“Perhaps,” responded Wrexford. “Be that as it may, we will soon have two women under confinement, and I will send word to Griffin that Carrick is loose in London. He’s had his chance to be forthright with us, and now it’s time to let the proper authorities handle the question of whether he is guilty or innocent.”
He moved to his desk. “But there is still a missing piece to this damnable puzzle.”
A piece that he had been pushing around in his mind, trying to see its contours and where it fit in.
“Carrick could not have been the one who fired the pistol shot that ignited the mayhem in which Mercer Wayland, Monsieur Montaigne, and the French radical were killed,” he continued. “And I just had an interesting conversation with Ezra Wheeler. He was attacked by footpads that same evening while returning home from a late-night soiree given for the conference attendees. So it would seem that someone is trying to do away with all of the members of the Revolutions-Per-Minute Society. It could be that Carrick has an accomplice—”
“Wrex,” interrupted Charlotte. “In light of that possibility, you need to hear what Peregrine recounted to Cordelia and me. Let me go fetch him. It’s best you hear the account in his own words.”
She returned shortly, and just as the earl suspected, Raven and Hawk had insisted on accompanying their fellow Weasel.
Catching his eye, Charlotte gave an apologetic shrug. “There seemed little point in telling them they couldn’t be part of the meeting.”
“Oiy,” added Raven. “Falcon would simply tell us everything.”
“Sit quietly,” commanded Wrexford. “And that goes for you, too,” he said as Harper padded in after the boys.
Charlotte flashed an encouraging smile at Peregrine. “Tell Wrex what you witnessed at Eton.”
The earl listened without interruption and then asked a few follow-up questions.
“A Frenchman,” he mused. “That certainly does raise some unsettling questions.”
“I am unclear about something,” said Charlotte, once the earl had finished. “Why does a school for elite young gentlemen teach drawing and not mathematics or any scientific subject?”
“Because,” answered Wrexford, “the ability to create a credible piece of art is considered the mark of a true connoisseur of civilized culture. The normal rite of passage for an aristocratic young man is to take the Grand Tour through Europe to acquire gentlemanly polish, and the ability to draw the exquisite ancient ruins that he observes in a city like Rome or Florence garners much admiration among his peers.”
He made a face. “While the more practical skills of mathematics and science carry a whiff of the working classes.”
“Then why did Eton hire someone who knows nothing about the subject?” mused Charlotte.
“A good question,” he answered. “We need to track down the former drawing master and inquire as to how a replacement was chosen.” A pause. “And we need to learn more about Mr. Valencourt.”
But before he could begin to formulate any sort of plan, an out-of-breath Sheffield rushed into the room.
“I’ve found him!” he exclaimed. “I’ve found the linchpin of proving Oliver Carrick’s innocence!”
For a moment, everyone in the room stared at him in dumbfounded silence. And then Cordelia burst into tears. “I-Impossible! Oliver arranged another clever ruse and slipped away this afternoon. Which is a far more eloquent admission of guilt than any words.”
Stunned, Sheffield looked to Wrexford for confirmation.
“It’s true, Kit,” offered Charlotte. “Mademoiselle Benoit deliberately distracted us long enough for him to leave the house unseen.”
“What—or rather, who—did you discover?” pressed Wrexford, curious to know what had Sheffield so certain that he had solved the mystery.
“The identity ofO-C—the letters written in blood by Kendall Garfield to identify his killer.”
Cordelia’s eyes flared wide, hope warring with despair.
“Explain yourself,” urged Wrexford.
“I arranged to meet with some of the supervisors in charge of the Bristol Road Project, who are in Town to attend the transportation conference,” said Sheffield. “My aim was to learn more about how they hire bridge engineers for the various sections of the route, and who among them are considered the best of the group. It’s a massive undertaking, and a number of sites are being worked on at the same time, as the road experts survey the terrain and map out the exact route.”
He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and took a moment to read its content. “Three of the current bridge sites are considered the most challenging. Milton was in charge of the most difficult one. Carrick and a man named Jonathan Edwards were contracted for a design near the town of Bray.”
He looked up, a flash of grim satisfaction lighting his face despite Cordelia’s earlier assertion. “And the third site was given to Brendan O’Connor, who has garnered acclaim in the scientific world for his work in bridging difficult terrain in the coal country of Wales.”
“O-C,” observed the earl. “But what makes you think that he’s a more likely suspect than Oliver Carrick?”
