Hardcastle lingered, watching Rollins go, then snorted somewhat contemptuously, pushed through the door, and disappeared.
Toby remained sitting, staring at nothing while he unhurriedly finished his pint. Then he pushed away the empty tankard, rose, and strolled out of the inn.
He slid his hands into his pockets and ambled around the side of the inn. One glance informed him that Christopher and Ellen weren’t in the trees where he had left them. He raised his gaze and saw them sitting in the shadows of the lychgate all the way across the village green. They’d seen him but, wisely, made no move to attract his attention.
He set off along the narrow lane bordering the green. It led him to the church, and he walked along beside the front wall, eventually drawing abreast of the lychgate. He met the others’ eyes, a warning in his, dipped his head in polite greeting, but didn’t pause his ambling stride. “I don’t want to risk being seen with you two. I’ll meet you back at the manor.”
Without waiting for any response, he strolled on, past Christopher’s curricle tied up outside the vicarage, eventually circling around to where he’d left his horse in a copse opposite the inn. He was mounting up as the curricle rattled past.
Toby grinned and set off across the fields for the manor.
Christopher and Ellen were seated in armchairs in the library, waiting impatiently, when Toby walked in.
“Well?” Ellen demanded. “Who did Rollins see?”
Toby’s grin stated he knew the answer. He dropped into the armchair facing Christopher. “I bet Rollins was smiling when he returned to the shop.”
Christopher nodded. “He was. So cut line—who did he speak with?”
“The publican.”
Christopher arched his brows. “Hardcastle?”
“Tall heavy man of middle years. Looks fairly fit.”
Christopher nodded. “He’s relatively new to the village, but not, I believe, the area. He took over as landlord of the inn about two years ago, but I heard he hails from somewhere around Battle.”
“So”—Toby leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs—“not that far from Hastings. He could have connections to the old smuggling gangs.”
“Possibly,” Christopher conceded. “And two years is enough time to discover that being landlord of a small village inn isn’t any path to riches.”
“Indeed. So despite living here, buried in the Weald, if someone made inquiries in Hastings, they might have been steered Hardcastle’s way,” Toby theorized. “And if Hardcastle was looking for some way to supplement his income, he might well have been ripe for recruiting by our mastermind.”
“So it appears,” Christopher said.
Ellen looked from one to the other. “But what about Mr. Rollins? Is he involved, too?”
Toby pulled a considering face. “I honestly don’t think so—I think he’s a dupe.” He recounted all he’d heard of the exchange between Hardcastle and Rollins. Toby shook his head. “It seemed to me that Rollins has no inkling whatsoever about the notes. He thinks Hardcastle is smuggling high-quality lace into the country, ultimately for delivery to someone in London, and that Hardcastle is being neighborly in letting Rollins have some packets on the side at a bargain price. But in reality, Rollins and his wife and their shop are Hardcastle’s way of disposing of the lace after he’s extracted the notes from the packets.”
“Hmm.” Ellen frowned. “I suppose a publican wouldn’t want to have packets of lace piling up in his cellars.”
“That would be difficult to explain if the gentlemen from Customs and Excise came calling,” Christopher drily remarked.
“It’s also,” Toby said, “another way for Hardcastle to make money from this scheme. He might be letting Rollins have the lace at a ‘bargain price,’ but Hardcastle will have paid nothing for it—what he gets from the Rollinses is pure profit.”
Christopher refocused on the most important aspect. “You said Hardcastle received the lace yesterday and has already checked it?”
Toby nodded. “I take that to mean that the notes have been extracted from the packets of lace, counted, combined, and wrapped in whatever way they need to be, and are now ready to be passed on to Goffard Hall.” He tipped his head. “However, when, exactly, the handover will occur is, at present, anyone’s guess.”
“Was Hardcastle unsettled at all by Rollins’s sudden demand for more lace?” Ellen asked.
Toby snorted. “Not in the slightest. Hardcastle isn’t the sort to unnecessarily get the wind up.” He paused, then added, “That said, based on the way he pounced on Rollins and dinned into him the need for continued secrecy, I would wager that Hardcastle’s not the sort to take any risk, not if he can avoid it.”
“Regardless,” Christopher said, “Hardcastle has had the notes for close to twenty-four hours and as yet has made no move to pass them on. He hasn’t sent a message or contacted anyone from Goffard Hall, nor has he gone out that way.”
“So if we leave things as they are,” Ellen said, “Hardcastle will follow whatever procedure was established during the earlier test runs—whatever steps he’s supposed to follow to pass on the notes to Goffard Hall.”
Silence fell as the three of them contemplated the current situation.
“We need to confirm who at Goffard Hall receives the counterfeit notes,” Toby said. “We’ve assumed it’s Mrs. Kirkpatrick, but it might, for instance, be Nigel, and Mrs. Kirkpatrick is merely working to some notion he’s planted in her head.”
“Or vice versa,” Ellen said. “Nigel might not have a clue what’s going on.” She grimaced. “I might not be able to imagine that, but we can’t just assume—we can’t be certain.”
Christopher shifted in his chair. “Potentially the easiest way to learn who at Goffard Hall is involved is to follow the notes from Hardcastle into the hands of whoever receives them.” Christopher pulled a face. “Unfortunately, that runs the risk of something unforeseen happening and the notes slipping from our grasp. According to Drake, we shouldn’t risk that.”
“On top of that,” Toby added, faintly disgusted, “we aren’t supposed to let any of the villains guess the authorities are on to them, so Drake can follow the notes all the way back to the mastermind.”
“Hmm.” Ellen’s expression mirrored Toby’s. “So what can we do? What should we do?” She looked from Toby to Christopher, plainly inviting enlightenment.
Christopher sat up. “I think we should keep our watch on Goffard Hall in place—our arrangements for that seem to be working well.”
Toby nodded. “The gypsies are a find—they’re very inventive when it comes to obvious reasons for their presence in the lane within sight of the front of the Hall.”
Christopher nodded. “We’ll leave them and the others already involved to continue the watch there, but we also need to mount a similar watch on the inn.” He met Toby’s gaze. “We can’t predict who will come to whom. We need to be in place to witness the notes being handed over regardless of whether it’s Hardcastle taking the notes to Goffard Hall or someone from there coming to him.”