By T.F. Banks
For 20 years, England and France were at struggle. Now the conflict has come home…
On a sunny July day in 1815, Plymouth Sound is crowded with boats vying for a view of England’s nice battleship HMS Bellerophon. For aboard the vessel is the stout little Frenchman who threw the realm into chaos. In London, a few humans clamor for Napoleon’s execution, others for his exile, and nonetheless others for a civil trial on English soil. For one humble London detective, the talk has became lethal. Bow road Runner Henry Morton has a homicide to solve--and Napoleon himself is on the middle of the matter.
The sufferer is a Frenchwoman, the mistress of a count number. quickly Morton is racing via a demimonde of French expatriates, Bonapartists, fanatical Royalists, and one very risky, drunken petty criminal. From an unique London brothel to a scene of carnage on a Dartmoor farm, the detective enters a covert warfare over Napoleon’s destiny. And amid the betrayal, deception, and homicide, Morton will face a waterloo of his personal.
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Extra info for The Emperor's Assassin: Memoirs of a Bow Street Runner (Dell Mystery)
There's a public condominium at the quay known as the Blue Pillars. someone can direct you. " because the military guy strode off into the gray obscurity, Morton and Presley begun with the ostler. "They arrived early this morn," the fellow stated. He reached up a finger and stretched the outside taut on the nook of his twitching eye. "How a lot of them? " "Three coves; Frenchmen, each. " "And what did they seem like, those Frenchmen? " Morton questioned. the guy closed his eyes tightly after which opened them either, blinking 3 or 4 occasions, the spasm it seems that over. "A younger French nobleman, all in fancy embroidered outfits. a quick little cove who sorted everything--paid the accounts and made preparations. T'other one did not say whatever yet to his touring partners. He used to be sullen looking--had a kind of claret spills on his head. " the guy became again to the harness he used to be repairing. "Oh, and there has been a motive force. " He shrugged. "Looked like somebody else, fairly. not anything to mark him. " Morton proposal it'd be challenging to discover a greater description of Eustache d'Auvraye, Rolles, and Jean Boulot. "To whom did they communicate? " he requested the fellow. "Myself. Mr. Tooley, the chief. " Morton tipped the fellow, and so they went into the large previous hotel. Mr. Tooley was once, no longer strangely, an Irishman--a gentleman of a few fifty years and massive energies. He did every little thing at a speed that may depart a more youthful guy breathless, and not did something while he might be doing . He was once curly haired and good-looking and never, it appeared, relatively keen on the legislations. "I purely spoke to 1 gentleman," he acknowledged, his tender Irish accessory virtually worn away through what Morton suspected used to be so much of an entire life in England. "Don't learn about any others. " "And what speech handed among you? " the guy glanced up from the sums he used to be doing quickly on lengthy sheets of paper. He glared at Morton with undisguised hostility. "Disputed a few fees on his invoice a bit. " His gaze went again to his forms, unfolded over a wide status table that took up the better a part of the slim, low-ceilinged room. "Mr. Tooley," Morton stated, his personal anger emerging, "we think those males travelled to Plymouth to devote a homicide. in the event you don't support us, I shall have you ever on trial for helping and abetting them. " the fellow regarded up. "These gents? Murderers? " "By day's finish, sir. Now, what handed among you and those Frenchmen? " the fellow set down his pen and idea a second. "They requested to go away their carriage right here for 2 days," he stated, "and then desired to understand if it used to be a long way to the quayside. " He paused. "And they enquired after a men's dressmaker. I directed them to Lawley and Sons. i will be able to give some thought to not anything else. " Lawley and Sons used to be yet a number of brief blocks away. It used to be now not, as Morton anticipated, a gentlemen's store, no less than now not reminiscent of you'll locate in London. No, Lawley's catered to the fewer well-to-do. legislations clerks and different such functionaries. operating males with fresh nails, as his mom placed it. now not the type of store the place you would anticipate Eustache d'Auvraye to discover his wardrobe--though Boulot's costume might were stronger by way of a trip.