“Good morning, Jennings. A Mr. and Mrs. Grey just called, did they not?”
“Oh, yes, sir, but they didn’t have an appointment. Mr. Grey was afraid he had already missed one last week or the week before. His wife claimed he had forgotten to make it, and she was right. He had.” Jennings smiled tentatively. “Perhaps not the sort we wish to be doing business with, sir?”
If only you knew, Jennings, Montague thought savagely. “I suppose you had the appointment book out to look?”
“Yes, sir, of course…”
And they had taken a damned good look. They were still investigating him, still suspicious.
Well, it was time—past time!—that they had a taste of their own medicine. How wouldtheylike to be followed and harassed? And since he had already complained to the police about them, it would be very easy to have them arrested the first time they evenlookedas if they might step outside the law. It would be the woman, of course. Grey, he could forgive if he had to, but he was hardly the only rich man in town…
“Cancel all my appointments today, Jennings. I won’t be in the office after all.”
Montague swung on his heel and walked out of the office in search of the carriage he had just dismissed. He would begin attheiroffices. And follow.
*
Janey was notat the Silver and Grey office. According to Hat, she hadn’t come home last night, or first thing this morning. Constance and Solomon stayed on the premises only long enough to drink a quick cup of tea and tell Hat where they were each going.
Darrow had been watching the office last night. Montague could easily discover they had been asking questions at his office—and he had indeed been absent from there without explanation several times in the couple of weeks before his wife’s death, once at the same time as Darrow had been with her. Was that when he had discovered Caterina’s infidelity? Had he followed her to Marianne Locke’s, and seen her with Darrow?
Either way, every sense that Solomon had always relied on warned him not to leave Constance alone for too long. She would be safe enough with George Martin, but he didn’t want her anywhere near Montague or Darrow—or even Kellar—until this case was settled.
“Don’t go anywhere else without reporting it to Hat,” he urged her. “And Hat, if Janey or Knox come back with news, tell them where we are. We need to know everything as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir,” Hat said seriously, her anxious eyes darting to Constance. “Take care, ma’am.”
“Don’t I always?” Constance said.
“No,” Solomon said with a hint of grimness, “you don’t. Take the carriage to Theobalds Street. I’ll use hackneys.”
For once she didn’t question him, probably due less to any physical fear than to her eagerness to speak to Martin again. Solomon kissed her cheek before he shut her in, but he couldn’t control his sudden feeling of dread.
Foolish.If any woman could take care of herself, it was Constance.
He put his hat on and set off for Darrow’s rooms.
“I’ll be charging you rent soon,” Mrs. Philpot said with a cackle as she opened the front door.
The exquisite sounds of Darrow’s violin both thrilled and chilled his blood. He did not recognize the piece, but could anyone who played such divine music truly be guilty of such a terrible crime? Darrow certainly had the passion, but it was so finely controlled and channeled.
Solomon made some light reply to Mrs. Philpot and hurried upstairs.
Unlike the previous time Solomon had interrupted his practice, Darrow was clearly playing this piece all the way through. If the man heard his knock, he ignored it. Solomon went in anyway.
Standing by the window in his shirt sleeves, violin beneath his chin, Darrow did not acknowledge his entrance by more than a faint, involuntary spasm. The bow kept moving; haunting notes continued to spill forth for several moments, and then an abrupt, angry discord shattered the melody.
Darrow hurled the bow at his bed and dropped the violin beside it.
“What do you want?” he snarled.
It was the first sign of temper Solomon had seen in him. He smiled, easing his shoulder off the closed door against which he had been leaning to listen, and walked further into the room. He didn’t offer to shake hands. In fact, Darrow’s tense poise warned him of imminent attack.
“I thought you wanted to see me,” Solomon said suavely, “since you came by the office yesterday evening.”
A flash of something very like chagrin showed in Darrow’s eyes before his lashes came down like a veil. “I am surprised you did not stop to speak to me.”
“I had a dinner engagement with my wife. Is there something I can help you with?”
