“Damnation,” whispered Charlotte as the door fell closed. She must be more careful. Paper crackled as she shifted the sketch to make room for the alchemy books.
The chase was on. Though just who was stalking whom was far from clear.
* * *
Lost in strange thoughts—he couldn’t shake the images of mythological beasts dancing over shields emblazoned with Latin aphorisms—Wrexford entered his town house and passed by his butler without hearing a word the fellow said.
To his consternation, when he turned down the corridor to his workroom, he found Tyler blocking the way. “I think you had better go to the Blue Salon first, milord. Griffin is back, and is in a roaring fit of pique.”
In no mood for another pointless confrontation with the Runner, he grimaced and snapped, “Have one of the footmen throw him out. Preferably so he lands on his arse.”
“I don’t think that would be wise. He’s learned that we entered Drummond’s laboratory after we had been ordered to leave.”
“How—” began the earl.
“Read this,” said Tyler, thrusting a letter at him.
Wrexford took it and immediately noted that the wax seal had been cracked.
“It arrived just before Griffin, and as the messenger said it was urgent, I took the liberty of opening it,” explained his valet quickly. “Lowell sent a warning that the Runner would be coming, along with his apologies for having to admit our transgression to the authorities. He had no choice—two of the workmen saw us enter and revealed it when Griffin questioned them about the morning’s activities.”
“So, the fellow is more competent than I thought,” he observed.
“So it would seem,” replied Tyler. “As Lowell points out, had he tried to lie it would have painted us in an even blacker light.” A pause. “And what he didn’t add was that it would have put him in danger of losing his position at the Institution.”
The earl skimmed the contents for himself and uttered an oath. “Bad luck we were spotted,” he muttered. “But you’re right. I don’t expect the fellow to put his neck in the noose for me.”
“Now it remains to be seen whether we can extract yours from a precarious position,” said his valet dryly.
He thought for a moment. “Griffin didn’t enter the workroom, did he?”
Tyler made a pained face. “Do you think me an utter lack-wit?” Lowering his voice, he added, “Speaking of the workroom, I was able to salvage several more scraps. I have the microscope all prepared. There’s something you should see.”
“I’ll be there shortly.”
His valet headed off to the rear of the house, leaving Wrexford to retrace his steps and enter the salon.
“This is getting rather tiresome, Griffin,” he announced, letting the double doors slam shut behind him. “Have you any new evidence?”
“I might have found just what I needed to confirm the identity of the murderer had you and your lackey not stolen it away from under my nose,” countered the Runner.
“A serious charge,” said the earl softly. “I assume you have proof of that.”
Griffin’s face darkened in anger. “I may not need it. There is more than one way to skin a cat—and you are fast using up your nine lives.”
“Did you come simply to spout aphorisms, or is there a reason for your visit.”
“Given Mr. Lowell’s admission, I’ve a few more questions about your activities on the morning of Mr. Drummond’s murder.” Griffin made a show of pulling out his notebook and touching the tip of his pencil to his tongue. “Now, sir, let’s begin with what time you left your residence. . . .”
Wrexford held his ire in check as the Runner repeated the same set of questions he had asked during his previous interrogation.
“As you see,” he said, after the brusque exchange was finished, “I have not changed my story. Nor will I, so you may spare us both another visit here.”
The notebook snapped shut. “Privilege protects you now, but it can stretch only so far, Lord Wrexford. The next time I appear here, it will be to arrest you for the cutthroat killer you are.”
The earl flicked a mote of dust from his sleeve. “As you are familiar with my residence, I assume you can see your own way out.”
As the Runner stalked off, Wrexford moved to the sideboard and poured himself a measure of brandy. But the fiery liquid felt like acid, leaving a raw trickle of unease burned at the back of his throat. Candlelight darted through the cut-crystal facets of his glass, casting shuddering fragments of amber over the pristine white plaster of the far wall.
