“Since I had not yet received word you had been arrested, I was reasonably confident in your success. Did you catch sight of the bastard?”
“No, he has not been to the house for several weeks.” Boris smiled wryly. “But I did catch sight of at least a half dozen men keeping watch on the house.”
Not surprising. Stefan had expected the Countess to have guards looking for Sir Charles. And of course, Herrick Gerhardt would have his own men searching. It was a damned wonder that half of St. Petersburg was not milling outside the bastard’s house.
Which made it all the more astonishing that Boris had managed to slip into and out of the house without being halted.
“It is no wonder he has avoided the place,” he muttered.
Boris shrugged. “He could be dead.”
“I would never be so fortunate. Did you discover anything that might reveal where he is hiding?”
“There were a handful of invitations, but no private correspondence. Either he destroys his letters or he has no one who cares enough to write.”
“Damn.” Stefan considered their few options. “What of his accounts? Does he frequent a brothel or coffeehouse?”
“There were bills from a number of establishments, mostly his tailors and the local grocer. He is deeply in debt.”
It was disappointing, to say the least. How the hell did he find Sir Charles when he didn’t know where to start the search?
He paced the room, something tickling at the back of his mind. What was it? Something Leonida had sai
d. Something…
With an abrupt motion he turned back to Boris. “Leonida mentioned an accomplice,” he said.
“Do you have a name?”
“Not yet.” He grimaced. It would be a simple matter to demand the name from Leonida, but he had no desire to force her to recall anything connected to Sir Charles. Besides, she was bound to make a fuss if she realized he was searching for the murderous nobleman. He would have to find a different means of acquiring the information. “Did you find nothing of worth?”
There was a short pause before Boris reached beneath his jacket and pulled out three leather bags held closed with drawstrings. He tossed them on the top of a jade-inlaid table.
“These were hidden in a locked drawer of his desk.”
Stefan crossed to tug open the first bag, pulling out the official English passport.
“Forged papers. He will need these to travel out of Russia without being halted by Gerhardt’s men.” He reached for the second bag and dumped out a handful of coins. “A few rubles.” He reached for the last and largest bag, pulling open the drawstrings and shaking out a strange combination of buttons and ribbons and two cheap brooches. He frowned in confusion at the obviously feminine objects. Why would a man keep such trinkets protected in a locked drawer? They must have some meaning for him. Leaning forward, Stefan realized there was something staining the ribbons. The candlelight flickered and suddenly he was stepping backward, a sick disgust rolling through his stomach. Blood. “Holy hell.”
Boris shuddered. “Exactly.”
“He is truly mad.”
“Yes.”
Overcoming his revulsion, Stefan gathered the sordid mementos, along with the passport, and tossed them into the burning fire. He shivered, imagining Sir Charles among the flames. The sooner the man was sent to hell the better.
“Leonida will never be safe so long as he is out there.”
“Do you want me to keep a watch on the house?”
“It would seem that it is already closely guarded.” He restlessly moved to collect his hat and gloves from the dresser. “I will learn the name of his associate. Perhaps he can be persuaded to reveal where the bastard is hiding.”
“Then I wait.” Boris watched as Stefan tugged on his gloves. “Another dinner at the palace?”
Stefan smiled, his lingering horror thankfully replaced with a stab of anticipation. Leonida had promised she would be in attendance. Even though it had only been a few hours, he was anxious to be at her side.
“What can I do?” he teased, opening the door. “The Emperor is obviously charmed by my company.”