Benedict related Amity’s description of the Bridegroom.
“Given the timing of events, we believe that he may well have attended the Channing ball a month ago,” he concluded. “Or, at the very least, he is acquainted with someone who was present.”
Marissa gave him a knowing look. “You will need the guest list.”
Benedict smiled. “As a matter of fact, Miss Doncaster’s sister has instructed Inspector Logan on how to obtain it.”
“You have set yourself an interesting task,” Richard said. “Hunting killers is a job for the police. But I take your point. The sort of people who attend balls do not open their doors to inspectors from Scotland Yard. As you are well aware, Marissa and I prefer to ignore the Polite World for the most part, but we do have some connections. If there is anything we can do to help, you must not hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you,” Benedict said. “I appreciate that. I may be calling on you.”
Richard glanced at the black leather case Benedict had set on his desk. “What of the plans for the solar engine and the battery?”
Benedict picked up the case and opened it. He removed the leather binder that contained Elijah Foxcroft’s notes.
“After I leave here I will deliver it to Uncle Cornelius. Once that chore is accomplished, my very short career as a spy for the Crown will be concluded.”
“And your new profession as a consultant for Scotland Yard will begin,” Richard said. He eyed the binder with great interest. “I would very much like to take a look at Foxcroft’s notes and drawings.”
Benedict put the binder on the desk. “I am going to show them to you.”
Sometime later Richard closed the binder and sat back in his chair. There was an air of cool satisfaction in his smile.
“I understand now why you made that trip to California. The Russians very likely have the plans for the solar cannon, but you brought back the design for the engine system that is capable of powering the weapon. The cannon is of no use without it.”
“The thing about Foxcroft’s solar engine and battery that is so interesting is that they are just that—an engine and a storage device,” Benedict said. “The system could power anything, not just weapons. One could use it to operate an oven, a vehicle, a ship or a factory—all using the free energy of the sun. The possibilities are unlimited.”
Richard grinned. “Better not let the owners of the coal mines hear you say that.”
“Mouchot is right, we are going to run out of coal eventually. At the very least it will become increasingly expensive to extract it from the ground. The French and the Russians have been funding solar research and development for the past few years. Several American inventors are working on solar devices. We need to catch up with the rest of the major powers or risk being left in the dust.” Benedict tapped the notebook. “Foxcroft’s system is our chance to do that.”
“I’m not arguing with you. Obviously Uncle Cornelius would not have asked you to go to St. Clare if the Crown was not interested in the potential for solar power.”
“My fear is that all the government will see is the potential to create a new kind of weapon with Foxcroft’s engine. Uncle Cornelius’s associates won’t understand the larger implications.”
“If anyone can convince them to take solar energy seriously, it will be Uncle Cornelius.”
“You’re right.” Benedict looked at the binder. “Before I deliver Foxcroft’s notes and specifications to him, however, I have a favor to ask. I have a plan and I need your help.”
Richard smiled. “You always have a plan. What is it this time?”
Benedict told him.
When he was finished Richard nodded, very thoughtful now.
“Yes,” he said. “That makes sense.”
Ten
Miss Doncaster, I cannot begin to express the depths of my admiration, not only for you, personally, but for your succinct and insightful writing,” Arthur Kelbrook said. “I have read every single one of your essays in theFlying Intelligencer. Your descriptions of foreign landscapes are positively brilliant. It is as if I was at your side, viewing the scenes with you. I shall never forget the poetic picture you painted of the sun setting on that island in the South Seas.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kelbrook,” Amity said. She flushed, unaccustomed to such rapturous praise. “Very kind of you to take the time to read my little pieces in theFlying Intelligencer.”
The reception hall of the Society for Travel and Exploration was crowded. The guest of honor, Humphrey Nash, had concluded his talk a short time ago and was now holding court at the far end of the room. He was surrounded by admirers and rivals alike. There were, Amity noted, a considerable number of ladies in the group. The Society was one of the few travel and geographical institutions open to women, but Amity knew that was not the only reason there were so many females at the reception. Nash was a tall, handsome, athletically built man endowed with a patrician profile and piercing green eyes. His curly brown hair was cut short in the modern style.
He was also a very fine photographer. His beautiful pictures of temples, exotic gardens, snow-peaked mountains and ancient monuments lined the walls.
Amity tried not to let her gaze stray toward Humphrey but it was difficult. She had been anxious about attending the reception tonight, but a part of her had known that she needed to see Humphrey again to prove to herself that she had recovered from what, at the age of nineteen, she had considered to be heartbreak.
