“Point taken.”
Raven cracked open the door, and after a glance around, he gestured for Sheffield to follow.
It wasn’t until they had reached the cellar and made their way out to the alleyway that Sheffield ventured to ask, “Do you think we have a chance of learning anything about Daggett?”
“Oiy, if the dastard is up to mischief around here, one of my friends will know it.”
* * *
Lady Cordelia looked up in surprise as the clerk announced that there were visitors wishing to have a word with her.
“Wrexford! Yes, yes, do come in.” She waited until the clerk withdrew and shut the door behind him before addressing Charlotte in a taut whisper. “If you’re dressed like that, I take it there’s trouble.”
“That remains unclear,” answered Wrexford, before Charlotte could answer her. “We’re hoping you might help rectify that.”
“H-How so?”
“Did Raven come here earlier to ask you a mathematical question?” responded Charlotte.
“Yes, he did,” answered Cordelia.
The answer appeared to soften the tension in Charlotte’s face. “Perhaps we’re seeing specters when there’s naught but thin air.”
“Then Sheffield wished to speak with him,” continued Cordelia.
Wrexford felt a tickling of foreboding.
“I’ll go ask him why.”
Cordelia returned a few moments later. “That’s odd—he’s not there.” She quickly checked the adjoining storage room, then turned to them with a mystified shrug. “He must be here somewhere. The door to my office has been open and I didn’t see him leave the building.”
Charlotte closed her eyes for an instant.
Wrexford, too, was now sure that mischief was afoot. “Is there another way out of the building?” he asked.
“I—I confess, I don’t really know.” She hurried to the doorway and called for the clerk in the copy room to join them. “Mr. Mulligan, is the front entrance the only exit from the premises?”
“No, milady,” he answered without hesitation. “There’s a back stairwell leading down to the cellar storerooms.”
“There is?” Cordelia’s brow furrowed. “Then why do we always take a roundabout route to go there?”
“Because . . .” The clerk’s face turned a trifle red. “Because the smell isn’t fit for a lady.”
The word that Cordelia muttered under her breath wasn’t fit for a lady, either.
Mulligan’s ears were now a vivid shade of crimson.
“Show us the stairwell,” murmured Wrexford.
“Perhaps I should come with you,” suggested Cordelia. “I know my way around—”
“That won’t be necessary.” He hesitated. “Is there any place around here where Sheffield might be headed?”
“He sometimes has a pint of ale at the Golden Galleon,” volunteered Mulligan.
“Thank you.” To Cordelia, Wrexford added, “If he returns, please ask him to wait for us.”
“What—” she began.
