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“How do you know that?” His voice grew louder. No longer able to suppress his irritation. “How do any of us know what will happen? All I know for sure if that I am a womanizing gambler who was conducting criminal activities while in Her Majesty’s service. How can any of this work out?” The pounding in his head intensified. Owen closed his eyes briefly against the pain.
When he opened his eyes, Selena had inched away from him, her hand no longer on his arm. No doubt his outburst had alarmed her and brought back recollections of their past arguments.
“Thank you for your concern, but I think you should return to your bedchamber.” His tone would brook no argument.
Selena silently left the room without a word. He was the worst cad, treating her like she didn’t matter. It was better to keep his distance until things were resolved. He hadn’t forgotten that those men in the alley had threatened her. All of this was his fault, and he would see it finished.
* * *
The next week was busy with tracking down leads that Longfellow had collected regarding the men Fines had named. They found John Reese and Robert Miller quick enough since they were still in the Army. Luckily, there were both currently stationed in London.
Owen and Longfellow questioned the men with their commanding officer’s approval. Neither had any knowledge of a scheme to steal gold or how Owen may have been injured. They admitted Owen was not the most liked officer in their unit, but they had kept on his good side by doing some dirty work for him when asked. Owen didn’t want to know what that entailed. It wouldn’t be anything good.
Two days later, Owen and Bran were at Merrick’s, a gentleman’s club, when a message arrived from Longfellow. The friends hurried to his office.
“We found Willy Dent,” Longfellow said as the duo took seats opposite his desk.
“And?” Bran asked.
“He’s dead. Somehow, he fell off a bridge a few days ago. The police chalked it up as an accident.”
“But you don’t think so?” Owen leaned forward.
“I had my men question Dent’s friends this morning. Several of them confirmed he had been acting strange the last week or so. He confided in one man he thought he was being followed.”
They all exchanged a knowing look. Now they were getting somewhere. Unfortunately, it was a dead end. Dent’s friends knew nothing useful for them to go on.
“Now what?” Bran let out a sigh.
“There are two other names on the list. We could not locate Luther Kipling, but we have discovered the whereabouts of Captain Henry Barrows. I thought you would like to join me in questioning him.” Longfellow directed the last statement to Owen.
“Gladly.”
The trio entered Owen’s waiting carriage. Longfellow gave an address near Cheapside. Could this be the end? Would Owen finally have the answers he had been seeking? With each passing street, his pulse pounded harder until he was sure his companions could hear it.
Before the carriage came to a stop at their destination, Owen leapt out of the conveyance. They banged on the door of the boarding house where Barrows was renting a room. The door opened, and a large, round lady with squinty eyes filled the doorway.
“Who are you?” her voice boomed.
Owen stepped forward. “My name is Major Fernsby. I am an old Army friend of Mr. Barrows. I was told he lives here.”
“He’s not here anymore, not for almost two weeks.”
“Do you know where he is?”
The lady shook her head. “All he told me was he came into some money and was leaving. Gave me an extra weeks' rent, nice chap.”
Owen glanced back at Longfellow, who stepped forward. “Is there anyone who might know his whereabouts?”
“He liked to drink down the street at the Ugly Duckling. Someone there might now.”
The men thanked the proprietress and headed toward the pub. By that time, evening was settling in. Hopefully, they would find someone who knew Barrows and could tell them where he was. Owen had a feeling the longer it took to find the man, the greater risk he might disappear.
They entered the pub, which was filling up with customers. Weary workers piled in, ready for a few pints before falling into their beds. Longfellow had Owen and Bran wait outside while he asked around. He didn’t want to risk Owen being recognized.
After what seemed an eternity, Longfellow came outside. “The barkeeper pointed out a man who knows Barrows. I didn’t approach him yet. Don’t want to scare him.”
They entered the crowded pub. Longfellow nodded toward the man who had been pointed out to him. Owen froze. Impossible. It was the man from his dreams. The man in question swept his gaze around the room. When it fell on Owen, his mouth gaped. He tried to bolt, but Bran quickly intercepted him.
