The man swished his gin around in his cup, refusing to look at him. “I figured someone would come asking about that. It’s not every day I pick up the famous Prometheus.”
Morgan caught his breath, trying to cover his sudden excitement by taking another drink. “Can you tell me anything about him? Anything at all that might help me uncover his identity?”
The man sat back, playing with one corner of his magnificent mustache. “No, I don’t think I will.”
“So, you’re saying you do know something, but you just won’t tell me?” Morgan asked with a frown.
“I see a lot of ugliness in these streets,” Tucker replied. “It’s pretty rare I see someone actually trying to make a difference. And when I do, I don’t have no interest in stopping them.”
For a moment, Morgan considered bribing the man, but that suddenly didn’t seem fair. He’d done the right thing by holding Prometheus’s secrets, and he didn’t want him to have to choose between his morals and the promise of a little extra food on the table.
With a sigh, he threw a pound note on the table and stood.
“What’s this for?” Tucker asked.
“It’s for being a decent human being,” Morgan replied, realizing he’d have to find Prometheus some other way.
* * *
AFTER HIS MEETING WITHTucker, Morgan made his way down to Scotland Yard, requesting a meeting with Inspector Quinn O’Brien. He waited in a drafty hallway for nearly half an hour before he was finally shown into a minuscule office cluttered with paperwork.
O’Brien looked up from his desk, an irritated expression on his handsome face. “To what do I owe this honor?” he asked, his tone inferring he didn’t have time to speak to a society swell when he was hard at work.
The inspector was young for his position, not yet thirty, Morgan guessed, with burnished golden hair and sharp green eyes. Lucien had put a lot of faith in him, sending him to the Continent after Allison, and the man had also helped to tidy things up after Adrian had killed Winters’ henchmen. Though Morgan was almost certain O’Brien had discovered Adrian was Prometheus, he’d never caused any trouble for him. Despite his profession, he obviously thought the work Adrian had been doing was needed.
Now that Morgan was here, however, he suddenly feared giving too much away in his quest to find answers. He’d been in such a hurry to follow up on the leads from last night that he’d rushed over here without really thinking too much about what he would say. He couldn’t simply ask what O’Brien knew about Prometheus.
Or could he?
Deciding to put his faith in O’Brien’s innate goodness, he decided to just be honest. “Have you heard that Prometheus is prowling the streets of the East End again?”
O’Brien’s gaze narrowed. “Why are you asking me? Wouldn’t you know better than I?”
“No,” Morgan answered truthfully. “In this case, neither my brothers nor I have any information about it whatsoever.”
O’Brien frowned and finally gave Morgan his full attention. “That’s odd.”
“I thought so as well,” Morgan replied. “But I just wanted you to know that if...youknow anything about it, I’d be more than happy to lend a hand.”
Laughing, O’Brien shook his head. “Are you asking me if I’m donning a disguise and terrorizing London’s brothels? And if so, you’d like to... what? Be my assistant?”
Too late, Morgan realized how laughable it did sound. “I suppose you do enough in your current role. You don’t have to put on a mask. Unfortunately, my own life has been rather sheltered, and I’ve only recently realized how many children need help. I suppose I’m just looking for a way to make a difference.”
“Sometimes it feels like I’m just putting my finger in the dyke,” O’Brien said quietly, suddenly serious. “Atrocities happen every day, and I’m usually only there to clean up the aftermath. Of course, I’d like to do more. I never seriously pursued Prometheus’s identity for that exact reason.” He gave Morgan a meaningful look that left no doubt whatsoever that he knew Adrian had been Prometheus.
“Sorry to have disturbed you,” Morgan said, knowing he’d already pushed his luck a little too far. “I’ll see myself out.”
“Thank you for the information,” O’Brien told him, getting up and shaking his hand. “If I hear anything I think might be pertinent, I’ll send word to you.”
Morgan nodded. He was halfway out the door when O’Brien cleared his throat, making him turn and look back.
“Did you and your brothers know that the Earl of Winters has returned to London?” O’Brien asked.
“Yes,” Morgan admitted cautiously. “We just found out.”
“I’d stay clear of him, if you can,” O’Brien advised.
“He’d do well to stay clear of us.”
