“What of the bracelet?” March said.

“Bracelet?” Fitch raised his head, bewildered now. “What bracelet are you talking about?”

“The ancient gold bracelet that Banks kept in his locked safe,” March said. “The one set with an unusual cameo.”

“That old thing?” Fitch grunted in disgust. “Why the devil would I take it? One would have to deal with someone in the antiquities market in order to make a profit on a relic like that. I’d learned enough working for Banks all those years to know that I did not want to get involved with that lot. They’re a strange breed, they are.”

March exchanged an unreadable look with his companion and then turned back to Fitch. “What did you do with the snuffbox?”

Fitch shrugged morosely. “Sold it to a fence in Field Lane. I suppose he might be persuaded to tell you who bought it, but-”

March reached out and gripped the lapels of Fitch’s coat. “Do you know what happened to the Medusa bracelet?”

“No.” A glimmer of hope rose in Fitch. The hunter did not appear the least concerned with the snuffbox. All he cared about was the antiquity. “The bloody thing’s gone missing, then, has it?”

“Yes.” March did not release him. “I and my friend here are looking for it.”

Fitch cleared his throat. “Can I assume that if I tell you what little I know about the matter, you’ll have no further interest in me?”

“That would be a reasonable assumption on your part, yes.”

“I don’t know where it is, but I’ll tell you this much. I very much doubt that anyone in the household stole it, for the same reasons that I did not bother with it.”

“Too difficult to sell?”

“Precisely. None of the staff would have any notion of how to make a profit on such a relic.”

“Do you have any idea of who might have taken it?”

“No-”

March gave him a slight shake.

“But I’ll tell you this much,” Fitch said quickly. “The day the Creature moved into the mansion, she took charge of all the keys, including the one to his lordship’s safe. Unless an intruder broke into the house, made his way unseen upstairs to Banks’s bedchamber, found the dressing room, located the hidden safe, picked the lock, and then managed to sneak out undetected, all of which seems a bit unlikely, I’d say there’s only one person in the whole world who might have helped herself to the artifact.”

“Mrs. Rushton? Why would she steal a valuable that she was due to inherit shortly? Indeed, one that she could have taken at any time, unquestioned, had she wished to do so?”

“I have no clue, Mr. March. But I’ll give you some advice. Don’t underestimate the Creature or be so foolish as to presume that her actions conform to your logic.”

The hunter held him in his clutches for a moment longer, as if thinking over the matter of what to do with his captive. Fitch realized he was holding his breath.

Then quite suddenly March released him. Fitch lost his balance, stumbled back, and came up hard against the railing.

March inclined his head with mocking formality. “My companion and I are obliged to you for your assistance, sir.”

He turned and walked away into the fog without a backward glance. The young leopard gave Fitch an icy smile and then fell into step beside his mentor.

Fitch held himself very still until the pair disappeared into the swirling mist. When he was certain that he was once again alone in the street, he risked a deep breath.

He had escaped the hunter’s teeth by the merest shred of good fortune. He did not envy March’s real quarry.

She would not give in to the madness that nibbled at the edge of her sanity. She fought it with all of her will, calling on every scrap of mesmeric training that her parents had bequeathed to her in order to do battle with the darkness that threatened to overwhelm her senses.

She wondered if this was the true meaning of female hysteria.

Time passed. She had no way to measure it. Perhaps it was just as well. Counting the seconds, the minutes, and the hours would only make it so much worse.

She sat on the cold stone floor of the coffinlike chamber, clutching the silver pendant in both hands and focusing her concentration. With painstaking effort she built a fragile fortress of calm in the deepest reaches of her mind, a place of peace and tranquillity. When it was prepared, she stepped inside, pulling her besieged nerves in with her.

And then she shut the metaphysical door against the weight of the crushing, breath-stealing night that surrounded her.

She clung to the single certainty that was the foundation upon which she had constructed her inner refuge. That one sure fact was the knowledge that sooner or later Tobias would come to free her.

“Bloody hell, where did she go?” Tobias strode down the hallway to Lavinia’s cozy study, threw open the door, and swept the room with a raking glance. “She has no business disappearing like this.”

Anthony came to a halt beside him. “Perhaps she is merely late returning from some shopping.”

Tobias looked at Mrs. Chilton, who hovered in the hallway. “Did Mrs. Lake go shopping this afternoon?”

“I don’t know, sir.” Mrs. Chilton sighed. “All I can tell ye is that when I got back from the fishmonger’s, she was gone.”

Tobias went to the desk and surveyed the cluttered surface. “From now on there are going to be some new rules around here. When we are in the middle of a case, Mrs. Lake will not go anywhere without first informing someone of her destination and the precise time she expects to return home.”

“Oh, dear.” Mrs. Chilton watched unhappily as Tobias methodically sifted through the items and papers scattered atop the desk. “I really don’t think Mrs. Lake will take well to the notion of more rules, if you’ll pardon me saying so, sir. She’s already a trifle put out by all the instructions and orders that seem to be floating about these days.”

“A trifle put out is nothing compared to my own mood at the moment.” Tobias glanced at the notes on one of the sheets of foolscap. “What’s this? Complete discretion is assured for those clients concerned with matters of privacy and secrecy.”

“I believe Mrs. Lake is still working on the wording of the notice she intends to put into the newspapers,” Mrs. Chilton said.

“She plans to advertise her services in the newspapers?” Anthony’s expression lit with interest. “I say, that is an excellent notion. Should have thought of it ourselves, Tobias. A very modern approach to the business, eh?”

“I told her to abandon the entire idea. She is too stubborn to listen to sound advice.” With a flick of his hand, Tobias sent the sheet of paper sailing into the small wooden trash bin behind the desk. “I warned her of the sort of clients she would attract with that method. She would do better to-” He broke off at the sight of a wadded-up bit of paper in the basket. “Hmm.”

He reached down, scooped up the crumpled note, and smoothed it out carefully on top of the desk.

“What is it?” Anthony asked, moving toward the* desk.

“What we in the profession like to call a clue,” Tobias muttered.

Mrs. Chilton was suitably impressed. “Ye know where Mrs. Lake went this afternoon?”

“I suspect that she went out in response to this note from Edmund Tredlow. Obviously she lacked the common courtesy to leave a message telling anyone where she was going.” He crumpled the note in his hand. She was all right. Nothing was wrong. Just his damned nerves playing up. “Of all the thoughtless, graceless, careless things to do. I shall have a word with her about such behavior.”

Mrs. Chilton gave him an uneasy look. “Sir, I feel I ought to point out that Mrs. Lake has been in the habit of coming and going as she pleases for some time now. Indeed, she is the mistress around here and she makes her own rules for this household. I don’t recommend that ye continue to issue commands and orders about all manner of things the way ye’ve been doing of late.”