Not wanting to waste time in preparing their own horses, Gibbs had to tip the cabbie generously to even bring them to this part of town. Timothy could hardly blame the driver. The stench of rotting vegetables and stale urine hit Timothy's nostrils as soon as they stepped out into the cold and wet of a typical London winter's night. Predictably, Gibbs strode off through the freezing, weather and shallow pools of stagnant water, without the least sign of discomfort, as assuredly as if he was striding down the middle of the fashionable Strand rather than the dark underbelly of urban London.

He hunched his shoulders slightly and lifted his collar against the biting wind as he hurried to catch up with his employer as all around him the soft sounds of the destitute and homeless, snuffled, swore, shouted and fought one another. As he took in the pitiful figures huddled in archways and doorways, as Gibbs spoke a word here or exchanged a coin there for any hint of Anthony's present whereabouts he could not help but count his blessings and feel grateful for the warmth and fellowship of Gibbs' home.

With a pang of empathy, Timothy realised this was what Gibbs had been doing every night, eschewing the comfort of his own hearth, since Anthony had been taken from them.

"Mr Gibbs, sir?" A young blonde woman stepped forward from the shadows. "Might I have a moment of your time, tis a matter of some importance regarding Mr Anthony?"

"What of him, Sarah?" Gibbs asked kindly.

Timothy never ceased to be amazed at just how many people from all stations in life Gibbs knew by name, nor just how wide his connections and reputation reached.

"There's a man, lodging at the George and Dragon, with dark hair and a scar to his cheek," Sarah was saying. "Just now he offered me more than a week of wages at the factory to lie with him. But I told him no, in part because I could not bear his foul breath and cruel manner, but also because I recognised the coat he wore as belonging to Mr Antony when he was kind to me and he was wearing Mr Anthony's leather shoes with the silver buckles besides."

"Thank you, Sarah." Gibbs' took her hand and pressed some money into it.

"It is I who should be thanking you sir," Sarah shook her head. "For all that you and Mr Anthony did for me. After you got me way from that dreadful place the job at the factory gave me regular work. The days are long but the work far lighter than much other toil and now I can rent a room and have quite enough to eat besides and that is all thanks to Mr Anthony and his charming the overseer there not to concern himself about what I was or where I came from. For Mr Anthony may not have any money or title but he is a true gentleman, so he is."

"I pray sir," McGee murmured as they made all haste to the George and Dragon around the corner, "Do not tell Anthony that it was all thanks to a pretty girl and his charm, rather than our best endeavours, which led to his rescue for he will be insufferable."

He hoped to lift Gibbs' grim mood, as he had several times previously seen Anthony endeavour to do. And he counted the way in which his new employer's lips quirked slightly something of a victory in the circumstances and not at all bad for a first attempt.

"He will be insufferable anyway, McGee," Gibbs allowed fondly. "For he has neither the patience for being in an invalid state, nor the least willingness to be cosseted, so we must all bear with him as best we can. "

"Really?" Timothy blinked in some surprise, for in his estimation there was nothing Anthony loved more than being the centre of attention. He would have thought his friend would revel in being waiting upon hand and foot as he issued ever more outrageous orders from his sickbed. "I would not have imagined .."

Gibbs gave him a look of understanding, although his words were less than enlightening.

"It's complicated." His explanation was no explanation at all. "Just be his friend and don't allow him push you away."

Blinking the rain water out of his eyes as they steeped over the threshold of the George and Dragon, Timothy's heart leapt as he saw a dark haired man dressed in Anthony's good winter coat and fine leather shoes drinking at a far table. Feeling the utter fury at the loss of his friend build in his soul, he stepped forward, wanting nothing more than to profit from Gibbs lessons in the fine art of boxing and sink his fist deep into that smug expression until he heard the satisfying crunch of shattered cartilage and broken bone. Only to be stopped by Gibbs firm hand on his arm.

"Wait." The word was pure command.

Showing his truly dangerous side Gibbs bided his time, ordering them both a drink and acting as if nothing was at all amiss, until the man stepped out to use the jakes, only to place a knife at his throat just before he could attend to his business.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Should I?" The man scowled tightly feeling the cold steel at his throat. "For I am sure I have never made your acquaintance."

"I am your worst nightmare. Answer my next question to my satisfaction and I may not kill you," Gibbs teeth glittered in the darkness. "Where is Mr Anthony?"

"I don't know any Mr Anthony," The man denied. "Now let me lose for I need to .."

Gibbs wasn't remotely gentle as he pushed the man back against the brick wall and pressed his knife deep enough into his throat to cause a line of blood to trickle down his exposed throat and a thin stream of urine to puddle around his feet. And Timothy could not find it in himself to feel sorry about any of it.

"I'm telling you, I don't know anything about where your Mr Anthony is," The man insisted both angry and defensive.

