“You want me to what?” Simon asked, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?”

He’d only just gotten out of bed and wasn’t sure he’d heard Daniel correctly. They were standing in the middle of his apartment and Daniel was, as usual, dressed quite smartly. Simon wasn’t even sure if it was morning or night. He was still in his nightshirt, his dressing gown barely tied and hanging open. He didn’t care how disheveled he looked. It was only Daniel and Harry, after all.

“It is eight o’clock in the evening. You have been sleeping for almost two days. I want you to go to Robert’s tomorrow and help him and Hastings solve this murder case he’s working on,” Daniel told him. “Aren’t you going to offer me a seat? My leg is throbbing.”

“Since when have I had to offer you a seat?” Simon asked, completely confused. “Don’t you usually just take one? Look at Harry.” He pointed at the other man who had made himself at home on Simon’s sofa. “Has the world gone mad?” He spun around in a slow circle. “Am I even home from Africa or is this a fever dream?”

“No fever dream,” Harry said. “Have you got a fever?” He stood up. “Come here, then.” He walked over and put his hand on Simon’s forehead, and Simon swatted it away.

“No, Nana, I’m fine,” he said. “And no, I will not go and offer to help Manderley solve some murder with that bedlamite Hastings. Are you drunk?” He sniffed Daniel’s breath, and this time it was Daniel who swatted him away.

“No, I am not drunk, unfortunately,” Daniel said. “Let me start at the beginning. I don’t think you were awake enough to understand that part when I arrived.”

“I don’t even have a recollection of any beginning,” Simon said with a yawn. He wandered over to the sideboard and poured himself a cup of tepid tea. It would do for now. His back was aching something fierce. He supposed he ought to get used to that.

“You’re limping,” Harry said from beside him. “Do you need something for pain? Laudanum?”

“Absolutely not.” Simon had no desire to become a slave of another sort, one to that drug. “It’s just stiff when I first get up,” he lied. “You know how that is.” He winked and then made himself walk without limping so much and sat down in his favorite chair. It hugged him comfortably.

“Robert is working on a murder case which, it just so happens, Barnabas and his office are also working on,” Daniel told him. “Ten boys murdered in the last three weeks. Couriers masquerading as pickpockets, that old ruse. Robert was unable to go any further with the case, I suggested going to Barnabas, Barnabas suggested Robert partner with Hastings, whom he had assigned the case—presumably as punishment for killing another suspect—and now I need you to go and watch over the two of them and solve the murders before Hastings gets Robert killed or worse.”

“There’s something worse than getting killed?” Simon asked curiously.

“I was wondering the same thing myself,” Harry said.

“You are both being very obtuse,” Daniel told them irritably. “Bring me an ottoman. That one there,” he told Harry. “My leg is quite sore.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” Harry admonished him. “You’ve been traipsing all over London today, first to see Barnabas and now Simon. You are in no condition to be doing so much. You ought to be at home in bed.”

“Where he’d be doing nothing, I’m sure,” Simon remarked drily. “But clearly I’m in the pink of health and perfectly fine to be jockeying about solving murders. Right. Tell me again, which one of us was kidnapped and tortured by pirates?”

“Are you going to live on that story forever?” Daniel said. “It’s already growing tedious.”

“I’ve been asleep for two days, you say?” Simon asked. “So that story is two days old. I can see what you mean.”

“You know if I were able I’d be more than happy to keep an eye on Robert and Hastings myself,” Daniel told him.

It was true, Simon did know that. Daniel liked nothing more than to root out evil and extinguish it. It was absolutely his favorite hobby.

“But I can’t. This leg is giving me a devil of a time. That idiot ship’s doctor should never have left the bullet in. I think it’s beginning to fester.”

“What?” Harry said, sitting bolt upright, worry creasing his forehead. “You didn’t tell me that.” He stood up. “Simon, take over this nonsense with Robert and Hastings. Daniel, I’m taking you home. Simon will report any news on the case.” He walked over and gently scooped Daniel up in his arms.

“What in the hell are you doing?” Daniel demanded, but he wrapped his arm around Harry’s shoulders just the same. Now that Simon was paying attention, he did sound tired.

“Fine.” Simon gave in with another yawn. “I will present myself to Robert tomorrow with some concocted story about why I suddenly feel the need to solve a murder. Do as Harry says and don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got everything under control.” The knot in his stomach at the thought of seeing Robert Manderley again gave lie to his assurances, but Simon made sure his outward demeanor revealed nothing of the turmoil inside him.

“You never have anything under control,” Daniel said over Harry’s shoulder.

