Cornelius was in the study, lying motionless on the carpet. The door of the large, heavy safe in the corner stood open.
“Cornelius,” Benedict said.
He went down on one knee beside the old man and felt for a pulse. Relief washed through him when he found one.
Twelve
Whoever he is, the bastard has the notebook.” Cornelius gingerly touched the bandage Amity had just finished placing on his head. He winced. “My apologies for the ungentlemanly language, Miss Doncaster. I fear I am not at my best at the moment.”
“I assure you, I have heard far worse language in my travels,” Amity said. “And as for your condition, we can only be grateful that the intruder did not murder you. Fortunately, the injury looks quite shallow, although I imagine it does not feel that way. As for all the blood, I’m afraid head wounds tend to bleed profusely but you will heal. The carpet may be beyond repair, however.”
She surveyed her handiwork, satisfied that she had done her best to clean and disinfect the wound given the limited resources in the household. A bowl of blood-stained water sat on the small table next to Cornelius’s chair. She had bathed the injury thoroughly and then doused it with what she suspected was some very expensive brandy that Benedict had discovered in a nearby decanter.
She and Cornelius were alone in the study. Benedict had disappeared outside into the garden to take a look around. The cluttered room was redolent of old pipe smoke and leather-bound books.
“Thank you for the doctoring, my dear,” Cornelius said.
“You are entirely welcome.” She smiled. “The bandage will do for now but you might want to summon a real doctor to take a look at the injury in the morning, I trust you know a skilled physician, one who holds modern views on the importance of cleanliness. Meanwhile, you must stay quiet for the next few days. I am more concerned about a concussion than I am about the cut in your scalp.”
“I doubt that I will feel like going anywhere for some time,” Cornelius said. He peered up at Amity. “So you’re the lady globetrotter who saved my nephew’s life on that island in the Caribbean.”
“I happened to be in the vicinity so of course I did what I could.”
“I am in your debt, my dear.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, sir. You don’t owe me anything.”
“Yes, I do. It was my fault Benedict was on that damned island in the first place. I knew he wasn’t experienced in that sort of work. He’s an engineer, not a professional spy.”
Amity smiled. “So he keeps reminding me.”
“Thing is, he was the only person I knew whom I trusted and who was capable of judging the true value of Alden Cork’s invention. And it’s a damn good thing I did send Ben because I very much doubt that any of my so-called professional agents would have understood that the real secret of the weapon is Foxcroft’s solar engine and battery system.”
“But now Foxcroft’s notebook has disappeared. Benedict risked his life for nothing.”
“Hmm.Yes. Interesting, eh?”
Amity glared at him. “How can you be so casual about the theft, sir?”
The kitchen door opened and closed. Benedict walked back into the study. He slipped his gun into the pocket of his coat.
“The intruder evidently has a talent for picking locks,” he said. “There is barely a scratch on the door. It appears he left the same way he entered—through the kitchen.”
“He must have been watching the house,” Cornelius said. “He knew that I was alone. This is Palmer’s day and night off. He always goes to see his daughter and her family on Wednesdays. He takes the train and does not return until Thursday morning.”
“If the spy is aware of this house, then we must assume he knows a great deal, not only about the solar cannon and Foxcroft’s engine and battery but also about your government connections,” Benedict said.
“The intruder must be the same person who stole Cork’s drawings for the weapon and tried to murder you on St. Clare,” Amity said. “Now he has Foxcroft’s notebook. This is terrible.”
There was a short, tense silence. Cornelius and Benedict exchanged glances. Neither man appeared unduly alarmed. If anything, they seemed remarkably satisfied.
She planted her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. “What is going on here? I have the distinct impression that neither of you is sufficiently concerned about this turn of events.”
Benedict raised his brows. “Well, sir? You did request my fiancée’s assistance in this matter. It seems to me that she cannot be helpful unless you tell her more about the situation.”
Cornelius hesitated and then grunted. “Quite right. Miss Doncaster, the reason we are not overly concerned about the loss of the notebook is because Benedict wisely thought to remove the most crucial pages—the ones that provide the specifications and materials required to construct the engine and the battery.”
Amity absorbed that news. “Very clever. But won’t the spy realize that the important pages are missing?”
