The first item of business before Matthew stopped the coach before the inn was to shrug off the polar bear coat that was freighted by so much blood. It would not do to scare the wits out of the Varneys before a word could be spoken. He threw the coat over the side of the coach into the snow on the right, still perhaps thirty yards from the inn, and hoped it was far enough not to be discovered, at least for tonight.

When he reined the team in, he climbed down and rang the small bell that hung beside the front door. Above the door was a sign he’d noted before, but now seemed more poignant: the name of the inn, The Flying Dragon.

“We are constables escorting this violent criminal to stand trial in Bristol,” Matthew decided to say when the pair emerged as predicted, with coats over nightclothes and lanterns ashine. “Yes, we did pass this way just lately, and we were coming from Bristol, as you know. Well, this one gave my associate and me quite a run and we’ve suffered some injuries but at last we brought him to ground. He’s tied up now, and it’s best he remain tied up and stoppered up because I can tell you, sir and madam, he is one cunning sonofabitch. Might we have a room for the night and some food? Also, the horses are very much in need of attention.”

“Of course!” said Varney, who stated that they had three rooms vacant and food aplenty, since it being so near Christmas all were at home with their families, and no one was travelling the roads except the express post coach.

Varney’s quick and hospitable acceptance of the guests changed noticeably when a gray-faced and wheezing Julian brought Firebaugh out of the coach like a bound-up beast. Both the innkeeper and his portly wife retreated from the doctor as if from a carrier of plague, and at the inn’s door Varney caught Matthew’s sleeve and asked nervously, “Sir? My wife and I are not to be in danger, are we?”

Matthew said, “Absolutely not,” and unless Samson Lash still lived and could stride the many miles with his face nearly torn off its skull and Cardinal Black could fly through the night in his raven’s-wing coat, he believed his statement to be true. “And for your help in this matter,” Matthew said, as he felt the weariness closing in around him and trying to drag him under, “you will be paid handsomely, I assure it.” And thank God for the fact that Julian still possessed Bogen’s four crowns and most of the shillings, which would never be put to a greater or more welcome purchase.