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“Yes, my lord.”

As Noakes made for the door, the man named Sir John turned in his chair, and for the first time, the light fell upon the black band covering his forehead. “Marsden?” his voice was louder now and more commanding. “I would speak with you.”

A hush fell over the room.

“Of course, Sir John,” Marsden said.

Dragged forward by Marsden’s iron grip, Samuel stumbled against a chair. It hit the table. The Blind Beak reached out a hand, steadying the piece of furniture with unlikely ease. Samuel righted himself only to remember that though the knighted magistrate could not see him, he was surely expected to bow. Not sure that he could manage it while pinned against Marsden’s side, he attempted an awkward bob of the head.

Not surprisingly, the gentleman ignored him and turned his dull, sightless eyes on Marsden. “Who do you have with you, Marsden?”

“’E goes by Sammy, m’ lord. I caught ’im attemptin’ t’ pawn a stolen pocket watch at Bailey’s place.”

Samuel forced his chin up, his focus on the black band across the gentleman’s forehead, even as all hope that he could talk his way out of his current situation crumbled to dust. Not only was he trapped in the clutches of Bow Street’s most capable runner, but he was also now standing before the Blind Beak himself. And as every thief in London knew full well, once the Blind Beak added a name to his register of offenders, it was never forgotten. When it came to sending criminals to the Old Bailey or even to the gallows, the formidable magistrate of Westminster wielded more power than anyone else in the city.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Sammy?” the Blind Beak asked.

Samuel swallowed. He must speak. He had no choice. But a few words were all it would take to fully seal his fate. Word on the street was that the Blind Beak could correctly identify over three thousand criminals by their voice alone. No one knew how he managed it, but the claim had been repeated and proven true too many times to ignore. Once the magistrate heard Samuel’s voice, he would know it again. Because Samuel was a criminal. Samuel knew it. Marsden knew it. And very soon, everyone within the walls of the Brown Bear—­including the Blind Beak himself—would know it as well.

“I made a mistake, m’ lord,” Samuel said.

“Obviously. More than one, I wager. But I should like to know which mistake you are referring to.”

Samuel hesitated. It was a question he had not considered. Of his many unfortunate decisions that day, which one deserved the greatest blame for placing him in Marsden’s custody? Was it the moment he’d followed Charlie’s urging to target the affluent gent with the tempting pocket watch? Or his decision to enter Bailey’s shop without a lookout? Perhaps it was when he’d opted to stay in the shop even though other customers were there to witness his transaction with the pawnbroker. His thoughts flitted to the girl who’d ratted him out. The girl who had everything but wasn’t willing to allow him to leave the place with a shilling in his pocket. A flicker of indignation burned in his stomach, but it quickly fizzled. He’d been careless. He never should have let her see him slip the pocket watch into the doll’s dress. Was that his biggest mistake?

The Blind Beak slid his hand along the edge of the table, feeling for the cane leaning against it. “I am expected elsewhere, young man,” he said, grasping the cane in a firm grip. “I require nothing more than a simple, honest response from you. Surely you are capable of that.”

Was he? The line between honesty and survival had been blurred for so long it had become hard to differentiate between them. His thoughts shifted from the girl in the shop to his mother. Is this what she would have expected of him? Wanted for him? In that instant, shame over what he had become washed over him. It was an emotion he had stifled for a long time, but letting it loose brought unexpected clarity.

“Me biggest mistake was stealin’ th’ watch in th’ first place,” he said.

Samuel dared not look at Marsden. The unnatural silence in the public house spoke volumes, and he had no desire to see the runner’s triumphant expression at Samuel’s confession.

“Well,” the Blind Beak said, “it may have taken you longer to come to that conclusion than I would have liked, but I am encouraged that you yet retain some scruples.” He rose to his feet. “How old are you, Sammy?”

It was a completely different yet equally difficult question to answer definitively. “I’ve been told that I were six years old when me mother passed,” he said. “And that were eight years ago.” Eight lonely years of struggling to find food and a place to rest his head at night.

“I see. And where have you lived since your mother died?”

He hesitated. Marsden and the Blind Beak would surely give a great deal to know where Thrasher housed his gang of pickpockets, but Samuel could not so quickly erase all loyalty to the man who’d taken him in when he’d had no one, regardless of Thrasher’s selfish motives. “I’ve moved about, m’lord.”

“Within London, I assume?”

“Yes, m’lord.”

The Blind Beak nodded. “Your speech identifies you as a Londoner.” He appeared thoughtful. “Have you spent much time at the wharf?”

“Enough that I know me way around,” Samuel hedged. The wharf and their environs were known to be a rougher part of the city. Did the Blind Beak assume Samuel lived there? Or was he simply fishing for more clues regarding the location of Thrasher’s gang?

“Good. I believe you will be a perfect fit.”

Samuel had no time to ponder the oddity of the Blind Beak’s response before the gentleman set the tip of his cane on the floor and began swishing it from side to side before him. Moments later, he moved away with the confidence of one who had sat at that very table many times previously.

“Bring him to the house, Marsden,” the Blind Beak said, “and tell Brogden I wish to have Sammy added to this afternoon’s cases.”

Hope made a fleeting resurgence in Samuel’s heart. If he was to officially face the magistrate today, he would be spared an agonizing wait in solitary confinement, being chained to a bedpost, or an inquisition by Marsden and his colleagues. The criminal world was rife with horror stories of all those situations. Unfortunately, reality was quick to quash Samuel’s optimism. None of those discomforts could compare with being sent to trial at the Old Bailey and, from there, undergoing a short trip to the gallows. And that was surely where his future lay once the Blind Beak was finished with him.

Dread promptly claimed the space hope had left vacant. How many witnesses to Samuel’s crimes would the runners uncover and bring to the Old Bailey to testify against him? Samuel had long since lost count of the number of pocket watches, rings, and coins he’d lifted off unsuspecting pedestrians. And though he would be hard-pressed to recognize any of his victims, he had a sinking feeling that several of them would happily point a finger at him.