bodkin," Prance scoffed. "When one stops to think of it, our plan was so obvious a child could have foreseen it. She knew we planned to help Lady Jergen, and—"
"But she didn't know Mrs. Webber had received a demand," Byron said.
Luten listened, then said, "If she's the Bee or in league with him, she didn't have to be told. She obviously knew Mrs. Webber would be paying up tonight."
Byron looked abashed, as did Prance. "You're right, of course," Byron said. "I hadn't thought of that."
"Next time we don't tell any of them a thing," Coffen said.
Luten had noticed Byron's quick defence of Lady Callwood. She was quite a beauty, married to an older man, and known to be a flirt. It was the talk of London that Byron couldn't resist a pretty woman. He almost boasted that his pockets were to let. Was it possible she and Byron were working together? If that were so, he doubted that France would benefit from it. More likely the two of them were planning to run off to the east together. Byron said quite openly he'd leave tomorrow if he weren't in hawk to his banker.
But if Byron was the B–he noticed the interesting letter of his title–would he have asked the Berkeley Brigade to help him? He must have known that to ask Prance would lead to the involvement of the whole group. Was he thumbing his nose at them by that bold stunt?
"I doubt there will be a next time, despite what you say, Luten," Prance said. "The Bee has gotten clean away with thirteen thousand pounds. Why risk his neck for more? It's our first failure."
"What do you mean, failure!" Coffen bellowed. "We ain't giving up yet. We've only started. What we've got to do is look over our clues."
"What clues would that be?" Prance asked with a withering stare. "The bump on Mrs. Webber's head?"
"Lord Horner's carriage for one," Coffen shot back.
"We don't know who bought it."
"We know who didn't, and that whoever did went to a load of trouble to hide the fact. That carriage has got to be some place. What we've got to do is get busy and find it, and find out who's using it."
"Which of the million or so persons in London do we begin with?" Prance asked.
"We don't begin with persons. We begin with mews and stables. He's got to keep it some place. And if that don't work, we still have Brighton, where it all started."
"Yes, several years ago," Prance reminded him. "One would have to be an archaeologist to dig up any clues there."
"Then call me a narkologist, for I'm going. There's the servants to quiz as well, and the ladies' man or men of business. If they all use the same one - well, that'd be quite a coincidence. Who would know better how much money they have?"
"I happen to know Lady Jergen's man of business is Mr. Appleby," Byron said. "He's Lady Melbourne's as well. They were discussing him the other evening."
"You wouldn't know if he's Webber's or Callwood's?" Coffen asked.
"No, but I expect I can find out from Lady Melbourne."
"Good lad. There's a start then. I'll nip down to Brighton tomorrow. Have a look at the registry at that George Inn where Mrs. Webber and her doctor–" He glanced uneasily at Corinne and said, "you know." Byron flickered a smile in Corinne's direction and was pleased to receive an answering smile.
"What will that tell you?" Prance asked.
"I'll see who else was there at the time. And if Mrs. Webber wasn't there, it'll tell me she was lying her head off. She shed a few too many tears to convince me she was really sorry."
Byron nodded. "A wise observation, Pattle. I was quite taken in at the time, but genuine grief is not usually so moist."
"Crocodile tears," Coffen said. "And furthermore when I tried to see them letters over her shoulder tonight, she folded them up pretty quick."
"She just might have considered them private," Prance said with heavy sarcasm.
"Why? She'd already told us what was in them."
"Still, a billet doux is a private letter, and it was farouche of you to try to read it."
"And there's another thing," he
"But she didn't know Mrs. Webber had received a demand," Byron said.
Luten listened, then said, "If she's the Bee or in league with him, she didn't have to be told. She obviously knew Mrs. Webber would be paying up tonight."
Byron looked abashed, as did Prance. "You're right, of course," Byron said. "I hadn't thought of that."
"Next time we don't tell any of them a thing," Coffen said.
Luten had noticed Byron's quick defence of Lady Callwood. She was quite a beauty, married to an older man, and known to be a flirt. It was the talk of London that Byron couldn't resist a pretty woman. He almost boasted that his pockets were to let. Was it possible she and Byron were working together? If that were so, he doubted that France would benefit from it. More likely the two of them were planning to run off to the east together. Byron said quite openly he'd leave tomorrow if he weren't in hawk to his banker.
But if Byron was the B–he noticed the interesting letter of his title–would he have asked the Berkeley Brigade to help him? He must have known that to ask Prance would lead to the involvement of the whole group. Was he thumbing his nose at them by that bold stunt?
"I doubt there will be a next time, despite what you say, Luten," Prance said. "The Bee has gotten clean away with thirteen thousand pounds. Why risk his neck for more? It's our first failure."
"What do you mean, failure!" Coffen bellowed. "We ain't giving up yet. We've only started. What we've got to do is look over our clues."
"What clues would that be?" Prance asked with a withering stare. "The bump on Mrs. Webber's head?"
"Lord Horner's carriage for one," Coffen shot back.
"We don't know who bought it."
"We know who didn't, and that whoever did went to a load of trouble to hide the fact. That carriage has got to be some place. What we've got to do is get busy and find it, and find out who's using it."
"Which of the million or so persons in London do we begin with?" Prance asked.
"We don't begin with persons. We begin with mews and stables. He's got to keep it some place. And if that don't work, we still have Brighton, where it all started."
"Yes, several years ago," Prance reminded him. "One would have to be an archaeologist to dig up any clues there."
"Then call me a narkologist, for I'm going. There's the servants to quiz as well, and the ladies' man or men of business. If they all use the same one - well, that'd be quite a coincidence. Who would know better how much money they have?"
"I happen to know Lady Jergen's man of business is Mr. Appleby," Byron said. "He's Lady Melbourne's as well. They were discussing him the other evening."
"You wouldn't know if he's Webber's or Callwood's?" Coffen asked.
"No, but I expect I can find out from Lady Melbourne."
"Good lad. There's a start then. I'll nip down to Brighton tomorrow. Have a look at the registry at that George Inn where Mrs. Webber and her doctor–" He glanced uneasily at Corinne and said, "you know." Byron flickered a smile in Corinne's direction and was pleased to receive an answering smile.
"What will that tell you?" Prance asked.
"I'll see who else was there at the time. And if Mrs. Webber wasn't there, it'll tell me she was lying her head off. She shed a few too many tears to convince me she was really sorry."
Byron nodded. "A wise observation, Pattle. I was quite taken in at the time, but genuine grief is not usually so moist."
"Crocodile tears," Coffen said. "And furthermore when I tried to see them letters over her shoulder tonight, she folded them up pretty quick."
"She just might have considered them private," Prance said with heavy sarcasm.
"Why? She'd already told us what was in them."
"Still, a billet doux is a private letter, and it was farouche of you to try to read it."
"And there's another thing," he
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