“We’ll go after breakfast,” he added.
There was no point protesting. I was hopeless in the mornings until I’d eaten a good breakfast and downed it with a cup of coffee. I quickened my pace to keep up with Oscar’s long strides as he headed for the stairs.
“India once said it was a good idea for you to accompany me on these book collecting jaunts,” he said. “Perhaps this is why. I tend to act without thinking, whereas you…”
“Tend to think without acting?” I offered. It was hardly a flattering assessment of my overly cautious nature, but it was an accurate one.
“I think she meant you and I complement one another. Separately, our strengths are fine, but not special. But together, we make a formidable team.” He clasped my shoulder. “We’re going to find those women, Gavin, and get the book back from Defoe if we work together.”
“With the police.” I peered up at him and nodded. Considering the nature of what we’d set out to do, he was in quite a good mood.
“You need new spectacles,” he said. “Ones that fit better.”
“Pardon?”
“Those keep slipping down your nose.”
“Do they?”
“You’ve never noticed you’re constantly pushing them back up?”
I touched the bridge of my glasses only to self-consciously lower my hand. “No, I’ve never noticed.”
He wasn’t listening, however. He’d spotted two people on the landing below and increased his pace. “Defoe!”
Oh, lord. I suspected my influence wasn’t going to stop him doing something rash now.
Mr. Defoe smirked. “I told you.” He spoke to Miss Wheeler, standing beside him.
She eyed Oscar’s rapid descent toward them, her gloved hand tightening its hold on the umbrella she held.
“Want to sell it already, Barratt?” Mr. Defoe asked. “I’m afraid my offer will not be the same as?—”
“Don’t play games, Defoe. Where is it? Where’s the book?”
Mr. Defoe laughed, only to stop when no one joined in. “What do you mean? Have you lost it?”
“We haven’t lost it. You stole it.”
Mr. Defoe’s eyes widened. “My God, you have lost it! How could you have misplaced it mere hours after getting it?”
Oscar’s fists closed at his sides. “Hand it back and we’ll forget this happened. Otherwise…”
“What? You’ll punch me? And here I thought you a gentleman, Barratt.”
“I’ll notify the police,” Oscar growled.
Defoe snorted.
Oscar stepped toward him. I lunged to stop him, but was too late. The point of Miss Wheeler’s umbrella pressed into his stomach. Oscar could have pushed it aside, but he seemed too taken aback by the unexpected move to do anything other than stare at her, mouth ajar.
Defoe snorted again. “Take my advice, Barratt, don’t cross Adele. With or without an umbrella, she’s formidable when she wants to be.”
Oscar put up his hands in surrender. “I wasn’t going to hit him,” he said to Miss Wheeler. “I just want to search him for the book.”
Defoe opened his jacket to reveal he had nothing in his inside pockets or tucked into his waistcoat. “Adele, open my valise. Our trunks have already been taken down by the porter, but you can search those too, if you like, Barratt.”
With a final glare for Oscar, Miss Wheeler lowered her umbrella and opened the valise Mr. Defoe had set down upon our approach. Inside was a traveling writing desk inlaid with mother-of-pearl, which she also opened, and papers. The Mackenzie book wasn’t among them.
