“He frowned. You refer to the blond wig?”

“Yes. A hairdresser would be well aware of just how memorable such a shade would be in the event that he was spotted in the course of his crime. If Mr. Pierce is the killer, it would also explain the unusual height of the maid. The hairdresser’s stature was not particularly remarkable for a man, indeed, he was slightly on the short side, but dressed in women’s attire, he would have appeared rather tall.”

Joan adjusted her glove. “It would also explain how three high-ranking ladies of the ton came to meet a professional murderer. A

“hairdresser, after all, is invited directly into the house. Indeed, he often practices his art in a lady’s dressing room or her bed chamber.”

Tobias narrowed his eyes. “If you are correct, it would imply that all three of these wealthy ladies discussed the most personal and confidential matters with their hairdresser.”

“Well, yes,” Lavinia said. “What of it?”

“Do you really expect me to believe that a lady would confide secrets to her hairdresser that she would not discuss with anyone other than her closest friends?”

Lavinia exchanged a glance with Joan.

“You had best tell the poor man the truth,” Joan murmured.

“What truth is that?” Tobias demanded.

“I know this will likely come as a shock to your nerves,” Lavinia said gently, Tbut I must tell you that ladies routinely confide secrets to their hairdressers that they would not think of telling anyone else. There is a certain intimacy about the process of having one’s hair dressed, you see. There you are, alone in your bed chamber with a man who is concerned only with combing and curling your hair. It is really quite pleasant.”

“Pleasant?

“Alone with a man who is only too happy to discuss matters of fashion and style,” Joan added. “A man who brings with him the latest gossip. A man who listens to every word you say. Yes, I think it is entirely possible that a woman might plot murder with just such a man.”

“Hell’s teeth,” Tobias muttered. What an unnerving thought.”

Lavinia met Joan’s eyes again in silent, mutual understanding.

How did one explain the intimacy between hairdresser and client to a man?

“Who in her right mind would trust a hairdresser to know how to carry out a murder without getting caught?” Tobias asked. What if he betrayed her and accused her of commissioning the crime?”

“I very much doubt that anyone in a position of authority would take a hairdresser’s word over that of a high-ranking member of the ton,” Lavinia said. “Also, as you have so frequently pointed out, who would believe that an elderly lady of the ton who has spent her entire life in the most exclusive drawing rooms would know how to go about finding and hiring a professional killer?”

“The clients probably did not realize that they were hiring the hairdresser,” Joan said, sounding thoughtful. “I suspect that they believed he was simply a sort of go-between. I’m sure it was all done with a wink and a nod. Mr. Pierce may have told them that he knew someone who knew someone who could arrange for this sort of thing to be done, as it were. I doubt very much that he billed himself as a murderer-for-hire.”

“What of his fees?” Tobias asked.

Joan moved one hand slightly. “Anonymous payments are easy enough to arrange.”

Lavinia looked at Tobias and knew that he was thinking the same thing she was. As the widow of a man who had run a vast criminal organization, Joan undoubtedly knew a great deal about how such matters were handled.

“Very well,” Tobias said eventually. “I cannot deny that there is a coincidence here, and you know how I feel about coincidences. So let us say for the sake of argument that Mr. Pierce is involved in this affair. I wonder how he persuaded Lady Oakes to take him to Beaumont Castle. Do you think she might have known what he was about that night?”

“Personally, I’m inclined to believe that Lady Oakes had nothing to do with the plot to kill Fullerton,” Joan said firmly. “She is very sweet-natured but she is not known for her sharp intellect, to put it kindly. I do not think it would have been at all difficult for Pierce to convince her that she needed her hairdresser with her the night of the costume ball.”

Silence welled up in the interior of the carriage.

“Tobias sat back in the seat and studied the front door of his house. Absently, he massaged his left thigh. As astonishing as it is, I cannot deny that the hairdresser is a link between the suspects and the death of at least one of the victims. Tomorrow I will see if I can discover some connections between him and the other two murders.”

Lavinia felt both relieved and vindicated. “I knew you would see reason eventually, sir. It was just a matter of time.”

“Your faith in my powers of logic is deeply gratifying,” he said grimly.

“What happens next?” Joan asked with great interest.

Tobias glanced at Lavinia. “Do you still have Pierce’s card? The one he gave you that night at the castle?”

“Yes. His lodgings are in Piper Street.”

“I am not entirely convinced that the hairdresser is the Memento

“Mori Man,” Tobias said. “But until we can sort through the chaos of this affair, I think it would be wise to keep an eye on him.”

The gaming room of the club was thick with the invisible miasma of frenzied excitement that radiated from the players. For the most part, the fierce passions that accompanied each roll of the dice or new wager at the card tables were concealed behind the requisite masks of ennui and jaded amusement. Good form demanded that each of the elegantly dressed gentlemen vie to outdo his companions in expressing a supreme lack of concern for the outcome of the play.

But nothing could conceal the smell of sweat and anxiety that mingled with the smoky haze, Anthony thought. It was a stench that permeated the entire room.

This was the hellish atmosphere of feverish desperation that his father had chosen to breathe. In the end it had lured Edward Sinclair to his death.

He stood in the doorway for a time, listening to the click of the dice and the clink of bottles and glasses on the card tables. It likely made no difference how much one drank while playing hazard. The result of a toss of the dice was in the hands of the fates, unless the management had secretly weighted the small cubes. But it made no sense at all to drink oneself into a stupor while attempting to employ some logic to a hand of whist, he thought. Yet drinking deeply was precisely what almost all of the players chose to do.

With the exception of Dominic Hood.

Dominic played whist in the same style as the others, with a bottle of claret at hand. But Anthony noticed that he did not sip from his half-filled glass. There was a small pile of papers on the table. Vouchers from those who had lost to him.

Anthony studied him closely, searching for the evidence of their shared blood. There were, indeed, some similarities between them, he concluded. Their father had left his stamp on the shape of their noses and the angle of their shoulders. And on the color of our eyes, he thought. Why had he not noticed until now that Dominic’s eyes were the same shade of golden brown as those he saw in his shaving mirror every morning?

The hand of whist came to an end at Dominic’s table. In spite of his caution with the claret, this time he was the one who was obliged to scrawl his promise to make good on his wager on a small slip of paper. Sobriety might increase one’s odds of winning at cards, Anthony thought, but it certainly did not guarantee the outcome of the game. No amount of astute and logical play could make up for a bad hand.

With an easy smile and a bored nod to his companions, Dominic left the table and turned to walk toward the door. When he saw Anthony, he hesitated ever so slightly. Then his jaw clenched. He continued forward.