Charlotte touched the tip of the letter opener to a tiny tear in the linen. “A narrow blade pierced the heart. My guess is, that was the cause of death, for by the amount of blood, his vital organ was still pumping.”
“Much as I’d like to argue, I think you’re right,” muttered Wrexford. “The hand shows no sign of power residue. Whoever this is, he didn’t fire the shot that spattered his brains to Kingdom Come.”
Sheffield hitched in a breath. “So you’re saying this wasn’t self-murder.”
“No.” She carefully set down the letter opener and looked to the earl. “Cedric was killed by a single stab to the heart. Can you arrange for Henning to examine the body? He might be able to tell whether the same weapon was used for both crimes.”
Wrexford nodded. “Kit, take the carriage and go to BowStreet. Leave word for Griffin to come here as soon as possible. Then head to Henning’s surgery and bring him back here.”
“Of course.”
“Lady Charlotte and I need to look over a few other things—” The earl’s words were suddenly cut off by the sound of thumping on the stairs and agitated voices coming from the landing.
Charlotte darted to the entranceway and ducked behind the door as it flung open.
A burly man burst in, followed by two companions brandishing cudgels and lanterns.
“Well, well,” drawled Griffin, skidding to a halt.
Charlotte cringed and tugged her hat lower. She and the Runner had encountered each other on several occasions during the past murder investigations, and she knew very well that his lumbering movements and untidy clothing disguised a very sharp mind. So far, he hadn’t discerned that the ragged urchin he knew as Phoenix was not . . .
“Another dead gentleman?” added the Runner. “Why does it not surprise me to find you here, milord?”
“Because you realize what a kindhearted fellow I am,” replied Wrexford. “Count yourself fortunate, for when it comes to the twisted minds of theton,you know that you need my help in unraveling the truth.”
“It looks to me like self-murder,” said Griffin. “One of the other residents alerted the watchman, and reported hearing naught but a single shot fired.”
“It’s meant to look that way,” replied the earl. “But come, I have something interesting to show you.”
As the three men trooped toward the desk, Sheffield shifted his stance, blocking the view of the door.
Charlotte seized the moment to slip out of the room.
Griffin whirled around just in time to catch a flutter in the shadows. “Was that Phoenix?” he demanded. “Damnation—call him back!”
“For what reason?” inquired the earl.
“To offer him a position at Bow Street,” growled the Runner, after casting an unhappy look at his men. “It seems the grubby little street rat is always two steps ahead of us! How the devil does he know what evil is lurking in every nook and cranny of London?”
Ha!thought Charlotte as she turned for the stairs. At present, she was simply praying that her feet didn’t get hopelessly tangled in all the half-truths and deceptions demanded by her chosen path.
“Never mind Phoenix,” came Wrexford’s reply. “If you want answers to this particular crime, I suggest you send one of your men to fetch a mortuary cart and take the body to Henning’s surgery.”
CHAPTER 18
“How can you eat broiled kidneys?” Tyler gave a mock shudder as he entered the breakfast room. “Henning’s clothing is noxious enough to rob a fellow of his appetite, but had I watched him wield his scalpels in the wee hours of the morning . . .” Another grimace. “I’d be eating bread and water for the next week.”
Wrexford poured himself another cup of coffee. “I think better on a full stomach.”
“A good thing, as this latest murder looks to be a devilishly difficult one to solve.” Tyler took a seat at the table and plucked a fresh-baked sultana muffin from the platter of pastries. “You’ve identified the victim?”
“It’s Westmorly,” confirmed the earl. He and his valet had briefly discussed the new turn of events earlier that morning. “Griffin just sent word that his men brought one of the porters from the Royal Institution to the surgery, and the man identified what was left of the face.”
“Has Henning any further thoughts on whether the murder weapon might be the same as the one used on Lord Chittenden?”
“It’s impossible to say. The blade is too slim, and the surface too smooth to have left any distinctive marks. What he can say is that the method and the angle of the thrust were very similar.”
“So,” replied his valet, “you’re assuming it’s the work of the same dastard.”
