Marcus wiped his hands on a rag. “Expect your mother and sister had a few questions for you. Your grandmother paid us a visit earlier.”

“I heard. Tell me about Clarice’s burning house.”

“It’s another one of her sensations. She says the competition is becoming quite fierce. Every theater in town is trying to outdo the others with dramatic scenes on stage. Ghosts, storms, runaway trains, rotating towers, and the like have all become quite common. She says fires never fail to dazzle audiences.”

“It will be difficult to top the sinking ship in her latest production. It is so realistic the critics complained because they got damp.”

“Bah.” Marcus grimaced with disgust. “The critics always find something to complain about. The audiences love the show.”

“Now she wants to burn down a house on stage?”

“Yes. The hero has to rescue a child trapped in the flames.”

“I’m sure it will be thrilling.”

Marcus pursed his lips. “Not as thrilling as Clarice had hoped, I’m afraid. It seems the owners of the Olympia got a trifle nervous when she told them she planned to use real flames on stage. But I’ve come up with an alternative that I think will work. It involves an array of fire-colored lights and a great deal of smoke.”

“I shall look forward to it.”

“Speaking of sensations, your grandmother told us that you and a widow named Mrs. Bryce managed to create a small one of your own last night. What happened? I thought you were deeply involved in your investigation of Hastings. Did you change your mind?”

“Don’t look so pathetically hopeful. I’m afraid Mrs. Bryce is connected to my investigation.”

“Devil take it.” Marcus grimaced. “Should have guessed as much. When your mother and I and Clarice heard that you had taken a lady home from the ball, I suppose we leaped to the assumption that perhaps—”

“I had allowed myself to be distracted? I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

Marcus leaned back against a workbench. “You can’t blame us for worrying about you, Tony. You’re obsessed with this business of proving that Hastings murdered Fiona. It’s a dangerous business you’re pursuing. If you had been caught prowling through Hastings’s house—”

“I found Fiona’s necklace last night,” Anthony said quietly.

Marcus stared at him. “Bloody hell. Where?”

“It was in Hastings’s safe.”

Marcus exhaled heavily. Then his eyes narrowed. “Are you certain it’s the Risby necklace?”

“Yes. He must have taken it off her after he killed her.”

Marcus rubbed the back of his neck. “So you were right, after all.”

“It certainly looks that way.”

Marcus folded his arms, thinking. “But it makes no sense. Why would he do such a thing?” He squinted a little. “You don’t think it’s possible that he seduced her, do you? A lover’s quarrel, perhaps?”

“No,” Anthony said.

“You sound very certain. I know you were fond of Fiona, Tony—we all were—but don’t let your old affection blind you to certain possibilities.”

“Fiona was not intimately involved with Hastings.”

Marcus did not look entirely satisfied, but he nodded, not arguing further.

“Very well, then,” he said. “What of a motive? What possible reason could he have had for murdering an innocent young woman?”

“I don’t know. That’s one of the things I intend to find out.”

“Give it up, Tony. Too much time has passed. You won’t be able to prove anything now.”

Anthony went to stand at one of the workbenches. He looked down at the array of tools arranged on the wooden surface. “Hastings has been blackmailing several wealthy old ladies for over two years.”

“You’re joking. Hastings? An extortionist?”

“I found the proof in the safe, along with the necklace. Unfortunately, like the necklace, it was useless. I will make arrangements to return the extortion evidence to the various victims anonymously, but for obvious reasons none of them can be expected to testify against him. In fact, I very much doubt that they even knew the identity of their blackmailer.”

“Good Lord.” Marcus grimaced in disgust. “The man’s a villain, all right. But if you can’t prove anything, what do you hope to do?”

“First things first.” Anthony looked up from the tools. “My main objective at the moment is to discover why he murdered Fiona. That question has plagued me from the start of this affair.”

“And just how in blazes will you manage that?”

“I’m certain there was no intimate connection between them. That leaves the possibility that Fiona somehow learned too much about his business affairs. Perhaps she discovered that he was a blackmailer.”

Marcus thought about that. “You think he killed her to keep his secrets?”

“It would be a strong motive.”

“Perhaps. But, again, how will you prove it after all this time?”

“I don’t know.” Anthony went to the steel safe that stood on one side of the room. He put a hand on the gleaming green surface and traced the decorative gold design with one finger. “Hastings’s safe was, indeed, an Apollo, as you said. He had it installed in the floor of his bedroom, just as Carruthers told you. Thank you for getting the information for me.”

Will Carruthers of the Carruthers Lock and Safe Company was an old friend of the family. He was the exclusive purveyor of the Apollo Patented Safe in London. Carruthers had sold the safe to Hastings. He had also overseen its installation.

Marcus’s brows arched. “I take it you haven’t lost any of your safecracking skills?”

“I was a bit rusty, but I had it open inside of thirty seconds.”

“Would have been fifteen in the old days.” Marcus smiled reminiscently. “I’ll never forget the many happy hours you spent picking locks in this workshop, testing out new devices for me.” His white brows snapped together again. “Which reminds me, it’s about time you provided me with some grandchildren. I need new assistants. You’re never around anymore, and Clarice is always busy with her plays.”

“Someday,” Anthony promised. “When this other affair is concluded.”

“Promises, promises.” Marcus’s expression sharpened. “What of Mrs. Bryce? Where does she fit into this?”

“It’s complicated. Last night I encountered her just as she emerged from Hastings’s bedroom.”

Marcus’s mouth opened, closed, and opened again. “His bedroom? Are you joking? What in blazes was she doing in there?”

“The same thing I had intended to do. She went there to search his private possessions.”

“Why?”

“She was looking for proof that Hastings invested funds in a brothel.”

“She cracked the Apollo?”

“No. But after she made my acquaintance in the hallway outside the bedroom she hired me to do the job for her.”

“She hired you?” Marcus was practically sputtering now.

“She mistook me for a jewel thief. As I said, it’s somewhat complicated.”

“Good Lord.” Marcus scowled. “Who the devil is this Mrs. Bryce?”

“I am still working on the answer to that question. However, I have discovered that, among other things, she is a correspondent for the Flying Intelligencer.”

“I don’t believe it. She writes for the sensation press?”

“Yes.”

“But you despise the press because of how it handled Fiona’s tragic death. I find it difficult to believe that you have formed an association with a journalist.”

“It comes as something of a surprise to me, as well, sir. But, then, I have discovered that Mrs. Bryce has a way of keeping one off balance. While we’re on the subject, I would appreciate it if you would keep Mrs. Bryce’s career a deep, dark family secret. She goes to great lengths to conceal her identity.”

Marcus’s brows shot skyward. “Because she’s a female?”

“In part, no doubt. But the primary reason she uses a pen name is because she conducts her journalistic investigations in the Polite World. Her career would come to an end rather quickly if her identity were to be revealed to Society.”