“And having had the craving awakened, you are now consumed by a dark dread of the possibility that you may not be able to fully assuage your thirst.”

Vale slanted him a wryly amused look. “I see that you, too, have acquired a taste for a certain tonic.”

“I suppose there is one positive aspect to our predicament, Vale.”

“Indeed? What is that?”

“We may tell ourselves that men in our situations who do manage to convince our ladies to marry us at least have the satisfaction of knowing that they come to us in love and trust.”

“Rather than because of financial or social considerations?” Vale’s smile lacked all trace of real humor. What the devil will we do if they turn us down?”

“I suspect it is that pressing concern that prevents us from asking for their hands in the first place.”

“Yes.” Vale exhaled deeply. “Well, there is no purpose to be served by further discussion of that subject. It will only depress us both.

“Tell me, did you mean what you said a few minutes ago in Mrs. Lake’s parlor? Do you truly believe that you are missing some important clue in this murder case?”

“I’m sure of it.” Tobias watched one of the kites pitch steeply and fall, spinning wildly out of control toward the ground. “My partner is not the only one who possesses a degree of intuition. I have learned to my cost not to ignore my own instincts in these matters.”

“Crackenburne lowered his newspaper with more alacrity than usual and peered at Tobias. There you are. Where the devil have you been?”

“Detecting clues.” Tobias lowered himself into the vacant chair in front of the club’s hearth. “That’s how I earn my living, if you will recall. Not all of us are so fortunate as to be able to spend our entire lives in our clubs as you do, sir.”

“Crackenburne snapped the paper closed and tossed it onto the small table beside his chair. You’re in a bloody bad temper this evening. I assume this means the detecting business is not going well.”

“On the contrary, I’ve got more clues than I can handle, and none of them is giving me any useful answer.” Tobias rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and stretched out his left leg. “Tell me, sir, has it ever occurred to you that a mature lady might commission a murder to ensure that her granddaughter marries well?”

Crackenburne blinked a couple of times. Then he scowled. “Hadn’t actually considered the question, but there’s no getting around the fact that marriage is damned important business in the ton. Where there are fortunes and titles involved, who is to say what a strongminded person with no scruples might do? I’ve known parents to conspire to compromise their own daughters with young gentlemen to force an offer. Every Season some ladies and gentlemen as good as sell their offspring into a miserable alliance in order to secure an inheritance. Why not commit a murder if it would achieve one’s ends?”

“Indeed. Well, it appears that our new Memento-Mori Man may have noted that unique demand in the marketplace and seized the opportunity. Mrs. Lake and Mrs. Dove are convinced that Lady

“Huxford, the Dowager Lady Ferring, and a certain Mrs. Stockard may have been among his clients.”

He explained Lavinia’s theory.

“How very odd.” Crackenburne frowned. “But now that I consider the deaths from that perspective, I must admit such a conclusion is not beyond probability. I remember some of those scenes Lady Ferring and Lady Rowland conducted. Quite entertaining. And those old rumors about Lady Huxford and Fullerton. Well, we did wonder at the time. I am not well-acquainted with Mrs. Stockard, but it is not difficult to see why an intelligent person would object to an alliance with Newbold.”

“Mrs. Lake and Mrs. Dove are going to attempt to discreetly question Lady Huxford and Lady Ferring tomorrow night at Vauxhall.

“Meanwhile, I will continue to flounder about in my own rather ineffectual fashion in hopes of finding some clue to the identity of the person who sent a villain to try to frighten my partner.”

“Have you any notions in that direction?”

“A few. To hire someone like Sweet Ned, one must make inquiries in the underworld. In my experience, that sphere is a mirror image of Society, governed by the same immutable laws of nature.”

“In other words, the rivers of gossip flow just as freely.”

“Precisely.”

“It certainly did not take long for the rumors concerning the employment of Sweet Ned to reach your friend Jack at the Gryphon.”

“Jack is continuing to fish in that pond on my behalf. With any luck, he will pull up something useful.”

“Has he turned up anything regarding Elland?”

“Not yet.”

Crackenburne’s brows knit above the rims of his spectacles. “Do you know, your observations concerning Elland’s deliberate avoidance of the stews and the poorer neighborhoods struck me as quite interesting. I have been giving them a great deal of consideration.

“You are correct. He fancied himself as an elegant sort of murderer, did he not? He took professional pride in the fact that he moved in Society, not in that mirror-image world you describe.”

“I recall that on several occasions when I asked him to assist me in gathering intelligence at some dockside tavern or brothel, he always refused. He claimed that he had no knowledge of those environments and that he would be unable to be effective in them. But looking back, I believe that he had more than just a disdain of those whom he considered his social inferiors. I think there was an element of fear in his attitude.”

Crackenburne looked thoughtful. “He certainly would not have been the first to employ outward scorn to mask such an emotion.”

“I am hoping that in Elland’s case he had good reason to be wary of the stews.”

Crackenburne frowned. “What is that?”

“If he came from that world, it would make sense that he would not have wanted to take the risk of going back into it.”

“For fear of being recognized, do you think?”

“Or triggering someone’s memory. Who knows? But whatever the answer in Elland’s case, evidently our new Memento-Mori Man does not share the same inhibitions. He was willing to go into a notoriously bad neighborhood to find Sweet Ned.”

“Perhaps he was simply desperate.”

“Regardless, I can hope that in seeking assistance in that quarter, he will have left some traces.”

“I wish you the best of luck in your hunt.” Crackenburne cleared his throat. “By the way, I have a bit of news for you on another subject.”

Tobias stilled. “Dominic Hood?”

Crackenburne leaned back in his chair. “I do not know if you will find it helpful, but it may provide you with a place to start looking.”

Tobias slipped the lock pick back into its leather sheath and studied the heavily shadowed laboratory. He recognized some of the apparatus and equipment. Rows of glass beakers glinted on a nearby shelf. A large electrical machine loomed in the corner. He saw a handsome telescope on a bench. Next to it was a microscope.

There were several other items that he could not identify, but all looked expensive and all spoke of a passion for science. He had already searched the bed chamber and the small parlor. The laboratory had been locked, so he had saved it for last. Now, standing amid the treasures Dominic Hood clearly valued most, he knew that if the young man had secrets to conceal, they would be hidden here.

It was just after nine o’clock. He had watched Dominic leave his lodgings a short while earlier. The young man had been dressed for an evening at his club or the gaming tables. He would not be back for several hours. His manservant had left shortly afterward, looking as though he were headed for a nearby coffeehouse.

Tobias went about the search swiftly but methodically. He was aided by the orderly precision of the laboratory. He found what he was looking for in a small, locked drawer in the desk near the window.