with you. I expect we shall have a good chat back at the police station.”
Round Freddy nodded and the heavy constable gave the Dealer a shove between the shoulder blades. The Dealer stumbled through the front doorway, followed closely by Goodwin, Round Freddy and the other constable.
•••••••
Round Freddy leaned against the stone doorframe leading into the iron-barred cell in the cellar of the police station, listening to the heated argument between Goodwin and the Dealer. He had been eavesdropping for ten minutes and the discussion seemed to be coming to a conclusion.
“But the police will go easier on us if we lead them to at least some of the money,” Goodwin said.
“Bloody hell, son. Can’t you see what they’re trying to do? They’ll promise us the world if they thought it would help them. I’m not saying a bloody word about the money.”
Round Freddy heard the scrape of a stool on the stone floor, and then Goodwin said, “I have listened to you for years and always stood with you. But this time I can’t. I refuse to spend the rest of my life in prison for a few thousand quid. I can always find more money. I can’t find more years in my life.”
There was silence for a few moments before the Dealer said, “Do what you will.”
The next thing Round Freddy heard was Goodwin calling for the jailer.
•••••••
“You’re doing the proper thing, Mr. Goodwin,” Round Freddy said, laying a hand on the man’s shoulder. Goodwin sat in a wooden chair, nervously wringing his hands in his lap. Jane Waddington sat in a comfortable-looking upholstered chair at the side of a massive mahogany desk. They were in the office of the managing director of the York City and County Banking Company. Before long, a wizened gray-haired man with a deeply-creased face entered the room and introduced himself as the bank’s managing director.
Round Freddy shook the man’s hand, and then turned to Goodwin.
“I believe you have a key to the lock box?”
Goodwin nodded and dug in his waistcoat pocket. He held up a small iron key on a brass ring.
Round Freddy plucked it from his hand. Turning to the banker, he said, “You and I shall have a look at what is in the box. The constable will stay here with Miss Waddington and Mr. Goodwin. You realize that the entire contents of the box are being seized by the police as evidence of Mr. Goodwin’s wrongdoing.”
The banker nodded and led the way out of the office. The two of them returned to the office ten minutes later. The banker carried a large tin box, which he laid on the desk.
Round Freddy stepped forward and inserted the key into the box’s lock, and then slowly lifted the lid. Reaching inside, he pulled out three stacks of banknotes and held them out for Jane to see.
Turning to Goodwin, he asked, “How much?”
Goodwin shrugged.
Round Freddy pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at Goodwin. “I shall certainly count it, but you can make my job easier by simply telling me how much. You have come this far already. Surely that small bit of information cannot hurt you.”
Goodwin sighed loudly. “Seven thousand pounds. Five from the vicar and the rest from Lund.”
“And the freehold deeds that you gave to the reverend?”
“Worthless forgeries.”
Round Freddy dropped the cash back into the box. “I suspected as much.” Turning to the constable, he said, “Take Mr. Goodwin back to the station and lock him up separately from the others. He has proven a help to us and we shall respect our part of the bargain.”
When they had gone, Jane asked, “What will happen now?”
Round Freddy smiled and shut the lid on the box.
“Why the right thing shall be done. This money is rightfully yours. Goodwin has admitted as much. I see no reason why it should not be deposited in your name. I imagine Mr. Ellison here would be happy to arrange for such a transaction.”
The banker’s eyes brightened. “Why yes, of course. Miss Waddington, I think you will be pleased with the services that we can provide.”
Jane looked over at Round Freddy and smiled. “I have come a long way from Bootham Park, thanks to you. I do not know what to say, except thank you.”
Round Freddy cocked his head and smiled back. “I hope your life takes a more sedate turn in the future.” Then he chuckled. “Otherwise, I might not be able to keep up with the case work.”
THE END
Alan M. Petrillo is a Tucson, Arizona-based journalist; author of the historical mystery, Full Moon; several books on historical military firearms; and the nonfiction work, Ice Hockey in the Desert, all available on amazon.com. He's finishing work on his next novel in his Victorian Carriage mystery series.
Asylum Lane: from the Victorian Carriage mystery series Page 16
