“Hosack, of course, is adamant that Becton’s secret wasn’t in his possession,” he answered. “After all, he’s told us from the beginning that he doesn’t know where Becton put his precious discovery for safekeeping once he arrived in England.” A pause. It wasn’t that he doubted the doctor, but the essence of scientific analysis demanded that one put aside emotion and consider all possible permutations. “However, we have to ask ourselves whether we think the doctor is telling the truth.”
“You think he ransacked his own quarters to make it look like he, too, was a victim?”
“It would be a wise move.”
She didn’t answer right away.
“It turns out that his financial motive for murder is compelling,” he continued. “I had a long talk with Tyler. And though he insists that Hosack is an honorable man with a reputation for strong moral principles, he admitted that the doctor had paid all the costs of creating his magnificent Elgin Botanic Garden out of his own pocket, and was forced to sell it to the state of New York as he could no longer afford to fund it.”
“Passions make people do desperate things,” said Charlotte. “But the fact that he summoned you to investigate, when all signs pointed to a natural death, seems a mark in his favor.” She thought for another moment. “And Hosack was with you, so he couldn’t have been the man Hawk saw throw the glass into the plantings.”
“He could have been an accomplice,” suggested Wrexford.
Charlotte shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense. Why go through such an elaborate charade when the poisoning would likely have gone unnoticed?”
He acknowledged that the scenario seemed far-fetched.
“I have to agree with Tyler about Hosack’s character,” she went on. “He strikes me as utterly lacking in guile and ruthlessness. . .”
She hesitated. “There is only one scenario that seems plausible to me—Becton entrusted the formula and specimens to him. And when his friend was murdered, Hosack then decided to keep them for himself, with the plan of claiming the momentous discovery as his own, once he returns to America.”
Charlotte took another long moment to consider what she had just sketched out. “The fact is, nobody really knows the exact ingredients Becton used in creating his momentous discovery. There may be nasty speculation if Hosack announces he’s created a miracle botanic formula. But he’s a respected man of medicine, and America’s leading expert on botanicals. So without any solid proof of perfidy, I don’t see how he could be stopped from reaping the money and fame from the discovery.”
The glade momentarily darkened as a cloud scudded over the sun.
Wrexford chuffed a grunt. “You have averydevious mind.”
“Oh, come, we both do.” A hint of humor shaded her voice. “How else would we be so good at solving crimes?”
“I prefer to call our minds imaginative.” Deciding that they ought not linger any longer within the trees, he took her arm and resumed walking. “We are willing to think outside the usual constraints.”
“Griffin should be grateful that each of us has a conscience, as well as a brain,” she quipped.
“I think it’s my purse for which he is most grateful,” replied Wrexford. “He can’t eat abstract ideals.”
A chuckle twined with the flapping of her bonnet’s ribbons. “Let us put aside the Runner and his prodigious appetite for now and get back to Becton’s murder.”
He loved the look of fierce concentration that took hold of her features when she was contemplating a conundrum.
“Can we agree that for now we’ll assume Hosack is innocent of any wrongdoing?” continued Charlotte.
“Yes. I agree it’s a reasonable conjecture.”
“And given the search of Hosack’s rooms, can we also agree that it means the murderer hasn’t yet acquired the formula and specimens?”
“Yes.” Logic certainly pointed to that conclusion.
“Well, then . . .” Charlotte came to an abrupt halt and fixed him with a searching stare. “Where the devil are they?”
Where, indeed?It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been asking himself the same question.
“My imagination,” answered Wrexford, “hasn’t quite caught up to that question. However, I have an idea that I want to pursue.” He nudged her into motion. “Let us keep moving, so the drawing rooms don’t flood with gossip about us having a quarrel in the middle of Green Park.”
As the footpath had brought them back to one of the main walkways, the earl spotted a pair of gentlemen coming toward them, walking in the direction of St. James’s Palace.
“Lady Charlotte, Lord Wrexford—a lovely day for a stroll in the park, is it not?” Sir Robert paused to incline a friendly bow. “Forgive us if we’re interrupting your discussion of wedding details.”
Sir Robert’s companion, one of Wrexford’s fellow members of the Royal Institution, flashed a smile and added, “My advice is to leave all decisions to Her Ladyship.” A mischievous twinkle lit his eyes. “Trust me, Wrex, our opinions don’t matter.”
