"What did you buy?" Willie asked as I joined her in Miss Glass's room. They sat on the bed together, both propped up against pillows, legs outstretched. Miss Glass wore a robe over a nightgown and was covered from the waist down by blankets, whereas Willie wore her usual masculine clothes and sat on top of the blankets. She had removed her boots, at least.

"Have you been shopping, India?" Miss Glass asked. "Without me?"

"Ain't something she'd ordinarily do, eh, Letty," Willie said, her gaze narrow. She knew me too well. I rarely went shopping, let alone without company.

Thankfully I'd walked home via Piccadilly and stopped in at The Family Confectioner. The longer route had given me time to think about the information Lord Coyle had given me. I still could hardly fathom the shocking news, but his lordship had assured me it was not a joke, and his information was correct. It was so shocking, in fact, that I doubted my ability to use it against Lord Cox. How could I, a nobody, threaten to tell the world what I knew if he didn't marry Patience? What would he do?

After mulling it over, I knew the answer to that question. He'd do precisely what I asked him to do because he would not want the information becoming public. It would ruin him and change the course of his life—and the lives of his children. I wouldn't follow through on the threat lightly, and I needed time to think if it was what I really wanted to do. I couldn't visit him today. Besides, Matt and the others would be suspicious if I went out alone again.

I fished the bag of Bullseyes out of my reticule and handed it to Willie. "I bought these and some marshmallows."

She looked inside the bag and screwed up her nose. "It ain't jewelry."

"Why were you expecting me to buy jewelry?"

"No reason." She nudged Miss Glass with her elbow.

"A lady does not buy her own engagement ring," Miss Glass said stiffly.

"She does if the gen'leman ain't bought one for her."

"Matt is still engaged to Patience," I reminded them. "It would be crass for me to wear one now."

"Precisely," Miss Glass said. "You are quite correct, India." She patted the bed near her. "Off you go, Willemina. India and I need to talk."

Willie shuffled aside and popped a Bullseye in her mouth then settled back against the pillows.

Miss Glass clicked her tongue and eyed the door. Willie sighed and got up. "I'm going," she said. "But I'm taking these with me." She took the bag of sweets, picked her boots up off the floor, and left.

"Sit, India," Miss Glass said, patting the bed again.

"Is this about going away?" I asked. "Do you need advice on what to pack?"

"It's about you and Matthew." She took my hand between both of hers. "I want you to know that I give you my approval."

I stared at her a moment, then threw my arms around her. "Thank you," I whispered. "It means a lot to us."

"Not that you needed my approval."

"No, but it's nice to have." I pulled away and smiled. She smiled back, and I was relieved to see that it was genuine. She was not giving her approval because she was backed into a corner but because she wanted to give it. "Why the sudden change of heart?"

"Hardly sudden, my dear. You have been chipping away at me for some time."

"You don't think me a gold digger?"

"I never thought that, India."

"Your brother and sister-in-law do."

"Ignore them. Richard is a bully, and Beatrice has a cold heart. She wouldn't know love if it presented itself to her on a bed of rose petals. It's no wonder their daughters are all deranged. They've not experienced a moment of love their entire lives."

"I'm worried about how they'll treat me," I said. "For Matt's sake, I don't want them to belittle me or gossip about me."

She patted my hand and smiled. "It doesn't matter though, does it? You won't be here. None of us will. We'll be traveling the world, seeing glorious things, while they can molder away in that damp pile of stones they call Rycroft Hall."

I sighed. She would be most disappointed of all if we decided not to leave. "When did you change your mind about us?" I asked.

"I finally realized you two were meant for one another after Matt told me you're leaving so you can be together. Your sacrifices prove it."

"Sacrifices?"

"You're giving up the only home you've ever known for him, and he's moving away from the doctor who can save his life."

I suddenly felt cold. I hadn't thought of that. Why had I not thought of it? Matt needed to be close to Gabriel Seaford in case the watch slowed down again. My magic wasn't enough. Why had I not thought of that?

