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Gideon had put the kerchief back in his waistcoat pocket, but now he reached into his pocket to extract Pennington’s leather-bound diary.

“Your brother’s diary notes regular meetings with Mrs. Devlin.” Gideon opened to the relevant page and held the book out for Pennington to see, but he would not reach for it.

The man swallowed almost convulsively, and then paled, all the color draining from his cheeks.

“It is not true. Percival was a man of regular habits. Perhaps he made those notations expecting the meetings to occur, but I can assure you they did not.” When he lifted his gaze, it was stark. “I saw Demeter nearly every day during the time indicated.”

Gideon thought the young man’s claim sounded plausible. A repeated meeting might be noted a month ahead, but it simply made it more imperative that he find and speak with Demeter Devlin to confirm whether or not she had in fact met with Percival Pennington twice a week for the past months.

“Have you spoken to Roderick Beecham?” Lance Pennington all but barked at him.

Gideon slipped the diary back into his pocket. “Not as yet. I plan to speak to him directly.”

“Good, because if you’re seeking a man who wished my brother ill, there you will find him, Inspector Pierce.”

Gideon nodded and edged forward in his chair. “Thank you for answering my questions, Mr. Pennington.”

The young man got to his feet at the same time Gideon did.

“I hope when we speak again, Inspector, you’ll have answers rather than questions.”

Gideon made no reply, simply tipped his head at the young man, wondering how much of what he’d told him was truth and which parts were deception.

He wished he could have Electra’s opinion on the matter.

Chapter Fifteen

Gideon considered returning to Vine Street after his discussion with Lance Pennington, but decided not to delay his meeting with Roderick Beecham. The man was one of London’s commercial titans, as a recent article he’d read about the man referred to him. It seemed a good time to catch him at home before he might dine or venture out for the evening.

Beecham had been mentioned by many Gideon had spoken to as the man who held the greatest grudge toward Percival Pennington. And as his hansom cab rolled toward Beecham’s townhouse, Gideon tried to imagine a scenario in which Beecham would have encountered Percival Pennington on the street in Mayfair at precisely the right moment, or had perhaps laid in wait for him.

When he climbed down from the cab, he surveyed Beecham’s ostentatious townhouse, wider and taller than most of its neighbors. He lifted the polished lion’s head knocker and rapped three times.

A young gentleman in footman's livery answered.

“Good afternoon, sir.”

“Good afternoon. My name is Detective Inspector Gideon Pierce. Is Mr. Roderick Beecham at home?”

“He is, sir, but he has another visitor waiting to speak with him. If you'd like to wait in the drawing room, I’ll let him know you wish to speak to him too.”

Gideon followed the young man across the wide foyer into a room that struck him as intensely blue. He glimpsed peacock-blue wallpaper and sapphire upholstered furnishings past the footman’s shoulder.

And then it was if there was a shift in the air. A familiar scent. And he knew as soon as the footman stepped aside and directed him toward a blue gilded armchair, who he’d find sharing the drawing room with him.

Electra looked initially shocked and then finally pleased to see him. That pleasure curtailed a bit of his own shock.

When the footman departed, she immediately stepped closer.

“You got my note then.”

“What note?”

Her black brows dipped in confusion. “The note I left for you at Vine Street, asking you to meet me here.”

“I received no note, but why are you here?”

“I came to speak to Rodrick Beecham.” She spoke the words with the implication that the answer was the most obvious thing in the world.