Nearing fifty, Vale was tall and elegantly slender, with the long fingers of an artist. His receding hairline set off a strong profile and a high forehead that would not have looked amiss on one of the Roman busts in his collection.

Tobias was not yet certain what to make of Vale’s newfound interest in the investigation business. His lordship was a scholar and an expert on Roman artifacts. He spent a great deal of time excavating various ancient sites around England. But he was also something of a mystery. The fact that he was intrigued with the notion of consulting for the firm of Lake amp; March made Tobias a little uneasy.

On the other hand, there was no doubt that Vale’s rank and wealth, combined with his very close and presumably intimate connection to Lavinia’s new friend Mrs. Dove, had proved useful on the last case. There was every possibility that he could be helpful on this new investigation as well.

Tobias reminded himself that he needed all the assistance he could get.

He steepled his fingers and examined the carved marble of the mantel in the vain hope that it might offer up a clue. “I am quite certain that Fullerton’s fall from the roof was no accident. Mrs. Lake found the cap that the killer wore to conceal his features. But the memento-mori ring I discovered on the night table was all the proof I really needed.”

“Now you wish to know who might have benefited from Fullerton’s death,” Crackenburne said with a meditative air.

“It appears that this new killer seeks to emulate his predecessor,”

Tobias said. “One of the few things of which we can be certain about Zachary Elland is that he considered himself a professional. He not only took pride in the strategy he devised to carry out his kills, he always sought to turn a profit. He was a man of business, right down to his journal of accounts.”

“Therefore,” Vale concluded, looking more intrigued than ever, “it is very likely that this new murderer had a client who paid him for Fullerton’s death.”

“Indeed. If I can identify his client, I may be able to discover who was hired to commit the murder.” At the moment that was all that concerned him. He had a client of his own, and he was determined to protect Aspasia.

“A logical approach.” Crackenburne turned pensive. There is one possibility, but I’m inclined to dismiss it out of hand.”

Tobias waited.

“Fullerton was married years ago,” Crackenburne continued. “But there was no offspring. After his wife died, he seemed content with his mistresses and his horses. It was assumed that his fortune and title would eventually go to his nephew. But at the end of the Season this year, he astonished everyone in the ton by announcing his engagement to the Panfield chit.”

Vale made a small sound of disgust. “Fullerton was sixty if he was a day. The Panfield girl is barely out of the schoolroom. No more than seventeen, I’ll wager.”

“I am told that she is very pretty and quite charming in that naive, innocent sort of way that some men who should know better find alluring,” Crackenburne said. “For his part, Fullerton had a fortune and a title to offer. All in all, an excellent match from the point of view of any self-respecting parent who desires to elevate the family’s social status.”

Tobias pondered that news. “Obviously the Panfields had every reason to want Fullerton to live at least until his wedding night. So I am left with the nephew as a possible suspect. That suits me. It has been my experience that money is always an excellent motive.”

“It may not be in this instance,” Crackenburne warned. “The nephew is already quite well off in his own right. Furthermore, he is engaged to marry the Dorlingate heiress.”

“She’ll bring a fortune to the marriage,” Vale observed. “You’re right, sir, it would appear that the nephew has no great pressing financial concerns.”

Tobias scowled. “What of the title?”

“The nephew is already in line for an earldom from his father,”

Crackenburne said drily.

“Huh.” Fullerton had been a mere baron, Tobias thought. Not a title worth killing for when one was set to become an earl.

“In addition,” Crackenburne said, I have heard that the nephew is a generous, easy going sort who is devoted to his estates. He does not appear to be the type who would hire a killer to get rid of his uncle.”

“Is there anyone else who might have had a reason to get rid of Fullerton?” Tobias pressed. “A disgruntled financial partner?

“Someone with a personal grudge?”

“Not that I know of,” Crackenburne said.

Vale shook his head. “No one comes to mind.”

“Doesn’t mean we’re not overlooking someone.” Tobias glanced at Crackenburne. “Would you mind very much digging a little deeper in that direction?”

“Not at all.”

“Can either of you think of any other recent deaths that seem somewhat suspicious or quite unexpected?” Tobias asked.

Crackenburne and Vale meditated on that for a while.

Eventually Crackenburne shifted a little in his chair. “The only other recent death in Society that struck me as unexpected was that of Lady Rowland last month,” he said. “Died in her sleep. The family has put out the word that her heart failed her. But the gossip is that when her maid found her, she also discovered a half-empty bottle of the tonic Lady Rowland used for sleep.”

“A suicide?” Vale asked.

“That is the rumor,” Crackenburne said. “But I knew Lady Rowland for years. In my opinion, she was not the type to take her own life.”

“She was very wealthy,” Vale pointed out. “What is more, she used her money to control everyone else in the family. In my experience, people generally resent that sort of high-handed manipulation.”

“Just what I needed,” Tobias muttered. “An entire family of suspects.”

“Better than no suspects at all,” Vale said.

Lavinia walked through the little park and came to a halt beneath the leafy canopy of a tree. She was dismayed to see the gleaming carriage drawn up in front of Number 14 Hazelton Square. Joan Dove was apparently entertaining visitors this afternoon.

She should have sent word to her friend announcing her intention to call upon her today. But the warm sunshine had beckoned and it had seemed the perfect opportunity for a pleasant stroll to the elegant street of fine town houses where Joan lived. The odds had been very much against encountering another visitor at Number 14.

Although Joan had emerged from her widowhood and was getting out more these days, she was a private woman who did not maintain a large circle of close friends and acquaintances.

Well, there was no help for it, Lavinia thought. The only thing she could do was leave her card with the bull of a butler who guarded the front door and come back some other time.

She opened her reticule and groped inside with one gloved hand, searching for her little packet of cards.

At that moment the door of Number 14 opened. Lavinia glanced up and saw Joan’s daughter, Maryanne, emerge and start down the steps. The young woman was as lovely and elegant as her mother.

Her wedding to the Colchester heir at the end of the Season had been a lavish affair. The alliance was an excellent one, both socially and financially. But Joan had confided to Lavinia that she was particularly pleased because Maryanne and young Lord Colchester were very much in love.

Maryanne appeared to be in a hurry today. She walked swiftly toward the waiting carriage. Lavinia caught a glimpse of her tense,

unhappy features when a liveried footman leaped to open the door for her. She was no sooner settled inside the vehicle than the order was given to set off.

The carriage rolled past Lavinia. Through the uncovered window she saw Maryanne dab at her eyes with her handkerchief. The young woman was crying.

A little chill of disquiet went through Lavinia. Whatever had passed between Maryanne and Joan, it had not been pleasant.