At less than ten feet she missed, but you can do that if you're excited and don't know how to shoot.

However, even an excited, inexperienced shooter can get lucky. Time to leave.

I retreated in haste to the dining room. Riordan, no fool, was just ahead, scrambling toward the kitchen.

She fired again, screaming something abusive. We dashed toward the mudroom, jamming shoulders in the doorway, fighting to be the first out. Riordan slipped sideways and won, slamming through the back door into the rain with me at his heels.

He took off down the drive, presumably to reclaim his car. We should have tied and gagged him. He was too good an escape artist.

He looked back once, teeth white in the darkness. "Till the next round!" he yelled, then sprinted away.

Escort's Nash was still there, the keys and his Webley on the front seat. Mabel and Escort were indeed inside the trunk, to tell by the muffled shouts and thumping, but they could wait.

I got the car started, shifted gears, and shot out from under the porte cochère. Rain once more pounded the roof with brutal force, but the heavy fall and general darkness would obscure the vehicle from Agnes, hopefully throwing off her aim. I didn't stop to look.

When I judged the distance to be far enough, I cut the motor, vanished, and beelined my invisible way back to the house. Wind buffeted me, and the rain was a startling unpleasantness. I usually get that kind of quivering discomfort when sieving through solid walls. When it stopped, I made the reasonable assumption I was under shelter.

With great caution, I took on just enough solidity to get my bearings. Clive's flashy coupe was in front of me. I let myself float up into a dim corner to watch.

In the few moments since Riordan and I escaped, Agnes had been busy.

Wearing hat and gloves, she emerged from the back door, the leather case with the money in one hand, a travel suitcase in the other. She tossed them into the passenger side of Clive's coupe and hopped in herself. She was laughing, a free and easy sound of pure delight and triumph.

I half expected a fateful bolt of lightning to strike just then, but nothing happened. The storm seemed to be letting up.

Agnes revved the motor, shifted gears, and roared off into the rain.

Escott had past experience at being locked in car trunks, so he was more sanguine about it than our client. That, or maybe he'd enjoyed being stuffed into a small space with a healthy young woman on top of him. I'd kept a straight face when I'd let them out, though they were rather badly rumpled.

Mabel was livid and ready to strangle Riordan, but I explained he was long gone. I had a lot of explaining to do, but first had her give me the location of the fuse box so I could get the lights working.

She was none too pleased at the state of the dining room, appalled and aghast at the sight of Clive and Taylor literally asleep on their feet, and furious with me on general principles. She visibly fumed as I eased each man flat on the floor. They were breathing okay, hearts pumping steadily, so they didn't seem to be in any immediate danger.

"Some kind of curare?" Escott ventured, studying them with his own brand of cold-blooded curiosity. "If so, they might well be aware of everything we're saying."

I shrugged. "Just don't touch the sherry. It might be a good idea to empty all the open bottles into the drain. Agnes could have left a booby trap behind."

Mabel was ready to explode. "What happened?"

I sat down because I was damned tired. Before dawn, rain or no, I'd have to stop at the Stockyards and have a long drink.

With the promise of fresh beef blood in my near future, I told them everything that happened, including Riordan's badly timed interruption and the fight, leaving out the part about my injuries. I'd tell Escott later. He'd need to know just how violent his acquaintance had gotten.

"You let her go?" Mabel's throaty voice rose.

I held up a hand. "She didn't get away with anything."

"Only with Hecate's Eye and all that money. She'll never come back."

I took the pendant—the real one—from my pocket and held it out to her.

Mabel gaped, then reached for it, fingers shaking. "You switched them!"

"Said I would. It took long enough, what with Agnes fighting me every inch of the way."

"You mustn't touch it. My God, put it down before something horrible happens."

I put it into her hand and told her how I'd played pickpocket during the tussle. Agnes must have thought I was some kind of masher since I'd had to keep my hands moving. No wonder she'd shot at me.

"She still got away with the payment—Taylor will set the police on her."

"No, he won't. He brought a case full of funny money to buy the gem. It's as counterfeit as the pendant he got. Agnes had two fakes made. Maybe the jeweler cut her a deal for making two."

That took them both a moment to digest. I used the pause to take the little box from Taylor's coat pocket and spilled his fake pendant onto the table.

"But how did you know about the money?" Escott asked. "You couldn't have gotten a close look at it."

"It was the smell. Ever smell uncirculated cash straight from the bank? Nothing like that fresh ink, only this was just too fresh. It was strong enough that I picked up on it in the next room, but its importance didn't click until Riordan showed up wanting to talk with Clive. When he hired Riordan to follow Mabel, he paid with counterfeit bills."

"How did he get them?" she asked. "Oh—oh, it couldn't be."

"It could. He and Taylor are partners, working a long confidence game. Clive the gigolo marries an heiress with expectations. I wouldn't be surprised if he's left a number of wives in his wake."

"A bigamist?" Mabel stared at him as though he were an exotic zoo specimen.

"It's likely. Marriage is a tool of the trade. I bet this time the deal wasn't as sweet as he'd hoped. Agnes got the house, but it was worthless to him. A family heirloom like a rare diamond was much better. He probably put a few words in her ear about how unfair it was that you got it, unless it was her idea to start with. When the time was right, he called in Taylor to pose as a wealthy gem collector. The hard part for them was probably finding really good counterfeit cash. The printer should have let it dry longer."

More gaping from Mabel; then she began to hoot with laughter. There was no love lost between her and her cousin. That Agnes had married a confidence man and possible bigamist bothered Mabel not at all. Tears ran down her face, and she had to blow her nose.

When she got her breath, I continued. "Neither of them knew that Agnes had her own angle, which was to drug them, switch the gems, and drive off with both brass rings. Clive would wake in the morning with no wife and no cash. Maybe Taylor would crash his car in the rain or not, but…" I let it hang.

That sobered Mabel up. "I can't believe she'd have gone that far."

"She might have planned to delay him long enough for the mickey she slipped to put them out. Riordan interrupted when he tried to crack my skull open."

"You're sure you're not hurt?"

"It'll take more than a crazy Irishman with a stick to do that." I turned to Escott. "You're going to tell me more about him, right?"

He looked pained. "Not just now."

"I suppose I'll have to call the police," said Mabel about the supine mannequins on the parlor floor.

"Don't worry about it. I've a friend who will want to meet these jokers."

My friend was a gang boss of no small influence who owed me a favor or three. Northside Gordy would be very interested in hearing Taylor and Clive's life stories and why they were operating in his city without his permission, thus denying him his cut of their deal. If they were lucky, he might let them go with most of their body parts intact.


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