Lt. Sir Archibald Blagdon Westcott is dead. That identity is abandoned. Archie, for it is as good a name as any at this point, is in the wind. They stop for a week or two in South London to finish some important final pieces of business, settle a few bets, and fence much of the huge haul of jewellery from the Chestertons and the rest of their stashed goods from more than half a decade of increasingly ambitious burglaries and canny international trading. They make enough cash to buy passage on a ship, and exchange the rest for gold, silver, and other internationally valuable currencies.

They ask George Wheeldon to return Harriet’s horse - they had assumed she would flee on another - but are deeply perturbed to learn of her demise. They sell the horse to George, as well, but ask him to make sure it goes to someone who will make use of it, rather than to the knacker’s yard. Asking for rumours of the Ton, they are deeply satisfied to learn that a swathe has been cut through the nobility of London.

George also reveals that Duke Henry has been - somewhat ineffectually - searching for them. Again, they are oddly touched. It’s not regret, they’ve been at this game too long for regret, but… they suggest to George that if someone who REALLY shouldn’t be in this particular pub comes looking for this particular horse, to be kind to him, and let him go unmolested. They tip well enough to ensure this. They can afford it.

Then they are away. They spread many rumours and suggestions at the final ball, of where they might go, and they go to none of those places. Instead they buy passage on a ship from Docklands bound for Spain, and from there they cross at Gibraltar into Africa, and lose themself, a fortune in jewellery, gold, and silver more than enough to last them a very comfortable lifetime.

Sometimes, they wonder about the friendlier types they met among the nobility, but they do not seek them out.

– Written by Phil B.