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Keeping Mary’s hand in hers, Leo peered over her shoulder at the private detective. “How did you hear of the attack?”

The private detective smiled coyly. “I have my contacts at the Yard, remember?”

“I remember,” she replied cautiously.

Mr. Castelan came to the foot of the hospital bed. “I spoke to a doctor on the way here. He says her chances of survival are slim.”

“I’m not so certain of that,” Leo said. “She was conscious a few moments ago.”

“Oh? That is optimistic. Did she say anything?”

Mary’s fingers, enclosed in Leo’s hand, flexed again. It wasn’t a twitch, but an intentional squeeze. She was awake but pretending to be unconscious…and judging by a quick spasm of her chin, she was frightened.

Pa. That was all Mary had rasped, and Jasper had taken it for Palmer. But now, Leo wondered if it had been the start of someone else’s name.

“No,” Leo answered, a thread of misgiving pulling taut along her spine. “Nothing coherent.”

“That is unfortunate.” Mr. Castelan sounded sincere. But the question of whose name Mary had been trying to say had already sent Leo’s memory on a quest. She knew exactly what she needed and fetched an image of Mr. Castelan’s office. It was meticulous in detail, right down to the paper clutter on his desk, the pattern of the Oriental rug on the floor, the blunt, squared-off shape of his fingernails as he gestured her toward the button-tufted black leather chairs in front of a coal brazier.

But what she wanted to scrutinize hung on the wall behind his desk, in a mahogany wood frame. The certificate of his membership in the League of London Private Detectives, issued in the year 1879—to Mr. Paul Castelan.

Mary had not meant to say Palmer.

She’d meant to say Paul.

Chapter Nineteen

“You appear rather wan all of a sudden, Miss Spencer.” The private detective settled a hand on the wrought iron frame at the foot of the bed. “Perhaps you should find some tea and allow me to sit with Miss Keating for a spell?”

“That isn’t necessary.” Leo’s throat cinched tight around her response, and her mind spun in search of a solution. “I’m happy to stay with her until Inspector Reid returns. Which will be shortly. I expect him at any moment.”

Jasper’s impending return was a lie, of course, but she hoped it would unnerve Mr. Castelan enough to convince him to leave. However, he only narrowed his gaze on her, an inquisitive frown forming.

“You may be waiting for some time. I believe I just saw the inspector on his way out.”

Leo peered at Mr. Castelan. Their gazes locked and held. Unspoken awareness settled between them, at once transparent and incontestable.

He knew what she had deciphered. There was no more use in pretending.

“You were waiting for Inspector Reid to leave, weren’t you?” Leo asked. “Your contacts at Scotland Yard told you nothing. You know what happened to Mary because you are the one who attacked her.”

He did not flinch or scoff at the accusation but remained utterly still. His solicitous expression glazed over and hardened into something predatory.

“You were in a rush at her apartment,” Leo went on, her pulse beginning to strum in her neck. “Inspector Reid and Sergeant Warnock were on their way, and you couldn’t allow Mary to be questioned.”

On the hospital bed, Mary’s limbs rustled under the blanket, catching Mr. Castelan’s hawkish eyes. Leo still held her hand, not taking her attention off the danger in the room.

“You planned to be much more thorough here,” she said.

“Why would I wish to harm Miss Keating?” he asked, though far too placidly. He was only toying with Leo.

“You are Mr. Henry Gray, aren’t you?” Now she understood the cause for the reddened skin on his clean-shaven face. “Your face isn’t chapped because of the cold, dry air as I’d presumed, but from the adhesive you used to keep a false beard, mustache, and even a prosthetic nose in place.”

Mr. Castelan continued to stare at her, his composure steady even if his eyes flashed.

“And your father and grandfather,” she went on, recalling something more that he had said at their first meeting. “You come from a family of surgeons. It’s how you knew to be facetious with your false name for a doctor.”

“You have a strong memory,” he commented, stepping back from the bed.