No wonder she had been having so much trouble trying to decide how to dress Edmund Drake. She had been at-tempting to put him into the sort of boldly striped pants and brightly patterned shirts that she had observed on any number of fashionable gentlemen lately. Such glaringly bright attire was entirely wrong for Edmund. He needed to project menace and an aura of resolute determination. Polka dots, stripes and plaids did not suit him at all.

She wrote Dark gray jacket and trousers without glancing down at the paper.

Grove sat in the wingback chair in front of the hearth. "I see I have interrupted your morning correspondence. Again, my apologies."

"Think nothing of it, sir." She gave him her most reassuring smile. "I am merely making a few notes to remind myself of some small details that must be attended to later"

"I see"

Grove's hair was just right for Edmund Drake, too, she thought. It was of a hue that was very nearly black with the merest smattering of silver at the temples. It was cut short and brushed close to his head. He had not succumbed to the current rage for mustaches and short beards, but she could see the hint of a dark shadow on the hard planes and angles of his face. She realized that he had not shaved that morning. How odd.

Edmund Drake's clothing and hairstyle were not the only things that would have to be changed in order to make the character more ominous. She saw at once that she had erred when she had decided to portray him as handsome. It was quite clear to her now that his features should have the same chillingly ascetic lines that marked Adam Grove's face. Indeed, Drake must become a man who had been shaped by the hot, refining fires of a harsh and murky past.

She jotted down the words Fierce features.

From where he sat Adam Grove could not possibly see across the ornately carved back of the rococo-style desktop to discern what she had written but she sensed that he was observing her. She paused and looked up with a bright smile.

And immediately froze when she saw that impatience and cold intelligence had made dark green mirrors of his eyes.

Very carefully and again without looking down she scrawled the words Eyes like emeralds. Glow in dark?

"More notes to yourself, Mrs. Fordyce?" The slight twist of his mouth lacked all traces of politesse.

"Yes. My apologies." Hastily she put down the pen.

Now that he was sitting in stronger light, she could see the lines of a grim weariness that bracketed his mouth and etched the corners of his eyes. The day was still quite young. What could account for that subtle air of exhaustion?

"Would you care for a cup of tea?" she asked gently.

He looked somewhat surprised by the offer. "No, thank you. I do not intend to stay long"

"I see. Perhaps you should tell me precisely why you are here, sir."

"Very well." He paused, ensuring that he had her full attention. "I believe you were acquainted with a woman named Elizabeth Delmont?"

For an instant her mind went blank. Then the name registered.

"The medium in Hamsey Street?" she asked.

"Yes."

She sat back in her chair. Of all the subjects he might have raised, this was the last one she would have expected. Although it seemed that the entire country was caught up in a tremendous fascination with séances, mediums and the study of psychical powers, she simply could not imagine a gentleman of Adam Grove's temperament taking a serious interest in such matters.

"I have met her, yes," she said slowly. "As it happens, I attended a séance at Mrs. Delmonts house last night together with my aunts" She hesitated. "Why do you ask?"

"Elizabeth Delmont is dead."

Stunned, she merely stared at him for a few seconds. "I beg your pardon?"

"Murdered sometime after the séance ended last night," he added, much too calmly.

"Murdered." She swallowed hard. "Are you quite certain?"

"I found the body myself shortly after two this morning"

"You found the body?" It took her an instant to recover from that unnerving announcement. "I don't understand"

"Someone used a poker to crush her skull"

Ice formed in her stomach. It occurred to her that the decision to entertain a mysterious gentleman who claimed to have discovered a murdered woman might not prove to be one of her sounder notions. She glanced at the bellpull that hung beside the desk. Perhaps she should summon Mrs. Plummer.

But even as she started to reach surreptitiously for the rope to alert the housekeeper, she found herself succumbing to her greatest vice, curiosity.

"May I ask why you went to Mrs. Delmont's house at such a late hour?" she said.

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized that she had blundered badly. Heat rose in her cheeks. There was only one reason why a wealthy, obviously virile man such as Adam Grove might have called upon Elizabeth Delmont at two in the morning.

Mrs. Delmont had been a very beautiful woman possessed of an alluring figure and a sensual manner that had certainly captivated Mr. McDaniel, the elderly widower who had been one of the sitters at last night's séance. The medium had no doubt had a similar effect on a number of gentlemen.

"No, Mrs. Fordyce, Elizabeth Delmont was not my mistress," Adam said, as though he had read her mind. "In point of fact, I had never encountered her until last night. When I did find her it was much too late for an introduction."

"I see." She fought back the hot blush and tried to project a worldly air. She was supposed to be a widow, after all; a lady possessed of some experience of the world. `"Forgive me, Mr. Grove. This entire conversation has taken an extremely odd turn. I had no idea that Mrs. Delmont had died."

"Murdered was the word I used." Adam studied her thoughtfully. "You said this conversation was not proceeding along the lines that you had anticipated. Tell, me, why did you believe that I had come here today?"

"To be quite truthful, I assumed that you had mistaken the address," she admitted.

"If that was the case, why did you not instruct your housekeeper to verify that I had the correct number?" he asked with a depressing sort of logic.

"I confess, I was curious to know the nature of your news." She spread her hands wide. "We rarely receive callers who come upon business of grave importance here, you see. In fact, I cannot recall any such visitors in the whole of the three years we have lived here."

"We^?"

"My two aunts live with me. They are out at the moment, taking their morning exercise. Aunt Emma and Aunt Milly are great believers in the importance of brisk daily walks"

He frowned. "I did not see their names on the list of sitters. You say they accompanied you to the séance last night?"

She did not like the way this was going. It was beginning to feel as though he was interrogating her.

"Yes," she said, treading carefully now. "They did not want me to go out alone at night. Mrs. Delmont had no objection to their presence."

"Why did you attend the séance? Did you really believe that Elizabeth Delmont could communicate with spirits?" He did not bother to conceal his scathing opinion of such a notion.

His sarcasm annoyed her. She felt obliged to defend her actions.

"I would remind you, sir," she said very crisply, "that a great many eminent, educated, well-respected individuals take spiritualism and other psychical matters seriously."

"Fools, the lot of them."

"A number of societies and clubs have been formed to conduct research into psychical events and to investigate the claims of mediums. Several learned journals in the field are published regularly." She reached across her desk and snatched up the copy of New Dawn that had arrived yesterday. "This one, for instance. It is published by the Society for Psychical Investigations, and I assure you the articles are well documented."