Adam wrapped strong fingers around her arm. "If you will excuse us, Inspector, I will escort Mrs. Fordyce home. If you have more questions for me, you know my address."

Jackson pocketed his notebook. "Thank you, sir."

Adam steered Caroline through the front door and down the steps. A familiar face lunged out of the crowd and hurried toward them. He had a copy of a newspaper tucked under one arm.

"Mrs. Fordyce. Mr. Grove."

Caroline looked at him in surprise. "Mr. Smith. What are you doing here?"

"Actually, the name is Otford. Gilbert Otford." He whipped the newspaper out from under his arm and held it aloft like a banner. "When we met at Toller's séance last night, I was not free to inform you that I am a correspondent for the Flying Intelligencer."

"I recognize your name," Caroline said, suddenly incensed anew. "You did that dreadful piece on me, didn't you? The one about my supposed demonstration of psychical powers at a certain tea."

"Yes. It was all very interesting, but I fear that it is old news." Gilbert's cunning eyes shifted back and forth between Caroline and Adam. "I have been informed that Mrs. Toller was murdered sometime during the night. Is it true?"

"How did you come to learn of the murder of Mrs. Toller?" Adam asked before Caroline could respond.

A secretive expression pinched Otford's features. He put a bony finger alongside his sharp nose. "Let us just say that information reached me a short time ago. We correspondents depend on informants, you know. I'm pleased to say that mine are among the swiftest and the most accurate."

"Given your decidedly misleading piece on me, perhaps you should review the accuracy of your informants," Caroline snapped.

Adam contemplated him as though deciding whether to set a rat trap or simply fetch a broom and sweep Otford into the gutter. "Why were you at the séance last night?"

Otford lowered his voice and looked around quickly, making certain that no one could overhear him. "Between you and me, sir, I am conducting an investigation of mediums with the intention of exposing their deceptive practices. Public's right to know and all that sort of thing. That is why I did not reveal my identity last night. I was incognito, as it were."

"What a coincidence." Adam produced a card. Rather than handing it to Otford, he contrived to drop it into the correspondent's palm in a not-so-subtle manner that made it clear he disdained any physical contact. "I neglected to tell you my true identity also. Adam Hardesty. I am not Mrs. Fordyce's personal assistant. I am her friend."

Caroline watched Otford stare at the card, eyes widening. She could tell that the Hardesty name registered immediately. When it all finally came together, Otford's eyes glittered with barely restrained excitement.

"I say, sir, this is all extremely unusual." Otford took out a small pad of paper and a pencil. "False identities and what-not. Very curious. Would you care to explain what the two of you were doing at the scene of a murder this morning?"

Caroline could almost see Otford writing his next crime sensation story in his head. Disaster loomed.

Adam casually reached out and jerked the notepad from the correspondent's fingers. "Confidentially, Otford, Mrs. Fordyce and I were aiding the police in their inquiries. If her name appears in any piece written about this murder, I assure you that you will hear from me very soon thereafter. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Otford?"

Otford's mouth opened and closed twice. He took a step back. "I say, sir, you cannot threaten a gentleman of the press."

"I do not see any of that breed in the vicinity," Adam said. "I only see you. For the sake of your continuing good health, I strongly recommend that you keep in mind the fact that I never make threats, Mr. Otford. I only make promises. Good day."

Adam drew Caroline down the street to a waiting hackney cab.

Caroline did not speak during the entire trip back to Corley Lane. She could scarcely order her thoughts, let alone voice them aloud. Adam lounged beside her, one foot braced on the opposite cushion, his attention on the scene outside the window. He made no attempt to shatter the brittle silence inside the cab. She had no clue at all to what he was thinking.

When they arrived at Number 22, she was deeply relieved to discover that Emma and Milly had not yet re-turned from their morning exercise. She stormed into her study and flung herself down into the chair behind her desk.

"That," she announced, "was a very near thing. I am still shivering in my shoes."

Adam strolled into the room behind her and stopped in the center of the carpet. He put his hands in his pockets and contemplated her thoughtfully.

"It was somewhat dicey there for a moment or two," he agreed.

"This is no time for bad jests, sir." She frowned. "You do realize that your threats will very likely not keep Otford from writing a piece on the murder and our connection to it for the Flying Intelligencer?"

"I admit I am not hopeful on that point"

"I assure you, an item that involves another murdered medium, a powerful gentleman and a sensation novelist will prove utterly irresistible to Otford and Mr. Spraggett" She raised a finger in warning. "Mark my words, the story, in one version or another, will appear in print sooner or later."

"I suspect you are right." He looked around expectantly. "Have you got any brandy, by chance?"

She closed her eyes. "We seem to be dealing with an ever-widening scandal. How can you be so calm about this situation?"

"Do not mistake my mood. I'm not entirely unconcerned. I do recognize that we have a few problems on our hands."

She opened her eyes. "I'm pleased to hear that" "About the brandy? I know it is rather early in the day, but I could use a restorative. It has been a trying morning." "There is some sherry in that cupboard," she said grudgingly.

"Thank you." He opened the cabinet and removed the decanter of sherry. "Not quite the strong tonic I would have preferred but it will have to do" He selected a glass. "I am sorry if you are distressed at the notion of having your name linked with mine in the press, Caroline. But I would remind you that you were the one who insisted on informing Inspector Jackson that we spent a good portion of last night together in extremely intimate circumstances"

She spread her hands. "There was no help for it. I had to tell him that you were with me at the time of the murder."

"Actually," he said with grave precision, "you did not have to tell him any such thing. You must have realized that I had not given him your name or mentioned the nature of our association."

"Yes, I gathered that much. You were trying to protect me. I appreciate your intentions, Adam, but I simply could not remain silent under the circumstances."

"I see." He drank some sherry and lowered the glass. "A prudent woman who had a proper concern for her reputation would have had the sense to remain quiet and thereby avoid being dragged deeper into an unpleasant scandal"

"We have both agreed that my status as a widow gives me a great deal of freedom."

He raised his brows. "You know very well that if it gets out that you are not really a widow, your reputation will be ripped to shreds"

"You are worrying about an extremely unlikely possibility. I suggest that you save your energy for more pressing concerns"

He gave that a moment's consideration and then inclined his head. "Perhaps you are right. What's done is done. We must go forward from here."

"Quite right." Relieved that he was not going to lecture her further, she folded her arms on top of the desk. "Did you have an opportunity to examine the scene of Mrs. Toller's murder?"