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* * *
Charles and Lord Dunsmore were waiting in front of the club for the carriage to be brought around for them. The evening had darkened, the stars hanging above them.
“He’s a rather cocky sort, isn’t he?” Lord Dunsmore asked, referring to the Duke of Longmire.
“He is,” Charles agreed. “Although, I’m inclined to think that he would never intentionally harm another.”
The carriage pulled up, and they both climbed inside. The curtains were still drawn from earlier. As soon as the door was closed, Charles pulled the wig off.
“Are you sure of that?” Lord Dunsmore asked.
“Are you not?” Charles replied. He needed to believe that the gentleman who was going to marry Arabella wasn’t going to harm her. He could never walk away from the situation if he believed the reverse.
“I’m not sure of anything.” Lord Dunsmore was tapping his chin with an index finger as he thought.
“I certainly don’t care for how he speaks about Arabella, but I think he’s not involved in anything untoward,” Charles explained, finally taking the damp wads of cotton out of his mouth. “What terrifies me is that they’re all convinced that it’s me.”
“Not to worry,” Lord Dunsmore assured him. “I’ve never been more convinced of your innocence than I am at this moment.”
“That’s good to hear,” Charles said. “You disappeared for a long while. Did you find anything?” Lord Dunsmore had abandoned Charles, who had had to speak a mixture of French and English, stumbling over both. No one had understood a word that he had said. They all smiled politely, baring their teeth.
Lord Dunsmore shook his head. “No. Just gentlemen playing card games and drinking and smoking.”
“You seem disappointed,” Charles said.
“Well, I was certainly hoping that we would find something more incriminating.”
“But we have the means to contact this Mr. Bones,” Charles pointed out. They had been successful. That was what they had gone to the Millgate Club for in the first place.
“We certainly do, Mr. Conolly.
“When should we?” Charles asked. The sooner that all of this was cleared up, the better. Perhaps, they could even prevent any further murders from happening.
“Soon. Very soon. I am going to do some background research into this Mr. Bones. I don’t like how I feel…under prepared.”
“Well, you know best,” Charles said.
“Sometimes, I do,” Lord Dunsmore admitted. “In some cases, I don’t.”
“You’re not like most gentlemen, if you don’t mind my saying, My Lord.”
“Coming from you, Mr. Conolly, that is a compliment indeed,” Lord Dunsmore said with a crooked grin.
* * *
Nemesis had, of course, noted the fact that all of the gentlemen were clients of Mr. Charles Conolly, the barrister. It was late at night when the Murderer broke in to the law offices of Conolly and Hinkley, barristers.
The Murderer had watched Mr. Conolly leave his place of residence, likely out for a night on the town with Lord Dunsmore. Nemesis had then gone to Mr. Conolly’s office, for incriminating evidence.
Through the back door, jimmying the lock with an ice pick. It opened inward. There was a plaque, on the office doors, also locked, but easily opened.
Nemesis looked around, opening the drawer to find a date book. Leafing through the past few weeks, there was a full week, outlining the appointments of Lord Diggar, Lord Drysdale, Lord Danbury, and the Duke of Tiverwell.
Nemesis flipped the pages, rifling through. One name was not present.
How…disappointing. This won’t do! The constables will notice!
One gentleman was conspicuously absent. There would be no link. Although, if Nemesis waited, then it might appear of its own accord. Perhaps the constables would be able to find something that Nemesis had missed.
Nemesis placed the diary into a pocket. All that was left was to drop this somewhere that the constables would find it. Specifically, at the scene of the next murder. It would be singularly damning.
