Sir Barnabas sat in a chair facing the woman who had tried to cut Robert’s throat. Simon still got chills thinking how close he’d come. Thank God his intuition had not failed him. Too many times to count during the war—and after when he prowled St. Giles with Daniel meting out vigilante justice in their foolhardy and reckless past—Simon’s intuition had saved his life and the life of his friends. He’d always had it, that sixth sense of…something. And he always listened to it. It had failed him with Giselle and so he had never trusted it, not even after all these years. But lately he’d been giving it a bit more credence, and today he was willing to swear by it.

He glanced over at Robert for what must have been the one hundredth time that day, just to watch him breathing, and catch the slight vibration of the pulse in his neck, visible now that he wore no cravat. It was taking every ounce of self-control Simon possessed not to cross the room and put his mouth on the heartbeat in Robert’s neck. He felt like a foolish, infatuated idiot.

He tore his gaze away from Robert’s neck only to find Robert watching him. The knowing little smile Robert sent him made his own heart skip a beat, and Simon quickly looked away, embarrassed by his ridiculous reaction.

He blamed it on his weakened state. He never should have agreed to do this for Daniel and then for Barnabas. It was too soon. He hadn’t even recovered from that nightmare in Africa yet. What on earth were they doing, expecting him to watch Robert and Hastings like this? This had turned into a very serious affair, a matter of state, of security and the safety of the empire. It should not be in Simon’s hands, of all people. He could barely handle his own fate, let alone that of the empire, for God’s sake.

Barnabas was sipping a cup of tea, his legs crossed, his pinky in the air like a right gentleman, as Hastings would say. The little harridan who’d nearly decapitated Robert was sitting facing him with her hands tied behind her, watching him drink the tea with a near feral look on her face. They’d been questioning her for hours and had refused all her requests for food, drink and even a moment’s rest. The room was windowless. She’d lost track of time. Barnabas was merciless. But then, he was an expert at this sort of thing. He’d had many years to perfect the art.

“Now, my dear, you know I cannot give you anything until you tell us where the Dutchman plans to strike and when. I’m sorry, truly, you cannot know how sorry I am. But my superiors at Whitehall have been very clear about this. Only subjects who cooperate with our investigations receive complimentary treatment. I’m afraid the others…well, let me just say that I should hate to see you suffer as they have.” He made a tsk, tsk sound that was almost believably sympathetic even to those who knew him. “Are you sure there’s nothing you can tell us?”

He turned as the door opened. “Oh, look. A proper tea. Of course, it isn’t the time for it. Or is it? I’m just not sure. Here we are.” The tea cart was wheeled in and placed next to Sir Barnabas, who lifted the lid on the covered dishes. “Oh, sandwiches. And is that jam? How delightful. Gentlemen, do come and have something to eat. You must be famished.”

Robert pushed himself off the wall and accepted a plate of food from Sir Barnabas with a hearty thanks. He stood next to Barnabas’s chair and stuffed a sandwich into his mouth, and his would-be assassin gave a little sob.

Simon forced himself to follow Robert’s lead. He wasn’t hungry at all, honestly. He’d always hated this part of the job. His specialty had been gathering information. He’d been able to infiltrate an enemies’ camp and steal battle plans from right under their noses. And when need be, kill someone. Like Hastings, he preferred the clean kills. Interrogation had always been a necessary evil.

“I…” The woman paused to swallow. “I don’t know much.” It was a promising change from her defensive denials for the last few hours. Apparently Barnabas had at last worn her down.

“No?” Barnabas asked. He handed Simon a plate loaded down with food. “Tea?” he asked Simon.

“Please,” Simon replied politely. “Milk and sugar.”

“But of course.” Sir Barnabas poured his tea and prepared it while the woman watched, fascinated. He handed Simon the cup and turned back to her. “What do you know, my dear? Every little bit helps.”

“He needed the ship,” she said in a rush. “He was bloody angry when he had to unload it and run.”

