“Sergeant,” Scuddamore scanned the dark alley, probing into the corners with the end of his staff. “Over there.”
A pile of rubbish half-hid the leather bag, but Watters could make out the shape. “Leave it,” he said. “Walk right past the bag as if you didn’t see it. I’d wager a sovereign to a pound of cheese that the thief will return for it.”
“Do you think he’s watching us now?” Scuddamore asked.
“Possibly.”
They walked on, shaking their heads in pretend disappointment. “We’ll keep watch from there,” Watters nodded to a window that overlooked the close. “That’s Mr Spence’s storeroom. He won’t mind us using it.”
“Yes, Sergeant.” Scuddamore restored his staff to the long pocket inside his coat.
“Right,” Watters said. “Move the uniforms away to give the thief a clear run but keep the be