"India?" Miss Glass's face filled my vision. "India, you did think it through, didn't you? You and Matt must have discussed it."

A knock sounded on the door and it opened a little. Matt saw us and entered. "There you are, India." He kissed my cheek then Miss Glass's. "How are you, Aunt?"

"Well enough to get up, thank you. I don't know why you told Polly to confine me to bed. If it weren't for Willemina, I'd have been quite bored."

Matt looked at me. "You weren't here all morning, India?"

"I went out," I said. "Shopping. I bought sweets but Willie stole them." I swung my legs off the bed and got up. "I'll send Polly to help you dress, Miss Glass. And thank you. For everything."

Matt arched a brow. "What have I missed?"

"Your aunt gave us her blessing," I said.

His smile started slow then quickly broadened. "Thank you, Aunt. I knew you'd come to your senses. I'm just glad it's sooner rather than later." He kissed her forehead and made to leave with me, but she called him back.

"I need to speak with you," she said, patting the space on the bed I'd just vacated.

I left them but did not immediately go in search of Polly. I stood with my back to Miss Glass's door, clutching the handle. She was right. All doubts I had about blackmailing Lord Cox into marrying Patience were banished in the moment she reminded me about Gabe.

As long as he lived here, Matt could not leave London.

Matt, Duke, Cyclops, Willie and I were in the process of considering our next move in the investigation when Oscar Barratt arrived with news.

"A new editor has been appointed," he said, peering through the library window. "A fellow by the name of Pelham." He glanced up and down the street before finally moving into the room. Instead of sitting, however, he paced from one side of the library to the other. As if the signs weren't telling enough, he also wrung his hands. Poor Oscar was at the end of his tether.

"What do you know of him?" Matt asked.

"This is the interesting part," Oscar said, pausing only long enough to stamp his hands on his hips. "He was the editor of The Morning Chronicle. Delancey owns a share of it."

"Delancey!" I cried.

"That's it," Willie said, slapping her hand on the chair arm. "He's the killer. Must be."

Oscar shook his head. "Not necessarily. I received the threatening letters, not Baggley. I was supposed to die that night." He resumed pacing. "The editor's position shouldn't have become vacant, but when it unexpectedly did, Delancey took advantage of the situation and put in his own man. That's my theory, anyway. Pelham has already told me I can't write any more articles. I'm sure that's Delancey's influence."

"Good," Matt said.

Oscar scowled at him without breaking stride. "I'll publish them somewhere else. Interest in magic is extremely high. Another paper will take them. I'm on my way to meet with an editor now." He paused by the mantel and tapped the clock face.

"It's working perfectly well," I told him. "Why don't you sit down, Oscar? You'll wear the carpet out."

"Not to mention my neck," Duke said, rubbing it.

Oscar perched on the edge of a chair, looking as if he'd spring up at any moment. "So what's next, Glass? Where is your investigation at?"

"It's worth speaking to Delancey in light of what you just told us," Matt said.

Oscar waited, but when Matt said nothing more, he threw his hands in the air. "So you have nothing." He pushed to his feet and once again paced the room. "You don't care, do you? You're happy the new editor is stopping my articles."

"You think I'm happy that Baggley died?" Matt growled. "If I was going to use violence to stop you writing articles, I would have done so by now. My fists don't miss and hit the wrong man."

Oscar finally stopped pacing. He stood by the fireplace and crossed his arms. "Speak to Delancey if you want, but it won't help. Baggley was never meant to die. I was. Delancey merely took advantage of the vacancy to put his puppet in."

"There is something else we know about Delancey, as it happens," I said. "He gave Mr. Hendry a loan after the banks refused to lend him any money because he’s a magician. His debts have also been called in, leaving him rather desperate."

Oscar shrugged. "How does that make Delancey guilty of my murder?"

"You ain't been murdered," Cyclops said.

"Yet," Willie added with a cool edge to her voice.

Oscar's eyes widened and he took a step away from her.

"Hendry's bankers and creditors somehow learned that he's a magician," Matt said.