“Then why did you come to me?” Simon asked, crossing his legs and taking a sip of tea as he watched Harry somehow open the door without dropping his burden.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“That was your first mistake.” Simon smiled as the door closed on Daniel’s dismay. Then he set his teacup down and closed his eyes to get some more sleep. He’d need it if he was going to keep Manderley safe for Christy.

* * *

Robert glanced over Hastings’s head at the approaching figure and then had to look again, sure his own fevered imagination had produced a waking nightmare. Unfortunately, it was harsh reality.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Simon Gantry said pleasantly when he reached their side, leaning on his cane. “How are you all this fine day?”

His declaration that is was a fine day was so convincing, Robert had to look around the dirty alley, made odorous and infernally hot by the unusually warm weather, just to make sure he hadn’t taken leave of his senses.

“Gantry,” Hastings replied, saving Robert the trouble of acknowledging him. “What are you doing here?”

Yes, thought Robert. What are you doing here? And how did you find us? They were lost in the bloody bowels of the East End, at the first body drop location. The sun had barely risen and most respectable gentlemen were still abed.

“I heard you two were working on a rather interesting case,” Gantry said. “I thought I’d pop over and see if I could be of assistance.”

“Hmm,” Hastings said. “Just like that, eh? Thought you’d pop over? Sir Barnabas doesn’t trust me to show up and do as I’m told then?” His words were clipped.

“I haven’t talked to Sir Barnabas,” Gantry said, yawning. “At least, not about this. No, I spoke with Daniel and Harry.”

Robert gritted his teeth. “Did you?” They were the first words he’d been able to speak since seeing him.

“Oh yes,” Gantry said, grinning. It was clear he knew exactly how irritated Robert was at his arrival. “Daniel suggested I stop by and see if I could help. As you know, I’ve a bit of experience with this sort of thing.”

“You’ve only just returned from what must have been a harrowing and life-threatening situation. I appreciate the offer, of course, but you mustn’t put yourself out on my account,” Robert said with as much sympathy as he could muster. His emotions were rather jumbled at Gantry’s appearance. Christy would be happy again, now that he was out of danger, and for that Robert was relieved. But the old jealousy wouldn’t leave him alone. Yet, there was a part of him that was quite glad to see the other man, despite their past rivalry.

“No trouble at all, old man,” Gantry assured him, his smile never faltering. Robert noticed it didn’t reach his eyes. “Has Hastings killed any promising leads yet this morning?”

“Not yet.” Robert bit back a smile at Hastings scowl.

“I am tired of being treated like a recalcitrant schoolboy,” Hastings complained. “You’ve both been in the field. You know that situations arise in which unfortunate events occur. Death is often one of them. I much prefer when it is someone else’s and not my own.”

“I jest,” Gantry said, slapping Hastings on the back. “I’m sure you had a valid reason for killing whoever it was. The point Barnabas is trying to make here is that as one of his agents, you need to be better than that. Death is not an option; it is the last option when he deems it so.”

“Oh, really? Did someone forget to tell Mr. Steinberg that?” Hastings asked sarcastically. “His death toll is legendary.”

“Yes, well, that was Daniel’s specialty, wasn’t it?” Gantry said with a shrug. “He was rarely told not to. Come now,” he cajoled. “Helping the good constable solve a case like this surely isn’t a punishment. It’s well within your purview and is a good exercise of our logical abilities. So let us put our heads together and find the culprit. Yes?” He was so persuasive that Robert found himself nodding along with Hastings in answer to his question.

Robert turned away so as to hide his consternation at being reminded yet again of the lethal nature of his childhood best friend. He’d had no idea of Daniel’s wartime activities nor his vigilante past time here in London the last few years. The idea of Daniel as a lethal killer shocked him. Daniel was small, trim, immaculately dressed at all times, almost fussy in his mannerisms and attire. Not the sort of man who made one think of assassins and violence.

It was easier to think of Simon in such a capacity. Robert had seen his abilities the year before when together they had chased down and apprehended one of the miscreants who had set fire to Daniel’s house, trying to kill him and Harry and Christy. Simon had easily caught the man and brought him down with several well-placed blows despite being the worse for drink. The man had not landed a single blow. Then Simon had handed him over to Robert to bring in. In his current condition, Simon was perhaps not up to the task, but when in fighting form he was a good man to have at your side, it was true.

Tall, strapping—Mr. Gantry’s form was the result of well-built musculature and not padded clothing. Robert had seen it that night. Simon had worn nothing but a pair of tight pants and a half-open shirt as they raced through the streets of London after the fire starter. There was a time Robert had thought Daniel and Simon involved in a sodomite relationship, as was Daniel’s way. He knew now they were no more than close friends. It was Christy with whom Simon had been intimate. Christy, Robert’s dear, beloved, sweet wife.

