To my son Gabriel, on the occasion of his tenth birthday, in the hope that he will live by the honorable code of chivalry all of his life. John Edward Banner.

"Yes," Phoebe said as she reverently closed the copy of Malory's Morte d'Arthur. "This is the right book. I cannot thank you enough, Mr. Green."

"It was a pleasure," Green assured her. "I look forward to doing business with you again in the future."

The little man in the green cap was still about when Phoebe and her maid walked back out of the shop.

"He's still there, ma'am," Betsy hissed in a conspiratorial tone. "Standin' in front of the glass shop."

Phoebe glanced across the street. "So he is. I wonder what this is all about. I sense a mystery."

Betsy's eyes widened. "Perhaps he means to follow us home and murder us in our beds, ma'am."

"Perhaps he does," Phoebe said. "This has all the signs of a dangerous situation." She turned to the footman. "George, tell the coachman that I believe we are being followed by a thief who means to rob us. We must contrive to escape him in the traffic."

George stared at her. "A thief, ma'am?"

"Yes. Hurry along, now. We must be on our way. I want to make certain that little man is not able to pursue us."

"The streets are crowded, ma'am," George pointed out as he handed her up into the coach. "He can keep up with us easily enough on foot."

"Not if we are very clever." Phoebe thought quickly as she sat down. "Tell the coachman to turn left at the next street and then turn right and then left again. He is to continue such a pattern until we are certain there is no sign of that little man in the dark green hat."

"Yes, ma'am." Looking seriously alarmed, George closed the carriage door and vaulted up onto the seat beside the coachman.

A moment later the carriage lurched off at a brisk pace. Phoebe smiled at Betsy in satisfaction as the vehicle dodged a high-perch phaeton and swung to the left. "This ought to take care of the matter. Whoever he is, that man in the green hat will not be expecting us to turn into this street."

Betsy peered out the window. "No, ma'am, he certainly won't. I only hope he isn't quick enough to follow us."

"We shall soon be rid of him," Phoebe predicted. "Wylde will no doubt be extremely impressed by our brilliant handling of a potentially dangerous situation."

"You lost her?" Gabriel stared at the little man in the green hat. "What the devil do you mean, you lost her? I'm paying you to keep an eye on her, Stinton."

"I'm aware of that, yer lordship." Stinton drew himself up and gave Gabriel an affronted look. "And I'm doin' me best. But ye didn't tell me her ladyship had a habit of dashin' in all directions. Beggin' yer pardon, but she's sorta unpredictable, ain't she?"

"Her ladyship is a woman of impulse," Gabriel said through set teeth. "Which is precisely why I hired you to look after her. You came highly recommended from Bow Street. I was assured I could entrust my wife's safety to your care, and now you tell me you could not even keep up with her on a simple shopping expedition?"

"Well, no offense, m'lord, but it weren't exactly a simple shoppin' trip," Stinton said. "I'm proud to say I kept up with her in the Arcade and managed to hang on to her in Oxford Street even though we was all over the place. The last stop was a bookshop. It was when she came out of there that she up and bolted like a fox runnin' from a pack of hounds."

It took every ounce of willpower Gabriel possessed to keep a grip on his temper. "Do not ever again refer to Lady Wylde as a fox, Stinton."

"Right ye are, yer lordship. But I got to say I never seen a lady move that fast. Fast as any pickpocket I ever chased into the rookeries around Spital-fields."

Gabriel was feeling more uneasy by the minute. "You are quite certain you saw no one else around her?"

"Just her maid, the footman, and the coachman."

"And when she disappeared, she was in her own coach?"

"Yes, sir."

"There was no sign of anyone else following her?"

"No, yer lordship. Just me. And, quite frankly, if I couldn't keep up with her, no one else could, either."

"Damnation." Gabriel's imagination was already conjuring up a hundred different calamities that might have befallen Phoebe. He reminded himself that she was not alone. She had her maid, a footman, and the coachman with her. Nevertheless, all he could think about was the fact that Neil Baxter was out there somewhere, no doubt plotting revenge. Lancelot to his Arthur.

Stinton cleared his throat. "Beggin' yer pardon, yer lordship, but will you be wantin' me to continue followin' her ladyship around?"

"I'm not sure there is much point." Gabriel was disgusted. "Not if you cannot keep up with her."

"Well, sir, as to that, next time I'll stay a bit closer. Now that I'm on to her tricks and all, I won't be surprised the way I was today."

"My wife does not play tricks," Gabriel said grimly. "She is merely somewhat high-spirited and impulsive."

Stinton coughed discreetly. "Yes, sir. If you say so, sir. Seemed a bit tricky to me, though, m'lord, if you don't mind my sayin' so."

"I do mind. I mind very much, as a matter of fact. Stinton, if you intend to keep on in this post, you had better stop making insulting statements about my wife."

A commotion in the hall interrupted Gabriel before he could get around to wringing Stinton's scrawny little neck. A wave of relief went through him as he heard Phoebe's voice.

The library door was flung open and Phoebe rushed in, bonnet strings flying. She was carrying a package in her hand. The muslin skirts of her bright green-and-yellow-striped gown swung around her small ankles. Her face was alight with excitement.

"Gabriel, we have had the most amazing adventure. Just wait until I tell you about it. I believe we were very nearly followed home by a thief. He might even have been a murderer. But we foiled his plans quite brilliantly, I must say."

Gabriel got to his feet. "Calm yourself, my dear."

"But Gabriel, it was very odd. There was this little man in a green hat." Phoebe came to an abrupt halt as she caught sight of Stinton. Her eyes widened. "Good heavens, it's him. It's the man who was following us."

"Didn't do too good a job of it," Stinton said. He smiled with approval, displaying several gaps in his yellowed teeth. "Must say, yer ladyship managed to slip away with the sort of skill I usually see exhibited by professional villains."

"Thank you." Phoebe gazed at him with intense curiosity in her eyes.

Gabriel swore and turned on Stinton. "Kindly refrain from drawing comparisons between my wife and members of the criminal class."

"Yes, sir," Stinton said politely. "Didn't mean no offense, yer ladyship. You was right clever, you was, ma'am."

Phoebe gave him a pleased smile. "Yes, I was, wasn't I?"

"Almost caught up with you after that first turn, but I never stood a chance after you had yer coachman make that second turn."

"I plotted it all out quite carefully," Phoebe assured him.

"Like I said, it was real professional," Stinton said.

Phoebe smiled warmly. "I must admit, I had a bit of luck. After the third turn we were in strange territory. There's no telling where we might have ended up if the coachman had not been familiar with the streets."

"That," Gabriel interrupted, "is quite enough from both of you." He glanced at Stinton. "You may go."

"Yes, m'lord." Stinton rotated his green hat in his hands. "And will ye be needin' me in the future?"

"I suppose I have no real alternative. God help us, I'm told you're the best that's available. You will report to work tomorrow morning when Lady Wylde goes out."

Stinton grinned. "Thank ye, yer lordship." He clapped his hat on his head and walked to the door with a jaunty step.