"How?"

"We don't know, but if the banks aren't loaning him any more money because he's a magician, it stands to reason that any other known magicians will have a similar problem. And aside from India's grandfather, you only named yourself in your articles—and your brother by association. In light of that, it's interesting to note that Isaac also went to Delancey for a private loan."

Oscar went still. "He did?"

"Perhaps that's why he came to London," I said. "To speak with his bank after they stopped doing business with him."

"When they refused to loan him more money, he went to Delancey," Matt finished.

"He could also have come to kill the source of the articles," Willie said with an apologetic shrug.

Oscar strode up to her, fists clenched at his sides. "My brother is not a killer! For God's sake, he'll hit me but he won't shoot me."

Matt shot to his feet and pulled Oscar away. Willie hadn't looked concerned for her safety but she had also clenched her fists. Oscar jerked free of Matt's grip and rounded his shoulders.

Matt didn't back away. "Find out if your brother's usual bank refused to loan him more money. I want to know by tomorrow."

"Why tomorrow?" Oscar asked.

"This is dragging on too long. Willie, I want you to watch Delancey. Duke and Cyclops, follow the new editor, Pelham. I want to know where he lives, who he associates with, and if he seems to have more money than a newspaper editor ought. Anything that looks suspicious."

The three of them filed out, and Oscar also indicated he had to go.

"I have a meeting in thirty minutes," he said.

"I think you should reconsider trying to sell your articles to other papers," I told him gently. "It's wiser to lie low for a while. At least until we've caught the murderer."

"Or it might flush him out into the open again."

"Are you mad?"

"Why not just paint a target on your back?" Matt said with a shake of his head.

Oscar pointed a finger at Matt's face. "If you were doing your job, I wouldn't have to resort to desperate measures. Find the killer, Glass, before it's too late."

"Stop it, Oscar," I snapped. "We're doing our best."

"Might I remind you that we're doing this gratis?" Matt said

Oscar grunted.

"Consider India's suggestion of lying low," Matt went on. "It's the sensible thing to do."

Oscar squared up to him, puffing out his chest. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? You've never wanted me to write the truth about magic. This has all worked out perfectly for you. Typical. Men like you and my brother always get what they want at the expense of the rest of us."

"You'd better go," Matt said, his jaw hard. "Before I'm tempted to escort you out."

Oscar put his hands in the air in surrender and backed away. "I think I liked you better when you were sick."

Matt opened the library door, and Bristow saw Oscar out of the house. Oscar hesitated on the top step, checking the vicinity, before striding purposefully to the waiting cab.

"He's anxious," Matt said as Bristow shut the front door.

"That's no excuse for the way he spoke to you just now," I said. "Or the way he threatened Willie."

"Agreed." He rubbed my arms. "Are you all right, India?"

"Fine. What do we do now?"

"We wait for Willie, Cyclops or Duke to report back."

"Then let's have an early lunch with your aunt."

We didn't have to wait long for the first report. Willie returned as we finished our lunch with details of Delancey's movements. "He met with Hendry at the shop," she said, plucking a sandwich off the platter. "I saw them arguing through the window and then Delancey left. Hendry looked upset." She shoved the entire sandwich in her mouth, much to Miss Glass's disgust.

"Then we'll pay Delancey a visit." Matt rose and held his hand out to me. "Did he go home or to the bank?"

Willie managed to say, "Home," despite a mouth full of sandwich.

It wasn't long before we were once again visiting the Delancey's house. Although we asked to see Mr. Delancey, it was Mrs. Delancey who greeted us in the drawing room.

"India, dearest, how lovely to see you again." She kissed my cheek and greeted Matt politely if not effusively. "Sit, sit. My husband will join us shortly. You just caught him. He came home for luncheon but he must go back to the bank. Ah, here he is. Darling, I was just about to ask India if she'd like to dine with us this evening. You will, won't you, India?"

