Without thinking, he patted the pockets and frowned when he heard the clink of money. Further investigation revealed he was still in possession of his change. He withdrew the coins and stared down at them. Why would someone steal his jacket and yet leave his finances intact? Curtiss sucked in his cheeks. Not a good idea; the pain was a sharp reminder. Checking further, Curtiss discovered that his pocket watch was there, too. Apparently the only item that had been purloined, apart from his tunic, was a small tin containing some tapers and his flint and steel.

Curtiss, his mind awash with confusion, emerged hesitantly into the alleyway. There was no one around, no faces at any of the windows or doors that might have witnessed the assault. He considered his options. The obvious thing to do was to inform the constables that he’d been the victim of a robbery, but he could imagine the looks on their faces as he told them that the only items stolen were his army tunic and fire-making tools. What kind of thief would leave his coat folded on the ground with his money and watch still inside?

Thoughts of his watch had Curtiss reaching back into his pocket. He lifted the timepiece out, consulted the dial and groaned. He’d missed the damned ferry. There wasn’t another one scheduled until the morning. From past experience, Curtiss knew that it was well-nigh impossible to cadge a ride with anyone trustworthy after dark, so he was stuck. Marooned might have been a better description.

But at least he had money, and therefore the means to pay for a room. Things could have been a lot worse. He could have been lying in the dark with his throat slit from ear to ear. That thought sent another shard of pain scooting through the back of his skull.

Burrowing into his coat, Curtiss decided there was no alternative. Cutter’s Tavern was just around the corner, and the accommodation there was a sight more comfortable than his billet in the officers’ quarters. Galvanized by the thought of a dram and a seat by the tavern’s roaring fire, Captain Curtiss quickened his pace.

Maybe, after he’d warmed his insides, he could warm the rest of his person by retracing his steps to Hoare’s Gaming Club and revisiting the delectable Jessica. After all, there was nothing more likely to garner sympathy in a young lady’s bosom than a gentleman’s sorry tale of woe. Mrs Delridge, the club’s proprietress, might even be sufficiently touched by his plight to offer a discount.

Cheered by that prospect, Captain Curtiss took new bearings and headed for the first of his goals.