"Good morning, Bill," I said as I stepped past him.
"How are you this fine day?" Bill asked. He leaned against the wall, his red eyes screwed shut against the bright sunshine without. "I like it a bit gloomier, meself."
"I'm well, Bill. What did you do this time?"
"No idea, Cap'n. They say I broke a fellow's arm, but I don't remember. I'm not very big, am I, to be breaking another man's arm?" He put a shaky, thin hand to his brow. "Feel like the elephant at the 'Change is a-dancing on my head."
"You'll likely go home soon," I said. "Is Pomeroy about?"
"Aye, that he is. Hupstairs. With one of those Thames River blokes."
"Thank you." I put a shilling in his hand that was not quite outstretched and made for the stairs.
Chapter Three
Mr. Thompson of the Thames River Police was a lanky man whose clothes hung on his bony shoulders. He belonged to the body of patrollers who moved up and down the river, protecting the huge cargo ships at the London docks and beyond. The organization of patrollers had been formed years ago by those appalled by the number of thefts they endured while their ships moored in London. Eventually, the Thames River Police, as we now knew it, had come under the same authority as the Bow Street Runners, foot patrollers, and runners from other magistrates' houses.
I liked Thompson, who had a sharp mind and quick intelligence. Usually, I enjoyed a chat with him, but today I wanted to talk to Pomeroy about my wife, not a conversation I wanted to share with Thompson. Therefore, I was a bit dismayed to not find Pomeroy in his room alone.