"Lie to me a further time and I will have my assistant here shoot you where you stand," Gibbs advised coldly. "You are wearing Anthony's coat and shoes."

"I won them, in a prize fright," The man arrogantly raised his bruised knuckles for inspection. Timothy both marvelled at his courage in the face of Gibbs wrath and quailed at his cruel nature, for Anthony had been at this man's mercy all of this time. "And the shoes as well, and I didn't ask any questions, because every man needs a good coat and serviceable shoes in this foul weather."

"That's true enough," Gibbs smile tightened and Timothy knew he was thinking of Anthony, battered and bruised courtesy of those same damaged knuckles, out there somewhere in little more than his shirt and stocking feet, already weak from lack of food and drink, for they knew from experience the kidnappers did not scruple to care for their guests, and most likely blood loss as well. If his injuries didn't kill him, the night's bitter weather surely might. "I might even believe you, if I didn't know better."

Doubt flickered briefly through the man's eyes he looked down to the blade and back at Gibbs, before his confidence returned full force. Apparently, fully convinced that his reign of terror and intimidation among the general population was such that nobody would have dared talk about his antics and thus Gibbs could not possibly know anything of substance.

"You have mistaken me for somebody else, sir." He tried.

"You were asking around who knew Anthony Sheppard and who might own him as his heir?" Gibbs reminded him, almost conversationally, as he stepped in a little closer before his tone turned feral and he applied the knife with force. "Well, I will gladly own him. And you are going to tell me where he is before we are done. McGee, shoot him in the shoulder just as he did Lord Travers heir."

"No," The man's eyes widened at the unmistakeable evidence that they did know something finally sunk in "Wait".

"Would you prefer a blow to the head such as the Earl of Northumberland's heir suffered?" Timothy stepped forward in his turn. "Or a blade across the ribs, such as you inflicted upon both Anthony and the Duke of Cumberland's heir? For Mr Gibbs has already given you one warning, which is rather more than you gave any of your victims, and he is not at all a man accustomed to asking twice."

"I will tell the law on you for such slander." The man tried to protest. "For you have no evidence for my part in any of this."

"Attempt it," Gibbs snarled, as he curled his free hand around the man's bare throat restricting his air, even as he lifted him right up onto his toes. "And I will gladly cut out your tongue. For you tried to put a price on that which to me is irreplaceable and either by the law or some other way I will have satisfaction for that."

"We had thought him some Lord's son or other for he associated with all the right people and bragged of just coming into his inheritance." The man protested from his position of total vulnerability. "I was against such an impetuous plan but Morris had gambling debts to pay and since all our efforts had come to naught with the Marquis we were sorely lacking in funds."

"He bragged of an inheritance?" Gibbs frowned.

"At least six thousand a year," The man scowled. "But when I went abroad to make enquires I quickly found Anthony Shepherd wasn't the sort anyone would exchange for any ransom. Mr Gibbs' dog they called him. On my return it was to find the dog had teeth for he had somehow got himself free of his bonds and killed besides Morris only to pass out cold on the wharf. So, I stripped him of coat and shoes and went on my way. And that's the plain truth of it."

"And you just left him there to die?" Timothy blurted, horrified by such callousness. For if the blood loss did not kill his friend the cold most certainly would.

"I am no murderer, sir," The man dripped with insincerity. "For he was quite alive when I last saw him."

Gibbs action was so swift, McGee saw only the blur of the blade and heard the man's hoarse cry as it sliced across his ribs, exact twin to the cut he had described inflicted upon Anthony. In the moonlight McGee saw his eyes and teeth glint as he pulled back his lips in a snarl.

"Either you take me to him, or I will gut you where you stand." He snarled.

"Nobody was supposed to miss him," The man protested even as his legs buckled beneath him, in fear of the man's most obvious fury, so that Gibbs hand on his throat was now the only thing holding him up. "Much less come looking for the likes of him, for it turned out he was quite without any rank or fortune."

"And there was your mistake from the very start," Gibbs advised. "For you believed everything to be about money and appearances. When a good man will do whatever is required for family."

Timothy's respect for Inspector Fornell increased considerably when he responded to their summons without question and instructed his men to take custody of the kidnapper Thomas Gibson not passing a single comment on the blood staining his shirt front. It was both a measure of the trust between himself and Gibbs and justice of a sort, Timothy supposed, for they all knew that Anthony would not wish has name, (such as it was), dragged through the courts. Although, was not at all convinced that even the full measure of the law would satisfy Gibbs if they did not find Anthony alive.

Timothy pressed his lips together, his anxiety building as they all followed Thomas Gibson's lead through the increasingly dank, dark, streets to a small deserted wharf on the far banks of the Thames. In this area the smell of the dye vats, tanning sheds and butcher's yards and their refuge polluted the air. The piles of rubbish filled the streets and clusters of rats ran along the beams and across their path. Timothy shivered involuntarily, only in part due to the bitter cold and driving rain, as he thought of his friend imprisoned somewhere here.

