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“Uh, no. The harebrained part—the bit where you pose as a smuggler in the village closest to your family estate—I want nothing to do with. Sleuthing out which of our noble associates may be operating an illicit smuggling operation, however, I would quite enjoy tackling.”

For the first time since he’d returned to London, a glimmer of hope outshone the discouragement Jonas had been experiencing, and he found himself grinning. “Are you sure you have the necessary skills for such a devious endeavor?”

“Quite,” Alexander said, a twinkle in his eye. “Now tell me what you know.”

“He rides a black horse and carries a walking stick.” Jonas paused.

Alexander waited expectantly for a few moments, then frowned. “That’s it?”

“He’s undoubtedly a fine judge of horseflesh; his stallion has excellent speed.”

“The deuce take it, Jonas! You could be describing almost any gentleman in London. I myself qualify under those criteria.”

“Do you occasionally miss a social gathering to ride down to the coast at night?”

Alexander ignored him. “I shall make some discrete inquiries regarding any gentlemen who’ve been noticeably absent at the must-attend events in town.”

“It’s a place to start, at least.”

“Albeit a weak one,” Alexander said dryly. “We need more to go on than the color of his horse and his use of a cane.”

“I realize that. And I will do all in my power to gather more clues to his identity.” Jonas took a deep breath. “In the meantime, however, I did glean some valuable information about the local magistrate.”

Alexander offered him an inquiring look. “Such as?”

“He’s as rotten as a worm-ridden apple. And apparently, his father, who held the same office, was much the same.”

The moment Alexander grasped the implications inherent in this news, all trace of humor left his face, and his shoulders stiffened. “Am I to assume the former magistrate is the man responsible for the inquest into your father’s death?”

“Yes,” Jonas said. “Which means it was likely a sham and also throws into question the entire investigation surrounding the Alouette coming aground that same night.”

Alexander’s jaw tightened. “The authorities told my father they’d found no evidence that the smugglers had purposely guided the ship onto the rocks.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Jonas said grimly. “Especially if they were rehearsing the information given to them by the late Mr. Cummings.”

Alexander jumped to his feet and paced to the fireplace and back. “You realize we have now moved from talking about smuggling to possible murder.”

“I do.” Jonas stood and faced his friend. “But as distasteful as that is, we cannot ignore the possibility. If the leaders of the Lamhurst Gang are responsible for the death of my father and the passengers and crewmembers aboard the Alouette, they must answer for those crimes. Even if justice is over seventeen years late in coming.”

Alexander nodded slowly. “What do you still remember of the particulars surrounding your father’s death?”

Jonas walked over to the fireplace, and resting his arm across the mantel, he gazed down at the low-burning flames. He’d been merely a boy, and yet he could picture the events of that fateful night as though they’d happened yesterday.

“It was a week before I was to leave for Eton. A thunderstorm had rolled in earlier that evening, bringing with it heavy rain. My sister, Rosalind, and I were already in our beds, but I was not yet asleep. I heard the loud rapping at the front door. The late-night interruption was unusual enough to pique my curiosity, so I slipped out of my bedchamber and hurried to see what it was about.”

Alexander gave a half smile. “One of Reynard the Fox’s earliest forays.”

“Perhaps so,” Jonas acknowledged. “No one noticed me watching from the landing, but I saw the butler admit Mr. Crawford, the old vicar. The man was windblown and wet, but it was his agitation that was most memorable. He told the butler that he needed to speak to the viscount right away. He did not have long to wait. Father had chosen to investigate the ruckus in the hall himself, and upon his arrival, Mr. Crawford told him that a ship’s light had been spotted out at sea, and it appeared that the vessel was foundering in the storm. He was worried that if it came any closer to shore, the smugglers would ensure that those on board would never reach land.”

“Did he mention wreckers specifically?”

“It was hardly necessary. The smuggler’s code is well-known along the coast: a wrecked ship can be freely plundered as long as there is no one still alive onboard.”

Alexander frowned. “A law that virtually condemns any survivors to death.”

“Precisely. Which is why the vicar was so concerned.” Jonas shook his head in frustration. “I imagine that although smuggling goods from France or Holland met with his disapproval, luring innocents onboard ship to their death was completely untenable. He must have known that going to the magistrate would be a futile endeavor, so he braved the storm and made the five-mile ride to Langton Manor instead.”

“And your father went with him.”