The Vanishing Thief(69)

“Couldn’t it have been an accident?”

“You don’t get an explosion like that from a fireplace or an oil lamp. The house was out in the countryside where we lack modern conveniences like gas lighting.”

I shivered, both from the chilly air and from the knowledge that now we were dealing with a murder much like my parents’. “And the blood on your entry hall floor?”

“It’s from one of the three goons sent to drag me off. When they forced their way in and grabbed me, I stabbed one man in the gut. I know my way around the house in the dark, so I was able to run to the basement and hide. They searched the house but didn’t find me. In too big a hurry to get their friend to a doctor, I’d guess.”

“Who’s doing this?”

“I don’t know.” He looked genuinely baffled in a seductive way.

“I’ve been so worried,” Anne broke in. Her widow’s veil whipped to the side of her head in a gust of wind.

He focused his charm on her. “I know, love. I would have told you, but I was afraid I’d lead them to your door. I can’t let anything happen to you.”

I didn’t believe him. About his not knowing who was after him, about his being worried for Anne’s well-being, about his innocence. “You have a pretty long list of people who would be coming after you, Mr. Drake. Blackmail victims all, I’d guess. Who are they? And where are their letters?”

“Aristocrats all. Their letters are perfectly safe, and most of them have finished paying me.” He smirked. He’d stolen from these people and then threatened them with what he had taken, and he had the nerve to laugh about what he’d done.

I stepped close to him, glaring into his face as I thought of his victims’ fear of exposure. “I don’t believe you’d let the wealthy loose from your grip so easily.”

“It’s not a matter of letting them out from under my control; it’s a matter of circumstances changing so their letters no longer have value. Aristocrats have a talent for making new alliances to keep themselves above common gossip. That’s the reason they’ve stayed in power for a thousand years.”

I watched his face, searching for clues. He was bitter about something, but did it have anything to do with his attacker? “If the letters have no value, why don’t you return them?”

“Because I don’t know what will again become valuable.” He smiled, as if we spoke of shares of a company and not the private correspondence of ladies and gentlemen.

I was so disgusted I could taste ashes. “But you still have them? They weren’t destroyed in the fire?”

He laughed easily, a warm, seductive sound. Anne, in her now-inappropriate black crepe, leaned on him, their arms around each other. “No. I wouldn’t keep anything so valuable anywhere but in the safest of places.”

Blast. I had hoped. “Where do you plan to hide now?”

“At home. Whoever my attacker is, he’s made it clear I can’t hide from him.” His slight scowl said he wondered how he’d been followed.

I wanted to know the same thing. “How many people knew about your house out here?”

“Just Tom and Harry. I told the locals I worked somewhere up north and came down occasionally to look after things here.”

“So Harry was followed when he came down here that night.”

He winced at my words.

It didn’t make them any less true. “Did you see any strangers in the Red Lion that night? Anyone you recognized from London? Anyone who didn’t fit in?”

“No.” He looked out into the distance. “It was just me and Harry and some locals I recognize by sight. It wasn’t a busy night.”

“What time did Harry Conover arrive?”

“Late. Ten, more or less.”

Someone had to have followed Harry Conover from the station. Fogarty or Jacob would be good at finding out if another stranger was seen getting off the same District Railway train. Could it be as easy as that to find the murderer? “I suggest we head back into London before anyone else catches up with you.”

We walked back to the train station, where Fogarty was waiting for us. The Drakes walked out onto the platform while Fogarty pulled me aside. “So he’s turned into Lazarus. What next? Will the whole cemetery rise up?”

“There were no gas lines in the house. Harry Conover was murdered. And Drake is planning to go home where he’ll be an easy target. There are a couple of things we need to see to.” I gave him a big smile before rattling off some possibilities for the Archivist Society to consider.


*


WHEN I RETURNED to the bookshop, Emma waved a note at me before turning her attention back to a middle-aged woman searching through the novels. I hung up my cloak and hat and went out to face a man who looked like a bulldog browsing through our astronomy books.