"I'm afraid I can't," I said. "We have other plans." The lie rolled effortlessly off my tongue, and I didn't feel the least guilty. I'd had quite enough of Mrs. Delancey and her ilk for a while.

"Perhaps next week," she said. "That'll give me more time to ask some friends. Shall we say Tuesday evening?"

I nodded, unsure how to get out of it a second time. Perhaps I could plead ill on the day, assuming I was still in London. I caught Matt watching me closely and turned my attention to Mr. Delancey.

"You were seen arguing with Mr. Hendry, the paper magician, earlier today," I said. "What about?"

He looked taken aback by my direct question. "It's a private matter."

"Please answer Miss Steele," Matt said.

Mr. Delancey bristled. "Why should I?"

"Because you're a suspect in the murder of Mr. Baggley, and not cooperating will make you look guilty."

Mrs. Delancey gasped. "A suspect? India, how could you? After everything I've done for you?"

"I rather think I've done more for you than you have for me," I shot back. Her stunned silence gave me a small measure of satisfaction. "Mr. Delancey, I'm sure you'd like to clear your name, so please answer honestly. We know you loaned Mr. Hendry money."

Delancey turned a frosty gaze onto his wife. She swallowed and took great interest in her hands, folded in her lap.

"Have you retracted the loan?" I went on. "Is that why you argued?"

"Yes," he said.

Mrs. Delancey shook her head at her husband. "Oh, you didn't, did you? Honestly, Ferdinand."

"Why the change of heart?" I asked.

Mr. Delancey crossed his arms and legs. "That is none of your business."

"That poor man," his wife said. "Just when he needs us the most, we abandon him."

"I don't do private business with that sort of man," her husband hissed at her. "I'm sorry, my dear, but you know my thoughts on that."

"I didn't before," she said with a sniff, "but I do now. If I had known you'd be this horrid about it, I wouldn't have told you."

"Told him what?" Matt asked.

Mrs. Delancey arched her brows at her husband.

He uncrossed then re-crossed his legs. "I don't do business with his sort," he repeated.

"Magicians?" I asked, rather stupidly.

"Murderers?" Matt suggested.

When he didn't answer, Mrs. Delancey spoke instead. "Men who like other men."

Ah. I had wondered if Mr. Hendry preferred men to women, but it seemed irrelevant to the investigation so I had not mentioned it to Matt. He didn't look shocked either, so I suspected he'd also guessed.

"So?" Matt said.

"It's not natural," Mr. Delancey muttered. "Men like that disgust me. I'd rather not have a stake in his business. I'd rather not have anything to do with him. I think we should get our stationery made elsewhere, too."

"No!" Mrs. Delancey cried. "Certainly not. He is the best, and I want only the best paper. Besides, he's a magician. I don't care what else he is."

"Well I do."

"Honestly," she muttered. "Where are your priorities? It's not as if he finds you attractive."

Her husband's face flushed crimson.

I looked to Matt, catching him trying hard not to smile. "How did you learn about his, er, preference for men?" I asked.

"My wife informed me only this morning," Mr. Delancey grumbled. "Even though she found out some time ago."

"I went to sample some new card stock a little while ago, and I saw Mr. Hendry with another man through his shop window," Mrs. Delancey said. "They weren't doing anything overt, if you understand my meaning. It was simply the way they stood with one another, the way their bodies were angled, their hands close but not touching. Their smiles were secretive, too, and rather sweet. Ordinary men do not smile at each other like that. I could tell they were lovers."

Her husband made a sound of disgust in his throat.

"Can you describe the other man?" Matt asked.

"Slight of build, well dressed, handsome. I passed him as I entered the shop and couldn't help noticing his lovely blue eyes and an unfortunate nervous twitch here." She touched her top lip.

Sweeney.

"Thank you," Matt said, rising and buttoning his jacket.

Mrs. Delancey rang for a footman to show us the way out. "You will come next week for dinner, India dear," she said as we waited.

I nodded and wished I had the nerve to refuse her to her face.

The footman arrived and indicated we should walk ahead of him.

