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He runs a hand through his hair. “You ought not to have come here. That was your own doing, and if it is yourundoing, then you have no one to blame but yourself. Whatever your reporter friend pays you, it is not enough to take such chances. It is your own fault, working for such a person, getting involved in murders, dressing like a boy. If I had known you were a girl, I would not have done this. I am sorry if this is to be your fate, but you—”
He stops short, seeing the open steamer trunk. Then he leaps forward and nearly dives into it, as if Jack could somehow be hiding in its depths. He picks up the cut ropes and runs them through his hands.
“No,” he whispers. “No, no, no. How—?”
He stops, and I think he’s seen me in the mirror. But he’s staring at a spot just out of my sight.
“What…?” he whispers.
Footsteps as he strides toward the spot. I inch to angle myself and see what he’s noticed. A heartbeat before I see it, I know what it is. The snuffbox. Gray had put it down to don his gloves, and then we heard footsteps.
Before I can swing out, Fischer snatches up the open box in his ungloved hands. I inwardly wince while reminding myself that no judge or jury would have accepted fingerprint evidence anyway. I keep swinging out, though, and he startles back.
“You!” he says, fumbling the box.
I tense, ready to grab the box, but he recovers and holds it out.
“What is this?” he says.
“You tell us,” Jack says as she steps from her hiding place. “It has your initials on it.”
“My what? Where?”
“On the bottom.”
“No!” I say.
I lunge before he dumps out the poison, but when he tips the box, he grabs the vials before they fall. Then he stares at the bottom of the box.
“No, this is not—”
“Not your initials?” Jack says.
I throw her a look that asks her to stop. I do it as nicely as I can. This guy locked her in a trunk. He was willing to let her die in there—he just said as much. I understand how much she is enjoying uncovering his scheme. I just don’t want her doing or saying anything that could help his case.
“Put the box down,” I say.
“Is this—is thispoison?” His voice rises as he holds up the vial of powder.
“Just give me the—”
“She planted this,” he says. “I swear it. She did this. She came in here and planted it and then led you here.”
“Me?” Jack squawks.
“No. Her.Shesent you here.”
“Who sent her here?” I ask carefully.
His gaze meets mine. “You know who I mean, and I’ll not condemnmyself by uttering the accusation, or she will murder me as she did the others.”
“Fine. Then you can tell the police when you are safely in prison.”
“Prison?” His eyes bug.
“Where did you think you were going?” Jack says. “Out for tea?”
“N-no. The police will not believe me. They will say I killed the others. That is her plan. She had already set me up, and it was not enough. She had to be sure.”
