“Heaven knows I tried everything to get him to see the situation more clearly,” announced Mademoiselle Benoit. “Oliver and I were worried that Milton would hand over his secret without further consideration. So we decided . . .”
A flush rose to her cheeks. “We decided that I should try to charm him and win his friendship so that I might offer subtle advice.” She gave a wry grimace. “Alas, I was not very successful.”
“It was I who asked her to try such wiles, and she selflessly agreed,” interjected Carrick. “We became friends at a conference two years ago and have corresponded—”
“Lord Wrexford doesn’t need a full account of your romantic entanglement,” chided Mrs. Guppy with a fond smile. “Suffice it to say, Oliver and Isabelle are engaged, and in the spirit of complete candor, I’ll add that the three of us have formed a business venture and are currently working together on a way to build better bridges using more conventional ideas than those of Jasper Milton.”
“You did mention that time was of the essence,” said the earl. “And yet I still am not quite sure where all this is going.”
“It’s complicated, milord. Bear with me a little longer. I’m nearly finished with the explanation.”
He nodded for Mrs. Guppy to continue.
“So, we’ve now come to Oliver’s initial assertion that he intended to make one last attempt to sway Milton on the night of his murder, for he knew that Milton was planning to meet the French radicals at the Three Crowns Inn on the Cambridgeshire Turnpike to give them his innovation.”
“I was going to appeal to his conscience, pointing out that war would likely explode again if Napoleon returned to the throne of France, bringing death and destruction to countless innocent souls. But as I’ve said, I never had the chance.”
Carrick blew out his breath. “However, we have just learned that Mercer Wayland has arranged a rendezvous with the radicals in order to sell them Milton’s papers, though God only knows how he obtained them. Perhaps he’s in league with Garfield—”
“Garfield was murdered earlier this evening,” interrupted Wrexford, deciding to reveal the news now and see if it would work to his advantage. “He drew anOand a C on the floorboard with his own blood just before he died. And as we’ve just heard, you’ve been hiding out in the city by yourself.”
He allowed a deliberate pause. “So forgive me if I wonder whether everything I’ve just heard is a lie and it wasyouwho stabbed him in the heart—just as you did Milton?”
Carrick looked uttered shocked and bewildered by the revelation. “I—I,” he stuttered, finally managing to find his voice. “I can only assure you that I didnotkill poor Kendall.” A helpless shrug. “But I can’t prove it to you.”
“I swear, Oliver is innocent,” exclaimed Mademoiselle Benoit. “Murder goes against everything we believe in.” Tears glistened in her eyes. “We are trying to prevent more bloodshed.”
“Then why would Garfield have drawn anOand a C?” demanded Sheffield.
Carrick hesitated and then expelled a resigned sigh. “I—I haven’t a clue.”
“Perhaps if we finish our explanation, it will help convince you of Oliver’s innocence,” said Mademoiselle Benoit. “Oliver and I have been planning to steal Milton’s papers from the radicals if they managed to acquire them.” She swallowed hard. “So that they can’t be used for evil.”
“Isabelle has convinced Montaigne that she is an ardent supporter of the radicals and the return of Napoleon to the throne of France,” explained Carrick.
“And that now brings us to the present,” said Mrs. Guppy. “And why we decided to accept Raven’s offer to take us to meet you.”
“We are hoping you can help—” began Carrick.
“Have you any evidence to prove that there is a single grain of truth in what you have told us?” asked Wrexford.
“Actually, we do,” replied Mrs. Guppy. “In a manner of speaking.”
“At this point, I’m in no mood for word games, madam. Speak plainly—and I suggest that you do your damnedest to be convincing.”
Mrs. Guppy met his ire with an air of unruffled calm. “We’ve just learned that Mercer Wayland has arranged a meeting for tomorrow night—or rather, this evening—with Montaigne and his radical friend in order to pass over Milton’s papers.” A pause. “We also know the location.”
“Raven implied that you have some experience in dealing with skullduggery,” added mademoiselle.
“What, precisely, are you looking for me to do?” countered Wrexford.
“We are hoping that you will stop the Frenchmen from taking Milton’s innovation and funding the return of death and destruction to the Continent,” piped up Carrick.
“And are you also hoping that I will give the papers to your newly formed business venture?”
Mrs. Guppy looked surprised by the question . . . and then her expression turned thoughtful. “Given your reputation for unflinching honor and integrity, sir, I shall happily leave that decision to you.”
Outside the mullioned windows, the moonlight was swallowed by darkness as clouds scudded over the night sky. Rain began to patter against the glass.