"I wish you'd told me before today about that fellow," Mr. Delancey mumbled to his wife as we were leaving. "You could have saved me the trouble of retracting the loan today. It was a most unpleasant scene. I hope none of his neighbors thought we were arguing over something of a more personal nature."

"No one will think that," his wife bit off. "He prefers handsome young men."

Matt directed our driver to Hendry's shop. "We're not visiting Sweeney?" I asked as we settled into the carriage.

"I think we should check on Hendry, first," Matt said. "The last time we saw him, he was anxious and a little irrational. This setback must be a blow."

I sidled closer to him and took his hand. "It's good of you to worry about him."

"Don't make me out to be a saint, India. I'm also hoping to get some answers."

"To which questions?"

"To the question of Sweeney's guilt in the murder of Baggley."

"You think Sweeney did it?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Something isn't quite right." He flipped my hand over and drew circles on my palm with his thumb. "For instance, if Hendry and Sweeney were lovers who fell out over Hendry being a magician, what led Sweeney to want to murder Oscar Barratt? Wouldn't he want to murder Hendry?"

"Perhaps they didn't fall out over Hendry being a magician but something more personal. Jealousy, perhaps."

Matt laughed. "Perhaps Oscar Barratt is the other man in the equation."

"He isn't."

Matt's laughter suddenly died. He twisted to see me better. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because Oscar looks at me in a certain way."

His eyes darkened. "What way?"

"In a way that neither Mr. Hendry nor Mr. Sweeney have looked at me."

He grunted. "Fine. So Barratt isn't the reason they fell out. Then why try to kill him?"

"To stop the articles?" I said on a sigh. "But you're right. I don't think Sweeney discovering that Hendry is a magician is a good enough reason to suddenly kill someone else. I also don't think jealousy is behind this. Mr. Sweeney seems quite alone, and I'm not a relationship expert, but I do think Mr. Hendry still cares for him."

Matt considered this with a slow nod. "You might be right. We'll ask him."

"Do you think it wise to simply ask him these things directly? Their relationship is very personal, not to mention illegal."

"Then you must employ your charms on him, India."

"I don't think those will work." I patted his cheek. "You try."

He gave me a lopsided grin. "I suppose I am more his type."

"Matt, you're everybody's type."

Mr. Hendry looked as if he would cry when he saw us enter his shop. "Why can't you leave me alone?" he whined.

"Because you are our chief suspect in the murder of Mr. Baggley," I told him.

"Me?" He shook his head in rapid, jerky movements. "I didn't murder anyone. Th—the gun." He indicated the shelf behind the counter with a shaking hand. "It was put there by someone else. I gave you his description. You should be looking for him."

"We gave the gun to the police," I said.

His shoulders slumped as he rounded the counter. "Then I suppose I can expect a visit from them soon."

Matt rested a hand on Mr. Hendry's shoulder. "We've come about another matter," he said gently. "A delicate matter."

Mr. Hendry frowned and plucked Matt's hand off. I bit back my smile. "What matter?" Mr. Hendry asked.

"About your private life. With Patrick Sweeney."

Mr. Hendry backed away, bumping into the counter. "I—I don't like your implication."

Matt followed him and stood a little closer than necessary. "Don't be anxious. You can talk to us. We don't care who you're in a relationship with, we only care about solving this crime."

Mr. Hendry swallowed loudly. "Go away."

Matt rested a hand on the counter.

Mr. Hendry slipped along the counter in the opposite direction. "I said go away. I've got nothing more to say to you. Go and find the real murderer and leave me alone." He lifted the counter hatch and stepped through, slamming the hatch back into place.

"We know you still care about him," Matt went on.

Tears welled in Mr. Hendry's eyes. "Leave me alone! I've got nothing to say to you."

Matt and I did as asked and left. "Do you call that flirting?" I said as he assisted me into the carriage.

"I'm out of practice. Besides, I only want to flirt with you. It doesn't feel right flirting with someone else."

"You must learn to set aside your principles if you want to get anywhere in this investigation business," I teased.

