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“Do you believe they are the group that we have been searching for?” Corbyn inquired.
“I am not entirely sure, but I believe they have the capacity to be dangerous,” Baldwin shared. “Before they even allowed me to stay for the meeting, they asked to visit where I lived.”
“You took them to Hawthorne House?” Corbyn asked with a lifted brow.
Baldwin smirked. “No, I took them to my rented room on Draper Street.”
“When did you acquire this investment?” Corbyn joked as he placed his empty glass back on the cart.
“I paid a hefty sum to a man to rent his room for a few weeks,” Baldwin explained. “Oliver helped me with the subterfuge.”
Corbyn picked back up the decanter and poured two glasses of brandy. “In what way?”
“Oliver was there when we arrived, and he even hired a woman to make an appearance.”
Nodding, Oliver said, “It is true. I have worked with this actress before, so I knew she wouldn’t let me down.” He chuckled. “Although, the rat running around the room made a nice touch, as well.”
“That it did,” Baldwin agreed.
Corbyn walked over the two glasses and extended one towards each one of them. “I reviewed the extensive log with all the persons of interests in London, and Morton is not on the list.”
“He isn’t?”
“No, but I went ahead and added him,” Corbyn said. “Can you tell me anything else about Morton?”
“I can tell by his manner of speech that he is clearly educated,” Baldwin replied. “His clothing was in the latest fashion, and his Hessian boots were well tended to.”
“That is a start,” Corbyn remarked as he went around his desk and sat down. “I will instruct our agents to keep their eyes and ears open for this Morton fellow.”
Baldwin took a sip of his drink, then lowered the glass. “Are you in?” he asked.
Corbyn sighed heavily. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”
“You always have a choice,” Baldwin said, “but I would prefer to work with you.”
A smirk came to Corbyn’s lips. “Like when we stormed the beach to stop the smugglers in Wembury and left with matching scars on our arms from a cutlass?”
“That was a fun assignment,” Baldwin stated.
“Fun?” Corbyn repeated. “We barely left with our lives.”
Baldwin smiled. “That is why it was so enjoyable.”
“If I recall correctly, that was the first time you turned down a promotion,” Corbyn said, eyeing him closely.
“I didn’t want to be cooped up in an office somewhere,” Baldwin responded. “I wanted to remain in the field.”
Corbyn leaned forward in his chair and placed his arms on his desk. “This could have been your office, and you could have been the one reporting to the Superintendent of the Alien Office.”
“But I wouldn’t have been happy with this job,” Baldwin remarked. “Besides, it suits you most admirably.”
“I suppose you wouldn’t have been interested in the pay either,” Corbyn said knowingly.
“I don’t work as an agent for the pay.”
Oliver spoke up. “It is getting late,” he pointed out. “We should be heading back to Draper Street.”
Corbyn lifted his brow. “You intend to reside there?”
