“The only other clue is that the assassin was wearing white gloves,” the earl added.
Jiang tapped his fingertips together. “But all you English gentlemen wear gloves when you go out, and in a wide assortment of colors.”
“Yes, but never white,” replied Wrexford. “It must mean something.”
The echo of his words seemed to crackle through the air, along with the sound of the crumbling coals.
“By Jove, of course!” Sir Darius suddenly sat up straighter, nearly tipping over his chair. “Blue Peter! It’s not a person. It’s a nautical flag! One that’s flown from the topmast to signal all hands must return to the ship because the vessel is about to set sail. The thing is . . .”
Wrexford went very still, waiting for him to go on.
“The thing is, it’s mostly used by the Royal Navy. And it’s British military officers who wear white gloves.”
“We saw a naval frigate moored at one of the East India Company docks yesterday,” said Jiang.
“And were told that it’s rare to see one there,” added Gu.
“Which wharf?” demanded the earl.
“The one nearest Old Dock,” replied Jiang.
“The devil be damned.” The earl snatched up his hat and bolted for the door.
“Wait! Where are you going?” called Sir Darius.
“To beat a dastard at his own cunning little game.”
CHAPTER 29
Tyler looked up as Wrexford slipped into the workroom. “The others are all gathered downstairs. I’m just gathering some papers Lady Cord—”
“Ssshh.” The earl quietly closed the door. “I prefer to come and go without them knowing I’ve been here.”
“Trouble?” asked the valet, watching the earl take down the pearwood case holding his pistols from one of the shelves.
“Perhaps.” He checked the priming and then shrugged out of his snugly tailored dress coat. “Kindly fetch my black overcoat.”
The valet returned in a moment from the adjoining storeroom. Wrexford slid the weapons into the deep pockets, along with a pouch of extra bullets.
“I need you to do one other task for me,” he said. “Once you’ve taken the papers to Lady Cordelia, leave quietly, and then go to Bow Street and ask Griffin to come meet me at Old Dock, within the East India Company complex. Have him bring several of his men and find a place to hide and wait for my signal.”
Wrexford added a vial of gunpowder to his pocket. “I’d ask the Weasels to do it, but I fear that Lady Charlotte would feel compelled to follow me.” The idea of her crossing swords with a man for whom violent death was a way of life made the burn of bile rise in his gorge. “And that would be too bloody dangerous.”
“You know who’s behind all this?” asked Tyler, passing over a thin-bladed knife for the earl to slide into the hidden sheath inside his boot.
“I do.”
“The question is, can you prove it?” The valet’s expression was grim. “I’ve heard that Copley passed on a number of incriminating documents, but these dastards have been awfully clever in leaving no tangible clues. And with the other conspirators dead . . .”
“You’re right. The man who’s been manipulating all the pieces on the game board has been exceedingly clever. However, there is one telling piece of evidence, and I expect to find it tonight. That, along with the confessions in Copley’s note, will be enough to prove the dastard’s guilt.”
Wrexford reached up and adjusted his hat, pulling it low on his brow. “You see, I now understand what those mathematical calculations that Lady Cordelia and the professor have been running are for. Our adversary isn’t just interested in buying and selling silver. He’s got an even more lucrative plan in mind.”
Tyler, never one to dither in his thoughts, hesitated in answering. “Which makes him even more bloody dangerous.” Their eyes met. “You shouldn’t go alone. I’ll come—”
“No,” he said flatly. “Copley’s murder proves the ringleader has at least one ruthless henchman on the loose. Lady Cordelia and the professor may be at risk, so I need you and Kit to remain on guard here.”
The valet’s nostrils flared in frustration.