“Did he?” Sir Barnabas looked as if they were gossiping over tea. He took a sip as he watched her, giving her all his attention.

“Yes, sir. They was plannin’ to put the ship somewhere and blow it up. But now he’s got to find another way to do it.”

“They?” Sir Barnabas asked casually. “Who is they?”

“I…I don’t know,” she said miserably, shrugging as best as she could with her hands tied behind her back. “Some nobs, I think. And a Russian,” she said in a rush. “Yeah, he was Russian. I heard him talkin’.”

“Russian? Are you sure?” Robert asked. “Do you know Russian?” he sounded skeptical.

“I don’t speak it,” she said, “but I know what it sounds like. I do. Had some Russian sailors come in from time to time. It don’t sound like no other language.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Simon said for argument’s sake. “It sounds a bit like Polish.”

“Does it?” Robert asked. They turned to each other and ignored her. “Do you speak Polish?”

“I knew a Polish officer in the war. Or perhaps he was Hungarian.” Simon tapped his finger on his chin. “No, I’m mistaken. He was German.” He nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Deystvitel’no?” Sir Barnabas asked them with a raised brow. “Really?”

“That’s it,” the woman said. “That’s what it sounded like.”

“That’s Russian all right,” Barnabas said. “What else can you tell us?”

Like most suspects, once she began talking, she couldn’t seem to stop. “There’s an Englishman for sure, he’s rich as can be but he ain’t no gentleman, leastways not titled, if you know what I mean. Comes from trade or somethin’, I heard her say.”

“Her? You mean Mrs. Gaines?” Barnabas asked.

“Yeah, that’s right. Fat Linnie. She’s the one what introduced him to the Dutchman. Anyway, he says he can get them more explosives. They ain’t got enough for the job now. ’Cause they lost the ship, like I said. They were goin’ to smuggle more in.”

“I thought they were going to blow it up,” Simon said, acting confused.

“They are, I mean, were,” she said. “But not before they used it to get more explosives.”

“Interesting,” Barnabas said. “What else?”

“Isn’t that enough?” she cried. “I’m starvin’, I tell you! I can barely talk I’m so parched!”

Robert took another bite of sandwich and spoke with his mouth full. “Well, I daresay I wouldn’t be eating or drinking at all if you had managed to slit my throat.”

“It was Fat Linnie what told me to do it,” she said, whining. “I didn’t want to, you being the law and all. But she said you were gettin’ too close. So they were goin’ to take care of that one at the hotel and we was to take care of you three.”

“Hastings?” Barnabas said. He didn’t actually move, but Simon could sense the tension in him. He turned to the agent at the door. “Has he checked in?”

“No, sir,” the agent said.

“Find him.” Barnabas turned back to her. “Who are they trying to kill?”

“Well, you three and that other one,” she said, confused. “I told you.”

“No,” Barnabas snapped impatiently. “Pay attention. Whatever they are going to blow up, they are going to kill someone. Who is it?”

“I don’t know nothin’ about that,” she said. “I s’pect they’ll kill a lot of people with an explosion like that.”

“Just how much explosive is the Englishman giving the Dutchman?” Barnabas asked.

“Not sure exactly,” she said. “But I heard him say it will light up the sky so they’ll see it clear to St. James.”

“When?” Robert asked.

“Well, they were right angry about that, too. I guess it wasn’t supposed to be for a very long while. Years even. But now they’ve got to do it soon because you’re breathing down their necks. I heard the Dutchie say next week. It won’t be as big of a dust up as they planned, but it will still make noise, he said.”

“Years?” Barnabas put his teacup down and rose from his chair. “That narrows our search, gentlemen.” He waved away the tea tray.

“No!” the prisoner cried as it was wheeled out of the room.

“You shall eat the same fare as the other prisoners,” Sir Barnabas said coldly. “And for the time being, count yourself lucky your head is still attached to your shoulders.” He headed for the door and signaled Robert and Simon to follow him.