blue eyes, twenty-six years old. Reckless, slippery…rather charming, if you like the type.” The slight twitch of Miss Nodder’s lips suggested she wasn’t entirely immune. “And rather good, too. It took us months to pin him down, working with the local police force. We finally caught him after he robbed the Tring Museum. I left him, in irons and in a closed carriage with a police constable guarding him, for twenty minutes.” She raised her eyebrows, mocking herself. “My mistake.”
“He killed the officer?” Macready asked.
Miss Nodder gave a crack of laughter. “Ha, no. I suspect the poor fool wishes he had. Pastern—well, to speak frankly, he seduced the man. He picked the constable’s pocket and unlocked the cuffs while the benighted idiot’s attention was, er, elsewhere.” She raised a meaningful brow. “Then he was straight out of the carriage and into the sky, and that was the last we saw of him.”
Macready was redder than usual. Stephen said, “In twenty minutes? Really?”
“Don’t ask. What a business. Anyway, that’s Pastern. We had him, and we lost him. And now it looks like he’s in London.” She leaned over the desk and pushed the dossier an inch further towards Macready. “And therefore, your problem.”
“I beg your pardon?” said Macready. “He’s your prisoner, Miss Nodder. You’re here to take him back. Aren’t you?” He spoke with unquestionable authority.
“Why would I want him back?” Miss Nodder rose from her seat. “Have fun.”
“But—what are you up in London for if not to get Pastern?”
“Shopping, of course. It’s my day off. I’m very fond of Hertfordshire but you can’t get the hats.” She lifted a hand in farewell. “Good morning, Mr. Macready. Nice to lurk with you,” she added to Stephen, and departed, apparently deaf to Macready’s splutters.
“Someone was just telling me I had to hand over more work to other people,” Stephen said. “That’s how you do it, is it?”
“Bloody woman. Bloody women. I’ve a good mind—” Macready rose hastily, snatched up his coat and hat, and followed Miss Nodder out, at a run. Stephen shut the door behind him and took possession of his chair, and Jonah Pastern’s dossier.
He honestly meant to concentrate on Saint, and on the ring. He was going to go back to Crane and show that he was putting them first, and if he did that, perhaps it would go some way towards the apology he knew he owed. He wouldn’t let the job interfere with his life this time.
But half an hour later, he was being dragged out of the building by a police constable.
“Murder, sir,” the young man repeated, clutching Stephen’s arm. He looked rather sick. “Your kind of murder, Inspector Rickaby said. He needs you at once.”
“When did it happen?”
The constable swallowed hard. “It’s going on right now.”
There was a cab waiting. The jarvey whipped up the horses urgently, and in not many minutes they were tumbling out and into a house in Lamb’s Conduit Street.
A scullery maid hovered on the stairs, looking too panicked to give directions, so Stephen just followed the screams.
He entered a large bedroom, wallpapered in an ugly shade of arsenical green. In the room were Inspector Rickaby, a man who looked like a doctor, standing helplessly, a woman, her expression a rictus of horror, and a man on the bed, writhing. His face…
“Everybody get out,” Stephen said, and then, throwing a command through the ether, “ Out .”
“I’m staying,” said Rickaby grimly.
“Fine. Get rid of everyone else. You too, madam, this is not a place for you. Where’s Dan Gold?” Stephen stripped off his greatcoat and dumped it on the nearest chair.
Rickaby closed the door behind the last constable. “Not coming.”
“What? Did you tell him—”
“He’s not coming.”
Oh hell , Stephen thought, that must be Esther. Nothing else would stop Dan from doing his duty. Please God, let her not be losing the baby,
“He killed the officer?” Macready asked.
Miss Nodder gave a crack of laughter. “Ha, no. I suspect the poor fool wishes he had. Pastern—well, to speak frankly, he seduced the man. He picked the constable’s pocket and unlocked the cuffs while the benighted idiot’s attention was, er, elsewhere.” She raised a meaningful brow. “Then he was straight out of the carriage and into the sky, and that was the last we saw of him.”
Macready was redder than usual. Stephen said, “In twenty minutes? Really?”
“Don’t ask. What a business. Anyway, that’s Pastern. We had him, and we lost him. And now it looks like he’s in London.” She leaned over the desk and pushed the dossier an inch further towards Macready. “And therefore, your problem.”
“I beg your pardon?” said Macready. “He’s your prisoner, Miss Nodder. You’re here to take him back. Aren’t you?” He spoke with unquestionable authority.
“Why would I want him back?” Miss Nodder rose from her seat. “Have fun.”
“But—what are you up in London for if not to get Pastern?”
“Shopping, of course. It’s my day off. I’m very fond of Hertfordshire but you can’t get the hats.” She lifted a hand in farewell. “Good morning, Mr. Macready. Nice to lurk with you,” she added to Stephen, and departed, apparently deaf to Macready’s splutters.
“Someone was just telling me I had to hand over more work to other people,” Stephen said. “That’s how you do it, is it?”
“Bloody woman. Bloody women. I’ve a good mind—” Macready rose hastily, snatched up his coat and hat, and followed Miss Nodder out, at a run. Stephen shut the door behind him and took possession of his chair, and Jonah Pastern’s dossier.
He honestly meant to concentrate on Saint, and on the ring. He was going to go back to Crane and show that he was putting them first, and if he did that, perhaps it would go some way towards the apology he knew he owed. He wouldn’t let the job interfere with his life this time.
But half an hour later, he was being dragged out of the building by a police constable.
“Murder, sir,” the young man repeated, clutching Stephen’s arm. He looked rather sick. “Your kind of murder, Inspector Rickaby said. He needs you at once.”
“When did it happen?”
The constable swallowed hard. “It’s going on right now.”
There was a cab waiting. The jarvey whipped up the horses urgently, and in not many minutes they were tumbling out and into a house in Lamb’s Conduit Street.
A scullery maid hovered on the stairs, looking too panicked to give directions, so Stephen just followed the screams.
He entered a large bedroom, wallpapered in an ugly shade of arsenical green. In the room were Inspector Rickaby, a man who looked like a doctor, standing helplessly, a woman, her expression a rictus of horror, and a man on the bed, writhing. His face…
“Everybody get out,” Stephen said, and then, throwing a command through the ether, “ Out .”
“I’m staying,” said Rickaby grimly.
“Fine. Get rid of everyone else. You too, madam, this is not a place for you. Where’s Dan Gold?” Stephen stripped off his greatcoat and dumped it on the nearest chair.
Rickaby closed the door behind the last constable. “Not coming.”
“What? Did you tell him—”
“He’s not coming.”
Oh hell , Stephen thought, that must be Esther. Nothing else would stop Dan from doing his duty. Please God, let her not be losing the baby,
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