Page 61 of Thief Taker

“Yes, good idea.” Kit cleared his throat and added, “I’m going to speak to James.”

“That’s—” Elias stopped himself from telling Kit exactly why confronting his brother was a bad idea. “Why?”

“Because he’s my brother, and I want to give him the chance to change his mind. Perhaps even to leave London. I could help him.”

It was the last thing Elias wanted him to do, but he couldn’t think of a way to object. “Just be careful,” he said. “Don’t make him suspicious. And avoid Marlborough—he’d thrash you given half a chance.”

Kit gave a slight nod and sat down on the edge of the bed to pull on his stockings. Elias didn’t offer to help, although he did hand him his top boots. “What of you?” Kit asked. “Who will you talk to?”

“I know some people.” In fact, he intended to talk to Groves.

Kit lifted an eyebrow. “I won’t ask.”

“Best not.”

“But do—” He gave a charming, self-conscious smile. “Do be careful, too.”

“Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t doubt it, but—Wait.” Kit grabbed Elias’s hand to stop him from moving away. His fingers were warm, his grip strong, and Elias’s stomach plunged. “I’d hate for you to be hurt on my account,” Kit said quietly, his heart in those stupid blue eyes of his.

For a moment, Elias curled his fingers around Kit’s hand, then he made himself let go. “We can put our heads together this evening.”

Kit rose and Elias took a judicious step backwards. “After dinner,” Kit decided, a slight flush brushing his cheeks. “In the library?”

Elias was almost certain that was an invitation. Equally certain that he should refuse, that he should remind Mr. Duvall that it was just meant to be the one tumble to clear their heads.

But he was weak and human and full of want. So he said, “That would be convenient, sir,” and tried not to notice how Kit’s small smile ignited something hot in his chest.

Chapter 21

Any heat lingering in Elias was thoroughly doused by the dank trek to Bow Street later that morning.

He’d been meaning to pay a visit to Groves for some time, if for no other reason than to check on the progress of the Radcliffe case and to assure himself of his reward for the gang’s capture. But it wouldn’t hurt to apprise Groves of his progress on the hunt for Wessex, and to see if he had anything to say about Tobias Salter.

But Groves wasn’t at his usual table in The Brown Bear, and Elias was directed over to Chancery Lane where Groves was about his business.

Elias found him at the entrance to a narrow alley running west from the middle section of the street, talking to a jowly, elderly gent clutching a tipstaff. The local parish constable, no doubt, wielding his badge of office.

“Terrible business,” the constable was saying. “And in his offices too! The clerk found him this morning. Terrible business. Robbers, I dare say. His effects were all awry. Young folk today have no respect, eh? No discipline! The blackguards. Spare the rod, spoil the child—”

“Aye, as you say.” Groves had the demeanour of a man who had heard too much already. “But to get back to the point, it was eight o’clock when the deceased was discovered and you were alerted?”

“Yes, just past the hour. I was breakfasting with my lady wife and came as quickly as I could once I was finished.”

“Once you’d finished your breakfast…?”

“Yes. Straight after, as soon as I’d relieved myself, of course. I was here by nine.”

Groves sighed. “And nobody interfered with the body during that time?”

“No, no. Well, only to adjust the man’s limbs to accord him some dignity in death.”

Another, heavy sigh.

“Josiah,” Elias said into the pause. “I’d say ‘good morning’ but it don’t look like it is.”

Groves glanced over his shoulder, then beckoned him forward. “What brings you here?”