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Night had fallen and hid them from view as Simon led the way to Stockton’s home. Only one light was visible in a window toward the back of the house.
As quietly as possible, they entered the garden and neared the lit window. Simon peered inside, heart pounding. If Stockton caught sight of him—
The thought was inconceivable.
The room visible through the window appeared to be a study of sorts with a desk and two shelves lined with books. Stockton was nowhere to be seen. Simon had the faint hope of seeing one of the missing artifacts. But of course, that would’ve been too easy. Nothing hinted at Stockton’s line of work, let alone the stolen items.
Disappointment speared through Simon. He wanted something—anything—to indicate whether the director was guilty. He simply had to find Norah’s coin. He wanted that more than he could say.
The thought had him moving to the next window.
“Vanbridge,” Worley muttered with a hint of exasperation. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to find a clue,” he whispered. For once, he wanted to be the hero in someone’s life. Even if it was for only a moment. He could imagine the way Norah would look at him if he handed her the coin.
“You won’t be able to do that if you’re caught.”
Simon turned to look at Worley, the viscount’s glare making him think twice.
“True.” He needed to use his head, not his heart, in this matter. With a resigned sigh, he gathered his thoughts and his patience, then returned to the lit window with caution.
Hoping the darkness hid him, he raised up to look in the corner and caught sight of Stockton entering the room and pausing before the fire. He’d removed his suit coat and held a drink. He rubbed his forehead, took a sip, then set the glass on a nearby table before shaking his head. He rubbed a hand over his face and shook his head again.
Simon eased away to look at Worley. “He seems upset. Anxious even.”
“Perhaps he’s having second thoughts about his actions,” Worley whispered. “Any sign of the artifacts?”
“No.” Simon turned back to the window and peeked in again, only to realize Stockton had disappeared. “He’s gone.”
Worley eased back to have a better look at the other windows in the house. “A light came on upstairs. Perhaps he’s retiring for the night.”
“It seems rather early.”
“Wait. The light’s gone.” Worley continued to watch.
Simon carefully looked in the study window again. His patience was rewarded when Stockton returned to the room. He sat at his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a small stack of papers. Simon dearly wanted to know what they were, but it was impossible to tell.
They watched for nearly an hour, but Stockton did nothing of interest other than reading and jotting notes.
As the hour grew late, Worley leaned close. “What do you think? Shall we consider it done for this evening?”
“I suppose.” Simon hated to leave without accomplishing anything. “It seems unlikely anything more will occur.”
They eased away from the house through the garden and back along the quiet street. Light glowed from inside one or two of the nearby houses, but no one was about. It truly was a quiet neighborhood.
“I wish we could have a closer look at those papers he was reviewing,” Simon said as they neared the carriage.
Worley shook his head. “In case you’re thinking about it, we are not breaking into his home.”
“No. Not this evening.”
Worley’s beleaguered sigh was nearly comical. “You mean not without additional evidence.”
“Yes, that, too.” Simon clapped Worley’s shoulder. “Thank you for the company and for providing a voice of reason.”
Worley nodded at his driver, then followed Simon into the carriage. “I’m sure you’d do the same for me if needed.”
“It would be my pleasure. Each time I search, I have high hopes it will amount to something.” Simon scowled. “I fear I’m never going to recover the coin.”
