At the hotel near Vauxhall Gardens, Phileas and Rebecca went up to the third-floor room with Mark. What they found would have made a squeamish person turn white. The furniture had been overturned and broken. There were dark brown smears here and there, a small pool of blood lay in a corner by the door and a fair-sized puddle of still drying blood lay on the other side of the room with a handprint in the middle of it. The envelope they sought was beside the puddle. It was a shipping contract with dates and a set schedule for deliveries. The first delivery was scheduled for tomorrow at dawn out of London.
"Just what we needed," Rebecca said. "Do we dare hope Matthew is close to the cargo?"
"A good place to start," Phileas said.
After they returned to the lobby, Mark was given a letter at the front desk as he cleared his account. The letter was from Matthew in his own hand. Mark took it to a lounge area and read. He scanned the contents and gave it up to Phileas.
"Nicely arranged," Rebecca said after she had read the message. "You escorting the first shipment back to Texas and your brother leaving with the second. Your uncle will be fully obligated to do their bidding."
Mark retook the letter, looking over it again. The handwriting was Matt's but not quite right. Matthew had a good, graceful hand that was neat as a pin, but this letter looked written by an illiterate. There were ink dots where they were not supposed to be. Some I's had been dotted twice, even a few U's had been dotted. As the Foggs contemplated their next move, he stood with it, heading to the front desk. He borrowed a pencil from the clerk and started looking over the letter again with care.
Phileas saw the boy's thoughtful look and followed. "What is it?"
"It's code." Mark said. "Matt added code to the letter. All these dots and marks; anyone that didn't know my brother would just think he was a sloppy writer. Well, he isn't. Matt writes like a monk. He dropped code into the text."
Phileas saw the many dots over the letters. "What code? Something you two made up?"
Mark snorted a laugh. "Morris code. Dot dot, dash dash, dot dash, you know." He looked up. The Englishman just stared back at him. "Well, maybe you don't. America uses Mr. Morrison's code for telegraph messages. Does England have a code of their own?"
When both continued giving Mark blank looks, he pointed to the message. "It is what all these stray marks on the page are." Mark continued to decipher the marks, writing them down on the side of the page until he had the entire message. "New Market one, one, two, four. An address?"
"An address," Phileas said, impressed. "One on the docks in the warehouse district."
"And well away from where we would have looked," Rebecca said from behind them.
"Indeed," Phileas said grimly. "What would have happened to Matthew had we been seen breaking into the wrong place?
Late that night, Phileas and Rebecca were fully equipped and standing outside the proper address. Mark had been left in Jules and Passepartout's care. It had been a tough sell to make Mark stay at the house, but between threats and his damaged ribs, Mark finally promised to stay put. Phileas understood how the boy felt, but he would have been a danger to himself and them.
Sitting on the ground in an alley outside, Phileas looked over the area. The warehouses were very close to each other. They should only have to worry about one night watchman, maybe two. There were no lights visible anywhere inside. Mist shifted around them, not thick, but enough to cover their movements. Phileas looked over the buildings one more time and held Rebecca back before she headed toward the door.
"What is it?" she said.
"The address Matthew wrote into the letter," Phileas said. "How would he know what building he was in from the inside?"
"He would have had to have seen it somewhere. On the way in, perhaps?"
"Or through a window," Phileas said, pointing. "The warehouse numbers are painted on all the buildings, but the words, new market, are only written on that building next to its building number. You see that window there on the second floor?"
"Right across from the address," Rebecca said.
"He's in that one," they said together.
Rebecca led as they circled the building, discovering a window in the far alley they could get through. A few crates stacked against the wall, and both were in.
Inside, it was pitch black and stacked to the ceiling with boxes. Rebecca produced a pair of small candle lanterns out of their equipment bag. They were ingenious little helps that Passepartout had created. Blinders on hinges could close off the light quickly. They searched the ground floor first and then headed upstairs.
The office with the window seen from outside was the first room they checked. Paperwork was laid everywhere. Phileas laid his lantern on the desk to snoop while Rebecca continued to search for Matt.
Down a hall from the office, she came by only one locked door. It was a simple sort of lock, hardly worthy of the name. In seconds, she was through it.
On the floor to the right of a crate, she found her prize. Matt had been tied hand and foot, sleeping in a corner. He had a gash on the side of his head that had been haphazardly bandaged. The opening of the squeaky door woke him.
Matt's eyes opened, taking in Rebecca in her fighting suit, blinking, but not quite believing the vision.
"Matthew Ridgemont, I presume?" Rebecca whispered.
"That's me," Matt said. "And you are the lady my brother took up for last week. Nice of you to return the favor."
Rebecca cut his wrist bindings loose. "I always return courtesy. Your brother is quite worried about you. By the way, that trick of adding Morris code to your letter was quite ingenious."
"Thank you," Matt said as he dropped the ropes off his wrists to the floor. "We ought to be getting out of here. These League people aren't friendly."
"League." Rebecca said sharply.
"That's what they call themselves," Matt said, not catching Rebecca's surprise. "By the way they are shipping weapons, I'd say they are supplying some sort of private militia. The man in charge here told me yesterday, they aren't working with any southern military detachment. They wear dark blue uniforms of a type I have never seen before. My uncle seems to have been their sole weapons importer."
Matt untangled the ropes at his feet. "We didn't know they were irregulars, if that's what they are. There used to be some units in Missouri that didn't follow the usual chain of command."
Rebecca didn't have time to correct him. She led Matt back to the office where she had left Phileas. He had made himself at home, perched on the edge of the desk. "You will never guess what I have found," he said as Rebecca and Matt entered.
"An American branch of the League of Darkness," Rebecca said, "using the Ridgemonts to bring weapons, and using the war as a cover for their importation."
"Ah, I see your companion has spoiled the surprise," Phileas said, disappointed. "But now, I am afraid we have a problem. Once they know this one is gone," Fogg said, looking at Matt, "this building will be emptied, and all evidence destroyed. If the League is good at anything, it is covering their tracks. If they cannot clear the place soon enough, this warehouse and all those near it will be in flames by morning."
"True enough," Rebecca agreed. "We have to get reinforcements here fast to take control."
"Take him with you to Whitehall," Phileas directed. "Get Chatsworth to have this place sealed. I will stay behind and keep them out until you return."
"Excuse me," Matt cut in, drawing attention to himself. "I don't know who you two are, but these people are threatening my country. Let me stay and help you. It will be easier for two to a watch a building this big. Besides, I have some pay back to give."
Phileas had it on his tongue to refuse, but the young man had a point. There were only two hours between now and the start of the next business day. He could expect to have company well before agents could be brought back. Then again, even two could not cover a place this big. If he barred the place to save the documents, the League operatives working here in England would be sure to scatter.
"I have another idea, but you will have to play a dangerous part."
Matthew nodded and asked what he had to do.
Rebecca was on her way to Whitehall, and Phileas was kneeling, rebinding Matthew before locking him in again. "I will be hidden nearby. As soon as Rebecca gets back, I will come for you. If you are moved, I will know it."
Matt nodded understanding and watched the door close behind him.
English Secret Service. Mr. Fogg never said so, but that is the most likely answer to why these people have taken an interest in me and Mark. Didn't Uncle Matt say weapons trade was a dirty business?
Matt rolled back onto his side and made a silent prayer for all this excitement to end. Lord, I promise, I'll be the best of students and even open to preaching, if you get us out of this in one piece.