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Despite the late hour, the detective department at Scotland Yard was a hub of activity.

When at long last Jasper arrived, he was met with congratulatory nods and grins from some of his fellow officers. He’d spent the last few hours at St. Thomas’s, while constables had escorted Castelan to the Yard for booking, and Sergeant Warnock had secured a warrant for the search of the suspect’s home and offices. Judging by Jasper’s reception as he made his way to his office, word of the arrest had spread throughout the Yard.

He accepted a few comments lauding Castelan’s capture but was in no mood to field questions. The hours he’d spent questioning Mary Keating had been a lesson in patience. Once the doctors had assessed her, to be certain her sutured wounds had not torn during the incident in her hospital room, Jasper had been given permission to question her. Coaxing her to speak, however, had all but drained his tolerance. She’d needed stretches of rest between intermittent bouts of sobbing, confession, and pleas for forgiveness.

Relief coursed through him now when Sergeant Warnock stood from his desk to greet him.

“Paul Castelan is in the interview room,” the sergeant said. “How is Miss Spencer?”

“Unharmed,” Jasper answered, though he still felt a flash of cold sweat when he considered how different the outcome could have been, had he not returned when he did.

As he’d promised Leo he would, Jasper had stopped to inform Claude where his niece had gone. After a short discussion in Flora’s hospital room about her fall, Jasper had decided to walk Leo’s uncle to Mary Keating’s room. Coming upon the nearly closed door, he’d held up a hand to silence Claude. Leo’s voice and that of Castelan’s had come through the small opening.

He and Claude had listened at the door as Leo laid out the private detective’s deeds, and Castelan had responded in turn. Trepidation seeped in as he’d listened, knowing that the man planned to silence Leo. It had taken everything in him not to barge in before Castelan could admit to anything. At Mary Keating’s rasping cry of alarm, Jasper had yielded, and without a second to spare.

Jasper removed his coat and hat and draped them over Warnock’s chair as the sergeant picked up an evidence box from his desk. “Found some interesting things in the suspect’s home. The coroner’s report you requested is inside as well.”

Jasper glimpsed the contents of the box and instantly understood his sergeant’s sly, prideful grin. “Let’s see what he has to say for himself.”

He and Warnock started for the interview room but were intercepted by Chief Inspector Coughlan and Superintendent Monroe. The beginnings of Jasper’s improved mood instantly evaporated.

“Reid,” Monroe called merrily. “I hear you’ve made an arrest in the Lawlor case.”

“I did,” he replied, then with a glance toward Chief Coughlan, added, “With some help from Miss Spencer.”

The chief looked distinctly uncomfortable at the superintendent’s questioning glare. “Miss Spencer?”

Chief Coughlan coughed. “She was consulting.”

Monroe reserved comment though he didn’t appear happy. “A private inquiry agent is behind it all?” he asked instead.

“Bloody frauds, the lot of them,” Chief Coughlan snarled.

“Not all of them, Dermot,” the superintendent corrected. “But the majority, to be sure. Mind if I sit in on the interview, Reid?”

There was no need for him to ask permission. If he wished to observe the interview, he had every authority to do so. Jasper forced a nod, though he would have much rather questioned Paul Castelan without the superintendent looking on.

He, Warnock, and Monroe entered the interview room, and thankfully, as Jasper locked eyes with Paul Castelan, Monroe’s presence ceased to bother him. He had a job to do, and he was confident in his ability to see it through.

“You took your time,” the disgraced private detective said, his fingers drumming the table. The motion caused the rings on the iron chain strung between his wrists to clink. “My solicitor and I have been waiting.”

The man seated next to Castelan grimaced. Jasper wasn’t certain his displeasure was aimed at him, or at his client.

“I wouldn’t be in any rush if I were you, Castelan,” he replied. “The only place you’re going to from here is Newgate.”

“You have no evidence against me,” he said with an arrogant smirk that boiled Jasper’s blood. “Whatever you think you heard being said between myself and Miss Spencer is circumstantial.”

Tamping down a scowl, Jasper gestured for Sergeant Warnock to come forward with the evidence box. The sergeant placed it on the table and took from within a pair of wire spectacles, a prosthetic nose cast of India rubber, a hairpiece, and faux beard and mustache, laying out the lot, one by one, on the table in front of Castelan and his solicitor.

“These were found in a bean crock in Mr. Castelan’s larder,” Warnock announced.

Superintendent Monroe whistled. “I believe you would greatly resemble the man from the sketch of Mr. Henry Gray, were you to put these items on.”

Castelan hitched his chin and averted his eyes from the articles of disguise. “Obviously, they have been deposited in my home to incriminate me. I have never seen those things in my life.”

Jasper picked up the flexible, bulbous nose cast of India rubber. The underside of the edges showed remnants of adhesive paste. In the hospital room, Jasper had overheard Leo mentioning the irritated skin on Castelan’s face, a result of applying the paste. He’d noted it himself while Castelan had been shaving.

“There are a number of costumiers in London, though not many specialize in facial prosthetics,” Jasper said. “How difficult do you think it will be to find the one who made this for you?”