He ordered the driver to continue on to Sweeney's factory and sat alongside me in the cabin. He kissed the skin below my ear. "I think I need a more thorough lesson in investigative technique," he murmured. "Will you teach me?"

His lips tickled and I giggled and squirmed. Next thing I knew, I was being thoroughly and completely kissed.

Mr. Sweeney's assistant told us we would find him at the Stationers' Hall. Unfortunately, the porter there not only knew us but had been warned to keep us out. He watched as we retreated to the carriage and slammed the door. Instead of leaving, we waited.

We occupied our time with talk of our plans to leave London. Or rather, Matt talked, and I listened. He told me of all the places on the continent he wanted to take me, and he listed reasons for and against living in each city he'd visited before. I was glad he didn't expect me to contribute more to the conversation than a nod here and there, because I wasn't sure I could lie to him very well. My heart wasn't in the discussion, knowing we wouldn't leave. We couldn't leave.

An hour and eight minutes passed before Mr. Sweeney finally emerged from the hall. He slapped on his hat, spoke to the porter, and headed off up the street. Once the porter closed the door, we followed Sweeney on foot. We waited until we were out of sight of the hall's windows before we hailed him.

He stopped and, upon seeing us, groaned. "What do you want?" he snapped.

"To ask you a few questions," Matt said.

"This is harassment."

"This is nothing compared to how the police will treat you if we tell them what we know."

Mr. Sweeney's throat worked but no words came out.

Matt filled the void. "We know about your relationship with Hendry."

Mr. Sweeney bristled. "You're mistaken, sir, and your implication disgusts me."

"You were seen together," I said.

Mr. Sweeney's eyes widened. Then he turned and marched off. "This is outrageous. Slanderous. I'll be speaking to my lawyer."

"Is your relationship the reason why you were so angry when Mr. Hendry told you he's a magician?" Matt pressed, easily keeping up. I had to lift my skirts and trot a few paces behind them.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Were you in love with Mr. Hendry and felt he'd betrayed you by keeping it from you until those articles were printed?"

He stopped again and rounded on Matt. "What does your accusation have to do with the murder? Why would I kill anyone at the newspaper? What has my falling out with Hendry got to do with it? I don't like the articles but I'm no murderer. As to your suggestion of love, it's laughable. There's no such thing as love, particularly of that kind." He strode off again, his steps quick, his back straight.

Matt went to follow him but I caught his hand. "Let him go."

We returned to the carriage and asked the driver to take us home. "Interesting reaction," Matt said as we pulled away from the curb. "Very interesting."

"In what way?" I asked.

"I believe him when he says he doesn't believe in love. I don't know why, I just do. I don't think he cares about Hendry at all."

What that might mean for Sweeney's guilt or otherwise in the murder, neither of us could fathom.

Matt and I were about to sit down to dinner when Detective Inspector Brockwell arrived. He greeted us with his usual briskness then sucked in a deep breath, swelling his chest.

"Something smells good," he said.

"We're about to dine," Matt told him.

"I am sorry. I'll return later."

"Please stay." I indicated to Bristow to take Brockwell's hat and coat. "Join us for dinner. It's only Matt and me, tonight. His aunt is dining in her room and our friends are out."

"Well, that would be a pleasure." His cheeks flushed pink. "Thank you, Miss Steele, you're very kind. I don't get to dine at fine houses like this too often."

"Then you're in for a treat. Mrs. Potter is a marvelous cook."

"If the delicious smells emanating from the kitchen are anything to go by, then I already agree."

I hooked my arm through Brockwell's and escorted him to dinner. "Coming, Matt?" I asked over my shoulder.

"Oh, I'm invited, am I?" he said with a crooked smile.

Bristow answered a knock at the door, and Matt stayed to see who it was. Bristow accepted a note from the messenger and handed it to Matt. Matt's scowl deepened as he read. I resisted the urge to ask, and instead I directed Brockwell to sit at the long table. I sent Peter off to fetch more silverware, to make another place, and sat opposite Brockwell. I had to lean to the side to see past the vase of lovely roses. He stood and moved the vase aside then sat again.