“Are you all right, Constable?” Simon asked, and Robert realized he’d been staring at him.

“Yes,” Robert said.

He looked away only to find Hastings watching him closely. Hastings’s face told him nothing, but Robert had the feeling the agent missed very little.

“Shall we continue?” he asked Hastings. “Mr. Gantry can catch up as we discuss what was found that day.”

“Of course,” Hastings said, his voice devoid of any judgment.

“Where is Mr. Longfellow?” Gantry asked, looking around.

“Here I am, Mr. Simon.” Thom stepped out of a doorway with a big smile. Simon returned it, and the two shook hands like old friends.

“I say, Thom, you look well,” Simon told him. “How is Lottie? And the children are well?”

“Fine as fiddles, Mr. Simon. Thank you for remembering them at Christmas. I ain’t heard from you and Mr. Daniel much the last year or so. Is everything all right?”

“You two know each other?” Robert asked in disbelief.

“Oh yes,” Simon said. “Thom is an old informant of ours. We recommended him highly to the department, as did Sir Barnabas. He would have made an excellent agent, but he didn’t want to stray far from the fold. Too many mouths to feed, eh, Thom?”

“Isn’t that right, Mr. Simon?” Thom asked with a laugh. “And Lottie with another one on the way.”

“I didn’t know,” Robert said in dismay. “You didn’t tell me. Congratulations, Thom.”

“Yes, congratulations,” Simon said, shaking his hand again. Thom blushed.

“Well, we don’t discuss the missuses much, do we, Mr. Manderley?” Thom said. “We likes it all business.”

Robert took that as a rebuke, though he was quite sure Thom hadn’t meant it that way. Was he all business? Perhaps too much? He’d been so focused on proving to the world that he hadn’t made the wrong decision in becoming a constable. So many had seen it as a step down socially. Some of his mother’s friends had cut her and they’d stopped receiving invitations. And many within the police saw him as a dilettante playing at solving crimes and not as a dedicated officer. Robert no longer fit in either world, and so was determined to prove something to both.

“Have we seen it before, Thom?” Simon asked him, and Robert realized he meant the murders.

Thom shook his head. “No, sir. Not part of any organization we’ve dealt with previous. New crop of young’uns. And I don’t think they’s spying for the French, neither.”

“Americans?” Simon asked. Robert was taken aback. He hadn’t thought of the Americans.

“I doubt it,” Hastings said. “They’ve got their own troubles brewing. Indian troubles. Always trying to grab more territory from the surrounding colonies. It’s a terrible mess over there. They haven’t time to build a new network here, or the care to do so.”

“We’ll make a list of potentials then,” Simon said. Thom immediately pulled out a pencil and paper and made a note. Robert tamped down the jealousy surging in his breast. Thom was his assistant. Not Simon’s. At least not anymore. Time to take back control of this investigation.

“Excellent idea, Gantry. Thank you for the suggestion,” he said politely. “Good idea, Thom. Make a note of that.”

Thom stopped writing and looked between Robert and Simon, wide-eyed. Hastings looked on, clearly amused.

Gantry didn’t miss a beat. “Why don’t you tell me how you found the body—or show me—and I can tell you if I had any similar experiences? Comparing notes is always a good starting point. Has Hastings already done the same?”

“No,” Hastings said. “We hadn’t gotten that far.”

“Another excellent suggestion,” Robert grudgingly admitted. “How long did you work for Sir Barnabas? After the war, I mean?”

“Officially?” Simon asked, following Robert as he walked toward the doorway at the end of the alley. “Not at all. But I’ve unofficially helped with several missions over the years. I had no desire to put myself under Barnabas’s thumb again.”

“Hear, hear,” Hastings mumbled behind them.

“I can’t figure out what your relationship is with Sir Barnabas,” Robert said. “You and Daniel both seem to hate and admire him in equal measure, and the feelings seem to be mutual.”

He slowed down. Simon was limping. It was very subtle. More a stiffness than an actual limp. He obviously wasn’t as recovered from his adventure as he’d like people to believe. So what was he really doing here? A man would have to be insane to leave his bed half infirm to help solve a murder case that had nothing to do with him.

“Yes, a mutual admiration society,” Simon said wryly. “That’s our little triumvirate.” He sighed. “War makes strange bedfellows, that’s all.”

As Robert escorted Simon and Hastings to the first body drop location, he couldn’t help but think that murder made strange bedfellows as well.