“How very open-minded and modern of you.”
“Tell me, does Stanbridge or his uncle know that Leona and I were associated?”
“No. I intended to tell him but what with one thing and another last night, I did not get the opportunity until after the police had rescued me from the clutches of the Bridegroom. By then I was so upset because of my ordeal I completely forgot that Leona had told me she was connected to you. I was going to inform Mr. Stanbridge first thing this morning, but he arrived on my sister’s doorstep early today to announce that he was ending our engagement. I was so upset I decided not to give him any more information.” She wiped her eyes with the hankie. “He was just using me.”
“My sympathies and my apologies, Amity. I’m afraid I am going to use you, as well.”
She lowered the hankie and saw that he had a gun in his hand.
“I don’t understand, sir,” she whispered.
“I can see that. Really, how did you survive all those journeys to dangerous lands? One would have thought that you would have picked up a modicum of cleverness along the way.”
She rose slowly. “You can’t shoot me here. Your housekeeper is moving about upstairs. She will hear the shot.”
“I have no intention of shooting you, not unless you leave me no other choice.”
He was lying, Amity thought. She could see it in his eyes.
“What, exactly, are you going to do with me?” she asked.
“I am going to gag you and lock you up in the darkroom in my basement, where you will not be able to cause me any trouble until I am well away from London. On your feet. Open the door and turn to your left. Hurry.”
Amity rose and crossed the room. She opened the door and went briskly out into the hall.
Humphrey followed, moving swiftly. His attention was focused on her. He did not notice Benedict until it was too late.
Benedict seized Humphrey’s gun arm and twisted savagely. The pistol roared. The bullet thudded into the wood. All movement ceased overhead. A muffled scream sounded.
The housekeeper, Amity thought.
Benedict snapped the pistol out of Humphrey’s hand.
“There’s been a change of plans,” Benedict said. “But I understand that seasoned travelers are accustomed to that sort of thing. There are a couple of men from Scotland Yard waiting outside on the front steps.”
Humphrey looked toward the front hall. Panic and resolve flashed across his face. Then he turned, preparing to flee past Amity in an attempt to exit the kitchen door.
He stopped short when he saw that she had whipped open her fan, revealing the honed steel leaves and the sharp spokes.
But it was Benedict who spoke.
“Let him go, Amity, he’s no longer our problem.”
Amity stepped aside and folded the fan. Humphrey shot past her. He flung open the door and fled out into the garden—straight into the arms of Inspector Logan and a constable.
“I forgot to mention that there are also a couple of men from the Yard, waiting at the back door,” Benedict said.
“You are under arrest, Mr. Nash,” Logan said. He took out a pair of handcuffs.
“You don’t understand,” Humphrey said quickly. “Amity Doncaster is a spy. She is guilty of treason. She brought some valuable papers here today. She stole them and tried to sell them to me, if you can believe it. I was going to lock her up and summon the police.”
Cornelius Stanbridge ambled into view out in the garden. “I do agree that Miss Doncaster has what it takes to make an excellent spy, including an ideal cover for traveling abroad. She is really quite talented. Nerves of steel. I am considering employing her as an agent for the Crown.”
Amity blushed. “Why, thank you, Mr. Stanbridge. That is very flattering.”
Benedict narrowed his eyes. “You can forget any notion of taking up a career as a spy, Amity. My nerves could never stand the strain.”
She sighed. “Really, sir, must you take all the fun out of foreign travel?”
