Down to a sunless sea . . .
A movement, barely more than a ripple within the darkness, suddenly snapped the boy’s attention to full alert. He caught the pale flicker of a face as a man mounted the entrance steps of Mademoiselle Benoit’s residence and thumped his gloved fist against the door.
“Oiy, someone’s seeking entrance,” whispered Peregrine.
Raven and Hawk came instantly awake. They wriggled over to join him.
“He’s tall,” said Peregrine, “and looks to be slender despite his overcoat.”
A weak flutter of light—a single candle?—momentarily lit one of the upper windows, and after a minute or two had passed, the door opened, and the man slipped inside.
Hawk looked to his brother. “What should we do?”
They knew from an earlier reconnaissance that there was no easy access to the back of the house.
“We wait for now,” said Raven. “Let’s see if we can creep closer and try to get a look at his face when he leaves.”
But before they moved, the door opened again, and the man hurried out. Without pausing on reaching the street, he turned left and quickened his pace. Within moments, he was swallowed in the gloom.
“She’s gone back upstairs,” observed Peregrine. Even though the draperies were drawn, they could see a faint line of light.
And then all at once it was gone.
“I guess she has blown out the candle,” said Hawk.
But an instant later it appeared in one of the lower windows.
The three of them held very still, watching and waiting.
Once again, the door opened and a cloaked figure—they saw just enough of her shadowed face in the moonlight to recognize Mademoiselle Benoit—emerged. On reaching the street, she hesitated and then headed for the west corner of Eaton Square.
“Pssst, follow me,” said Raven, scrambling to his feet and setting off in pursuit.
Several hackney carriages and their drivers were loitering beneath the single street lamp illuminating their small patch of King’s Road. Hoping, no doubt, for one last fare before night turned to the wee hours of morning.
Mademoiselle approached one of them, and after a quick exchange of words and money, she climbed into his hackney.
Raven waited until the whip cracked and the wheels lurched forward before darting across the cobbles.
One driver pushed him away, but on seeing the flash of a guinea, the third fellow was eager to make a deal. The coin passed hands, and Raven signaled for Hawk and Peregrine to join him inside the shabby carriage.
Seeing Hawk was about to speak, Raven held up his hand for silence. “We must seize the chance to learn what she is up to. Wrex and m’lady are struggling to solve the murder, and this may provide a vital clue.”
CHAPTER 19
The street where Garfield had his rooms was deserted and the buildings dark. The residents of the area were shopkeepers and clerks, sober citizens who couldn’t afford the luxury of midnight revelries.
Wrexford made short work of opening the lock of the lodging house’s front door, Once inside, he and Sheffield moved noiselessly to the stairs.
“Garfield is on the top floor,” whispered the earl. “His rooms are the door on the right.”
Sheffield heaved a martyred sigh. “Do try to frighten the truth out of him quickly. I’ve already worked up a terrible thirst.”
They felt their way up the stairs and crept across the landing to Garfield’s door. Wrexford crouched down and felt for the keyhole . . . only to have the door yield to his touch.
Not a good omen.
He eased it all the way open and signaled for Sheffield to follow him inside. He turned and locked the door before striking a light to the taper on the candlestand.
