The tension in Jack’s long frame eased. He leaned forward, arms on the table. “Welcome back. What did you learn?”
Matthew’s lined face emerged as the hat hit the table. He shrugged off his coat and set it on a peg beside the door. “Like you thought, there’s another gang.”
“They’re active?” George drew his chair closer.
At Jack’s nod, Matthew pulled another chair to the table. “They’re in business, all right. Ran a cargo of brandy last night, somewhere between Hunstanton and Heacham, cool as you please. I heard talk they did that consignment of lace we refused-the run that clashed with that load of spirits we took out Brancaster way.”
Jack swore. “Damn! I’d hoped that night was all a piece of Tonkin’s delusions.” He turned to George. “When I went into Hunstanton yesterday, Tonkin was full of this gang he’d surprised running some cargo south of Snettisham. Preening that he’d found another gang operating on Osborne’s turf that Osborne hadn’t known about. I spoke to some of Tonkin’s men later. It sounded like they’d seen a fishing boat pull in for a break and Tonkin invented the rest.” Jack grimaced. “Now, it seems otherwise.”
“Does it matter? If they’re a small operation…” George broke off at Jack’s emphatic nod.
“It matters. We need this coast tied up. If there’s another gang operating, no matter how small, who’s to tell what cargoes they’ll run?”
The wind whistled down the narrow chimney and played with the flames licking the logs in the hearth. Abruptly, Jack pushed away from the table. “We’ll have to find out who this lot is.” He looked at Matthew. “Did you get any hints from your contacts?”
Matthew shook his head. “Not a whiff of a scent.”
George frowned. “What about Osborne? Why not just get him to clamp down along that stretch?”
“Because I’ve sent him to clamp down on the beaches between Blakeney and Cromer.” Exasperation colored Jack’s tone. “There’s a small outfit operating around there, but for most of that coast, the silts are so unpredictable no master in his right mind will bring his ship in close.