And lucky.
“I’m convinced your surmise is right and that the basic compound is mercury fulminate. But it’s been altered.”
“Y-You think . . .” Charlotte didn’t finish her question. She didn’t have to.
“Do I think that Lowell has discovered the secret to making the explosive more stable?” he said. “Yes, I think that’s a reasonable conjecture, based on what we just witnessed. But conjectures are worthless. We need to prove it, and that will take time.”
“Something of which we have little to spare,” mused Charlotte. “If that sample proves he’s succeeded in making a new explosive, he must be ready to put whatever plans he has for it in motion.”
Wrexford was thinking much the same thing.
“I’m so sorry.” Contrition shaded Charlotte’s voice. “My satirical print likely made him bolt, just when you might have caught him at work on his devil’s brew.”
“I think not, Mrs. Sloane,” answered the earl. “Lowell was too cunning for that. My search showed that he didn’t use his laboratory at the Institution for brewing up his experiments. It’s too small a space, and chemical smells would have attracted unwanted attention from the other members. Based on Drummond’s claims of people prowling through the corridors, my guess is he used the room for collecting chemicals and research materials, like old books and manuscripts on chemistry, that he stole from other laboratories. As to the real work, I would guess he has another laboratory somewhere in the city.”
The ring of clinking glass and metal punctuated the opening and closing of the cabinet doors as Tyler moved with methodical quickness to prepare the various solutions of acid. Charlotte took up a pencil from the desk and rolled it nervously between her palms.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked.
“This will probably take hours. I suggest you return home,” he replied. “I’m sure you wish to check on the lads—but don’t ring too fierce a peal over their heads. I’m to blame for their transgression, so if punishment is to be meted out, I should be the one to receive it.”
Her gaze held his for a long moment. “I shall,” she said softly, “think of a suitable one.”
An interesting response. Her mood seemed as changeable as quicksilver. But before he could explore the matter, the sound of footsteps—running footsteps—reverberated through the corridor.
Griffin?Springing to his feet, the earl lunged for the door, intent on barring entry to the Runner.
A fist thumped against the paneled oak. “Hurry, Wrex! There’s not a moment to lose!”
Wrexford slid the bolt back and admitted Sheffield.
“I’ve just learned that Canaday has fled the country. And Stoughton is panicking as well.” His friend paused to catch his breath. “Apparently Quill’s pen has pricked at a vulnerable spot, for his latest drawing has unleashed holy hell.”
“What’s happening?” demanded Wrexford.
“As you asked, I’ve been keeping an eye on St. Aubin, and a message was just delivered to him while he was playing at the gaming tables of the Scarlet Cockerel. Stoughton has summoned him to a meeting at the clubhouse of The Ancients, and if we hurry, we can catch them at it.”
CHAPTER 21
“Tyler!” barked the earl.
The valet was already opening a drawer of one of the storage chests. Charlotte watched him lift out a large brass-banded ebony box and set it on the counter.
“They were cleaned just yesterday, milord.” Tyler offered Wrexford a pair of long-barreled dueling pistols.
He took them and handed one to Sheffield.
“And you may also pass me that pocket pistol you hid in your waistcoat, Mr. Tyler,” demanded Charlotte.
“Who’s this raggle-taggle bantling?” asked the earl’s friend, darting a curious glance at her. “If you are asking for charity, lad, hare off to the kitchen. You look like you need a slice of beefsteak and bread, not a weapon.”
She snapped her fingers impatiently. “Mr. Tyler, we have no time for shilly-shallying.”
The valet looked to Wrexford, whose expression boded no good.
Seeing the earl was about to speak, she added, “And don’t youdaretell me I’m not permitted to come along unless you wish to be wearing your guts for garters.”
“Holy hell,” Sheffield angled a look beneath the brim of her floppy cap. His gaze then slowly slid down over her baggy jacket and loose moleskin pants.