"Better." He smiled at me.

Matt took his seat at the head of the table. The note was nowhere in sight but the scowl was still in place, although he directed it at the roses. "To what do we owe this visit?" he asked Brockwell.

"All in good time," I said. "Let the inspector enjoy his first glass of wine before you demand answers."

Matt's eyes tightened.

Bristow poured the wine and melted away into the background as Peter returned and set another place. Brockwell seemed uncomfortable; no doubt being waited on felt strange. I understood completely.

"Are you working late this evening?" I asked him.

"I do most nights," he said. "If not at the office then at home. It keeps me occupied. A bachelor's life can be rather dull."

"Then you must dine with us more often. Don't you agree, Matt?"

Matt lowered his glass to the table. "Most definitely. India and I are very fortunate to have your company tonight, Inspector. We would have been quite alone otherwise." He lifted his glass in salute and drank.

It was my turn to scowl at him, but unfortunately he wasn't looking at me.

"How is your health?" Brockwell asked Matt.

"Fine."

Brockwell eyed the footman and butler and lifted his brows. Matt gave a slight shake of his head. There would be no conversation about magic until the servants left. Unfortunately, that left us with little in common to talk about. I tried to engage the inspector with other topics, but he admitting to reading few novels and rarely attending the theater. That left us with current events that did not involve magic.

I was rather glad when we retired to the drawing room and Matt finally dismissed the servants.

"I'm afraid we can't smoke in here," Matt said. "My aunt prefers it to be confined to the smoking room.

"That's all right, I'm not much of a smoker anyway." Brockwell eased himself into one of the chairs, looking rather satisfied as he patted his stomach. "Dinner was grand. Your cook is indeed a marvel. Thank you for having me."

I waited for Matt to say something. When he didn't, I said, "Our pleasure."

"So what do you have to report?" Matt asked as he poured brandies. "Any news on the weapon?"

"It was the same type as that used in the murder," Brockwell said.

Matt stopped pouring. "Interesting."

"I spoke to Hendry this afternoon. You two had just been there, as it happens. He was in a state over it and demanded I make you stop pestering him, as he put it."

"We won't stop," Matt said. "Our investigation is a private matter."

"And I have no authority to force you to stop. At least, that's what I told Hendry."

Matt gave him a nod of thanks.

"Do you want to know what we learned?" I asked Brockwell.

"That's why I'm here, Miss Steele, although I will admit the prospect of your pleasant company lured me too." He smiled warmly. "Of course, if Glass weren’t engaged to his cousin, I would never dream of intruding on a private dinner. Happily for me, he is."

Matt stepped between us and handed Brockwell the tumbler of brandy. "We learned that Hendry was…very good friends with Sweeney, master of the Stationers’ Guild. They are no longer friends."

Brockwell showed no surprise. "I know."

"What did you find out from your conversation with Hendry, Inspector?" I asked as Matt handed me a glass.

"Very little. As I said, he was upset about you calling on him incessantly."

"Hardly incessantly," Matt countered.

"He listed the dates and times of all your visits. There were quite a number of them." Brockwell put up his hand to halt Matt's protests. "I agree, it was perhaps necessary, considering the letters to Mr. Barratt were on his paper and the gun was found in his shop. Speaking of which, I questioned him about it this afternoon, and it's my belief that he lied to you about how the gun came to be in his possession. I think he knew who put it there, and it's not Abercrombie."

"Why do you say so?" I asked.

"He acted suspiciously when I confronted him. He wouldn't meet my gaze and he wouldn't stand still. Both are classic signs of a poor liar. When I told him his false description could see an innocent man arrested, he broke down. He didn't admit it, of course, but he changed his story and claimed he couldn't recall what the man looked like."

"Blast," I muttered. "I thought we had proof of Abercrombie's involvement, although I did doubt that he pulled the trigger himself. He's too cowardly to do that."

