The Wrong Girl(56)

"I'm more interested in what they said to August about the one-armed man. And what he said to them. Come on, let's find out."

We went straight to Langley's room where we found him reading in bed. Neither Bollard nor the wheelchair were in sight. The room was much smaller than the previous one in the burnt out eastern wing, and there was little space for anything other than the bed, a writing desk, a wardrobe and a few chairs. Langley had filled up much of the remaining floor space since our last visit. Singed papers piled up near the desk, and broken or burned pieces of equipment filled boxes and crates. Microscopes, tools and jars that had escaped the fire covered the relatively small surface of his desk.

"I suppose you wish to resume your questioning," Langley said without looking up from his book.

"You suppose correctly," Jack said. "We saw the police leave. What did the inspector have to say? Have they arrested the one-armed man?"

Langley closed the book and set it down on the bedside table. "They couldn't arrest him."

Jack went very still. "Why not?"

"He claimed not to know anyone named Patrick in London. He said the thief must have lied to you to protect himself. He said he has no interest in my papers."

"And they believed him?"

"You have no idea how convincing he can be."

"Do you believe him?" I asked.

"No. But look at it from the inspector's perspective. He cannot arrest a gentleman based on the word of a criminal. Not without other evidence."

"What a farce," Jack muttered.

"What are we to do?" I asked. "He cannot be allowed to get away with it."

Jack nodded. "Patrick's life is in danger, and by extension the lives of the charges he cares for."

"Charges?"

"He takes care of orphans using money I send him."

"My money," Langley said.

Were the children linked to Jack's past? I suspected they were, but I wanted him to tell me of his own accord, not because I peppered him with questions, but because he wanted to.

"Let me confront the one-armed man," Jack said.

"No," Langley said. "What good will that do?"

"If I can get him to admit it, I'll be another witness."

"And when it's discovered that you know Patrick? No jury would convict him."

"What if he admits it in front of witnesses?" Jack said. "Or the police?"

Langley picked up his book and flipped it open to a page near the middle. I could have sworn when he first set it down he was at the beginning. "You're not going," he said.

Jack stepped up to the bed, but there was nothing threatening about his stance. He did ooze a kind of self-assuredness and power, however. "I'm twenty-two, August. I have able legs and a voice. Let me use them."

Langley stared down at the book in his lap. The knuckles holding it were white, the thumbs digging into the pages.

"I can find out who this man is without you telling me," Jack went on. "There can't be too many gentlemen matching the description Patrick gave. So why not just make it easier and tell me."

Langley closed his eyes.

"With or without your help, August. You have a choice."

Langley's eyes opened. I was surprised to see worry in their depths. "It doesn't sound like it." When Jack didn't answer, he added, "I could hire someone privately. I've done it before."

"To do what?"

"To find people."

Did he mean me? Jack?

"I see." Jack stood again. "I had no idea. I thought Bollard was your only lackey."

"I can't always spare Bollard. I am a businessman, Jack, and businessmen hire people from time to time."

"And here I thought you were a mad scientist," I said.

Langley's lips stretched into a strained smile. "Very amusing."

"I am involved whether you like it or not," Jack said. "If you wanted to hire someone to confront this man, then I suspect you would have done it instead of sending those incompetent policemen."

"I'd hoped to solve this in a legal manner."

"We still can. I want to confront him."

"He's dangerous."

Jack seemed to notice what he'd said at the same time I did. Or rather, what he didn't say. He didn't say 'no.'

"Give me a name, August. Trust me for once."

"I do trust you."

"Then prove it."

Someone cleared his throat behind us, and we all turned. Bollard stood in the open doorway, his unreadable gaze on his master. The small sound was so peculiar coming from the usually silent servant that I gasped.

"Very well, Jack," Langley said. "I'll tell you everything you need to know about Reuben Tate. You'd better sit down. Both of you."