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The Earl slowly turned around to face his own demise.
“Who goes there?” he demanded, standing his ground. It would have been impressive, were he not shaking in fear.
The Murderer said nothing, just stood, still and quiet behind the crates, piled up haphazardly in the alleyway.
“Who’s there?” Lord Danbury called out. The Murderer waited a few more moments, listening to the sounds of the Earl’s boots, slapping on the cobblestones as he quickened his pace.
Nemesis had to walk quickly to catch up to him. Now that the Earl was on the alert, he was walking quickly, almost running.
Nemesis burst into a run—feeling powerful. The Murderer was an apex predator, smelling the fear of prey. The Earl of Danbury was going to die—horribly and pathetically, only a block away from his home, and safety. He stopped, and turned. Nemesis stabbed him, slipping the blade with the expert precision of a surgeon between his ribs then giving it an upward twist.
Blood spilled all over Nemesis. The Murderer looked into Lord Danbury’s eyes, which were wide in surprise and recognition. He slumped against Nemesis, like a lover, then fell to his knees. Nemesis looked around.
At that hour, no one was about.
I am all-powerful.
The Earl was making an odd, gurgling noise as he bled out. Almost a wheezing cry. He flipped over, trying to crawl away. He was quickly becoming weaker.
“You’re going to die,” Nemesis told him. “Here in the alley, where the rats will eat your nose.”
Lord Danbury was sobbing, but weakly. He collapsed, his death-rattle loud in the stillness of the early morning. Nemesis flipped him over, onto his back, and then divested him of his valuables.
* * *
Charles was just finishing breakfast, when Arthur arrived to see him the next morning. He had arrived home quite early from the Duke of Tiverwell’s, and had gotten a very good night’s sleep.
“Charles!” Arthur boomed, as Mrs. Osbourne showed him into the dining room.
“Arthur! What brings you here?”
“I’ve come to walk with you to work, to ensure that you have an ironclad alibi.”
“Thank you, my friend,” Charles replied. “Have a seat.”
“I also wanted to partake of Mrs. Osbourne’s delectable fry-up,” Arthur went on as he pulled out a chair for himself.
“Your efforts have certainly helped.” He and Arthur had been walking to work, then back home together. Arthur stayed until late at night. Since the murderer hadn’t been discovered, they wanted to make sure that Charles was above reproach.
Mrs. Osbourne poured out a cup of tea for Arthur. “Thank you, Mrs. Osbourne,” Arthur muttered.
“You’re welcome, Mr. Hinkley. I’ll go and fix you a plate.” She then disappeared into the depths of the house.
“I didn’t want to say in front of Mrs. Osbourne, but we only got lucky that the killer is compulsive enough to commit another murder,” Arthur said. “If you hadn’t had an alibi for the other night, no doubt the constabulary would have hauled you in.”
“Lucky. What a thought.” It bothered Charles that his freedom had only occurred at the expense of Lord Drysdale’s life. “I was wondering about that,” he mused. “He could have gotten away with it.”
“There’s something about the victims,” Arthur replied, taking a sip of his tea. “They’ve all been targeted. They weren’t murdered at random. It’s all very deliberate.”
“Curious,” Charles replied.
“Think about it,” Arthur stated. “Both of them, Gentlemen of the ton. Usually, they were well-protected. Yet, the killer waits for them to be somewhere on their own—the Earl of Diggar, in a room at an inn. The Viscount of Drysdale, in a darkened alleyway…” He shrugged. “I would bet money that our killer is also a gentleman of the ton.”
“Could be,” Charles agreed. He knew the victims, personally. They were both clients of his. Due to the fact that he mixed with the ton and handled their hard to settle accounts and legal proceedings, he knew most of the ton himself.
Charles hoped that it was merely coincidence, and not that the killer was attempting to frame him for it.
* * *