"Anthony is correct," Gibbs surprised him by being the one to break the silence between them. "You do think uncommonly loudly."

"You knew the kidnapper was lying, when he said he had left Anthony unharmed upon the quayside."

"Is that a question, McGee?" Gibbs arched a brow.

"No," Timothy shook his head, having gradually become accustomed to Gibbs' tutelage he recognised the challenge to explain his reasoning. "You were certain he still had Anthony in his power, even though we had no evidence."

"I wouldn't say that." Gibbs corrected mildly.

"We had some indications," Timothy ducked his head in acknowledgement. "We had the body of the second kidnapper, Morris, stone cold dead and Anthony's knife in him which proves he made some attempt at escape. And we had Gibson wearing Anthony's good coat and shoes, which he would never have given up without a fight. Yet the kidnapper has no marks on his arms or face, which suggests that Anthony was either bound or unconscious when they were taken. Also, both the kidnapper has been clever and careful throughout until they became desperate which suggests they wouldn't want to leave any lose ends who might identify them later or even worse be able to seek revenge."

"All true." Gibbs agreed evenly.

"And none of it what you meant at all," Timothy scowled a little for he was used to being able to puzzle things out and he could think of no other piece of evidence or logic which might explain Gibbs immoveable faith.

"Oh." He realised belatedly. For, of course, it was not logic at all.

"If Anthony were free to do so he would first and above all return home," Gibbs stated with utter conviction. "Also, Anthony never bragged of any inheritance. For that would attract entirely the wrong sort of attention. Whatever their reason for taking him it was not that."

Still following Fornell and his men, escorting Gibson they crossed over a narrow gangplank onto a half rotting barge. Once on deck the policemen at their captive's direction begun to move a stack of barrels. When a trap door was revealed in the wooden floor Timothy felt quite sick to think his friend had been forced into the dark and cold of the hold below and left to die. As soon as the door was opened the stench which rose out had several of Fornell's men reaching for their handkerchiefs. Gibbs didn't even seem to notice as he leant over the opening and looked down into the abyss.

"Sir?" Timothy prompted, when nothing was forthcoming.

In answer, Gibbs simply disappeared into the hole, to the unexpected sound of splashing water. Frowning, Inspector Fornell peered over the edge in his turn. He looked up at their kidnapper, just as Dr Mallard hurried across the gangplank.

"Timothy, my dear boy, I got your message and came with all possible speed. Oh dear Lord that tiny space is altogether too much like the prisons used in medieval times. Some poor unfortunate would be placed in such a hole, and woe betide if he didn't quite fit for they thought nothing of removing an arm or a leg to accommodate that and then the poor soul simply left to his fate. Don't tell me that is where Anthony has been suffering?"

"Was." Gibbs agreed, puling himself up out of the hole, his hair wet and flattened against his skull and every inch of him soaked to the skin. "Not any longer."

"He's dead?" Timothy paled.

"Now Timothy," Dr Mallard swallowed hard. "We must take some small comfort in that fact that Anthony's suffering is over," He favoured Gibbs with a hard look. "Although, I do think the news could have been broken rather more tactfully."

"He's not dead," Gibbs corrected, as he pulled himself out onto the deck. "He's long gone. See for yourself."

And it was true. For somehow a few warped and softened planks had been prised away from the old barge's disintegrating hull, making a space just large enough for some water to flood in and an average sized man to pass through.

"Anthony is nothing if not resourceful." Dr Mallard beamed with evident relief.

"I can spare you a few men to aid in the search," Inspector Fornell offered.

"No need," Gibbs shook his head. "You'll take care of things here?"

"Indeed, for Gibson's own testimony should be enough to take care of matters for the moment. Although, when all this is settled I will have further questions for you," Fornell warned. "And Anthony as well just soon as he is fit enough to bear them."

"Not Anthony," Gibbs vetoed that. "You already have Gibson's confession and Lord Morrow's heir stands ready to give testimony if required, for he has his father's sense of justice and duty. That will more than suffice for your superiors."

"Gibbs," Inspector Fornell paused, at the other man's near murderous expression, but to Timothy's surprise he was not completely silenced by it. "Anthony may not wish to press charges, but he will need to talk about his ordeal."

"I know." Gibbs' tone brooked no further discussion.

The arrangement was made that Dr Mallard would take his carriage and meet them at home. Following in Gibbs's footsteps Timothy marvelled at the way his employer utterly ignored his already sodden state and moved with all haste, tracking Anthony's most likely route towards home, once he had swam along the Quayside, down alleyways and across bridges. And all the while the biting wind cut through his warm outer garments him and the driving rain almost blinded him as it ran down his face. He could only imagine how much worse it must be for Anthony in his weakened state. It wasn't until Gibbs started running that he realised that shapeless mound just up ahead wasn't some pile of discarded rubbish.

It was Anthony.