“They are useless,” said the earl. “Wayland was desperate. His gaming debts were threatening to ruin him, and when he learned that the French radicals would pay a large sum for Milton’s work, he seized the opportunity to create a false set of work papers.”
Pierson contemplated the earl’s statement for several moments. “You are absolutely sure of this?”
“The papers are false,” repeated Wrexford.
“Damnation.” Pierson kicked at a clot of mud. “I need to get my hands on Oliver Carrick, who clearly lies at the heart of all this.” He looked up. “Given the skills of your spies, can you tell his present whereabouts?”
“I don’t possess that information.” It wasn’t precisely a lie. He didn’t know which house on Conduit Street had been rented by Mrs. Guppy.
“If you learn anything—anything—about this affair, send word to me through Griffin.” He clasped his gloved hands together with a muffled slap. “This is a highly sensitive government matter, milord, not a parlor game to keep you amused.”
Wrexford hesitated. A part of him longed to hand over the investigation to the official authorities and be done with murder and intrigue. But he couldn’t bring himself to do so. The minister of state security and his minions would not hesitate to do whatever was necessary in order to protect the government—whether it be from actual threats or mere embarrassment.
He glanced at the corpses lying beneath the tarp. Including quietly disposing of those they deemed guilty—and that likely would include Oliver Carrick—without a public trial.
However, he believed that the rule of law applied to everyone, even the most heinous criminals.
“I assure you, Pierson, murder and betrayal are not a game to me.” He glanced up at the sky, where the first pale flickers of dawn had given way to morning sunlight.
“Now, if we are done here. I would like to return home for my breakfast.”
* * *
“You need to take some nourishment.” McClellan joined Charlotte by the arched windows of the breakfast room as dawn gave way to early morning. “One never thinks well on an empty stomach.”
“Hear, hear.” Henning swallowed a mouthful of broiled kidney and washed it down with a slurp of coffee. “Lud, if Mac ran my kitchen, I would soon be a genius.”
The Weasels chortled over the comment as they helped themselves to fresh-baked muffins.
Charlotte forced a smile in spite of the dark thoughts that were tumbling and tangling inside her head. But the flash of humor couldn’t keep her brooding at bay. It seemed as if the more they learned, the less the facts made any sense. None of the pieces of the puzzle seemed to fit together.
“Toast would be welcome, Mac, along with a dish of apricot jam,” she conceded. “And coffee—a pot of it, if you please.”
“And you may bring tea for me.” Thetap-tapof her cane in the corridor announced the imminent arrival of the dowager. “Here I go away for a visit to my friend in Kent for a short while, only to discover on my return last night that you are up to your neck in skullduggery.”
“Guilty as charged.” Given Alison’s awareness of Milton’s murder, Charlotte had felt obliged to send a note to the dowager’s residence updating her on the progress of the investigation.
Alison took a seat at the table. “Now that I am back, how can I help?”
“I’m not sure.” Charlotte gave a nod of thanks to McClellan for bringing the coffee and poured herself a cup. “We now have a key clue, which could help us solve the murder. We know that the killer was a friend called ‘Axe’ by Milton, but we can’t seem to make any progress in discovering his real identity.”
Alison frowned. “Axe?”
Charlotte dutifully explained—with much help from the Weasels—about finding Oliver Carrick and learning what he had seen and heard at the scene of the murder.
“Hmmph.” Looking thoughtful, the dowager buttered half a muffin.
“It’s imperative to locate Axe, because we have found another piece of circumstantial evidence that points to Oliver Carrick as the murderer.” She told the dowager about the marks found beside Garfield’s dead body.
“There is much else to tell,” she added. But before she could begin, Cordelia hurried into the room, accompanied by her cousin.
“I’ve just shown Oliver the papers that Wrex retrieved last night!” she announced.
“They were definitely created by Mercer Wayland. I know his handwriting, so I’m sure of it,” said Carrick. “Furthermore, Cordelia was correct in saying that Jasper would never have made the mistakes that appear in some of the equations.”
He paused. “But as for the actual mathematics, that’s a more complicated situation.”
“I told Oliver that Wayland mentioned having had a peek at Jasper’s scribbling book,” said Cordelia.
