“He also risked being seen. That window faces the side of this house. Had I been home, I might have looked out and seen his progress. What really makes me think it was the same thief are the items taken, however. Show him, Stillwell.”
Stillwell handed over a paper. The drawing on it showed an ancient gold brooch covered in intricate lines and studded with small jewels. “It was among our earliest British artifacts. An odd choice. Most people prefer the classical works.”
“Still valuable, however,” Gabriel said.The window faces this house. “Its lack of popularity may be why it was the item taken. There would be fewer visitors near it.”
“I think it was taken deliberately,” Harry said. “Here is a drawing of the item taken from Sir Malcolm.”
That drawing showed an object of similar construction and style, of two pieces that should join together.
“It is a buckle,” Harry explained. “Do you see what I mean? All of that trouble for only these two objects. There were cameos, rare coins, a medieval emerald ring, and two small classical bronzes in the same case that held this buckle. But the thief scaled a wall, entered that window, descended to the gallery, and only took this when he could have fit the rest of it in his pockets.” Harry practically buzzed with excitement. “This thief is a collector, Gabe. There is no other explanation. He wanted these and nothing else.”
“What collector would possess the skill at thievery, though?” Stillwell asked. “I can’t imagine there being one.”
“He could have sent someone else who was skilled,” Gabriel said. “How high up is that window? How far did he scale?”
“At least twenty-five feet from the ground,” Harry said. “I will show it to you later.”
“There cannot be many who can do that. The Home Office may know their names.”
“I told you he would know whom to ask,” Harry said to Stillwell.
“We cannot go to the government,” Stillwell said, desperately. “If it is known we lost a precious artifact—”
“Someone will be blamed,” Gabriel said.
“Yes.” Stillwell’s forlorn expression indicated who that someone would probably be.
“Then perhaps it would be better first to ask who collects such things. Brentworth inherited a massive collection. He may be aware of those who favor jeweled artifacts from early Britain.”
“I would not want to accuse—”
“No accusations. We would only seek information that may or may not be useful.”
Stillwell looked at Harry. Harry nodded in reassurance. “My brother will be discreet.”
Gabriel had not offered to be the person to ask questions. His mind wanted to move elsewhere, however, so he did not object. An odd sensation had centered in his gut. It demanded attention even though he tried to ignore it.Through a window. Took only this.
Stillwell left then. Harry bounded to the library door. “Come with me. I will show you the window.”
Gabriel followed him. At least something had finally distracted Harry from his misery over Emilia.
They went up to Harry’s bedchamber. Harry strode to one of the windows and pointed. “Up there. That one. His ceilings are much higher than mine, so his first story is above this one. I expect the moldings and such allowed the thief to climb up.”
Gabriel looked out the window. He opened it and stuck his head out. Just as he had after that first night with Amanda. He gazed at the window across the narrow separation of the buildings. Then he looked down at the hedge where a dark shawl had lain that morning.
The sensation in his gut churned.
He examined Sir Malcolm’s house. Could a man climb all that way with nothing more than moldings and mortar depressions as holds? Down, perhaps one could lower from sill to sill. But up?
Again he looked down at the hedge. He brought his head in and looked at his brother and saw a shepherdess pursuing him. He heard a woman in his own arms suggest an assignation on the other side of town after learning that Harry would be gone.
“Excuse me, Harry. I want to see something. Wait for me in the library, will you?”
Perplexed, Harry left. Gabriel waited a few minutes, then followed, only he went up the stairs to the third level.
A row of chambers lined the side of the house up here. Servants’ chambers, he expected, most of them unused by his Spartan brother.
He entered the last one at the back. He moved a table from in front of the window and looked out. The window to Sir Malcolm’s dressing room could be seen just below across the wall and hedge. He looked down on the hedge not far from where the shawl had lain. He opened the window to see how high the sash rose.