Matt pulled out a piece of paper from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to me. "This arrived before dinner. It proves Brockwell's theory about Abercrombie's innocence."

The note was from the clockmaker in Abercrombie's workshop who'd told us his master had received Mr. Sweeney on Friday, the day the gun had been placed in Hendry's shop. According to the clockmaker, he'd remembered incorrectly and the day had in fact been Thursday, not Friday. He went on to explain why he'd made the mistake.

"Do you think this is the truth or has Abercrombie learned that we spoke to him?" I asked Matt as I passed the note to Brockwell.

"Impossible to know for sure, but if the inspector believes Hendry lied and gave a false description, I'm inclined to believe the note."

Brockwell passed the note back to Matt. "So if it wasn't Abercrombie who left the gun in Hendry's shop, who did?"

"Sweeney?" I offered. "Perhaps Hendry realized it was him and wanted to protect him from our inquiries. If he still has feelings for Sweeney, he wouldn't want to make trouble for him."

"Or it could be Hendry himself," Matt said.

"Either way," Brockwell said, "I owe you an apology, Glass. And Miss Steele, too. I believe now that this crime is related to magic. Hendry is in up to his neck, and he's a magician, and Barratt is the author of those articles. That makes it a sensitive case." He sighed. "My superiors will not like it."

"Then tell Commissioner Munro to speak with me," Matt said. "We'll find a way to word it so that the press can't link the murder to magic."

"I can do that myself." Brockwell finished his drink and stood. "I must go. Thank you again for a delicious dinner. Miss Steele." He bent over my hand, lightly brushing his lips against my knuckles. "It has been delightful, as always. If I may be so bold, may I ask if I can call on you soon? In a personal capacity. And without your employer here."

I tried to think of the best answer in order to be polite yet not encouraging and found my tongue wouldn't work.

Matt came to my rescue. "Stop by any day after Saturday."

I pressed my lips together to suppress my smile.

Bristow escorted Brockwell out, and Matt rejoined me. He plucked the glass from my fingers and pulled me out of the chair. He pressed close, assuming a waltzing position, and swayed with me. I leaned into him and breathed deeply, relaxing into the rhythm, relishing the feel of being so close.

"That was tortuous," he murmured into my hair.

"It wasn't too bad," I said. "And we did learn something."

"Even if he told us who the killer was, I would still rather he hadn't stayed for dinner." He let go of my hand and circled both arms around my waist. I tilted my head up so I could see him better. "Tonight was supposed to be just you and me."

"Oh. Is that why your aunt stayed in her room?"

"I asked her to."

"And the flowers on the table. Oh, Matt, they were lovely. I’m sorry, I didn't realize. You should have told me, and I wouldn't have asked Brockwell to stay."

"It doesn't matter." From his heavy tone, it sounded like it mattered very much.

We danced slowly together in the silence until Duke and Cyclops interrupted us. They had nothing of interest to report and happily tucked into the left over food. Willie arrived twenty minutes later and helped herself to the cold meat and salads from the tray Bristow brought in for her.

"How was your evening?" Willie asked brightly. "Did we miss anything?"

Matt sat quietly and stared into the fireplace. He managed to give me a wan smile when I squeezed his arm but he didn't answer her.

"Brockwell dined with us," I said.

She pulled a face. "So your night was as exciting as mine."

"What did he want?" Duke asked.

"To tell us the gun we found in Hendry's shop was the same type as that used in the murder."

"So Hendry's the killer?" Cyclops asked.

"Perhaps," I said. "Or someone really did hide it in his shop, perhaps even to implicate him."

"Abercrombie," Duke said, shoveling lettuce into his mouth.

I shook my head. "It wasn't him."

"So now what?" Willie asked. "Confront Hendry and accuse him?"

"Or ask him who he's protecting," Matt said. "My money's on Sweeney."

"He won't admit it, if he is," I said. "Not if he still cares for Sweeney."

One side of Matt's mouth lifted. "He'll admit it. Just leave the questioning to me."